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On the Friday leading up to March 11, 1991, my at the time wife came in from being out most of the evening with a friend. They had been frequenting a nightclub for a while, and that night was no exception. I figured if it made her happy and I could trust her, so be it. Yes, we did trust each other that much and yes, we were VERY young at the time.
Back to the point: She came into our bedroom and stood there for a few minutes, then woke me up. The time was about 4:30 AM. I was rather confused, but more worried about why she was crying. So, I got myself woke up as much as possible (all considered from the night before), and sat up in bed to find out what was wrong.
Without missing a beat in time, she proceeded to tell me that it was time we divorced because things between us were not moving along the way she felt they needed to, that she had already filed the papers, and all I had to do was go in at 11:00 AM, Monday morning, review what was drawn up, and sign if I agreed. She also said that she would be moving out as soon as she got a few hours rest, to which I gave no reply.
My heart all but sank, I felt sick to my stomach, and I eventually went into somewhat of a state of shock. I do my best to remember (to myself) what happened, but it's still a struggle because I only go here once a year.
What I do remember is driving around through most of that weekend. I remember several people offered a couch, a bed, etc, but it was assumed I had done something wrong and had been thrown out of the house. Even if I had been thrown out, I doubt that I could've slept or would've slept. There was no helping me, at that point. I simply couldn't be mentally reached, that well.
On that following Monday....March 11, I also had 3 college exams to take (In those days, the Jr college I attended still went by quarters, rather than semesters). By the time I walked into those rooms, my mind was 100% blank. I couldn't think, let alone concentrate. I was shaky, upset, angry, anxiety-ridden, and way too many incomplete thoughts were racing around.
I signed my name to 2 of the 3 test papers and turned them in. On the 3rd (which was literature class), I quickly threw together a poem of why I didn't fill out the test. That poem was garbage, but I did it anyway. When I was walking down the hallway, I heard this professor begin to read my poem aloud to the class. All that did was make things worse, so I began walking faster.
2 cities down and off to the attorney's office I went, beyond that. Surprisingly enough, my soon to be ex wife had been more than fair to me on what were my belongings as well as hers. I changed nothing. But, the attorney asked me to stick around for a few minutes and speak to the judge off the record, to which I said no. I didn't give a reason why and when asked, I calmly said, "It's no offense to that judge, but I just failed 3 college exams and have been up literally all weekend. I have heard enough from everyone." In came the rest of the paperwork and I signed it all. I was polite, 'thankful', then left.
From there, I went to the one place to see the one person I had always been told would be there for me and would understand me when everyone else didn't and wouldn't....my mother. Keep in mind that she knew nothing about what had happened and at the time was still notorious for knee-jerk reactions. After what seemed like an eternity of an explanation to what all happened over that previous weekend and what I had done prior to coming there, I was immediately met with a face looking directly at mine with the following words: "This is nothing more than the actions of 2 pissed off children and don't ask for mine or your father's help, since you alienated us from everything important in your LITTLE life."
It took a few seconds for those words to slice me to the bone as they did, and to an extent still do (probably always will). But once they did, I slowly got up from the patio chair and began walking to my car. I didn't say one word, including "Goodbye". I felt everything that needed to be said had been said, and obviously then some. I drove away without the usual 'barking rubber', or anything else. I was completely devastated and defeated.
The rest of the day is mostly a blurr, and so are the first few days after that. I know I worked, but couldn't tell you what I really did. I'm convinced that the owner and other employees basically allowed me to wander around the building (without causing trouble) just to be safe in one place. Looking back, I'm positive that they were worried I would commit suicide and they were probably right.
The next few months following that were me trying, alone, to make sure all my bills were paid...only to see every one of them fall behind. Part of me didn't care, and the rest of me began numbing the trouble away with drugs and as much as I could get my hands on, as often as possible. Between the excessive drug use, excessive gas money, eating out, seemingly endless parties at my house (up went the electric and water bills), etc, I had run up quite a tab and then some. Eventually, the plug was pulled on my phone, the cable was turned off, the electric meter was pulled, and I was given an eviction notice from my landlord at the end of October.
The preceeding paragraph is how I ended up living in my car on Conner Island. I was 22, full of bills, full of pills, full of ills, and only thought I had actually dealt with defeat. Then came the winter months when I was working an average of 90 hours a week to build myself back up, pay off all the bills (which didn't happen), and finally ran into Desi on February 8, 1992 (That blog post is here, incase you haven't read it. http://www.ramblingfreak.com/2011/02/february-8-1992.html).
In the future, when you think you're having a shitty Monday, think about March 11, 1991 and ask yourself if yours is truly worse. If so, you have my deepest sympathy ahead of time and before anyone else will give it to you. As long as my memory is valid, this date will not be in my mind on good terms. In fact, I'm not sure I will ever come to terms with what all happened because of what all happened afterward. I don't let it affect my life now, but for the first couple of years after, I literally mourned on that day.
As long as I'm able to clearly remember (as good as possible) the words that came from the mouths of my now ex wife, my mother, and a few other people...as well as the shock I felt and the gnawing in the pit of my stomach, I'll never forget it.
My mother's reaction, when I told her, at 21, with a not quite year old baby, that I was leaving my ex-husband? "Well you certainly didn't ask my opinion before you moved in with him, but I can tell you my opinion now: You're reaping what you sowed." Talk about soul crushing. I'm 37 now, and our relationship hasn't really been the same since.
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