The actual end of my marriage came exactly one year later on the 9/11. We had been married one year. One long year. I was working full time for a very busy cardiology practice and going to school full time at night. I barely had time to breathe. I would drop my kids off at school in the morning, and they would head to after care in the evening, either myself or my husband would pick them up. He worked full time as a chef during the day and some evenings. I would head off to school once they were either settled with him or my mother who lived down the street. It was grueling. It wasn’t that our marriage was bad, it just wasn’t much of a marriage. We hardly saw each other. We tried to have “date night” on Friday’s. We both still loved to dance and would go to the club we met at, to see our adopted family. My husband was adopted from an orphanage in South Korea, he had tuberculosis when he was there which caused him to lose part of a lung and the hearing in his right ear. I always hated cigarettes and one night at the club caught him smoking. I was livid. How does a man with ONE LUNG justify smoking? I didn’t want to schlep around an oxygen tank when he got older. He would go up to the DJ booth to visit his friend and sneak cigarettes so I wouldn’t catch him, then go into the men’s restroom and get big red gum. It irritated me so much. He was also doing GHB which I found out a little later in our marriage and sometimes coke. I had never touched drugs. I was terrified of them. I remember friends rolling joints and passing them in high school and I would take it from their hands and pass it directly to the next person. I think I only drank once before I was legally allowed to. By no means was I a goody-two-shoes but I had read some Sweet Valley High books in middle school and with all that I was going through between the abuse and the eating disorder I knew that with my luck, the first time I tried a drug, it would be laced with something and I would end up dead. I also knew that that is exactly what my family would say about my behavior, “oh it must have been the drugs” as if I was strung out on them for years. It would be their excuse for the direction of my life and I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of placing responsibility on a SUBSTANCE. So our marriage was pretty bland, we didn’t really see each other and it was strained from the start due to the events both at the wedding and leading up to the wedding. And then 9/11 happened. Like everyone else I can remember exactly where I was and what I was doing. His entire family was in New York and his father was a firefighter along with the majority of his friends. It was devastating. I remember the schools calling us and telling us to come get our children. I remember the fear that everyone felt, like a thick blanket, smothering and all encompassing. I remember calling my husband at work and him trying to reach his family and being unable to do so because of the phone traffic. I remember that my college was the ONLY school to remain open and that I had finals that night. I remember being angry that I had to go in or my entire semester would be for nothing. I was lucky, when I got there everyone was just as pissed off and distraught as I was and my professor allowed us to write our names on a piece of paper and turn it in for a grade. We were then permitted to leave. This event sealed mine and my husband’s fate. His family wanted him to move home, to be closer to them after that and I don’t blame them at all. But I couldn’t leave Florida, not after all I had been through to secure a career, a home, and my education. I wasn’t going to uproot my life ever again for a man, regardless of the reason. So we decided to end things. It was a painful separation. We both knew we should have never married to begin with. I had a hard time excepting that I had made yet another poor choice in my life. I was angry for not being strong enough to not agree to the marriage to begin with. I vowed from that point forward that I would only do things I wanted to do and not get pulled onto the train without first finding out the destination.
Published by christiepage "pando pandemonium"
Confessions of a mad mind~ Author of A Practical Guide to Forgiveness from an Impractical Survivor, Oh Go Fix Yourself and She was the Stuff of Stars, Christie Page was born in Falmouth, Massachusetts. She lived in the Nobska Point Lighthouse with her mother and father who were stationed there as a result of his service in the Coast Guard. Shortly after the family made their way to West Palm Beach, Florida where she grew up continuing her love affair with the ocean. She has two children Joshua 26 and Laura 24 and currently resides in South Florida. In 2015 Christie left her twenty year medical career to pursue her passion for writing full time and has been featured in the world’s largest mindful living publications including Chicken Soup for the Soul, elephant journal, Sivana East, Thirty on Tap and The Urban Howl. She was also a feature columnist for Controlled Chaos magazine. An active yogi, hoop dancing enthusiast and self-proclaimed whiskey chick, she is a third generation breast cancer survivor, recovering anorexic/bulimic and is on life six or seven of her nine lives. She has been homeless and sheltered, rich and poor, loved and hated and believes her experiences have lead her down a path of spiritual exploration and awakenings. Christie wishes to share her journey with others in an attempt to come to peace. She writes to clear space from the rolodex that is her muddled mind. Christie View all posts by christiepage "pando pandemonium"