Was marrying a man named Dick. Not because his name was Dick, because it wasn’t – he just was one. He was an epic Dick. Within the first three months of our marriage (not really, but legally) he’d had me arrested twice! Now, in my defense – I’d never spent a sober day around this man – not one. And he knew I drank long before we took the plunge of vows. Frankly, I think he too would have tossed back more on a regular basis had he not been a diabetic. But – – – on with my post.
Granted, we both got drunk the morning of the ceremony. And granted – all we ever really had in common was the physical attraction we shared for each other, but Lord-a-mighty was he a narcissistic nightmare. I didn’t really understand the definition of narcissism until I knew him. He may very well have come to similar unsatisfactory conclusions about me, but HEY! He’s 11 years older than me. Isn’t he supposed to – like – know more and be a better person due to his time on the planet or something?
Apparently not. Apparently age is not the bar by which life imposes wisdom and other groovy stuff upon us. Who knew?
Well, needless to say, we’re divorced now. Our bad joke lasted for about 18 months. What did I learn? That I have a looooonnngggg way to go before I can ever trust myself to trust another man. But I’ve only been sober for just over six months and I realize that my brain is only now finding equilibrium. Water does seek it’s own level and my brain sloshed about in the alcoholic juices inside my skull for quite some time.
Perhaps my perception of men and relationships will improve the further I push myself – gently – over time- to trust again.