Magical

Our anniversary was yesterday! Best anniversary so far, here on the beautiful Gulf. Here’s a repost of a previous article.


Here’s our wedding video! No one has seen this before except for my mom. I think. Plus, a journal entry that I wrote a coupla years ago about our marriage.

WATCH!WATCH!WATCH! Wedding of Guy C. Maggio and Martha C. King

January 1, 1999. I am sitting on a bench outside Bally Casino’s Celebration Wedding Chapel in Las Vegas, NV. We just rode the monorail over to Bally’s from MGM Grand (where we’re staying) and proceeded to pump $120 into a slot machine to be rewarded by $100 payout of quarters. $20 for an hour’s worth of fun. That is Vegas; bright lights and manufactured fun, where paying a slot machine for your brief entertainment is completely logical and intentional. I don’t mind because the excitement and experience is welcome. This time is about fun. Or at least the appearance of fun. I’m 25 and have left the state of Missouri only a handful of times.
Guy and I are dressed in our wedding clothes and patiently waiting to be married. The entrance to the chapel looks like any storefront at any mall. We could just as well be
at a Gap. And I love that. What appear to be teenagers walk by and point and smile.
Are they getting married?
Aw.
That’s so cool.
Guy and I look at each other and laugh. We ARE getting married. We must be eager because we arrived at the chapel over an hour early. We didn’t want to be late. We flew from KC, stayed up most of the night and primped for hours to be ready for this special moment.
We are alone. No relatives, no photographers, no wedding planners, just us two. We both accept that our lives will be dedicated to each other, not to 200 onlookers and well-wishers. Our marriage will be the two of us relying on each other, so our ceremony should reflect that. Also, my mother was not getting on a plane and we couldn’t afford to fly our friends to Vegas.
Vegas was a grand adventure as we hoped our marriage would be. They are ready for us. I think we have a short rehearsal and explanation of the ceremony, but I honestly
don’t remember. I am whisked away to a small room with a large mirror. It could be the backstage lighted mirrored make-up table in any theatre. And I love that.
I was given my bouquet and briefed on my entrance. I sat for a few moments trying to focus on the reason for all the preparation, but my efforts to center myself were elusive. I want to cry, I’m overwhelmed by emotion, but I do not want to mess up my makeup! At best, I can simply enjoy what is happening to me and remember, I love this man.
They come for me, tell me everything is ready and I follow their directions. I am walking down the aisle. They are taking pictures. They are filming. I am smiling. I am following my Guy. If I could run gracefully, I would, right down to the alter and spike the bouquet! I take my place and brace for the fun.
Our minister surprises me. He is well-spoken, gentle, meaningful, but quick. He talks about values and ideals of marriage and reminds me of the commitment I am making. He speaks generically about love and commitment, but even 15 years later the words ring true and his voice renews our vows as I hear it again on tape. God knew what we needed to hear and knew what we were promising to each other, even if we didn’t fully understand ourselves. Guy sweetly and eloquently makes his vow and I sniffle and whimper mine to him. I mean, seriously, I shoulda brought a hankie. What was I thinking.
We pray together. For the first time. Then it’s over. So fast. Kisses. Pictures. Exit stage left.
I am happy, but I am completely terrified. We ride the blinding-white monorail back to MGM and we are quiet. I have a fistful of flowers and I’m dressed in a smart-white suit. I try not to make eye contact with other passengers. I don’t want the attention of inquisitive ride-sharers. We should have taken a taxi perhaps.
We make it back to MGM without many questions and we race up to our suite. This is the time of my life and I hope that I have made it through the tragic parts of my childhood. I hope that this is my magical ending. But it’s only the beginning.
15 ( 19 now! 😀 ) years of marriage to the only person I have ever loved. It has not been magical, it has been rough. Mainly because I am a demanding neurotic with deep vulnerability coupled with a terribly wounded pride and ego and the fragility of a snowflake. I have just been recently diagnosed with PTSD. I’ve been sick the last 10 years. I should say it has been magical though.
I was anticipating a romp through the magical forest of love on fat horses with flowery braided tails. But what I am given, what I so undeservedly receive, is the magic of love to bind my wounds, heal past hurts and strengthen my weaknesses. To love through the worst and hope for the best. Real, mature love that lasts for a lifetime. Love on an epic scale. Love that conquers all, including my insurmountable pride. Love that wipes the sweaty brow of insecurity and illness and makes everything all right.
And I love that!
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More than Gold

