How's that whole marriage thing?

Oh marriage, marriage, marriage.  What to say about this whole concept.  The other day Rebeca and I made 2 years legally wed. Or as she said, “2 years of wedded bliss”. Ha. Either she’s been absent for the last couple years, or so, of our relationship, or she’s in deep deep deep denial. Deep.

I feel robbed when people ask how long we’ve been married.  When I say 2 years, I’m not getting the credit for the 15 years before we said, “I do”. We ain’t no newlyweds for sure.  We were already hardcore into the depths of couple-hood and the chaos of it as well.  We had experienced the wonderful, the not so wonderful and the downright fucked up.  We were seasoned when we decided to make it legal, and honestly weren’t bright eyed about it at all.  It seemed like it ended up being another box to check in our lives. 

So romantic.

Because of this post I went down the rabbit hole of my blog.  I read the entire thing.  Laughed at some memories and winced at others.  I felt a little more loving toward her, but also saw the dysfunction that has brought us to the present day.  We have always been shitty fighters and only in the last year or so have I changed how I approach and talk to her.  It took a while. 

I share an office with a woman who has been married for 13 years.  They have two little boys and she’s one of those whose husband does way less than he should.  She comes into work often and just says, “Divorce!!”. We laugh and talk about how marriage is overrated and too much work if only one person is doing the work.  She talks about how she’s drawn up the papers before and just left it passive-aggressively on her computer where he might find it.  I talk about how I looked at the prices of apartments.  We both sigh and know that neither one of us will take that next step. 

Why?

Because, as she puts it, “He knows how I like my coffee.”

I get it. 

Not taking into account the trauma on our kids or the upheaval a divorce would cause, I stay because for about 95% of the time, I like Rebeca.  Like genuinely like and want to be around. It’s that 5% that fucks with my goddamn soul. Because when it’s bad, it’s horrible. It’s also that 5% that I know is not truly her.  It’s the mother fucking anxiety and depression.   

*insidemybrainatanygivenmoment* I don’t want to damage my kids. I can’t afford to be uncoupled. Divorce seems like a lot of work. I don’t want her to be stressed. I’m worried about how she’ll handle life. I don’t want to have to tell my mother and her be secretly pleased about it. I don’t want to be a statistic. I don’t think I have a really concrete reason to leave. I love the shit out of her. Life without her wouldn’t make sense. I love our little family. She loves me entirely and still believes that we’re in it for the long haul. I believe that working through shit is a possibility. I hold on to hope that things will get better. I see small changes in her that give me this hope.  I don’t want to be the old lecherous lesbian at the bar hitting on millennials and getting laughed at.  Seriously, no one wants that.  

Ugh.

Who knew relationships were this much work? I get drained even thinking about it. So I try not to, and just float through my day until I get into bed.

Are you kidding? It’s on my mind always.

What’s the resolution? I have no idea. Just keep working on what I can control. Keep hoping that she’ll do her Work.

And keep believing in the good that we have.  She knows how I like my coffee.