Thursday, November 27, 2008

Dear Ex-Friend

Posted by Anonymous

A letter to my crazy, husband seducing, whore of an EX-best friend

I have always known you were crazy. I just thought it was in an endearing, I love you despite the fact that you kind of suck most of the time sort of way. We have been friends since 10th grade and we have been through just about everything together. I want you to know that our friendship endured because I allowed it to endure. Over the years people have asked me how I could forgive you for things. Like when you bailed out on being in my wedding just because you didn't like the dresses I picked out. I mean HELLO SELFISHNESS it was like MY freaking wedding!

Yeah, how about when you got mad at me because I put my daughter in Montessori preschool a couple of days a week. And then again when we signed her up for morning ESP at her school last year because I had a newborn at home. Newsflash! You are NOT the world's perfect mother. Oh and when you gave your 3 month old baby boy chicken broth in his bottle I DID think it was weird. I just believe that parents should keep their mouths shut if they don't agree with someone else's parenting technique.

I always defended you and made excuses for your bitch tendencies. I loved you even though you didn't bring your kids to my daughters birthday party ( 3 years in a row) and didn't even bother to call. I loved you even when you were about to cheat on your husband the first time. I told you that you were going to ruin your marriage and that you would regret it. I helped you to make the right decision and I supported you when 3 years later you yet AGAIN wanted out of your marriage. I tried to be a good friend. I never judged you, I just persevered and loved you despite the fact that you are hard to like.

I am not the only one of our girlfriends that feels that it is hard to be friends with you. You never make it easy. You criticize when you should gently be truthful, you are selfish and you are ignorant about the world around you. You are either in a great mood and you love everyone or you don't answer your phone for days and then act all bitchy when you finally come out of hiding. I really do think you have a mental disorder. I am no expert....but I have known you a very long time. If I had to guess I would say you are Bipolar. Now...don't misunderstand me. I have struggled with anxiety and depression myself, and I am empathetic to anyone who has problems such as these.

HOWEVER! I don't think it is an excuse to use your time with me as a reason to be around my husband. I guess hindsight really is 20/20. We were like family and now it is over. I thought of you as a sister and that is why I put up with your shit for as long as I did. Now I realize that I should have put you in your place years ago. I guess I was a little crazy myself. You do have your good qualities. I am just hard pressed to think about those now that you chose to come after my husband. You guys used to hate each other!

Even now it is hard for me to believe that it happened. I guess I just never thought that you would be able to hurt me this way. You knew that the next week was my aunt's murderer's trial. You knew that I was struggling with being in the same room as her killer and seeing pictures of the crime scene. You knew that we were going back to marriage counseling. You knew I had already made the appointment. You knew where the weaknesses were in every area of my marriage. You knew his vulnerabilities. I gave you a bloody road map on how to appeal to him.

I want to know....what were you thinking? You said that you weren't thinking about me. You said that you were only thinking about yourself and what you needed. I say that is impossible. You came to MY house right before you went to his gig! You came to bring me a cute little rug for in front of my sink! What was that? An "I pity you because I am about to go fuck your husband gift"?! I mean seriously! How could you come to my house and look me in the eye and get into your minivan and drive to his gig!!!!?

Now YOU are begging your husband to stay? I tried to help you to see that your marriage could be saved. But now I am afraid that you have gone too far. And I am a little ashamed to say that I am having a hard time feeling sorry for you. You had so many chances. I counseled you. I read you scriptures and I prayed for you and your marriage. I tried to be supportive and non judgmental.

I was an awesome friend to you. How could you make my life so much harder? You knew what he and I had been through. You knew our story and that our road had been a difficult one. Why would you choose to make it harder?

Guess what? I am still here. I am still taking care of my family. I still have faith in God. I believe that I am still sane because I have chosen to seek God in all areas of my life. This letter has helped me to realize that I still have bitterness to work on. I still have some forgiving to do. But I know that I will be ok. No matter what happens in my life, I know that I will be ok because of Jesus Christ who strengthens me. I suggest you run to God as well. He will forgive you if you ask Him to. Maybe something good can come of all of this destruction. If He can forgive can I. I know you will never read this...but I didn't write it for you. I feel better already. I can feel the peace and contentment setting in already.

Don't even get me started on my husband's role in all of this. That is another post for another day.

Monday, November 24, 2008


Posted by Anonymous.

I went to seek drugs, because I need them desperately. They said, “you are exhibiting drug-seeking behavior. We will give you nothing.” Well, Sherlock... My aunt has the same illness I do, and has been sending me Xanax in the mail. I ran out, and I don’t want to ask her for any more. It makes me feel dirty and exploitive. So now I just scream into my sweater for hours.

