Thursday, February 09, 2012

Hubby Needs A New Valentine

Posted by Anonymous.

Hubby needs a New Valentine!
One who will be tolerant of his childhood training.

My Motherinlaw was raised on a tenant farm absorbing the Slave Cultures needs to lie and keep secrets. Hubby's Mother trained him to tell stories and make things up for entertainment...She was bored by her life as a pastors wife, so to addressed it she trained her little boy to entertain her at every turn with outlandish stories, and so a Great Colossal Self Promoting Story Telling Man was Created!
The Long term Side Effects of her Creation ..chronic inability to mature...temper tantrums when he doesn't get praised for his lying.... pretending to pay the Bills...pretending to get a Masters degree ....On line Pornography addiction...Pretending all this is Not Cheating on your Spouse...
"Hubby Needs" seem to be the only thing we are allowed to address at our house. This technically is termed IDOL Worship...hahahahaha He really does Not Like the Fact that this has been Identified and spent most of last year leaving the house pretending to go to work trying to regain control over the worshipers
There are a lot of differing concepts concerning Hubby's issues...My Favorite advise is "Don't Take it to Personally" He uses this one all the time! If He were a 22 year old drug addict they would tell me to use tuff love and throw him out! But he is a hubby and a Father so he gets special treatment! If I want out I have to move to the streets because well technically he is not abusing me physically so there is no abuse?!?!!!!
Our Daughter rarely gets a Christmas or Easter Dress.....Hubby spent her last years home school grant on bills he didn't pay. Hubby balks at the idea that he is responsible for 50% of this relationship and 100 % as leader of the household. He acctually has a BA Degree is Phychology and he had to read Books about becomeing a Man to figure out What he is Doing is acctually WRONG?!?!
In Counseling ....Yes we have been to Plenty...they Do NOT CONFRONT the Problems they quietly exspect the irresponsible party to mature past their issues and stop createing Hell...But I have yet to see this process produce even a noted amount of improvement over 23 years...he just comes up with a New Issue...Like Pretending to Believe in God?!?!
The truth is he is trained to Do all of this to the core of his being ....its generational. It took me 15 years to figure out that the lying was generational..hahahahaha about the time his 65 year old cousin found out uncle bill was his Dad!..They had lied to him for 65 years....
My Favorite all time Lie.....I Love you enough to Stay Married to you dont I ?!?!?! This is not a consolation Prize this is a Valentine box filled with Mixed Chocolates ...most of them are gonna taste sweet and sickly and your NOT gonna like em so you just eat the the ones with NUTS...Because its NUTS!
By the way just call me
"The Whore that married the Pastors Son"
I wear the title with Honer Now
and a red string tied around my ankle to remind me who I believe In

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Don't Follow Me

Posted by Anonymous.

She is falling. The bottom has dropped out, and she is hurtling towards oblivion. There is nothing to grab onto, nothing to save her, she is falling.

The phone has fallen out of her hand. It lies on the floor of the van. She stares at it. She looks up to see her mother and sister turned around from the front of the vehicle. She can see their mouths moving, but she has forgotten how to hear. She has forgotten how to breathe.

She looks out the windows of the car and sees people in the yards of this pretty development. Mowing lawns, setting up sprinklers, walking dogs. How are these people still moving?

She realizes she has stopped breathing. She has started to shake. She hears something, finally. The voice, it is her husband. It is coming from the phone on the floor. He is shrieking obscenities, screaming for her to answer him.

“What is this? What did you do? What am I looking at?” He is sobbing, making guttural noises.

Her sister takes the phone and speaks calmly, “We are coming home now. What happened? What is going on?”

“Your sister is a whore.” He screams, “Ask your sister, she’s a fucking whore.”

And then there is silence again.

Her mother has pulled the van over. Turned around in the seat to look at her. Eyes searching, questioning, bewildered.

“I was having an affair,” she whispers, barely audible.

“What? With who? When? How?” The questions come at her rapid fire. She is shaking and quiet.