When I got married,
I had a tiny ring.
It didn’t cost much,
$40. But here’s the thing–

Marriage is about
More than just some gold.
It’s being soft and kind.
It’s being brave and bold.

It’s more than being in love
Or nonstop, passionate embrace.
It’s watching someone fall
And being their graceful landing place.

It’s finally growing up.
It’s eventually calming down.
It’s renewing faith and spark.
It’s finding common ground.

Marriage isn’t jewelry,
Veil, bouquet and dress.
Marriage isn’t a wedding;
It’s an entire life of yes.

Did I mind my tiny token?
I certainly did not.
I loved my beautiful ring.
I was happy with what I got.

I didn’t need a precious stone
To remind me of what I had.
The precious person I had mined?
For that I could be glad.

A piece of jewelry doesn’t bring joy.
Peace isn’t bought with bling.
If you have a love at all,
You really don’t need a ring.

One day we had enough
To decorate my left hand.
But I simply chose
To reset my cherished band.

I waited for 24-karat gold.
I waited for lumps of coal.
I waited for heart-shaped rubies,
But I had treasure in my soul.

I couldn’t do half
Of what we do united.
The sum of our parts
Can never be divided.

I never needed a ring,
I never needed this.
But I’m so thankful
To be adorned in wedded bliss.

 

Making People

Each of these people
Were made by two parents.
Molded and shaped
By opinions, thoughts and variants.

These two people
Made four more humans.
They didn’t do it perfectly.
In fact, our family’s in ruins.

Their legacy was not premeditated.
Their good intentions paved the way,
To Hell and back and there again–
Four lanes without delay.

This kiss and marriage caught some place
Between Heaven and Hell.
A dark, rock-hard place between their love
Is where my childhood fell.

Like a photograph that floats down
Behind a dresser, trapped by wall.
Forgotten with time, buried by dust.
Neglected, unseen by all.

But.

Their love made me.
Shouldn’t I be thankful for this?
I couldn’t think of something more lovely
Than a passionate wedding kiss.

Thankful to be here. No matter what.

Can you believe we might get divorced?

I’m about to reveal the most personal aspect of my life. Something I have never really written about in full detail before. This could end my marriage. But I’m hoping to save it. I’m risking everything by even publishing this. I’m writing this for other people who might be struggling in the same situation and feeling hopeless. And to end my own secrets. At least I’ll be accountable to someone. Secrets make you sick.

NOTE: I have written this with the full permission of my husband and he has read this post before publishing. Except I just added this bit, so Dear, can you approve this small note. Everything in red. Thanks. Let me know! 😉

My marriage is in trouble. It has been for some time. I have fought every month, or nearly every month with my spouse for over 18 years. That would be approximately 216 fights. But I know it’s more than that. I know it’s more because sometimes those fights can be every night for 3 or 4 days. So let’s agree, it’s over 200. Fair?

Boy, we are good at fighting. We’ve had a lot of practice. We say all the hurtful things, we push all the right buttons and we bring all the dirty laundry to the table. No stone unturned. Fighting is not something to take pride in or be good at, but if there was an Olympic sport of adult pair arguments, we would take the gold every time. No contest. And I wish I could say that my daughter, Lilli, never has to witness our Olympic-sized battle of the cray. I wish I could say that.

