My marriage radicalized me

"How long before you regret it?"

We stood in the driveway. I was walking towards our mailbox, expecting nothing but always hopeful. I left him standing next to our 2010 Kia Optima, a college graduation present I received from my grandparents a few weeks after we began dating. Two months later I drove it to West Virginia, following him there for his first broadcasting job.

That summer, I burned a CD and listened to John Mayer's Edge of Desire on repeat and thought only of him.

A new car for a new life with my new love, awash with possibilities - my desire led me all the way to a place so devoid of the comforts I was used to that within a few months I found myself holed up in our unfurnished spare bedroom, crying on the floor, after a second hairstylist left me even more unrecognizable than the first.

I'd bring my laptop to Tim Horton’s to apply for jobs and master’s programs. Desperate to have my professional life mimic the contentment of my relationship. My only friends were his coworkers, I hated my job, and my hair was really ugly.

The early days of our infatuation seem more mythical now. But I observe them as a fact, because my brain remembers. Like the capital of Illinois is Springfield. Both are true, neither makes me feel anything. The intensity of our love has been reduced to an origin story for my children, they pull out our wedding photographs and I put on a sing song voice to tell them the legend of us.