The shaking becomes more violent and she begins to lose her grip on reality. She is moaning and sobbing, rocking back and forth, “My babies. He’s going to take my babies.”

With this, her mother snaps into action and calls her to attention.

“You need to speak to me. What happened? Tell me now.” Her mother’s authoritative tone grabs her attention just as it did in childhood.

“It was an e-mail relationship, with a guy from college. It started on Facebook.” She doesn’t say the name but she doesn’t have to. Both her mother and sister know immediately who it is.

“Did you act on this relationship?” her mother inquires, trying not to say the word sex.

“No. But there were pictures and graphic emails.” And he saw them all. Oh my God. He saw them all. How is this happening?

She begins to unravel again. The momentary calm is gone, and she borders on hysteria. She screams that she needs a cigarette, although no one in the car smokes. Her mother once again snaps her back to attention with her tone.

“We need a plan of action. First of all, where are the kids? “

She looks at the clock, 8:45pm. They are in bed, exhausted from a long weekend. It is a Sunday night. Having just spent the weekend in New Jersey and then all day swimming, they were tucked in by 7:30pm.

“They are sleeping,” she says.

“Okay. You need to talk to him,” her mother says, always the problem solver, the trouble shooter. There is nothing that she can’t fix. With a glue gun and heartfelt apology, this would be right as rain in no time.

Her mother and sister discuss quietly how they plan to handle the situation. Her husband said he wants her out. He wants her to get her shit and leave.

The focus of their discussion has shifted. The focus of concern is the children. “…don’t want to wake them…” “…I can stay with her…” “…she can stay at my house…”

She has three children. They have three children, six, four and two. Her babies.

She shoves their faces out of her head, too painful to think about right now. Her heart might explode.

She can only think about the leather stitching on the seat in front of hers in the van. She wants to die. She wants to stop existing. She wants to disappear.

She can’t say these things in front of her mother and sister because they will take them seriously, as if she might actually commit suicide. Would she? She guesses that this feeling is why people take that step. She couldn’t do that, wouldn’t do that.

Wouldn’t mind if something killed her but wouldn’t take it into her own hands. That would just add insult to injury.

She will have to face this like a grown up.

She is just starting to breathe again when they pull into the driveway of her house.

The violent shaking begins again. They walk in the door. She is flanked by her mother and sister.

This situation is awkward and humiliating for everyone.

He is sitting at the table and has the laptop open.

When he sees her mother and sister, there is a slight change, almost imperceptible to anyone but her. He softens and there is sadness behind his immediate rage.

He demands that she log back into the e-mail account. While in the thick of the initial incident, she had changed her password to lock him out of the account.

“Show them. Show them what you did.” He is shaking, too, she can see.

“Facebook. That fucking Facebook,” he repeats, over and over. “How could I be so stupid? So fucking stupid?”

When her mother and sister finally leave, sad and scared, the house is quiet. The home that they built together.

She looks at him. She waits. He can’t look at her. After an interminable silence, he says, “Why?”

The question hangs in the air. Unanswerable. Inexcusable. Unbelievable.

Mentioned in 20% of all divorce cases according to a survey by the American Academy of Matrimonial Lawyers (AAML), it seems that Facebook is certainly adding fuel to the fire.

In some cases, Facebook is used as way to collect evidence in an already heated battle. In other cases, like mine, Facebook is merely the gateway. The Devil’s playground. The Garden of Eden. The place where a woman feeling stifled by the boredom of being a middleclass wife and mother goes to find some excitement.

It all started so innocently. A simple, “Hey there! Long time, no see! You look great!” It moved into a daily communication. Simple stuff, “your kids are so cute,” “your new deck looks great.” Then there is the shift, so slight, almost unnoticeable, “Remember the time…” and then you are in, involved. You are thinking of another person right there in the middle of your perfect, amazing life.

It slides so naturally away from the “social network” to a more private exchange, e-mail. And then the phone calls begin. The text messages.

It’s all so easy, nobody is getting hurt. It’s not “real.” It’s all digital. Nothing “bad” is happening, just two old friends talking, and then there is the proposal, the mention of “what if…,” the innocent lunch meeting. In the moment there are choices to be made.

