the beginning of the end

I can't say I've ever spent much time considering divorce or its effects on all parties involved in one. Yet, here I am, more than 12 years after committing my life to the man I thought was Mr. Right, in the midst of my own personal hell. Divorce.

The beginning of the end wasn't just yesterday. In fact, the beginning of the end probably was around the time we got married. There are all the "signs". You know the signs. The things that Cosmo might have a quiz for to determine, "Will Your Relationship Last?", "Is He The One For You?", "Do You Have the Right Chemistry?" I had about as much sense as someone who puts any sort of trust in a quiz in Cosmo, so maybe this serves me right.

I wanted to be married. I'd been engaged before. Twice, to be more precise, and I was positive that my true source of happiness in life was that perfect man who'd encircle my left ring finger in diamonds and make lofty promises that he may or may not be able to keep.

I had no idea about marriage. In retrospect, I think this was bound to happen. My marital models turned out to be people whose marriages happen to look a lot like the one I'm in the midst of dissolving. Oh sure, theirs are "working" in the sense that they're still together. But in my newly found perspective, there's a huge chasm between being together and actually making things work.

And if I sound bitter, well, that's due to my lack of formal acting training. I cannot act well enough to overcome the anger, sadness, and looming depression that I fear will one day completely engulf me. I don't know how people step out of this unscathed. Actually, I know that they can't possibly be untouched by this, but I'm hoping that there is a point where happiness comes again. Joy outshines the dark and dreary, and getting up in the morning doesn't feel like an impossbile feat of strength.