Also, I should add that at the last church we attended, the couples counseling life group that we were involved with, the leader told us this after the course ended. “Boy, I thought for sure you all were getting divorced! I didn’t think you’d make it!” Uh…WTF???! Thanks? And peace be with you also??

Most of the time the fights are about the least significant things in the world! We rarely fight about politics or religion. We mostly argue about who left the toothpaste in the wrong spot or who failed to take out the trash or who said the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong person. Most of the time, it’s me criticizing my husband about some failure on his part. But lately, my husband has grown belligerent. He has threatened divorce more than 3 times in the last year. He says hurtful things that are extreme and unbelievable. He has become extraordinarily intolerant. He has exited a moving car to get away from me and almost hurt himself. Our relationship has grown toxic.

Also, he has recently been diagnosed with adult onset ADHD and most likely has issues stemming from past abuse. He is easily triggered and quick to anger. But, so am I. He has impulse control problems and we are both very unhealthy. We are both obese and in poor health.

I don’t say these things to embarrass him or impugn his good standing with anyone. He doesn’t really have any friends to reveal this to. He can be very reclusive. I don’t even say these things to hurt him. I say these things because they are true and necessary to understand the extent of how desperate our marriage is.

I should say now how important my marriage is to me. My husband is more important to me than my own life. I would do anything for this man. This man is more important to me than my own safety, sanity or sanctity of self. I’ve come to realize that. I am willing to humiliate myself and beg for him to stay, even in the shadow of this threat to divorce.

I should also say that I believe divorce is wrong, but I know about half of people do it. Sometimes it’s necessary. Some people are physically abused or find their spouse has betrayed them with another person. But neither of these things are true of our marriage currently. My husband has pushed me before and injured me. In the past. To be fair, I have physically blocked him from leaving our home. In the past. My husband has downloaded a photo before of another woman and saved that picture to our shared computer for whatever purpose. You tell me why a guy does that? It was an ex-girlfriend. I felt betrayed because I would never do that to him. He also used to, like many men, have an addiction to porn. He still may, you’d have to ask him. I don’t think so. But I don’t believe my husband has ever, ever been with someone else or even tried. Not to hurt his feelings, but I think he would freely admit that neither one of us is in danger of being tempted by others or lured away. We’re not exactly Brad and Angelina. Oh, they’re getting divorced, too. Oh. Further proof, nobody’s perfect.

Anyway, the whole point is this, my husband still wants a divorce. Because we fight too much. He said, yesterday, “I don’t love you any more.”

Deep breath. That hurts.

Yesterday, we had a HUGE fight! I should say before I say anything else: I have had 2 major surgeries in the last month, I am just now recovering from gallbladder surgery from 1 week ago, I am currently detoxing from oxycodone, I am PMS-ing, I can only have Tylenol and I was just diagnosed 2 weeks ago with complex PTSD (which I have received no treatment for, as of yet). That said, we had a ginormous fight mostly because I was triggered by something he said.

Some background. The last month has been a living hell. I had to argue with surgeons and doctors and ER techs about whether or not my gallbladder was failing and whether or not to take it out, IF they would perform the surgery, who would perform the surgery and how to treat my pain in the meantime. BTW, my gallbladder was failing and did need to come out. It was full of stones and I found out yesterday that the pathology did confirm that it needed to be removed! This has simply been the WORST pain I’ve ever had and I’ve been unable to eat for weeks with horrible nausea. I’m better now, but it’s been bad.

I have a problem with oxy and pills and one of the doctors actually prescribed more oxy and on top of that, an anxiety med because I guess I seemed hysterical that they wouldn’t take out my GB. Not actually treat my condition, but give me more pills. That made me angry and I felt completely powerless. Let me just add also, the anxiety med did nothing but put me to sleep.

