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porter_inc) wrote2006-04-16 03:32 am
porter_inc) wrote2006-04-16 03:32 am
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Topic 112: Describe your worst failure.
Answering the question about what I've been missing lately inspired me to answer this prompt, as well, because my worst failure was my marriage.
We were young; both twenty-one. I was crammed into the closet so tightly, I ended a ten-year friendship with my best friend because he kissed me. Of course, years later, he was the catalyst for my getting out of my marriage, but that's a story for another time. No, this is about me and my ex-wife, Talia, and my very worst failure.
If I have to be completely honest, the main reason I married Talia was because she told me she was pregnant. We'd been dating for a few months, I liked her, we were good friends who had sex and weren't always as careful as we should have been. Regardless of what I felt for her deep down inside, I told everyone I was in love with her. I even told her I loved her. So, when she came to me and said that she was pregnant, I did the "right" thing. I can still remember when she told me. I'd just gotten out of my economics class, and was waiting for my friend, Marcus, to meet me for a quick lunch during our break. Talia came up to me, told me she'd missed her last two periods and that a trip to the doctor had confirmed her suspicions. That's when I should have told her that I'd be happy to be there for the kid, but that was about it. I should never have married her. But, I have this awful habit of going along with what I know people want, no matter how uncomfortable I am. I've only just started saying no when I don't want to cross a certain line. If only I'd done that back then.
We were only married for a few weeks when she lost the baby. That's the first time I had my doubts that there had ever been a baby, to tell you the truth. She was in a tremendous rush to get married, saying that she didn't want to be showing when she walked down the aisle. That was fine. Instead of taking months to plan, we took weeks because she insisted on that. But after she lost the baby, I was conveniently kept away from any doctor's visits, even though it was my loss, too. She never let me go with her to offer my support, saying that I couldn't understand what it was like to lose a child. When I tried to find the number for her doctor, the name she gave me wasn't listed anywhere. All I wanted was to find out if she'd be all right. Her excuse for that was that he'd recently joined a new practice and wasn't listed anywhere. I know I'm an idiot for buying her bullshit, but at the time I didn't want to believe she would have tricked me into marrying her. Why would she? It wasn't as if I was a catch. I was just an average guy preparing for an average future. I'm still a little baffled as to what she saw in me. She was gorgeous. She still is. Her family never liked me because they thought she married beneath them, so at least they were happy about the divorce.
Anyway, even though my reason for marrying her was gone, I stayed with her. She wanted to keep trying, and I didn't want to be divorced by the age of 22. Besides, if I couldn't live the life I didn't even know I wanted, yet, being married to her was better than constantly explaining to my father why I wasn't dating a nice girl. Getting married got Dad off my back, when all was said and done. Plus, my father loved her. My mother never did, and I regret keeping up the charade when I knew that Mom wasn't happy for me. It turns out that she knew I was trying to be something I wasn't.
The next ten-plus years were spent being part of a couple that did everything right. We had the right house, the right cars, the right friends and the right standing in our little social circle. Talia worked for a law firm, I worked for the same bank where my father had made a name for himself. I was a perfect husband. She was a perfect wife. It was all so damn perfect, I wanted to scream. I ignored the fact that I'd sometimes find myself fantasizing about the husbands in our perfect little group instead of the wives. I never gave it much thought when mine and Talia's lovemaking was bolstered after I spent a night out doing a little male bonding. No, not that kind of bonding. My friends were annoyingly straight, but a little football or pick up basketball game gave me enough contact with them to spark my appetites. It was ridiculous. I was in so much denial, and I truly believe Talia was, too.
Towards the end, she and I were being civil towards one another. There was no reason for us to not be friendly. I didn't mistreat her, we respected one another, and if our romantic life was cooling off, we chalked it up to the natural tendency for the passion in a marriage to die out after so many years together. It was fine. It was all perfectly fine until Peter and I reunited.
The circumstances of Peter and me getting back together are unimportant at this time, other than to say it was a little awkward seeing him again after the way things had ended for us. Once we were able to get past that initial stage, though, we found our old groove. I also found something that I hadn't been ready for when Peter had kissed me all those years ago. The moment he came back into my life, I knew. I knew that I'd been living a lie. I knew that I didn't want to be with a woman any more than I wanted to join the French Foreign Legion. But I was trapped. I'd committed to a marriage, and I didn't want to admit I couldn't finish what I'd started. Peter, bless him, told me that I should be honest with Talia. Even after he and I started our affair, he kept insisting that, even if it meant losing me, he thought I should tell her. He was right. She found out, confronted me, and left me wishing I had been man enough to tell her the truth. Maybe I could have avoided some of the hurt. Maybe not. I just know that everything shattered the day she stopped seeing me as her husband and, instead, as the enemy.
I loved Talia. Divorce has a funny way of making both parties forget that they ever cared about one another, but, yes, I'm sure I had to have loved something about her if I stayed with her for that long. The excuse of pleasing my father died the day he did. I don't want to believe that it was solely my need to finish what I'd started, because this was my life I was fucking with; hers, too. Would I really treat it like some course in school, or some book I was trying to muddle through despite having lost interest long ago? I refuse to believe that.
My marriage was a prime example of all the reasons you don't get, or stay, married. The two of us did each other a huge disservice by not being entirely honest about our motives for wanting to be together, and there's no way to justify what either of us did. It's not good to know that I could use someone that way, and if I had it to do all over again, I would have said no. But, as it stands, the truth of the matter is plain.
