RouletteWeekend

I filed for divorce today. I thought I would be happier about it, but it’s kind of sad. Like a small little death that I knew was coming but didn’t actually think it would ever get here.

I got married in 1994. I was barely an adult and he was even younger. We were stupid kids who truly believed that after a month or so, we were in love and were going to spend the rest of our lives together.

The rest of our lives “together” lasted approximately a year. Just long enough for me to get pregnant and have a second child.

I met him right after I had my first baby. I was a junior in high school when I had her and knew before I ever gave birth that I was not going to be with her dad…ever.

And then this good looking bad boy knocked on my trailer door one night looking for my sister or my brother, I don’t quite remember. But we hit it off and before I knew it I was pregnant and we were getting married.

I already had a place of my own. One of the perks of being a teen mom is that you get emancipated the day you deliver. I think my mom was living with me, too. This was after her car accident, but that’s a whole other story for another time.

I was young. I was trusting. And I have always taken head first dives into love. Three kids by three different dads is just the start of the proof.

I LOVE love. I’ve always been somewhat addicted to the “getting to know you” phase of a relationship, which is probably why it was so easy to fall in love and get married within 6 months of meeting someone.

Truth be told, if we had gotten divorced 30 years ago when we split up, I’d probably be on my 7th or 8th husband by now. That’s how much I LOVE love. I should really write a book about that.

But we didn’t get divorced. He was always in trouble with the law and I was always too broke to pay for it. I told myself that I would make him pay for it since I raised his kid, but over the years, not only did making him pay for it not feel so important; getting divorced at all wasn’t all that important.

I was raising my kids. Sure, I dated, and even seriously a time or two, but the timing or the finances or the blue tape always seemed to get in the way until eventually, I just started checking “single” on my tax forms and anywhere else that asked a marital status.

After all, if I can live with someone for 7 years and be “common law married,” why couldn’t I be separated from someone for 7 years and be “common law divorced”?

I’m pretty sure the answer to that question is MONEY. The man has to get his cut from your happiness and your misery.

So I just didn’t bother.

Over the years, I tried a few times to get a divorce while he was in prison. Mostly hoping he would file from in there and I would pay because it was cheaper, but it never happened. But the more I dated, the more I thought I would never ever want to get married because pretty much all of the men I dated turned out to be big dicked disappointments.

So, who cares about a divorce (I mean besides the devout Christians).

Then I met “flea market guy.” If you’ve been around for a while, that was 8ish years ago, give or take (if you have the time and the inclination you can scroll back and read all that mess), but if you recall, he, too, fell into the BDD category within a few months. It wasn’t until almost a year later that he redeemed himself, but we had to put in a lot of work.

Fast forward to now…we are back in Knoxville, my “legal” husband is not currently in prison, our child is all grown up so no “parenting classes,” custody, child support issues, and I just so happen to have enough money to file. And the miracle of the whole thing is that not only did my “legal” husband answer my Facebook message when I asked him if he’d divorce me, he actually met me to sign the papers.

That was yesterday.

So today, I made sure all the i’s were dotted and the t’s crossed and I went to the county courthouse to apply for a divorce. Thirty years and $300 dollars later, I’m 60 days from ending the longest marriage anyone in my immediate family has ever had and not a single anniversary present to show for it.

Yes, I do make jokes when I’m uncomfortable or sad. And I don’t know why I feel sad. I think it’s because my “legal” husband genuinely has a good heart, but he just can’t get his head to do the right thing. And we pretty much grew up together. I grew up while raising his kid and he mostly grew up in the prison system, but we always kept in touch and whenever he was not in prison, he tried really hard to be a good dad, to be the dad he never had. And sometimes he succeeded.

I think the part that hurts is that this makes it official… that I’m no longer responsible for him. And somehow that feels like abandoning someone I loved for so long even when I wasn’t “in love.”

Let’s not dwell on the sadness.

I am happy that this super long chapter will be closing. I guess my empathy sometimes gets the best of me.

I’m happy that I will actually get to marry the man I am in love with and have been calling “husband” for the last 7 years and his mom will get to see her oldest (and now, only living) son get married.

So I guess the only thing left for me to do is to plan a wedding!!

Who’s coming??