So, the fight. This morning I was still detoxing from my oxy addiction, takes about a week (anyone can become addicted to oxy within a few weeks, I was on it for almost a month). AND, I was feeling anxious (symptom), tired (symptom), emotional (symptom), achy (symptom) and all-around rotten (may be a symptom). Plus, as I said, I am still recovering from surgery. Hadn’t even had my staples out. AND all of the other things I mentioned above. So. My daughter gets out of the car to board the bus and my husband asks me as we’re waiting for her bus to arrive, “How are you feeling this morning?” Or something like that.

So I begin to answer. “Well, I feel anxious…” He cuts me off. “Oh, don’t you still have those anxiety meds?”

Wow. I just lost it. I was totally wrong to lose it, BTW! But I just lost it. I felt betrayed, triggered, powerless and confused. Every doctor that I’ve encountered in every ER, hospital and clinic that I’ve seen for the last month has told me, “Ignore the pain, take a pain med!” And another doctor added anxiety meds to the list. “Take! A! Pill!” is all I’ve been hearing when I was in severe pain and needed immediate medical attention. Not to be melodramatic, but–I could have died. So, to hear my husband recommending another pill for my detox from a pill was just more than I could bear (you were right, Dear, b-e-a-r, that website must have been thru these oxy-detoxy eyes).

I started talking about my feelings and how hurt I felt and he cut me off. I tried again. He cut me off. I tried and tried and tried to express myself, granted, I was very upset and unable to control the volume of my voice, but every time I tried to talk he ignored me and wouldn’t communicate. It was so frustrating! Which definitely worsened my mood.

I am taking my husband to work because I have a doctor’s appointment in the afternoon and we are fighting the whole way. It was awful. He made excuses for his behavior. Even blamed me for the conversation. He said, “I asked you how you were because you want me to talk to you.”

Me: But I never asked for your advice! You didn’t even listen to me!

He said very hurtful things to me. Such as, “Go talk to your girlfriends and blog about it.” Super hurtful because my blog is my lifeline right now and that was an attempt to shame and hurt me so that he no longer had to deal with my anger. I was in tears. I apologized for my behavior, but he resolved to leave the car in anger and silence. No apology. No resolution. No reconciling. And he did not contact me for the rest of the day.

When I got home after the doctor. Still no apology. He told me later that at 11:30 am, while at work, he decided that he wanted a divorce based on a Facebook status I had posted. Here is the post.

“Maybe I don’t need a pill. Maybe I need grace, compassion, wisdom and love.”

He started looking for apartments. He found one near his work at a price that he can afford. He also wants a separate checking account. And, for sure, to leave for good.

I was stunned. Hurt. Flabbergasted. Anguished. Desperate.

He said that our marriage was a mistake. That for 18 years he’s wanted to leave and hasn’t because I’ve begged him to stay. That isn’t totally accurate because I wanted to leave in the past and he begged me to stay.

The man who was so angry last night is not someone I like. But he’s still someone I love. He acted irrationally. Selfishly. Arrogantly. Impulsively! But I still love him. But I’m wondering today…why? Why am I trying desperately to hold onto someone who doesn’t love me any more? It’s kind of pathetic. But, I’m terrified to lose him. I love him. And I know it isn’t right to give up. God doesn’t want this for our family. Satan does. That makes me mad.

I was wrong to badger my husband in the car. I was. I admit that. But everything was at stake. My pride, my ego, my integrity, my definition as a human being, MY HEALTH! was all wrapped in this decision to stop taking more pills. And I had told him everything that I was feeling about the pills before this moment, my decision, my resolution, my hatred of pill-popping. Or I tried to.

My husband thinks I should take my pills? So I can just be “normal”? So I will just shut the hell up? So he doesn’t have to listen? The oxy was killing me. But I’m supposed to take more pills?

I was opposed to taking any more unnecessary pills, so much so, that I freaked out. I totally did. I admit that, but what he said and did was hurtful. Everything he said and did after the initial encounter was horrible and hurtful. Downright nasty.

