Something Borrowed, Something Blue

It’s 663 days until I get married. All the crazy emotions that I didn’t necessarily go through a month ago when he proposed are slowly making their way out now.

I knew from the minute I met him that I’d spend the rest of my life with him, so maybe it is finally really hitting home as the ring has dug its place into my finger and I really start looking at venues and ways to make things cheaper myself.

(Can we talk for a minute that I’m actually wearing a ring 24/7? I didn’t think that would happen. Awesome.)

Perhaps it is the reality of a wedding as a chronically ill person hitting me instead, or the idea of spending my life with someone when statistically speaking I’ll live a shorter life. Maybe it’s just the fall-going-into-winter-blues or some combination of everything.

In any case, I’m freaking out and having existential crises all over the place. I’m sure it doesn’t help that I’ve been dealing with a lot of pain and fucking disease issues lately so I’ve missed more work and feel in general pretty useless. It’s really hard to be positive and look on the bright side when you can’t do what you want or what you need to do – and even how much worse things can/could/might get. I’m tired of being no negative and feeling so angry all.the.time.

As far as weddings go, we went to two this year. Well, one I officiated in January because I’m a freaking minister (yuuuup) and the other we went to and I had no role. In between the ceremonies and the receptions for both, I had to rest. I’m not talking just go and have a sit down – we’re talking like borderline napping. I danced a bunch at the one in January, drank a little, but also kept going up to our hotel room to rest again. I missed most of the reception at the one in September because of resting and skipping out on the dinner because of my food allergies. Between the time at the ceremony and the reception, we were there maybe an hour and a half to two hours.

How in the fuck am I going to dance at my own wedding? How am I going to have energy to take picture and visit with friends & family? How am I going to be what the bride typically is – the life of the party? I have a long time to worry about this and a long time to get better or to get worse, to switch meds or to need surgeries. I would love to put this from my mind. I really would.

I had some of the other important questions answered by my body already – I’m clearly not rocking the high heels and in all honesty probably won’t be wearing any shoes walking down the aisle. If I do, they’ll be converse or flip flops. I don’t want to worry about tripping all over my dress so I’d really like something tea length or at least higher than my feet. But then in looking at dresses, that’s not what I’m drawn to.

I’m torn between having the wedding I probably need and the wedding I’ve always wanted. Growing up, I knew I was sick and I knew the kinds of things that could happen to me. I either never thought it would affect me getting married or I readily assumed I was broken enough (emotionally and physically) that no one would want to even entertain the idea of spending the rest of their life having to most likely take care of me.

I always dreamed of my wedding day as a big celebration with all my family and friends. I envisioned getting married on a beach or in a lush garden. I thought that my reception would be full of fun and dancing and love. I would dance all night with the people I care most about until I’m whisked away by my new husband to our hotel. Reality dictates that it is going to be much different. Reality has already dictated my life is to be far different than I had planned or scheduled or even paid for. Eighty thousand in school loans, with half being for a masters degree I couldn’t even get halfway through, can prove that. A job working in a call center for 10 bucks an hour instead of working in education or public policy or anything else can prove it too.

Arthur has done so much to rob me of experiences and accomplishments. I don’t think it is fair for it to be robbing me of my wedding plans before I even can make them.

Son of a bitch is about to get kneecapped.