An Early Marriage. A Messy Divorce

I was married very young. In my teens, in fact.

She was pretty. Still is. But I never even liked her very much. She was and still is,  selfish, vain and demanding. What really swamped my own better judgement was that she  could really tart herself up to look absolutely ravishing in some lights; and she knew how to thrill me.

With my twenties looming I was terrified of being alone, so we tied the not.

There was no love on my part, only lust. And the ecstasy she could give really only addled my adolescent brain

It has been over forty years. And she is as gorgeous as ever.  . . . .

But then came the endless demands and the resulting endless guilt.

We cut a fine appearance as a couple. My dinner suit, which she soon demanded I wear every time we went out, set her off with an air or studied and refined elegance.

And she gave me the air of the young master. It looked to all and sundry as if the world were at our feet

We achieved the praise of many, but I soon learned that I was not respected for myself, only for being her husband. Of course I bitterly resented it. She  of course  regarded it as no more than her due, and I was churlish not to give it to her. As a matter of course.  Of course

The demands never ceased. She insisted on day and night attention. again as her due. Had I given her her  way on this I would never have had any friends other than those few in the same predicament as me, and would never have even gone out except that she required it. So, no, I did manage to stand up for myself to some extent. But the constant nagging and the endless guilt was never going to end.

It was all too much.

It was endless work, or should have been, with her as my goddess. But I was no longer a teen and worshiping such was no longer to my taste.

But still she could give me thrills, from time to time, however with ever decreasing frequency. It would be crass to call such sex but it was definitely analogous.

We separated just on eleven years ago.

But now I can only hate her all the more, for though separated we are not truly divorced for I am having difficulty letting  her go. I kept hovering around our mutual haunts, and kept seeing  those friends of us both. I even kept talking of returning to her. And these people were delighted to hear this for they only saw the appearance, what a fine couple we made, we belonged to each other. They only smiled indulgently when I spoke of the abuse the nagging and the guilt. We were too good together for this to be anything other than a talk of a depressed person. They thought, if they did not say, that I was mentally ill. Or they said that she was so stunning - were their marriages as bad as mine?  that any price was worth it. Anyone who appreciated her would put up and pay up . . .

But my heart was and still is in agony.

I gave up the token of my servitude some three years. ago. It got destroyed while in transit to the dealer who was to sell it. This was an exquisite irony, a blessing in fact. Even, I would go so far as to say, a sign.

The thing is the pain is not over. This is not because we belong together. There is enough objective evidence that this is not the case. But I am dogged by the conviction, nagging and guilt empowered, that we do belong together. After all we did make some wonderful music together. . . . . .

So my orbit, so to speak,  around her and her domain has not ceased even though it is now broader than it was and so much slower -  more like Pluto's orbit about the sun rather than Mercury's.

I need a true divorce, to let this go completely, and stop hanging around, to stop clinging to the empty husk of a dead relationship. . No it is not stalking. And I will tell you why.

Who is this woman who obsesses me so much?

It is no woman. I have more respect for women than that

This was the music profession, or music for short.

The token of my servitude was not a wedding ring but my musical instrument, my double bass, destroyed in transit to the dealer who was going to sell it some three years ago

For so it is, as I wrote here before, that if one is to serve music, which is no less than what being a professional demands  - to marry it so to speak - one is either crazy or adores her totally. Being neither, or rather recovering from the craziness that kept me a musician for so long after knowing it was all in vain. I know clearly that  I am not suited to being a musician of any kind.

Yet dogged by guilt engendered by the high praise of my former colleagues, some of whom still want me back even after all these years, the pain continues. But the objective evidence, namely  - not the performances they heard -  but the total lack of dedication to the trade as shown by my refusal to do any private practice, this speaks for itself, though they of course never saw this.

The Lord has granted me liberty to do my own heart on this matter, which is to reject the music trade, and that includes amateur playing for the very word amateur means a lover of something, something I never was, forever.

And when I realize that I viewed the entire living of life as analogous to my being a musician, namely guilt driven brute force against my own heart - what they falsely call discipline - and when I  repudiate this, I shall be free

Free indeed, as the Son of God promises me