I made my choice. I chose not to go to a hotel. I chose not to take that final step. But, in the end, it didn’t really matter. I was already there. I had already put myself in the situation. I made it real.

And I had to answer the question. Why?


One year ago, my world fell apart.

One year ago, I almost lost everything.

But I didn’t.

We survived.

I followed an angel down through the gates; I can only thank God it was not too late.

I found my place. I can only thank God it was not too late.

Thursday, May 05, 2011

This Is a Thank You Letter

Posted by Anonymous.

To Catherine for hosting this, but also to all the bereaved, betrayed, angry, and injured souls on here. This one isn't for everyone; some of you won't relate to this at all. That's fine too. This one is mostly for the married folk out there.

About Me:

I'm a simple man. A Man's Man, really. I love my woman, my kids, sex, cars, guns, weightlifting and beer. In that order. I am a United States Marine, so you can imagine the testosterone runs a tad high in my veins. I'm a brother to several sisters, a son to a quirky mother (think Ms Frizzle from Magic School Bus. Seriously.), and a dedicated husband to an amazing woman. I was not always so dedicated. In fairness, my first wife was not so faithful herself. This is not the point; it is just a bit of color for the background. We failed, through mutual immaturity, lack of a foundation (dated a year and married), infidelity on both sides, and several other fissure-sized flaws on BOTH our parts.

Now, I am remarried. Strangely enough, to a woman that I dated in college, almost 13 years ago. We broke up because I joined the Marines, of all things. 8 years later, and a spouse each, we met up again, and we are. Both MUCH wiser the second time around.


There is always that 'But,' isn't there?

I am still a Man, however much I have learned. And while I am proud of my genetic package, this presents a problem. I tend to think I have things under control. We men like that. To be The Man. In Charge. On Top Of It. Got This One on Cruise Control. This blinds us, willfully or otherwise, to an amazing array of things that women see as glaringly obvious. This trait above all others is what I credit with my first marriage's demise, at least from my end. We tend to think we have things figured out, and that is that. We will ALWAYS have it figured out. Because things never change, PEOPLE never change, right? Heh. Yeah Right.


Because I know this, I am paranoid. Always self-examining, always thinking, 'am I missing something?' But because I am NOT a woman, I'm a blind man trying to teach myself what the color Blue is.

Here is where the Thank You starts. To ALL of you. All of you who suffer, whose men AREN'T men, if only because of their willful blindness, their neglect, and their dispassionate self-justification (we're good at that, let me tell you...).

I thank you for sharing, for letting all your hates, hurts, and feelings fly. It's because of you guys that I know what to look for. It's because of your willingness to share that I can see those blind spots; they're damnably hard to find otherwise. It is because of the woman who loves her husband beyond all reason, all sanity, and pours out her troubles and feelings here, that my marriage is still kicking. I hope and pray for each and every one of you, that your situation will improve, that your man will wake up, that YOU will wake up, whatever the case may be. But, in the meantime, Thanks. Just know that you aren't screaming into the wind. By what you do here, another woman is spared the suffering you endure. Small consolation? Maybe. But it's what I have to offer.

I owe you all.

Just....keep saving me, would you?


A Man.

Tuesday, May 03, 2011


Posted by Anonymous.

Dear Mom,

This is a letter that I should’ve written several years ago. I want to start off with saying that I love you even though you accuse me several times of the opposite. I am twenty-three years old, and I know you still see me as your little girl. Mom, I’m not a little girl anymore. I am almost done with graduate school. I have a lot of things left in life that I would like to experience in this world. I can’t deal with you trying to control every aspect of my life anymore. Prisoners have more leeway than I do.

I understand that you love me and worry about me, but you don’t act like this with the boys. You don’t make them tell you when they leave or when they arrive at their homes. You never have. I understand that you think things are different because I’m a girl. But, I am not a prisoner. I can’t let you control my feelings. Even though you think you don’t.

