Unhappy Anniversary, it's ten tears since we met
There is no need to remind me, no way I could forget
We fell in love and then fell out
Both times there was no net
Unhappy Anniversary, it's ten years since we met...
The lyrics are by Loudon Wainwright III, and they describe so accurately the regret and sorrow that lingers for so long when a relationship ends. I'm posting them because it is, in fact, ten years since we met--ten years ago today that I met Sue Ellen, my ex wife.
I can't improve upon Wainwright's lyrics, so I won't try. I'll only fill in some details, and add a few asides.
Unhappy anniversary, I cannot count the days
And nights I have thought of you since we went separate ways
My mind says to forget you
But my heart disobeys
Unhappy anniversary, I cannot count the days...
Was it cold that day, as the overcast sky darkened to night? It must not have been, since we marked time by wandering endlessly through the ped mall, making small talk that gradually deepened. She offered her hand and I flinched, surprised by the gesture. I took it, finally, and didn't want to let go. Ever.
Time passed, the relationship evolved. Quickly. Soon we were living together, soon we were married. Problems appeared and were dealt with, or ignored, in the hopes they would go away. Instead, they lay dormant, waiting for the worst possible time to reassert themselves.
We both had issues. This was all new to me, I'd never been in love, and I wanted the highs to never end, and every fight, every conflict, felt like it could be the last, like my whole world would end literally over spilled milk. I was confused a lot, and the confusion led to anger, crazy, uncontrollable anger. She was bipolar, only she hadn't been diagnosed yet, and wouldn't be until after we'd split. She acknowledged she had problems, but never wanted to admit they ran as deeply as they did. She said I was trying to convince her she was crazy, and i knew with all my heart I only wanted her to feel better. Even in that, though, I was selfish--I wanted her to be better, so I could feel better.
Most days were good, but the bad ones tended to skew the curve. If you asked Sue Ellen, she'd probably tell you I was unhappy more often than I actually was. But I was anxious a lot, and so was she. Our anxieties only occasionally had to do with each other, but our emotions were so on the surface, so operatic, that we only fed each other, pulled the other into our own private drama, writ large and without subtleties. When we'd fight, it was suddenly an Edward Albee play. And when we were happy, it was like a Gen X sitcom, all random pop culture references and snappy one-liners.
Something happened. I never quite knew what. She accepted a job offer in DC, moving us halfway across the country without even asking me first. But I followed her like an eager puppy, and adjusted to my new life. Her mind was somewhere else, and perhaps her heart as well. The marriage was over, I just didn't realize it yet. I spent more time hanging out with the cat than I did with her. Scotchie was a great cat, so I didn't mind. Much.
Then, it ended for real. I wound up back in the midwest, she stayed in DC. It took me forever to file for divorce, perhaps in the hope that as long as we were still technically married, there was some hope for reconciliation. Or maybe it simply meant, as the string of girls I dated suggested, I needed a distancing device, something to keep me from getting too close to anyone else, no subsequent relationship could move forward until I divorced...and none of those relationships ever did move forward.
Sue Ellen and I spent five years together, and it's been five years apart. Later this year, we'll have been split longer than we were together. She and I have both moved on. She's getting married this May, I'm apartment hunting with Tabbatha.
Tabbatha, of course, represents a whole new stage of my life. She's got a kid, and that's new to me, and it's a big adjustment I'll have to make. Ten years ago, I couldn't have done that. Now, I believe I can. There's no point in saying my relationship with Tabbatha is deeper or better than my relationship with Sue Ellen. It's just different--everything about it.
But I wouldn't be here, be ready to handle this new chapter, without the life I had before. All the times, and there were many, when I told Sue Ellen I would love her forever, I wasn't lying. Love simply evolved, is all, from romance to friendship. Long distance friendship.
And I'm in a better place now, a place where I no longer suffer the pain Loudon Wainwright described. Most days, at least, I don't.
Unhappy anniversary, it's one year since we split
I walk and talk and get around, lie down, stand up and sit
I eat and drink and smoke and sing
And live a little bit
Unhappy anniversary, it's one year since we split
