Let's just say my adult dating life started with a bang and a whole lot of drama. I'm skipping the high school years—they were a blur of cheap beer and even cheaper relationships.
My story really begins at 19, when I met Destiny, a shy, beautiful girl in my college friend group in Louisiana. She was taken at the time, but as the semester wore on, we became good friends, and she slowly started to open up.
Our connection deepened when my mom was diagnosed with cancer. I drove my rickety 1986 Ford Escort all the way from Louisiana back to Michigan to be with her. Destiny and I kept in touch the old-fashioned way: late-night phone calls and endless AOL Instant Messenger chats (remember when those prickscharged by the hour?). She told me about her overbearing mom and distant dad, and we started to fall for each other. Six months later, I took a Greyhound bus to New Orleans to meet her family.
The Proposal
This is where things get interesting. Her parents, upper-class Southern Baptists, took one look at me and my Michigan roots and saw a "Yankee" out to corrupt their daughter. And, to be fair, they weren't entirely wrong.
Despite their disapproval, every night we'd sneak around, whispering "I love you" and making out on the couch. It was quick, but someone loved me and seemed to mean it. When I headed back home, we were all in.
Over the next six months, I saved every penny to make the 14-hour drive to see her once a month. One night, while on vacation in Florida, we were walking on the beach. I pulled out a $400 ring I bought with my only credit card and asked her to marry me. I was 20, she was 19.
She said yes, and her parents were livid. Her mom’s reaction? “This is all like a bad dream.” (Donna, you were so right...)
The Marriage
The next year was a whirlwind of planning a wedding that no one was thrilled about. As a bank cashier living paycheck to paycheck, I was starting to realize I couldn't even support myself, let alone a wife.
We were married in Florida. I smiled a lot, but inside, I was terrified. As I looked at the ring on my finger, a single thought ran through my mind: "Forever... that seems like a long time." Our honeymoon in Palm Springs was a bust—we spent the whole time fighting about money and not having sex.
We moved into a trailer with a 110-pound Labrador and realized we had no idea how to be a married couple. We were two kids who couldn't communicate and barely knew ourselves. Things only got worse as the shy girl I met returned. I later learned her mom had made every decision for her, leaving her with no sense of self.
Meanwhile, my single friends were living it up, and I was stuck at home with a wife who wouldn’t talk to me, a dog we didn’t want, in a trailer we couldn’t afford. What I didn’t know was my wife was secretly racking up major credit card debt behind my back.
The End
Our communication problems escalated, and we became two roommates living separate lives. We rarely had sex and only spoke when necessary. We were both miserable, but I didn't know how to end it, and she wouldn't admit it.
In a move that perfectly sums up our communication issues, her mom called me one day to say Destiny was worried about the debt. She suggested we file for bankruptcy, saying it wouldn't hurt us much because we were young. My wife agreed, and we went through with it. That night, lying in bed, I had one clear thought: This is the rest of your life.
The following May, Destiny went to visit her mom and didn't call me once. When I picked her up at the airport, she delivered the final blow: “My mom and I decided we need a divorce. She’ll be here Tuesday to move me home.” Her dad offered to spare me the cost of a lawyer if I signed the uncontested divorce papers. I didn’t care.
I stayed with friends until they were gone. When I walked back into the trailer, it was empty. They took everything—dishes, chairs, my computer, and even the plastic shower liner. The place was a shell. I sat on the bare mattress, divorced, bankrupt, and completely alone.
It was May 24th...my 25th birthday.