I am sooo sick of you constantly putting him down. He’s a good guy, a really good guy. Just because he’s black, not catholic, and doesn’t have an 8-5 job doesn’t make him worthless. He treats me well regardless of whether you want to believe that or not. He may not be what you have always wished for, but he works hard and loves me unconditionally. I don’t know what God has in store for our relationship; I just know that he brought him into my life for a reason. Maybe that reason was that our (yours and my) relationship can change into something different.

I have let you get away with a lot of things that I probably shouldn’t have. I can’t live the life you want for me. I need to live MY life. I understand you want the best for me, but like I’ve said on several occasions, you don’t get to decide. I am my own person. You raised me to be independent and to stand up for myself. When I stand up to you, you accuse me of raising your blood pressure and saying that I will give you a heart attack. You have absolutely no idea how much it hurts me for you to tell me things like that.

I know you are a good mom but you need to realize that I don’t do everything the exact way you do. I don’t think like you, and I view the world completely different. All you see are obstacles, and all I see are opportunities. I guess that is because we are almost 40 years apart. I refuse to argue with you every single day about the man in my life. I could understand you saying I deserve better if he treated me poorly, but he doesn’t. You know what it’s like to be treated poorly… I don’t. You think he controls me, but he doesn’t. He supports me. He is the one there every time you go off on one of your rampages about how much you dislike him and my lack of faith and blah blah blah. You’ve always known that I am not lacking in faith. I’m with you at church every Sunday on my own accord. I know I don’t have to prove my faith to you; it’s just irritating constantly being questioned.

I know I can’t control what you do, but I can control me. I do appreciate everything you’ve done for me; however, I can’t continue to have this relationship with you. I’ve told you on several occasions I wish we could have a mature mother-daughter relationship, but you refuse. You get jealous of the conversations I have with my friends because I don’t talk to you about certain things. The reason I don’t talk to you is because I can’t be open with you. You automatically judge me and disagree with anything you wouldn’t do or didn’t do. I AM NOT YOU.

I’ve prayed and prayed and prayed. I don’t know what to do about our relationship. The only thing I can think of is that I just need to stop giving in to you. I’m not sure if it’s best to just rip it off like a band-aid or not. I know you’ll go to my brothers and say how bad I am treating you and that it’s HIS fault. It’s not. Like I said at the beginning of this letter, I probably should’ve written this 5 years ago when I started college and the daily check-ins began when I wasn’t even in the same city. Now I’m back and have lived with you for a little bit, and I STILL had to check-in with you; otherwise, you blamed me for your lack of sleep. You aren’t the only one losing sleep. I just don’t tell you about it because I secretly think you’d enjoy that you get to me that much. I’m the one who has to go to work tomorrow, but I’m still up. I thought that writing this might help me to release some of my emotions. I’m debating on whether or not to send this to you.

I don’t know why you treat me so differently from the boys. I know you love them just as much, but you were able to let them go. I cry every day because I don’t know how to make this better. It’s killing me. I want to be able to have a GOOD relationship with you. Not one where you treat me like a five-year-old constantly. Mom, I’m going to make mistakes. I know that. But, it’s not like I’ve ever been in any serious trouble. The worst I did was talking in class when I was younger. For some reason, you think I am incapable of making decisions about my own life. You have to trust that God knows what he is doing in my life. I know eventually everything will work out, but I can’t wait to graduate and look for another job far away from here. I guess I think in my head that will help solve our problems even though secretly I know it won’t. I don’t know what to do. I love you, and I can’t take the arguments anymore.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

My Sister

Posted by Anonymous.

The world as I know it ended on a cold December night in 2006. At 10:15 pm. my baby sister, who I had watched for over ten years fight the nightmare that is Leukemia, died. It was like my own death was taking place; I shut down, I became withdrawn, severely depressed and angry. It wasn't just her death that haunted me, it was the way she died, full of pain and anger, not wanting to accept her fate. It was the cruelest experience of my life.