What’s a person with severe PTSD supposed to do with no treatment when the person they most trust tells them to just pop a pill when they are trying to detox from other pills? Lord, have mercy. But I was still wrong to raise my voice. But where’s the grace? He certainly raised his voice too. Where’s the grace for addiction, recovery and trauma? Is this man caring for ME? I have to say no. He was balls-to-the-wall out for himself. “Get out at any cost!”

I feel like the worst version of myself right now. I have nothing. I have no job, no marriage, no extended family, no health. I have nothing. My little family, my immediate family of 3, means everything to me. Me, my daughter, my love. It’s all I have. I’m desperate to keep it. But I fear it’s slipping away and I can’t stop it.

I promised last night to never lose my temper again. Never. You may not know me well, but I can just say this. If I say it out loud and it’s within my control, I WILL do it. I’ve NEVER broken a promise to my husband. EVER. I vowed to get mental help. I did. I made many a vow to him over the years and I’ve kept every one. I’ve played by his rules and it doesn’t always work. The rules change. If he was inclined, he would say that I’ve been true to my word. Every time. And I honestly didn’t know that my marriage was at stake over my temper. That’s very different. And, I also asked my husband to stay. Promise to stay. I’m not sure that he will.

I hate saying these things. These things are so private, embarrassing and insane. But I also know, for certain, that someone else is going through the exact same thing right now. Someone might read this and just know for one minute, or several minutes, someone else is hurting exactly like me right now (or worse) and I can bare another minute on this planet because I know that ONE thing. So I’m sharing.

I shouldn’t love my husband, but I do. We are bad for each other. We do not get along. We are broken, extremely damaged people who don’t know the true meaning of love. (Hang on. Maybe we’re perfect for each other?) But, we’ve got a child. A beautiful, brilliant child who deserves better parents.

And. I’m nothing without my husband. He’s flawed, but he’s also better than most. He can be mean. Cruel. Obstinate. Ridiculous! But he’s also funny, kind (sometimes), loyal and handsome (in my eyes). He doesn’t usually lie. And he’s the best, most generous lover I’ve ever had.

After 18 years, there’s not many butterflies when we kiss. Can anyone say they get butterflies any more? But butterflies were replaced long ago by deep, joyful, passionate longing for my one and only sweetheart. There’s no other for me. And I don’t want to lose the best thing I’ve got. I also don’t want to drive the father of my child away because I’m too broken to love.

I can control my voice. I can’t control whether my husband stays or goes. Pray for us. We need it. We so very desperately need it.

If you’re my friend and this is all strange and unbelievable. Guy can vouch for every word. Everyone thinks that Guy is swell, friendly and without flaw, but you haven’t met the real Guy. The Guy that I can provoke with a look or word. The Guy who can explode into anger at the drop of a slight.

And I’ve just never said. I’ve only told a few. It’s hard to say, “My marriage is bad.” But, it is. It’s not all bad. But things are pretty tough right now. We need a miracle. I trust that God will show up. I just don’t know if Guy will still be here when He does.

I am writing to expose all our sickness and strife because I know from years of writing, it’s the only thing that’s helped my PTSD and weight loss. Maybe this will help. We have agreed to counseling. Again. I don’t know if that will fix anything. And I’m also writing because I see happy couples on Facebook every day and I wonder, is that real? Because I know my own marriage seems happy from the outside, but it’s anything but sometimes. I am writing out of strict authenticity because that is important to us. At least, I think it is.

My God, help us. I truly want my husband back. I want to stop pushing him away. I want to embrace this damaged person and heal him. Not keep hurting him. Help me, God, to figure this out. I’d give my life to help this man.

 

Magical

Here’s our wedding video! No one has seen this before except for my mom. I think. Plus, a journal entry that I wrote a coupla years ago about our marriage.

