I feel somehow compelled to post this here. This is mostly because coughI have no mature friends/cough I respect and admire the Doper community, and tend to have need of its advice. Also, I think I’ve posted every other relationship milestone on here, though, to be fair, I was in college at the time.
A search of my threads kind of tells the whole story (well, except for the thread about losing my virginity; thank Og for The Winter of Our Missed Content), but that’s long, and no one wants to do that. Plus, you know, the timer thing’s a bitch and a half.
So. Nutshell. Met a guy in 2002 at 19, was engaged a few months later. Discovered shortly thereafter that he was way messy, and that this annoyed me. Was told by various Dopers that this was Not A Good Sign. Ignored this, as I was an idiot-ass 20 year-old. Got my BA in the end of 2003 (had to graduate early due to a funding crisis), moved in with him. Got married in 2004. Age 21. He was 27.
Things never really seemed to progress from the point where I moved in. Out of school, I lucked into a well-paying customer service job, and have been there ever since. There was talk of me going back to school for my MLS. Money and time never quite worked, though, and it seemed the priority was going to be his education, as he never got his BA/BS. He went back to school for two months, quit because he wasn’t doing the work.
We got a house. He pursued one job opportunity, hated it, went back to his old job. Meanwhile, I was more-or-less stuck where I was, as I was by far the main breadwinner. There was pushing for involvement in the poly scene; as this was not part of our original arrangement, I’m not comfortable with it. He doesn’t do anything, but periodically pushes. He decides in early 2006 that he has gender issues. He wants to cross-dress. Okay, fine.
The cross-dressing quickly evolves into an alternate persona that is in many ways radically different from the person I married; the issues evolve into full blown gender dysphoria. I find myself getting quickly more and more depressed. Attempts to discuss the issues are brushed off as me being selfish, or are cast aside with the “it’s a part of me, deal or sigh I can stop and deny that part of me if it bothers you that much” kind of thing. I figure the problem has to be me.
I go to therapy. The therapist my husband hates says I have issues with my husband, but refers me to a psychiatrist anyway. The psychiatrist diagnoses me with depression and puts me on Effexor. Which made me really happy for about a month. WAY too happy, way too hyper, way too irritable. . .
. . .diagnosed as bipolar II. I get put on mood stabilizers and antipsychotics in addition to the antidepressant. The effects of this eventually get so bad that I end up taking a leave from work (note–I know I wasn’t pleasant to be with during this–combine the massive amounts of chemicals in my system. . .hell, I half-became convinced I had my own gender issues. Among other things). Meanwhile, in early 2007 my husband decides to start hormone therapy. Note–HE decided. He has not visited a therapist, or a doctor. He has not obtained a prescription, gone over dosages, or anything like that. He has, instead, elected to order pills online from a pharmacy in Vanatau.
Incidentally, he asked me about this beforehand. “Should I do this?” I answered emphatically that no, I didn’t think he should, though I acknowledged that he was an adult and didn’t need my permission to do anything. So. . .he orders the pills. Takes them for a month. Quits or forgets to get more. Goes through raging PMS (which I’m less than sympathetic about, I admit; I mean, I get it sometimes, but it’s not like I’m causing it).
I finally get to the point where enough’s enough with my medication (and where I’ve begun to suspect the underlying conditions are not necessarily biochemical), so I stop, cold, and go back to work. Shortly thereafter, we’re bickering, and I say, flatly, “this isn’t working out.”
He cried a lot. I didn’t so much, though I did a little. Six months later, and, POOF, I’m divorced.
I now have no idea what to do with my life. My ex-husband and I are selling the house. This will pay off my car and my credit cards. I’ve been able to move back with my mom for the forseeable future. For the first time in over four years, I feel like I have possibilities, and not just a stream of stuff.
. . .except the next step is unknown.
I want to write; crappy-ass message board posts aside, I write good fiction. I’ve been writing a LOT since I’ve moved out. Consistently and with decent quality, a bunch of stories on a particular character. And I have one idea that I’m working on that might end up longer-than-a-short-story sized.
I’d love to finish it. I know that if I do, I can do something with it. What I want to do–more than anything else–is write.
It’s just that I have this nagging voice in me telling me to go back to school. And I have no idea how I’d do that. I was only IN college for five semesters. I didn’t have a chance to really establish a rapport with any of my professors. And I don’t think my current co-workers would really be qualified to write LORs for, say, an MLS or MFA program. I have people who would be–personal contacts, people I’ve written with–but I don’t know if they count.
And, of course, I don’t exactly want the degree. I want to write. If I could have a part-time job while doing that, that’d be ideal. If I could figure out how to do it and get paid even better, but I know that’s damned unlikely.
So. . .all this potential (I’m 24 now), and no idea what the hell to do with it.
Suggestions? Comments?