Yeah, ya boy Zed was married. Really for about a 1 1/2 years, but legally about 3 years. My divorce was final December 11, 2003, one day after my 33rd birthday. But we hadn't lived together for 1 1/2 years before then. I didn't get married because I was in love, nor did I get divorced because I didn't love her.
We met when I was 24 and she was 29. I thought this would be some broad I fucked for awhile and then left, but I started to feel her. I liked her. A lot. So I stuck around. We were and tumultuous couple. We fought a lot and made up a lot. It was a real off and on relationship. She became my best friend and my worst enemy. When it was good it, it was excellent.
I wasn't under the illusion that I was in love with her when I got married. We were long past that. It was my sense of duty and my misconception of what it meant to be responsible. When I was pushing 30 I thought I'd strung her along enough. She waited for me to mature, so I should marry her. I thought my misgivings about marriage were just immature longings to stay single and chase pussy. So I pushed them aside and decided to get married. It was all practical. No love involved in the decision. In fact, I believed that I was "in love" with another woman at that time.
I got married on December 24, 2000 in Negril, Jamaica on a beach. Barefoot and high as fuck. I needed to be high, 'cuz I was going to fly back to the "D", unmarried. My boy convinced me to go through with it. When we returned, the only thing that kept me in the marriage was my father.
My father is very conservative and remains a huge influence on the way I think a man should be. I thought that my father would be practical, stay the course, and make things work. As the marriage progressed, I had to admit to myself that I wasn't my father. I left in June of 2002.
That's my sad ass wedding story. I hope you liked it. I didn't!