Brain injuries

Yesterday was couples with the hubby. Big sigh. On Sunday I decided to give back my rings. I was tired to pretending. Tired of people telling us, “You’re such a cute couple” and other sundry comments like, “I hope our wedding is as beautiful as yours was. It was the most amazing experience to go to wedding and know the couple would make.” Sure, come over for a dinner party. It’ll be fantastic. Wine, food I’ve never made before, in my charming and quirky house full of artistic photographs of the hubby and I.

I just couldn’t take it. We’re NOT a couple. Couples kiss, couples hold hands, and couples fuck. We do nothing of the sort. Yea, we’re cute. Bite me. Go sit next to your best-looking friend for a while, and see if anyone says that to you.

After deciding it would never work, at least not this way, we head off to see Miss Suzanna. I explain the situation at hand. I am giving up the ghost, the house, the big ass ring, the over produced pictures were we look like models of the perfect couple. Amazing what three grand on a photographer can do.

Suzanna’s analogy? She has a brain injury. What? Here’s how that breaks down. “When she was traumatized, she locked her thinking into a distinct pattern”. Ok part one, maybe I agree. After the incident, maybe I did feel like I was worthless and would never fit into some mainstream idea of marriage, stereotypes of what women “should be” and the like. Maybe there is nothing wrong with not believing in fairytales after your get raped over and over again. Fine, she can have point one.

“In order to break her of that pattern, she has to feel as if she is free and released from the pressure of trying to make this work”. Point number two, I completely agree. Isn’t that what divorce is all about? Then the woman suggests that I wait a month!! A month?? I waited over a year to make this decision, why wait a month. Then the angel on my shoulder says, “What’s another month”. Repeat after me class, “I WOULD BE LYING FOR ANOTHER MONTH!”

So here I am. Feeling like the problem is all me again. That I am the fucked up one. That if I just didn’t have that brain injury maybe I could have the perfect man, the perfect job, the perfect kids, and on and on.

I’m buying the first ticket to nowhere.