I had spent the months leading up to her death in denial. In all the years that she had Leukemia, I never once thought that she would die. I always knew that she could die at any moment, but i never really believed that she would. I know it was naive of me to be so optimistic, but in those ten years that she battled with the cancer, I thought my sister to be invincible - countless surgeries and infected ports, serious life-threatening circumstances never stopped her from fighting. Even when an irresponsible doctor botched a surgery and left her fighting for her life in what would be months of recuperating, she never lost hope, but she never fully recuperated either. She died of complications due to that surgery and from the cancer.

She was my everything. I lived and breathed for her and for all of a sudden for my whole world to be torn apart was more than I could bear. For months after she died, I would wake up in the middle of the night and tell myself that she was still in the hospital waiting for me to go see her. When she came home to die after they told her she only had four months to live, if that, she was in hospice. They had a nurse that would come to the house to make sure she was comfortable and wasn't in pain, but it didn't matter that they gave her medicine - she died in pain, it was never painless.

When she came home from the hospital to die, she was angry to say the least. She would cry and scream, she didn't understand why she had to die, why at sixteen her time was up. She who had never had the chance to have a real life because of her illness, who hung out with my friends who loved her because the kids at school didn't want to be friends with the girl who had cancer. Even though she was two years younger than me, she always seemed older. Maybe it was the fact that she never got to have a normal childhood that made her seem wise beyond her years. She didn't have time to think of petty things that other kids at her age thought of, not when she was constantly trying to stay alive.

I took a leave of absence from work to be with her. I withdrew from all my classes at college. I tried to keep going because I knew she would be proud of me. She looked up to me so much, and the last thing I wanted to do was disappoint her, but I couldn't stand to be away from her even for short periods of time. I always felt that if I left her, that she would die, and I would never be able to say goodbye or forgive myself for not being there. I became an insomniac; I was too worried and scared to go to sleep, I never knew if I was seeing her for the last time. It was torture to see her die slowly everyday. I couldn't stand to see it, but, at the same time, I couldn't stand to look away. Time was so precious, every moment i spent with her was precious.

She started to get worse - her body started shutting down, her organs began to die, she could no longer sit up in bed by herself. My mother and I would help her to the restroom. Years of steroids for pain had left her first using a walker and later in a wheelchair. If she would have lived, she would have needed a hip and both knees replaced. Three days before she died, a priest came to read her her last rites. We had to hold her up so that he could bless her. She was deteriorating so fast, the day before she had stopped talking. The last thing she ever said was my name and till this day, I don't know what it was that she wanted to tell me.

I know that my sister loved me, and I loved her more than anything, but losing her is something I will never be ok with. I've spent the last 3 1/2 years being depressed and unable to let go of the one person who truly understood me and who I couldn't live without. After her death, I became in a way a zombie. I stopped going out, I didn't want to go back to school, I kept working hoping it would take my mind off the pain, but it never did. I went back to work a month after she died, but I wasn't ready to go back. Everyone I knew was just sorry for me, but I didn't care, I just wanted her back. I just couldn't live in a world where my little sister didn't exist.

The worst part was dreaming of her every night. It would always be the same dream: me hanging out with her doing regular stuff like shopping or watching tv etc., normal things. And, to me, it was like she never died becuz I believed her to be alive. To everyone else, she was dead, but not to me -- she was alive in my dreams and how I wished that my dreams were reality. It wasn't until years later that I had a dream of her telling me that she was sorry that she had died and that she was ok that I realized that I had stopped living. I had become so depressed that I didn't know how to be me anymore. It was this dream that made me realize that all this time that I had spent dreaming of her, I was, in a way, preventing her from letting go, and I knew that by her telling me those things in my dream that she would never be able to if I didn't let go. As much as it pained me to not think about her everyday and miss her, I told myself that it was the right thing to do. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her in death, and I couldn't allow my depression to get in the way of her being happy and at rest.

It was complete torture those four months after the doctors told us she wouldn't be here for christmas, and they were right. She died five days before xmas. It was the worst day of my life. After ten years of fighting, you'd think she would have won. The hardest part of losing her was not knowing if she was ok, where she was, whether she was still in pain. As someone who has never been religious, albeit somewhat spiritual, it was very hard to believe that she was ok. How could she be ok if she was dead?? There had to be some sort of explanation!! Why was she taken from me when she who was always so devout in her faith yet had suffered beyond her wildest dreams, how is it that god had allowed this to happen????