I failed. I failed Talia by marrying her. I failed her by agreeing to live a lie and dragging her along for the ride. I failed myself by being too afraid to live my own life. So much wasted time. So much unnecessary pain for everyone involved. I'm always going to regret that.
We were young; both twenty-one. I was crammed into the closet so tightly, I ended a ten-year friendship with my best friend because he kissed me. Of course, years later, he was the catalyst for my getting out of my marriage, but that's a story for another time. No, this is about me and my ex-wife, Talia, and my very worst failure.
If I have to be completely honest, the main reason I married Talia was because she told me she was pregnant. We'd been dating for a few months, I liked her, we were good friends who had sex and weren't always as careful as we should have been. Regardless of what I felt for her deep down inside, I told everyone I was in love with her. I even told her I loved her. So, when she came to me and said that she was pregnant, I did the "right" thing. I can still remember when she told me. I'd just gotten out of my economics class, and was waiting for my friend, Marcus, to meet me for a quick lunch during our break. Talia came up to me, told me she'd missed her last two periods and that a trip to the doctor had confirmed her suspicions. That's when I should have told her that I'd be happy to be there for the kid, but that was about it. I should never have married her. But, I have this awful habit of going along with what I know people want, no matter how uncomfortable I am. I've only just started saying no when I don't want to cross a certain line. If only I'd done that back then.
We were only married for a few weeks when she lost the baby. That's the first time I had my doubts that there had ever been a baby, to tell you the truth. She was in a tremendous rush to get married, saying that she didn't want to be showing when she walked down the aisle. That was fine. Instead of taking months to plan, we took weeks because she insisted on that. But after she lost the baby, I was conveniently kept away from any doctor's visits, even though it was my loss, too. She never let me go with her to offer my support, saying that I couldn't understand what it was like to lose a child. When I tried to find the number for her doctor, the name she gave me wasn't listed anywhere. All I wanted was to find out if she'd be all right. Her excuse for that was that he'd recently joined a new practice and wasn't listed anywhere. I know I'm an idiot for buying her bullshit, but at the time I didn't want to believe she would have tricked me into marrying her. Why would she? It wasn't as if I was a catch. I was just an average guy preparing for an average future. I'm still a little baffled as to what she saw in me. She was gorgeous. She still is. Her family never liked me because they thought she married beneath them, so at least they were happy about the divorce.
Anyway, even though my reason for marrying her was gone, I stayed with her. She wanted to keep trying, and I didn't want to be divorced by the age of 22. Besides, if I couldn't live the life I didn't even know I wanted, yet, being married to her was better than constantly explaining to my father why I wasn't dating a nice girl. Getting married got Dad off my back, when all was said and done. Plus, my father loved her. My mother never did, and I regret keeping up the charade when I knew that Mom wasn't happy for me. It turns out that she knew I was trying to be something I wasn't.
The next ten-plus years were spent being part of a couple that did everything right. We had the right house, the right cars, the right friends and the right standing in our little social circle. Talia worked for a law firm, I worked for the same bank where my father had made a name for himself. I was a perfect husband. She was a perfect wife. It was all so damn perfect, I wanted to scream. I ignored the fact that I'd sometimes find myself fantasizing about the husbands in our perfect little group instead of the wives. I never gave it much thought when mine and Talia's lovemaking was bolstered after I spent a night out doing a little male bonding. No, not that kind of bonding. My friends were annoyingly straight, but a little football or pick up basketball game gave me enough contact with them to spark my appetites. It was ridiculous. I was in so much denial, and I truly believe Talia was, too.
Towards the end, she and I were being civil towards one another. There was no reason for us to not be friendly. I didn't mistreat her, we respected one another, and if our romantic life was cooling off, we chalked it up to the natural tendency for the passion in a marriage to die out after so many years together. It was fine. It was all perfectly fine until Peter and I reunited.
The circumstances of Peter and me getting back together are unimportant at this time, other than to say it was a little awkward seeing him again after the way things had ended for us. Once we were able to get past that initial stage, though, we found our old groove. I also found something that I hadn't been ready for when Peter had kissed me all those years ago. The moment he came back into my life, I knew. I knew that I'd been living a lie. I knew that I didn't want to be with a woman any more than I wanted to join the French Foreign Legion. But I was trapped. I'd committed to a marriage, and I didn't want to admit I couldn't finish what I'd started. Peter, bless him, told me that I should be honest with Talia. Even after he and I started our affair, he kept insisting that, even if it meant losing me, he thought I should tell her. He was right. She found out, confronted me, and left me wishing I had been man enough to tell her the truth. Maybe I could have avoided some of the hurt. Maybe not. I just know that everything shattered the day she stopped seeing me as her husband and, instead, as the enemy.
I loved Talia. Divorce has a funny way of making both parties forget that they ever cared about one another, but, yes, I'm sure I had to have loved something about her if I stayed with her for that long. The excuse of pleasing my father died the day he did. I don't want to believe that it was solely my need to finish what I'd started, because this was my life I was fucking with; hers, too. Would I really treat it like some course in school, or some book I was trying to muddle through despite having lost interest long ago? I refuse to believe that.
My marriage was a prime example of all the reasons you don't get, or stay, married. The two of us did each other a huge disservice by not being entirely honest about our motives for wanting to be together, and there's no way to justify what either of us did. It's not good to know that I could use someone that way, and if I had it to do all over again, I would have said no. But, as it stands, the truth of the matter is plain.
I failed. I failed Talia by marrying her. I failed her by agreeing to live a lie and dragging her along for the ride. I failed myself by being too afraid to live my own life. So much wasted time. So much unnecessary pain for everyone involved. I'm always going to regret that.
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