Anatomy of a Divorce, installment three

When we last gathered for the writing/reading of this likely all too common story, I wove the tale of courtship. How, after three and half years of long distance relations, ______ and I had finally moved to Chicago together.

She was working in a shoe store, and I was driving two and a half hours each way, to my first private sector job out of the Marine Corps. As with most, our initial financial foundation was a bit shaky. Our only car was an '83 Mercury Grand Marquis that my father had finally got up and running after a friend of mine drove it through a shed in Nebraska, with me in the passenger seat. The apartment was somewhere in the neighborhood of 600 sq feet, and was within stone's throw of the Chicago El, blue line. I was making around 48K a year, and this seemed like a fortune, coming from the 12K a year I had been making as a corporal in the MC.

Still, it wasn't the oft blamed financial stress that slowly begin to develop tendrils of roots within the still hopeful relationship. In fact, the problems didn't develop with such patient speed. No, this was more like an avalanche.

This . . . woman, made it a constant point of mourning her presence in a new country, pined over the loss of proximity with her family (which you'll find later, to be a rather comical farce), withered under the apparent scorching ill mannered oppression of the very people of Chicago. Granted now, the people of Chicago are a rather pitiful lot. Inextricably trapped in the wake of New York as America's second city, their toil to prove themselves, generally takes on the overbearing tone of misplaced superiority, and a brusqueness of demeanor that lacks the style and class of a New Yorker. Nevertheless, welcome to the world dear, I'm sorry it's not as the picture books at art school have portrayed.

At this point, you may wonder what the draw to Chicago was in the first place. Well, this is where my naivety comes into play. Her dream was to obtain her Masters degree in art. The Chicago Art Institute was, I believe, her second choice (there's that "2nd" designation again . . . poor Chicagoans). Now, it hadn't occurred to me how much this institution was going to cost. I simply assumed that would have been one of the primary considerations she investigated when she was handed a map and told to pick our first city of residence. Such a basic, obvious oversight . . . again, another red flag for most men of wisdom. However, I was not such a man.

So it was, the Masters degree would have to wait. By this time, I had found a new job making about 60K, and only a five minute drive from home. This was the time in the technological world where a raise was a very simple matter of changing the logo on your business card.

Yet this place was different. This was a brick and mortar company, with the look, feel, and perks of a startup. Thus, not only was it a company staffed with energetic, vibrant talent that was treated like they were still in college (BBQs, beer after 4, parties at work, etc), this company had the revenue to afford it. I was thriving. This was my first true taste of success. I was valued, my opinion was a commodity, and I was about to be paid for it.

Now, before I launch into the psychotic ambush I was unknowingly plodding toward, I have to say that there was a great deal of good times being had. This was the first time either of us had ever been exposed to that elusive creature deemed "expendable income". There were many nights in expensive restaurants, many weekends spent sight seeing, and touring. This was when I finally had the money to buy a 55", rear projection T.V.. Of course, that turned out to be a rather ridiculous purchase, as the apartment was so small, we had no choice but to sit within five feet of it. This led to the realization that a good chiropractic plan may be a good investment to look into.

So, this was a time of great tumult, both good and bad. A time of wild experiences, a kind of grand, free-wheeling entry into the real world (at least for me, she either was, or was near 30 years old).

Then it happened. The "depression" that she had alluded to on many occasions, resurfaced like the great sea serpents of old, ready to swallow what truly was, the rickety wooden ship that was our relationship. A ship built on so many false impressions, that each one was like a ship's mast or main beam, quietly suffering from dry rot.

At the fairly inexperienced age of 22, I had never seen such a thing. Mood swings so severe I was left wondering if the El train had been rerouted through our living room (which it sounded like at times anyway, so the possibility was not out of reach). Fights and arguments that defied all logic and reasoning. Behavior that made very little sense. The only answer I could think of was . . . pyschiatric or psychological help. However, the very suggestion to her would only send us hurtling further into the abyss. I was suddenly left with the sick feeling that I had made a terrible, terrible mistake. However, I was left with little recourse. She would go on these bizarre suicidal rants that truly had me believing if I were to leave her, or even upset what was the status quo, she'd kill herself. Thus, I was stuck . . . with no compass, and no idea what to do.

She had mentioned wanting to have children. This seemed completely absurd, considering her condition. So I avoided the subject, rerouted the conversation, anything to avoid telling her that I thought she was basically . . . . out of her fucking mind to consider trying to raise a child with her apparent mental issues. Time marched on, the fights grew worse, sex was a memory. The suicidal tendencies grew stronger. I was lost. One day, by what reasoning I cannot now remember (and likely for my benefit, to preserve my opinion of myself), I lept aboard the happy train. "Let's have a baby".

It was as if the hand of God had parted the clouds, reached down, plucked this screeching, psychotic, ball of insanity from in front of me, and replaced her with my very dream. Our sex life went through the roof. The shadow of irrationality dissolved into the alley behind our apartment, and the sun was shining. I was amazed. I was so enraptured with this turnaround that I never once stopped to look back and analyze. I was just happy that the party was back on.

It didn't take long. I believe it took less than a month. The wonderful news was broken, and I had long forgotten the monster in the deep. However, things would slowly begin to slide, yet again. Almost immediately, sex ceased. This of course, brought behavioral changes in me as well. We were sliding once again . . . . . . . . . .