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Marriage: Finding Happiness Through Divorce

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WRITTEN BY: AMBER GARIBAY

“Gotta find happiness in yourself

before you can be happy with someone else.

And i wouldnt worry about your vag shriveling up ha ha.”

I read his message while my entire being screamed bullsh*t. I decided that I wanted to hit him in the face with a chair. “Oh yeah Mr. wisdom man, let me tell you what makes me happy, capital I’s make me happy. I mean really. How much extra effort would it have taken to smack the cap lock with your pinky as you typed that little gem of advice. Couldn’t you consider it a matter of personal pride, or do you really think you are so fine that it is OK to look lazy, or dare I say stupid. I do love myself. It’s called masturbation and celibacy. As in, I am perfectly self sufficient and I respect myself enough to wait for a capital “I”.

My vagina is going to shrivel up. I’m bitter about it too.

I never thought much about the term “Old Maid” until recently. I remember reading about women expiring like sour milk, but that was way back in the olden days, back before women were people. It’s the 21st century and we are a black man away from a woman president. They didn’t burn witches in Salem. No, those were old maids wearing bras and those b*tches burned to ash so that we could be equal. Modern women do not expire. We shoot ourselves up with botox and pump ourselves with saline inflatables so that we are good to go for years. I am still practically new at thirty-six: active, fit, the total package tied together by a beautiful smile. The kind of smile born from being happy lifelong. Age has done nothing more than bless me with the lines to prove my smile and they start at my eyes which twinkle in a most charming way. Timelessly.

I (note the capitalization) am happy enough that I don’t want some guy f*cking it up. I am divorced for the very same reason. I decided that I want to be happy so now I am single. “You make me sad. Go away.” That’s exactly how a fifteen year marriage ends. “It’s not me; it’s you. Now get the f*ck out.”

Marriages do not end without soul searching and happiness was more than a consideration. I was miserable toward the end of my marriage and he was glowing. He was radiant, to my worn down haggard. Not at my expense, no, it bothered him to see me sad, but he was happy without me, within our own relationship. There came a time that we were the pleasantries of co-exist. He stopped worrying about me, or caring at all for that matter. He started doing all the things he loved and I let him without an invitation to join because when I did his happy ended and I didn’t care to be the cause of it. I remember feeling like I was trying to insert myself into my own family, like my presence was a cancer. He seemed annoyed when I wanted to be included and I felt like a nag if I didn’t want him to go without me, until I let him. I let him go to his happy while asking myself hard questions. Most pressing,  “Would I want to be around the person that I am?” His answer to that question was more than brutal. “Amber, you are a miserable person. You suck the joy out of everything. I love you, but I am not in love with you…”

He told me to prepare myself for his leaving because he needed to. He promised to make sure I was ok, that I would be taken care of, and that he would be there if I needed him to be, but he wanted out because my misery was holding his spirit.

That was an unhappy day. It was also the day my life started over because I couldn’t say I blamed him. He was right. I was miserable and I hated myself for it because I remember myself shining. I was an amber colored pearl, someone to be treasured.

I didn’t imagine my marriage was over that day. Ricardo Garibay had been leaving me for as long as I had known him, and he never went far. I believed that he loved me, but I was mad at him for it. I didn’t like the person I had become and loathed the fact that he tolerated it, vehemently.  It made me sick that he stayed because he could do better where I wasn’t even trying. I wasn’t pissed at him, I was angry at myself because I didn’t love him or anyone close to me properly. I couldn’t. There was no me.

The next part is the magic of my story because change was as simple as asking myself what I want without him. I had a conversation in my head.

“He wants you to imagine a life without him as a miserable person. Do you really want that life Amber? Do you want to be miserable? Does that really need to be your identity? Is it your identity now? He imagines you miserable with him and miserable without. What would you look like in a different story? One that includes you happy?”

I started thinking about my life and I realized that I have succeeded at everything I have ever wanted. I’ve never once failed. My success has been ferocious. The only anomaly have been the results and my contentment after. It was then I realized that I am simply bored and it was time to set new goals. I got a gym membership, started writing this book (the blog being the roughest draft and outline) and I hired a therapist to help me see myself outside of his blame. I highly recommend therapy for anyone entering rough waters and I saw myself on that boat fifteen years in. She suggested I eat pot brownies, shut down my business, and get a divorce. She said I was thinking like a poor man and that she would teach me about wealth.

I found out she died shortly after I took her advice and ran out of money to keep seeing her. She had a brain tumor the whole time, but she was right.  I was cheating my own fortune and subsequent bliss. I started making lists and setting goals, new ones outside of the box I was in. There came a time when my husband could no longer bring me down and that was the day I knew I was finally happy. He had been being mean to me for weeks and I just let it roll because everything else was right and when he realized it he was devastated.

“We need to talk..” he said quietly after a client had gone. “You are happy…” He said near shatter.

I smiled, feeling exuberant. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“But I am not the reason for it. You are not happy because of me.” he accused.

“No. I’m not happy because of you. You’ve been a dick for awhile now. My business is good. The blog is a hit. I have fans of my writing worldwide. Yes, I am happy.”

“Fans like The General,” he was unraveling.

“Yes, fans like The General Ricardo!” I was obstinate.

“You are in love with him aren’t you…”

It was right about then that my new life, my new happiness, became the property of a man I had never spoken to, or met. The General, a fifty five year old married soldier with five children, will be a chapter in my book. I think I will title it, The Emotional Affair, which I personally think is an absolute bullsh*t concept. I am an emotional slut and I am only guilty of  two things, eating pot brownies and creating happiness through my new writing career.

Finding happiness is as simple as knowing yourself and being true to it. It is also a journey that can not always be up because we are tied to each other. My ex husband fell apart the day he realized that he loved the person I had become, the happy person, and that he wasn’t married to her. He was married to a miserable girl named Amber and he had no idea how to get her back.

She’s not coming back. She’s happy…



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