Married Too Young

As I mentioned in a previous post, I endured rocky relationships as a teen. I think I stayed in those relationships because it was better than being alone; a bad relationship was better than no relationship. By mid-November 1991, my relationship had become more abusive, and I suspected that my boyfriend was cheating on me. When he broke up with me just before my birthday, I was broken in heart, mind, and spirit.

Moving On

A couple of weeks later, I met someone. Five years older than me, “Dan” seemed more mature than the guys I knew. His quick smile and easy laughter were in stark contrast to the dark and moody young man I’d spent the last several months dating. We spent as much time together as we could between my senior year schedule and my job.

Two weeks after we met, he proposed to me. I know now that’s not enough time to know each other well enough to get engaged, but I was eighteen, and we were in love. When we got engaged, my stepfather Tim said we should go ahead and move in together since I was never home anyway. Surprised Mother would go along with that suggestion, I moved in with Dan about three months after we met, glad to get away from the tension at home with Tim. I didn’t realize it then, but I just wanted an escape.

In 1992, I graduated high school in May and married Dan in August. We had a good time together, but it soon became apparent that he had a hard time holding a job, even though he now had a wife to support. His specialized skills limited his options for work, and many times he didn’t bother. Frustrated, I nagged him about working or finding a job. Here I was, five years younger, working the same job for two years. 

By December, I’d had enough. Just before Christmas, Mother came and helped me pack to move back home. While she hoped we could work things out, she didn’t suggest we seek counseling or offer any advice really. Of course, I’m sure she knew once I’d made up my mind about something, not much would change it.

I rented a duplex next door to a co-worker and started life on my own. I never saw Dan, and he didn’t try to reconcile with me. We went our separate ways; he filed for divorce so I wouldn’t have to. Almost exactly eleven months after we married, our divorce became final.

Bad Choices

Within two months, I made a new friend, Amber, who introduced me to her brother David. In February 1993, we went on our first date — a Def Leppard concert. David’s sense of humor won me over, and we started dating. We spent time alone together, but we also spent time with his family. Things got fairly serious between us, and we talked about marriage, but I didn’t want to make the same mistake that I was still trying to get through. When David started talking about joining the Air Force, I knew we couldn’t stay together. He wanted to travel the world, and I never wanted to leave Texas. So, I broke up with him… just before his senior prom. I’ll admit, I acted like a real b*tch; I wouldn’t answer his calls, and I barely answered the door when he came to my house.

I started going to bars, drinking under age, bringing guys home. I spiraled more out of control than ever. I felt worthless and like no one really cared about me. The next three years passed in a blur. I had relationships with all kinds of men — older men, young men, married and single men — long and short relationships, one-night stands. One night, my date assaulted me, and, when I woke up the next morning, something had shifted. I didn’t want this anymore.

I can’t say I sat down and evaluated how I was spending my life, but something definitely changed in me.

New Beginnings Far Away

In August 1996, Amber called me out of the blue; she was in town and wanted to see me. While we talked, she mentioned that I should talk to David because he’d been a good friend to me when we were together. I told her she could give him my number and, if he wanted to call me, he could. Two weeks passed before David called. When he did, we talked for hours, long distance. We ran up huge phone bills (this was before everyone had a mobile phone) and decided to meet in October when he went to training.

I flew to Little Rock, Arkansas, to see David for the weekend. When he picked me up at the airport, the three years since our breakup seemed to just fall away. We laughed and talked as though we’d never been apart. We hoped we’d be able to continue our relationship despite living fifteen hundred miles apart.

By January 1997, David and I decided I should move to North Carolina to be with him. I packed up my belongings, said goodbye to my family, and we hit the road. At the Louisiana border, excitement to start a life with David swirled with sadness to leave my family, and I thought my heart would break. David thought he would have to turn around and take me back home, but we pressed on and began to build a life together.

July 26, 1997, David and I married in Colorado Springs, Colorado, with less than ten people in attendance. In November, we moved from North Carolina to New Mexico, and I began to discover wherever David went is where I belonged. There was more to see than West Texas. Twenty-three years, including six moves and travel abroad, has confirmed that I made the best decision for me. Leaving Texas prompted me to realize there might be more to me than who I’d been.

I have censored curse words for your comfort and mine. Pseudo-names used to protect privacy.