The institution of marriage distresses me. Of all society’s moral obligations directed towards an individual, this one in particular dictates irony and trepidation for my conscious stream. Countless times have I witnessed the horrors of wedlock, often ending in an eternity of separation – mentally, physically, emotionally and most importantly, psychologically.
Being a child of divorce, I was always on a tirade of singularity. I even went to the extent of vowing celibacy – which I fortunately backed out of after having some sense put in me (not an innuendo). But now that my angst years are done with, I still drag the toilsome question of my involvement in matrimony above my head much like a halo of constant foreboding.
I have never accommodated a serious thought on this matter until now. Of ripe age or not, my fears remain the same. In the radius of sanity and such, I openly proclaim hostility towards any situation that does not have a back door for me to escape. Say, if I were to put myself in a marital status that after some time became suffocating and agonizing, how will I ever be able to withdraw from it? And as a keen pursuer of comfort, I would most definitely want to slip out. Divorce would not be an option as the very idea of it is devastating to my very mortal core. Submission to the act of endurance with the said situation would break me and I would much rather prefer death.
I often find myself asking “What if I am not able to deliver?” Yes. What if the fault lies in me? What if I am not ‘made’ for this sort of sensical nonsense? What if I falter and am unable to recover from the damage? I could and would never impinge this on my other half. How will I be able to live with myself?
Risk is an understatement here. I do not close myself with the likes of risk-taking. I play it safe, as I have been doing my whole life. In other words, I do not wish to imply discontinuity on my nature especially for this sort of constitution whereupon I cannot remove myself if a disturbance of sorts comes by. Presently, I am incapable of making up my mind altogether. I have come around the idea of marriage as somehow an acceptable one, yet deplorable in ways. Perhaps five, six years down the road from now I would comprehend the palpable disposition of nuptials. And it might take even shorter a time to get over my current dilemmas if, say, a rationale man was to come along my way and reason out with me (who am I kidding?).
Countless more phobias encircle my fear of wedding bells, of which many can not be described here – or even strung together in words. This is the funk of compromising and understanding and what not.