I don't think I'll ever understand why she had to die. There's no reason or explanation that's ever going to be good enough. I've come to terms with it in my own way. I'm glad that for 16 years I lived and got to be in the presence of an angel, and, even though she is gone, she will always be with me. I deal with my depression every single day, but I am no longer crippled by it. I take it for what it is, and I no longer feel like a zombie. For the first time in a long time, I feel like me again and that's something I will continue to work on everyday. I've been back to school for a year now. I'm going to be a nurse someday so that I can help all those children who suffer like my sister did.

To lose someone you love, whether a sister/mother/father/brother... is extremely hard, but I found that letting go is harder to do, and until recently, I never felt strong enough to really talk about her without breaking down. Hopefully this will inspire if not help others to do the same with their loved ones. It sounds very cliche, but life goes on whether you want it to or not, and what better way to honor the person that you've lost than by allowing yourself to move on as well.

I love you my vito.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Stalker, Sexual Harasser, and Cult Leader

Posted by Anonymous.

I am a quiet person. I am divorced - twice, from the same man both times now. I live like a nun - in fact, I took silent vows to live like a nun.

That being said, I was none-too-happy to start getting anonymous voice mails from an unknown throaty man's voice telling me, "I love you, baby, I love you." After about 4 of them, I called back the number on the caller ID, and left my own message, "You have a wrong number. You don't know me. You don't love me. Please stop calling me." The messages got more intense. I called back, got a v.m. mail telling me I had reached "O--- and Darlene," and left another, firmer message, "You don't love me. You don't know me. Stop calling me." "This guy's married?" I thought, "Poor Darlene!" The next v.m. was from a different throaty voice, started with, "Hey, baby," and told me in no uncertain terms exactly what he wanted to do sexually to my body. Then I got a Christmas card in May with the nastiest insults you can imagine on it, my plants got cut down, my flower beds got dug up, my favorite windchime got cut to pieces...and on and on.

Fast forward 14 months from the first phone call, and a new man got hired on where I worked. Somehow, my supervisor got the mistaken impression that I knew him. It took him 3 days to start trapping me in small places while he came on to me and insulted me. It took him about 5 days to start lying to our supervisor about me to get me in trouble. Within the first two weeks, my cat disappeared and he guaranteed (his word) me twice that my cat was dead. He let me know he knew exactly where I lived and named the street, and he had seen me in 2006, tried to get me to pay attention to him at the time but I wouldn't look at him, and it had taken him that long to find me where I worked again. Within the first three weeks, he started talking to me about "romance" in the same throaty voice as the man who had left the "I love you, baby, I love you," messages on my phone. I told him very plainly the subject was off limits to him, but he persisted. That constituted the third complaint I made against him to HR.

My complaints to HR went unheeded. By this time, the lies he told our supervisor had painted me as a flaming bitch I was not, and she, for some unknown reason, decided to cast her lot in with him rather than look at my excellent work record and defend me. I started getting reprimanded for things that never happened based on his reports. I'm not talking about things that we perceived differently. I'm talking about incidents that never occurred. I avoided this man like the plague, and he manufactured complaints against me about things that never occurred when I hadn't even seen him for 2 or 3 weeks at a time.

He started forcing himself on me at lunch. He was cold. He convinced the kitchen staff I wanted to eat with him. I would be sitting with a table full of women coworkers, there would be no space available, and he would pull up another chair and force his way into the circle of chairs to sit next to me. Everyone else would get up and leave. He complained to our supervisor that he was "uncomfortable" because I didn't want to eat w/ him. I told her I was the one who was uncomfortable, and she relegated me to eating alone in my office. He would sit next to me in staff meetings and make inappropriate comments of endearment to me under his breath. I told him directly that I would not tolerate it, and he loudly laughed at me.

