I’ve become stubborn about it, and it’s turned into this horrible game of chess. If someone hates me, I kill them with kindness and never show my pain, never let them win. If someone tells me they don’t think I can do something, I make sure to do it with stellar results.
Despite that Sheila and I have been like oil and water, I’ve done my best to rise to the occasion, but frankly between her, Rick, and Rick’s mom Carla pushing what they want at me in terms of the venue, the photographer, and getting involved in even the nitty grittiest of details – it’s been exasperating and put pressure on our relationship, too.
Ivy called me Bridezilla when we fought the other week and once I had a chance to process the argument I couldn’t even continue to be mad about it. A light went off, realizing she’s right, because I’m already a drama llama as it is, but planning a glamorous and expensive wedding for four hundred guests in just a few months is really fucking stressful. Adding that to my job working at least fifty hours a week – I had a little meltdown.
I cried for the first time in front of Rick last week, and he acted shocked. He was so shocked that I was remotely stressed and when I detailed the level of stress I’m under with tears in my eyes and told him I didn’t think I could pull it off, he convinced me to take a leave of absence from work. If I had more time for planning, I wouldn’t feel so overwhelmed.
It was directly after a meal with his mother where she went on and on about the dark circles around my eyes and the fact that I looked like I was retaining water and that I should furthermore cut my sodium intake. This wasn’t concern for me as much as it was her bitchy way of remarking I’d gained weight and wasn’t getting enough beauty sleep.
His solution of a leave of absence until after the honeymoon would mean more stress – this time financial. He told me he’d cover my share of the bills until after the wedding, but in reality, not having my job as an ER nurse – which is a pretty fucking stressful job – will mean that nearly 16 hours a day, 7 days a week this next almost two weeks will be devoted to the final touches for this wedding. And it’s already felt like it has taken over my life. Dealing with seating charts. With bridesmaids who have trouble synching their schedules for things that have to get done. Ivy breaking up with Ben and screwing with the wedding party and leaving me stumped for wedding party gifts because we bought everyone theatre tickets as the thank you gift. Not to mention being depressed that my wedding dress had to be let out because I’m stress-eating.
And as large of a wedding party as we’ve got, I’ve been the one doing all the work – work my wedding planner has made clear isn’t enough. My bridesmaids act all hurt and wounded whenever I get testy about needing them to do something on the very rigid schedule I’ve had to set up. And it’s not like the groom has been much help. He glazes over or mumbles Sheila’s or his mother’s names when I complain about anything to do with the process.
Poor me, right? Poor girl getting a lavish wedding and having a big, expensive diamond on her finger. Knowing the scoffing and eyerolls I’d get if I complained, I’ve just kept the complaints to myself. I’m not the type to typically get caught up in feeling sorry for myself. Or someone who lets others push me around.
But I guess I’m out of sorts especially in the last few weeks. Like… what’s the point of this huge dream wedding if I’ve lost myself in the process, feeling like it’s Rick’s mother’s dream instead of mine? I don’t usually let people bulldoze me, but him and his passive-aggressive mom and this wedding planner and the giant, ugly engagement ring and the wedding date synched with the grandparents’ anniversary? Not to mention worry about my own mom with all the drama and pain my father has caused in the last six months? I’ll be glad when this is in the past. Glad to go back to work. To go back to regular life. I’d rather battle to save lives in the crazy-busy and often chaotic ER than plan another wedding.
We haven’t even had sex in close to seven weeks. I’ve stopped making moves because I’m tired of getting turned down. He says it’s because of the stress he’s under. He says stress screws with his sex drive. I don’t know why he’s so stressed either – I’m stressed too, and I find sex to be a pretty good stress reliever.