Once upon a time, I married the wrong guy. At the time, I did not know he was the wrong guy. He probably didn't know I was the wrong girl. We got married and we thought it was right.
We got married and we moved to LA and we had a cute little apartment and life was good. For about a month. And then, it quickly became apparent that this wasn't right.
Multiple things happened, and they were all very bad. But each time, we each thought, "we can make this work. We can make him/her understand me." And we would plow ahead...
And then more bad things would happen. Ultimately, we were not the same. We could not make the other see things the way we saw them, because we didn't think or see anything the same. We each carried our own moral compass, and each compass pointed us in vastly different directions. And each of us was quite sure that the other was crazy.
Our marriage died quickly...but also...somehow...painfully slow. I can still vividly recall each dying gasp for air and the last few weeks where I pounded on its chest and tried to breathe life back into it and I was SO SURE that I could fix this.
I can fix this. I'm smart. I'm caring. I work really, really hard. I can fix this.
Holding the shards of our marriage in our hands and ten different kinds of glue and thinking, "I just need the right combination. I just need to hold it together a little longer so that it has time to set. I can fix this. It will be ok."
And then...finally...in our marriage therapist's office...
I looked at her...and I knew. I broke down and sobbed and she asked me what was different what had changed what was I feeling and I said...
"I can't fix this. And I don't know what to do."
I feel that way today. About this country. About this home that I love. About the people I love. About myself. We each carry our own moral compass, and each compass points us in vastly different directions. And each of us is quite sure that the other is crazy and cruel and heartless and selfish.
I can't fix this. And I don't know what to do.