The smallest of things add up to earthquakes too

The subject of my wedding-day came up yesterday on the morning show, and I realized I hadn’t really written about it in English? So I thought I’d do that today! Because I’m sure everyone’s DYING to hear about it.

Photographs by the talented Linn Heidi Stokkedal

As everyone can see I’m obviously married to the kindest, smartest, most handsome man alive. Just to make sure that that’s very clear before we embark on this journey that is my experience of my wedding-day.

I’m sorry to anyone this will offend.

Due to some poor decision-making the day before e.g. me taking charge of basically setting the entire wedding up alone because of my control-issues and ever-lasting optimism in myself (I CAN DO EVERYTHING MYSELF THANK YOU VERY MUCH), running around like a crazy person catching a cold doing so, not eating or drinking properly, staying too long in the freezing tent not leaving any time to myself checking in and preparing myself for the marathon a wedding is, and if I’m being very picky; ruining my nails. For someone who couldn’t give less of a shit about nails (this obviously wasn’t the straw that broke the camel’s back !!), I certainly hadn’t sustained from biting them for the last couple of weeks (do you know how much focus and dedication, not to mention the stress of it all, that creates?) paying more than a bottle of Veuve Clicquot to get them all fucked up the following day. I’d planned on getting a massage that day.

Anyways.

At the end of the day, feeling let down and left on my own and my destructive thoughts -I was exhausted. Shivering with a fever I knew the night and following day wasn’t going to be what I’d hoped for. A drink that felt toxic to my already aching body with the happy attenders at the restaurant we chose for pre-wedding-day-mingling I left early with pain in my joints and anger all over me. I wanted to scream.

I usually have a set of rules and “truths” that needs to be fulfilled the days leading up to an important and difficult task or day, in order for me to be able to go through with them. To feel strong. Believe in and be proud of myself. It involves a certain diet (all though trying to ignore this particular one). Food consumed in a specific number (one for something dominating e.g. a wrap, three for smaller stuff like fruits or crisp breads and five for snacks like chips). Not drinking alcohol. Being active. Getting enough sleep. Cleaning the apartment, my closet. Grooming -feeling like the best version of my physical self I can be. Writing positive things with the tip of my thumb (because that feels skinny, as opposed to pressing my thumb flat writing) inside the palm of my hand.. Stuff like that. And I’d been dreading my wedding-day since the day he proposed and we decided to have a big wedding. Initially I wanted to have a small one outside on a vineyard in Italy. So I’d lined up dozens of triggering random scenarios to best protect myself. Things people might say or do, preparation not followed through, orders of events being mixed up, being surprised at some point. With these preparations and rules followed I thought I might even enjoy the day.

Cold- and hotflashes , skin burning, nausea, feeling let down by my family for not being there for me, feeling as ugly as I’ve never felt before I threw my family out from my hotel room. The last glass of champagne over giggly conversation in bed wearing robes was definitely out of the question. I hated everyone with all of my body and myself even more. Unable to stop crying, dehydrated and with water retention I knew I would be the ugliest bride the world had ever seen.

I felt bad for all my guests with the expectations of a happy beautiful bride. I wanted to apologize to them. Apologize for the fact that they had to look at me, ugly as I was, for the entire day. Apologize for the things I would call them in my head as they would approach me with nothing but good intentions. Apologize to my husband-to-be for thinking so badly about his wife. For not wanting to marry him.

I can’t think about this night without feeling the hopelessness I felt. Brief moments of sleep, waking up in a puddle of sweat, interrupted by screaming and repeatedly hitting myself where it hurt the most -my stomach and my head. Repeat. Trying desperately to hold back my tears as I knew my already puffy face would blow up even more around my eyes if I let them out. Gasping for air but never wanting to take a single breath ever again in my life.

I know what some of you may think. I’m superficial and stupid for feeling the way that I did. I probably wouldn’t have been able to understand why these trivial things ended up making me feel like killing myself. I only have the memories. And the knowledge that it was real at the time.

The morning was as expected. Tears and yelling to my mum and my sisters. I hate you. I’ve never hated them. I downed some scrambled eggs and left for the hair dresser. I immediately apologized as I sat down in the chair for looking as horrible as I did. I’m sorry bridesmaids for being such a disappointment.

Can we drink champagne in the salon?

Yes.

I avoided looking myself in the mirror as best I could throughout the day as it only resulted in that unbearable feeling in my chest that came out as tears. Mustn’t ruin my makeup. This thick layer of makeup that didn’t stand a chance of covering up what lay underneath. I remember visualizing tearing my face off.

I quickly managed to get myself up on a decent level of intoxication. Keep ’em coming. I don’t know why I even have bridesmaids, nothing makes sense anymore. But make yourself useful and keep the champagne coming. Dress on.

Emotional eyes meeting me, my tears of sadness quickly replaced by tears of anger towards all the people looking at me.

Standing on that podium felt like forever. Shaking looking past people. Looking past my husband. He knows at this point, he always knows. And I can feel he’s devastated for me.

More champagne. Trip to the toilet, mirror, tears, woman up, champagne. I hated everyone. I fucking hated everyone. Even now as I’m writing this I feel the hate, I’m still so angry. I hate myself. I’m right back at that moment, tears blurring my screen. My body seem to not being able to let go of that day, etched on my memory forever. The trauma of going against my emotions to the extent that I did that day.. I don’t think my body will ever forgive me for that, for doing that. I should have stayed home.

The rest of the day I remember as a screenplay unfolded behind thick fog. A haze of champagne. And rage.

I don’t remember this speech. But I know it was half embarrassing, half funny. That’s what I do when I’m uncomfortable. I make jokes. And drink. I think most people experience their wedding-day through a haze, not remembering their speeches and whatnot. But not because they’re drunk due to self-loathing. If that’s the case I feel very sorry for you.

My skills of ignoring my emotions and living for others was really tested, and I’m not even proud of it. It wasn’t worth it and the cost was way too big. I would never have gotten married to the man I love if it stood between that day over again or never.

I remember nothing after the cake. Vague flashbacks from a full-blown panic attack on the bus on the way home at three in the morning. The best man helping my breathe. Waking up the next day wanting to die.

Silly, right?