The same kinds of things happening to my home property started happening at work. My plants continued to be cut down, one by one, whole flower beds were removed, soil and all, trenches left where there were rows of flowers. The wooden border around one flower bed was set on fire, and another stomped down to the ground. Air was let out of my tires, one by one, at work. The back of a condom package was thrown in through my barely cracked open back car window by someone whose hand was big enough to twist off the wind guard. This guy was enormous.

Eventually, I involved an attorney, and after 10 months of on-going sexual and professional harassment, he and I got a behavior contract. Our supervisor took his side, helped him counter-grieve against me, and I had a heart attack (myocardial infarction, no joke). I was informed I could no longer call him "stud." Stud? More like Stunned! Remember, I live like a nun, I took a silent vow to live like a nun. I have never, in my life, called any man stud! When I was married - twice to the same man - I never called my husband Stud!

I was, nonetheless, relieved to have the behavior contract because having to stay 10 feet from one another meant I didn't have to worry about him sitting next me. Well, he only kept to it when we were under camera. In the back hallway, where my office was located, there were no cameras. If we were walking down the hallway at the same time, he would walk across the hallway to all but brush up against me.

Things started disappearing from my locked office. One night, my keys were laying on top of my purse instead of inside it. I didn't want to believe someone else had had my keys, so I told myself I must have thrown them on top of it instead of inside it when I put my purse in my desk when I came to work. I didn't believe that, but I tried to convince myself of it. Then things started disappearing out of my locked house. I went home late one night, was going to do a load of laundry before going to bed, and neither first floor light switch would turn on basement lights. I figured both bulbs were burned out, and I went to bed. When I went to the basement the next morning to throw in a load of laundry, I discovered the two bulbs controlled by the 2 upstairs light switches were gone! They were not burned out, they were no longer in the light sockets, and nowhere to be found!

I vacated my house. As I was preparing it to try to rent it as a specific type of boarding house, I entered it late one afternoon to find unflushed feces that was at least a few days old in both toilets. Odd things disappeared from my house. Odd, and some important things, disappeared from my office. He attempted to make me go into agreement with him that I would rent the rooms in my boarding house to only his clients. I told him that would be a conflict of interest and refused. He threatened me! He told me I would be sorry, and he would sue me!

In late April, he actively stole a client from me. I asked him to return her, and he refused. Our supervisor sided w/ him. In early May, our admissions department reassigned a client originally assigned to him to me. He became furious and yelled and stomped and threatened to get even.

Mother's Day weekend, our grown son disappeared. His car was in front of his apartment, and his apartment was empty. His father had the police enter his apartment, and there was no sign of him. None of his friends had heard from him in 4 days. His father filed a missing person's report. When I returned to work on Monday, after having not slept at all the entire weekend, our HR department confronted me w/ computer print-outs supposedly written by me (but not) brought in by this man, after informing me that "unbeknownst to" me, his son and my son had been good friends for about 10 years. It turns out many things were done to me, my finances, and my reputation via computer that weekend, and I am still discovering them. HR went on and on and on about this man and my son, and I left her office sick that I had just been through one of the worst weekends of my life, and when I returned to work, this man's name was right smack in the middle of it! Just like his name was right smack in the middle of every work problem I had! Then I found 1/4 of a denuded small animal skull (my cat?) ritualistically placed under a pyramid of bricks in the back yard of the house I was not yet able to rent. I ended up back in the hospital with severe chest discomfort and very unstable vital signs. Since I couldn't get any protection from the administration at work, I reported the situation to our licensing board.

When I went back to work, I walked in the door being accused of things he had lied about me to our supervisor. When I told her I didn't know what she was talking about, she got very sarcastic with me. About the third day I was back on the job, and the fourth time she reprimanded me for one of his accusations of something that never happened, I thought I was going to have a third heart attack, and I turned in my resignation letter, stating, "I have a right to do my job without O---'s sociopathic abuse!" and I quit.

End of story, right? Oh, hell, no.

My son did not speak to me for 7 months. On one occasion he accused me of all kinds of horrible things on his blog, things I never did and never would do, and called me every kind of bitch and whore he could come up with. Prior to early May of that year, my son and I had an OK relationship with a lot of humor in it. Although we are on speaking terms again, we are no longer close, and there is no humor.

