I have only had a few hours to work on my book so far, but I have written a prologue and the first chapter. I wanted to share a couple of paragraphs from the prologue here, as I haven’t had time to write a proper post today. Let me know what you think!
After meeting online in 2004 and spending a few weeks talking, David and I took the plunge and met in person January 21, 2005. I fell completely head over feet that night. He was honest, telling me by the end of dinner that he had clinical depression and was on medication. I was honest, too. I was already in love and said I didn’t care. By the end of that weekend he nonchalantly said, “You know I’m going to marry you, right?” and I nodded.
From our epic 8 hour first date to our rules-of-decorum breaking second date the next day I had already realized that the magic of love as a noun, love as a chemical reaction, love as 23-year-old adults completely engrossed in each other’s bodies, minds and souls was in place between us. It would take a few years to find out what love as a verb means. Love as selfless action, as choosing a hug instead of a slap, of saying I forgive you — that is never really the love we mean when we speak about love at first sight.
Over the next three years we rocketed through highs more gratifying than I thought possible, mirrored by hells moored so deeply in pain the thought of continued life made my heart ache with fearful anticipation. When we reached our limit, when David was admitted to a psychiatric facility and I left him there, not completely certain when I would return to claim him, the universe sent me a sign of extreme significance (or I was lucky that our local radio station was having eighties remix day) that made me realize that, illness or not, I chose David when I walked down the aisle. I owed it to him, to us, to this amazing six-week old child in my arms, to at least remember who it was I married and see if he was still inside the man on the locked ward.
This is the story of our family taking the traditional arc of the phoenix, imploding through fire and emerging fresher, more beautiful and alive, from the scars of our first round.