WATCH!WATCH!WATCH! Wedding of Guy C. Maggio and Martha C. King

January 1, 1999. I am sitting on a bench outside Bally Casino’s Celebration Wedding Chapel in Las Vegas, NV. We just rode the monorail over to Bally’s from MGM Grand (where we’re staying) and proceeded to pump $120 into a slot machine to be rewarded by $100 payout of quarters. $20 for an hour’s worth of fun. That is Vegas; bright lights and manufactured fun, where paying a slot machine for your brief entertainment is completely logical and intentional. I don’t mind because the excitement and experience is welcome. This time is about fun. Or at least the appearance of fun. I’m 25 and have left the state of Missouri only a handful of times.
Guy and I are dressed in our wedding clothes and patiently waiting to be married. The entrance to the chapel looks like any storefront at any mall. We could just as well be
at a Gap. And I love that. What appear to be teenagers walk by and point and smile.
Are they getting married?
Aw.
That’s so cool.
Guy and I look at each other and laugh. We ARE getting married. We must be eager because we arrived at the chapel over an hour early. We didn’t want to be late. We flew from KC, stayed up most of the night and primped for hours to be ready for this special moment.
We are alone. No relatives, no photographers, no wedding planners, just us two. We both accept that our lives will be dedicated to each other, not to 200 onlookers and well-wishers. Our marriage will be the two of us relying on each other, so our ceremony should reflect that. Also, my mother was not getting on a plane and we couldn’t afford to fly our friends to Vegas.
Vegas was a grand adventure as we hoped our marriage would be. They are ready for us. I think we have a short rehearsal and explanation of the ceremony, but I honestly
don’t remember. I am whisked away to a small room with a large mirror. It could be the backstage lighted mirrored make-up table in any theatre. And I love that.
I was given my bouquet and briefed on my entrance. I sat for a few moments trying to focus on the reason for all the preparation, but my efforts to center myself were elusive. I want to cry, I’m overwhelmed by emotion, but I do not want to mess up my makeup! At best, I can simply enjoy what is happening to me and remember, I love this man.
They come for me, tell me everything is ready and I follow their directions. I am walking down the aisle. They are taking pictures. They are filming. I am smiling. I am following my Guy. If I could run gracefully, I would, right down to the alter and spike the bouquet! I take my place and brace for the fun.
Our minister surprises me. He is well-spoken, gentle, meaningful, but quick. He talks about values and ideals of marriage and reminds me of the commitment I am making. He talks generically talks about love and commitment, but even 15 years later the words ring true and his voice renews our vows as I hear it again on tape. God knew what we needed to hear and knew what we were promising to each other, even if we didn’t fully understand ourselves. Guy sweetly and eloquently makes his vow and I sniffle and whimper mine to him. I mean, seriously, I shoulda brought a hankie. What was I thinking.
We pray together. For the first time. Then it’s over. So fast. Kisses. Pictures. Exit stage left.
I am happy, but I am completely terrified. We ride the blinding-white monorail back to MGM and we are quiet. I have a fistful of flowers and I’m dressed in a smart-white suit. I try not to make eye contact with other passengers. I don’t want the attention of inquisitive ride-sharers. We should have taken a taxi perhaps.
We make it back to MGM without many questions and we race up to our suite. This is the time of my life and I hope that I have made it through the tragic parts of my childhood. I hope that this is my magical ending. But it’s only the beginning.
15 years of marriage to the only person I have ever loved. It has not been magical, it has been rough. Mainly because I am a demanding neurotic with deep vulnerability coupled with a terribly wounded pride and ego and the fragility of a snowflake. I have just been recently diagnosed with PTSD. I’ve been sick the last 10 years. I should say it has been magical though.
I was anticipating a romp through the magical forest of love on fat horses with flowery braided tails. But what I am given, what I so undeservedly receive, is the magic of love to bind my wounds, heal past hurts and strengthen my weaknesses. To love through the worst and hope for the best. Real, mature love that lasts for a lifetime. Love on an epic scale. Love that conquers all, including my insurmountable pride. Love that wipes the sweaty brow of insecurity and illness and makes everything all right.
And I love that!