Institutionalized

It seemed like the thing to do.
I was at a point in my life where this is what you are supposed to do.

Looking back, I cannot believe I didn't run away as far and as fast as I could.
But, I didn't.

My office had a weekly ritual called "Den Mother". One of the more social types organized an outing of the younger, unmarried people to a local restaurant or bar, then a movie. She was our Den Mother.
It was a good substitute for a social life for me. I knew these people. I didn't have to meet new ones. And we could talk about work, so I didn't have to share anything personal.

Les had attended a voicemail class I had put together at work. She worked in one of our retail locations. We had never met. She was a college graduate, and thought I was funny.

She actually understood that the entire class was a thinly veiled insult to the phone monkeys. Pretty much an hour of telling them how stupid and lazy they were.

She got it.

That should have been a red flag to me. She was as angry and closed off as I was.
In a few years, I would understand why. She also had a secret, one that she would toy at confronting, only to shove back down.

At the time, I saw a kindred spirit.

An invitation was extended to the weekly "Den Mother" activity.

Months later, things seemed to be going well between us. She had her own life, her own friends, her own interests. This didn't infringe too heavily on my own hermit activities, so I didn't mind having her in my life.

I was in my late 20's. I had a good job. I had a girlfriend that I seemed to like.

We got married.

I remember looking at the wedding photos about a year into it, after it was already going sour. The people in the foreground of the pictures were smiling.
The people in the background weren't.
Some actually had bugged out eyes, downwardly cast.
Their expressions and postures said what I was now thinking...
"I can't believe they got married!"

I was in a separate bedroom after 6 months of marriage. Our marriage was more of a distant roommate situation. There was no fighting. No strife. No drama. No sex. No love.
We did things together. We'd go to dinner or to a movie. We'd update each other on our day.
It wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't what I had always thought marriage was.

We lived separate lives, but shared a house.

I never strayed. I had opportunities, but I had made a commitment. I honored it. I was unloved at home, but I was married. I knew enough to not go there.

She didn't.

To her credit, she was a terrible liar. And when confronted, she admitted it.

We agreed to divorce. Again, no fighting, no drama, no strife.

We drove to the courthouse, filled out the necessary forms, then went and ate lunch together.

I had yet another validation of why I didn't let people into my life. They weren't worth the effort.

All I lost was a house.

My wife hadn't been important enough to break my heart.

But then, can you break what was never given to begin with?