I discovered this little slice of Nirvana (AKA MGTOW) after reading an article by Milo Yiannopoulos. I no sooner hit the home page when I realized I was home at last.
I am a Retired Marine Officer, living alone in the beautiful Blueridge Mountains of North Carolina. Three years ago I ended a marriage of 23 years that, in retrospect, was only a marriage of 3 years. The remaining 20 were spent in a form of indentured servitude with principal responsibilities of killing bugs, fixing things around the house, accepting the blame for all the perceived “bad” things that happens (If memory serves, I believe I accepted that I was the person on the “Grassy Knoll” when Kennedy was assassinated). I also accepted that I must be the one responsible for the loss of her phone charger, the cob webs in the corner of the kitchen, and any particle of dust or dirt found anywhere in the house.
To say it was a miserable existence would most certainly be a gross understatement.
Sometime during year 12 of this marriage SHE decided that she couldn’t get any sleep because I was constantly wrapping my arms around her during the night. An offense so egregious that separate sleeping arrangements were demanded.
Depression and thoughts of suicide set in. There must certainly be something wrong with me I concluded. Why to I constantly feel disthymic? Why do I constantly feel worthless and without purpose? Monthly visits to a Psychiatrist as a result of a diagnosis of “Major Depression Disorder” were part and parcel of my life. I was prescribed enough antidepressant medication to sedate a large circus animal. All, it seems, to no avail.
She had, what I would consider, an obsession for money and the collection thereof. In an attempt to avoid the trap of “Financial arguments are the root of most divorces” I applied logic and, what I believed common sense, and turned over every cent I made to her. How and where it was kept I have, to this day, not a clue. However, after some simple calculations I was able to conclude she controlled over $800,000. I controlled the .37 cents in my pocket as well as three lint-covered Tic-Tacs. She was very adept at cornering me to ask what I purchased from a Shell Gasoline Station that cost $27.56. Her access to the one joint account we had ensured I was kept under constant control and supervision.
One morning I opened the underwear drawer of my cloths dresser and noticed it was near empty. “OH MY GOD” I had better do the laundry today or she will be extremely unhappy. But buried deep in the drawer, hidden under several pair of boxers, I saw something strange. I pulled it out from beneath the stack, unfolded them and held them up in front of me. There, emblazoned across the front of the boxer shorts of the purest white, in bright bold letters were the words “Big Boy Pants – Wear At Your Own Peril”. I started to put them on, anxious and fearful of the consequences. They felt comfortable. Maybe a bit lose in the crotch but I figured I had bought them before my testicles were removed at the marriage alter. My God! I feel like I’ve been given Super Powers. I feel, dare I say, like a MAN!
That night when she arrived home from work, she immediately began her ritual of clearing everything from the kitchen counter in order to clean the coffee grounds I had let spill on the counter, obviously because I did not care about her or all the horrible things imposed on her at work. Interestingly, I had not made any coffee at the house for several months simply to avoid the inevitable spate of accusations each evening.
I snapped! My mind flashed the words “THIS IS B*LL SH*T!” like a bright neon sign in my mind.
“I’m leaving,” I said, “I’ve simply had enough.” “I’ve come to the realization that there is nothing, absolutely NOTHING that I can possibly do that will make you happy. I refuse to live like this any longer”
The first words from her mouth were shocking, but in retrospect, certainly not surprising, “We need to get your name off the title for the house as soon as possible” Those words alone, told me that I wasn’t crazy or depressed and that I was finally doing what is right for me, my life, and my sanity.
“What did I want in division of our joint assets?” she asked. My reply, “Nothing You can have the house, and all the money.” Sure I may have walked away from a very lucrative settlement but by giving her everything, there was nothing to contest. Should she try to contest, I would start asking for division of all the money and sale of the house; something I knew she could not bear.
I purchased a 116-year old home in the small town of Mount Airy, NC and moved in three months before the divorce was finalized. (Side Note: My lawyer said he had never handled a divorce that went through so quickly before. Obviously my plan was working). I now live alone with my two best buddies, “Sheldon” and “Penny”. Two of the most beautiful Bull Terriers you would ever see.
I’ve never been happier. During the closing, the closing attorney asked “What made you decide to move here?” I replied, “I can only answer your question, with a question. Who is John Galt?” He looked at me and smiled. He understood. “I’ve never received a more enlightened answer during my entire career in law”, he replied. We exchanged the secret wink and nod of the head that only those familiar with the writings, nay prophesies, of the late Ayn Rand secretly understand.
I’ve since lost all friendships I had while married for doing such a terrible thing. Strangely, the “Give A Sh*t” app on my cell phone registers nary a single bar. I live off the grid in a peaceful and serene town.
While this small town lacks many, if not all, of the amenities of a larger city, I don’t miss a single one of them. Granted, family trees here resemble a telephone pole and we have the only WalMart with a “Ten Teeth or Less” checkout lane, but at least we have the things men find most important – a traditional hardware store, a gun shop, and a business that continues to sell the Confederate Flag. When my neighbors first asked my reason for moving here I responded, “This is where the Witness Protection Program thought I would be safest”. Little did know the benefits of such an absurd declaration. I haven’t received a single visit by a Jehovah Witness, Mormon Missionary, or Door-to-Door Salesman. People walking their dogs cross the street when approaching my house out of fear that their pet will “do his business” on my lawn.
Because of a very generous retirement check from the military and disability benefits from the Veterans Administration, I live a rather comfortable life. I work on my house, come and go as I please, and am never questioned about the number of glasses of Scotch I’ve had.
If I have any regrets it is only that I did not find those “Big Boy Boxers” earlier in my life.
There are two rules for success: 1. Never tell everything you know.
Tecumseh 3 years, 4 months ago.