I could not find another job, and I could not get residents in my specialized boarding house. I had really good experience at that job, I didn't want to lose it from my resume, and I didn't know how else to account for the time. But, unbeknownst to me, the supervisor was telling potential employers AND referral sources for my specialized boarding house that I was psychotic. The supervisor also reported me to the licensing board for things that were not true, and alleged to the licensing Board that this man never did anything to me, that I did many things to him, and that I am psychotic. The licensing Board, never pausing to consider that she was one of the two people I reported, threw their towel in w/ her allegations, prohibited me from practice, then ordered me to have a complete psychiatric evaluation at my expense, and proposed to revoke my license! This is all in retaliation for my reporting on-going sexual and other harassment. By this time, I had no money, no credit cards, was in foreclosure on my house, and filing bankruptcy.

I continue to get nasty phone calls and things continued to be done to my car. I was informed by another person that his wife's name is Darlene - fascinating coincidence - and by yet another ex-co-worker that the word was out there that he was the father of my grown son! I posted a link to Worksite Bullying Institute after receiving unsettling e-mails from a couple of ex-co-workers referring to this man, and within 12 hours, received a v.m. from the same voice from 3 1/2 years earlier, saying, "Hey, baby," and then it sounds a whole lot like he's masturbating. When I moved my things from my locked garage into permanent storage, I found that not only were some things, like my professional licenses, selectively missing, but bins were broken, bins turned directly upside down (not fallen over or knocked over, actually flipped over on their lids) and bins of Christmas stuff filled with foul water.

Of course, the licensing Board, for whatever its reason, is discounting all this. They're calling my stalking log, copies of my many police reports, photographs of bizarre events "delusional" because the supervisor said they are delusional. And they reported me to the OAG as being psychotic. WTF?

My life has been destroyed by this man who entered it with a phone call telling me he loved me when I didn't even know who he was. He has retaliated with extreme vengeance against my every attempt to set limits and boundaries. He has invaded my life, my property, my career, my family - and why? I have no idea.

Recently, I was informed that this man is also a pastor! I looked up his "church" on-line, and it is absolutely a cult, manifesto, prime directive, and all. AMC, for short. I would love to give the whole name and warn people, but I'm literally afraid I'll end up in prison if I do! I don't think this man will stop harassing me until one of us is dead.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

To My Mother In Law

To My Mother-In-Law,

I am tired of making excuses for you and your behavior. I am tired of defending you because you gave me the love of my life. I am tired of trying to find the good in your cruelty. I am finished with you and will not allow you to passively abuse my family.

Despite what you may believe, postpartum depression is real. I did not abandon your son when I moved back in with my family. YOUR son packed the baby and me in the car and drove us there to save my life. I would have abandoned your son if I had gone through with my frightening thoughts of drowning myself in the bathtub. How can you not see that? Why should we all be punished for doing what was right for us?

How dare you blame my postpartum depression instead of honestly admitting to your lack of interest in your first grandchild. How dare you blame my location on the simple fact you have never met him, 10 months later. Why would you ask me, 5 days after giving birth, if I was allowing my husband to get some rest because he sounds tired? When have you ever shown the least bit of compassion toward me? (Your son is in the middle east! I am alone, a single parent with no help 24/7. Not even an e-mail or a call... once.) I have given your son a child. I have given your son a loving home. I am YOUR grandchild's mother and father for these 8 months. I have gotten help and fought out of the most frightening darkness of depression I have ever experienced. Why do you despise me for these things?

I will never again cry a single tear when I have finished speaking to you. I will let go of my fantasy notion of acceptance from you. I will never again allow you to penetrate my armor which you have forced me to apply and scorch me with hyper criticisms or your passive aggressive silence. When you do not call for my sons birthday, I will forget you exist. This is your loss. This is your own loneliness and punishment. Thank GOD for my family and their involvement with this beautiful little angel. I am sorry for you and your misery.