A young woman is driving her car. She is quite excited to get to her destination. She has never been there but she is sure, from what she has been told, that it will be amazing. Based solely on the advice of others, she tentatively calls this location her "happy place".
For the sake of imagery, let's imagine her traversing long peaceful country roads, during a quiet snow, just a bit after dusk. Her car is silent and she is lost in her thoughts about her amazing expectations of this "happy place". It appears she will arrive at her destination on time. Ahead, she sees blinking red lights then the cross-arm of the train tracks lowering as she hears a faintly familiar train whistle resounding.
She eventually arrives at the cross-arm and the steam engine passes her in all of it's Polar-Expressive splendor. She is struck by the deep resounding intensity and decibels of the rhythmatic train engine as it passes her idling car. Soon after, she becomes annoyed by the number of train cars that accompany the engine. She counts...two, three, four...when she gets to the double digits, she gets bothered.
My child's father had just stepped off the plane from Venezuela, and the first day we spent together, much like the commanding train engine, was novel and exciting. After the engine passed, I held on to the belief that this novelty was true happiness as the train brought by it's innumerous cars.
The excessive cars this train brought through my path quickly killed it's novelty and I found myself scavenging like a train-hopping, dirty punk rocker for the happiness of which, I had once caught a glimpse. I scavenged and found myself fighting tooth and nail for it, and once again found console in the abuse and misuse of alcohol.
I was once again slowly killing myself, while I sat and waited for this train to pass, to find my happy place on the other side, but it's train cars stretched to infinity with no caboose in sight.
I wanted to be happy with him and our family to thrive. After all, he is a ridiculously smart, incredibly kind and understanding man. However, bless his kind soul, this blog is not about him.
Back to our main character:
Eventually, the seemingly never-ending train ends. The woman crosses the tracks and proceeds to her "happy place". About an hour later she arrives and assures herself the annoyance of that train will disappear. She had waited for an eternity for it to pass. She was now late and her make-up and hair were in complete disarray.
Fresh in her mind, she remembers the majestic steam engine that brought these train cars across her path and laughs. It was beautiful and proud, however these excessive train cars made the whole situation ridiculous. Then she realizes the irony of expecting a train to not be accompanied by cars! Ha.
Still in the parking lot, she looks around. Her "happy place" is not as amazing as she had pictured it to be. She convinces herself that it is for the better, considering her hair had lost it's curl anyway. She daintily steps out of her warm car, and she is shocked by the winter cold.
As she walks in to her location, she smells something and looks to her right. Through the darkness of night and glistening snowflakes, she can faintly decipher the image of that damn train that ruined her hair. It is stopped and she realizes that all the cars were carrying nothing but loads of shit.
This is not what she expected to find in her "happy place". She probably shouldn't have listened to her family and friends regarding what would make her happy. Nonetheless, she enters her destination in order to say that she made it there. In order to get them off her back.
I married him in December of 2009, but can't remember the exact date. It was get married or he'd be deported. We went to a Justice of the Peace over her lunch hour while she was working at a volunteer agency.
Much like when I wrote down my daughter's name on her birth certificate, the importance of this signature did not completely register with me. My mind was clouded with expectation of others and irrationality and insecurity coupled with the repercussions of three months of chemical abuse.
I signed the paper. We were married.
Next, he had an appointment at immigration, but in February he left the US to go home to Venezuela a day before he could have become a naturalized citizen. This was because of a pending charge against him brought on by an extended family member who was extorting his mother (it's complicated). I understood. I still do.
We had met with lawyers in the US prior to his departure and they advised us to file for yet another type of Visa. So I began the Visa process once again to allow him to re-enter the US from Venezuela as my "husband"...until the lawyers asked for another $300 in filing fees. As I wrote the check, I realized that this was the third Visa I had sponsored for him. Tearing up the check, I realized that I was over $10,000 in the hole.
Game over.
Hop on a plane, a train or an automobile, get to Caracas and get your own Visa. You can't ride this camel anymore cause you broke it's back.
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