I hate everything about college. I hate New York, I hate my classes, I hate the idea of transferring again. I don’t even want to be a writer anymore. It was all so fluid before; I only wrote when I had something to say. Now I have to write constantly, all the time, about things that I don’t care about, and it’s all crap, which makes me feel bad about myself, so then I go spend all of my money on alcohol and cab fare. I miss Colorado so much it makes my skin burn to think about it. All of my friends here are so glamorous; and they think that I am too, but really, I’m not. I read books and listen to decent music and know how to dress myself coherently. If that’s all it takes to be glamorous, than people should stop spending so much time reading up on it in Vogue. I will never be glamorous for real, because I am never going to be calm when I meet a famous person. I've become good at pretending, but the whole time I was talking to John Mayer I wanted to throw up. Also, John Mayer is an asshole. They are all assholes. Nobody here is normal. They get vodka companies to sponsor their birthday parties and then rent out some venue and fill it with people they don't know. I am constantly surrounded on all sides by strangers, and they have their faces pressed against mine in the photos the next day. Fuck you. I don't even know your last name, or what makes you laugh. You seem to be laughing always, with your head thrown back like someone punched you in the spine. Nothing is funny. Don't worry, everyone is looking. Being suffocated by people is the most frustrating way to be alone.

I was crying uncontrollably the other day, and M. said, “You just have to not do that.” Right. Because that’s how bipolar disorder works; you just stop. God, why didn’t I think of that? M. has allergies that are so severe she has to carry around an epi pen with her, and I wanted to say, “The next time someone accidentally feeds you a tomato, you should just not swell like that. Seriously, just stop.” But that would be terrible and mean, so I didn’t.

It’s lucky that I only live on the third floor of my building, because if I lived high enough that I’d for sure die on impact, I’d totally jump off of my fire escape.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Not Welcome

Posted by Anonymous.

I live in an elitist town.

What does this mean? It means I will never measure up. I will never be good enough to be in the "hip mom" circle.

Most of the time, I'm okay with that. I know I'm educated and my child(ren?) will grow up to hopefully be educated, caring people.

I don't care that I'm not the most fashionable mom at the park. I spend my money on things that bring pleasure to me, like books and photography equipment.

But sometimes, it really hurts.

Like tonight.

I went to an open house for a new toy lending library. I was hoping to get some business exposure (I have a home party business selling toys) since I figured that anyone willing to shell out $100 a year to borrow a few toys would be willing to buy some of these good quality educational toys.

Everyone at the open house was wearing a cute little dress and looked like they had just come from having high tea. I was wearing a decent shirt (no baby snot) and casual pants.

I tried to smile and act like it didn't matter that no one was talking to me.

The "owner" introduced herself and I was able to talk to her for a few minutes about our business possibilities since we had spoken on the phone.

Then one of the "committee" members came up and was introduced. And proceeded to monopolize me right out of the conversation by speaking only to the owner and facing her. Hello, I can read that body language a mile away. It says, "you're not welcome here".

I was so hoping to break into this circle for my business, but I guess I'd have to be "one of them" to do that. And that's not going to happen while I slouch around in my flip-flops, taking pictures of everything and not caring that I have dirt on my butt.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Give Me Some Credit

Posted by Anonymous.

I continually fight with myself to not flip out on my friends or family members when it comes to taking care of a child. I have taken care of children since I was six *with parental supervision of course* and I went to a babysitting course, and got my first aid to give immediate care if needed, I've babysat nearly 30 different children from newborn to 12. YET for some freaking reason when asked for my advice on some matter, they never seem to actually listen, do whatever was said, or even go as far as giving me the credit. I can't take it anymore and I can't believe how they treat me just because I personally don't have a child.

DO NOT sit there and say I don't know what I'm talking about.. I DO, I do know what you're going through. JUST because I am just a babysitter and NOT a mother does NOT mean I don't know what you're going through or that I don't know what I'm doing. I have to know what I'm doing, or OBVIOUSLY I wouldn't be a babysitter, and I wouldn't have all this trust from all these parents.

You have no problem asking me to babysit, do you? NO, because you ask me whenever you can. So don't sit there and ignore what information i have to offer WHEN YOU ASK FOR IT,
just because of the sheer fact that I'm not a mother. And if I'm babysitting your child from 7am to 6pm in my home and I tell you I've been telling your child not to touch something like a cord or a dvd, DO NOT sit there and let them play with them! Especially when you're living in MY HOUSE.

And HOW DARE YOU say I don't know what you're going through when I'm the one
spending everyday 4-5 days a week with them. That's MORE than what you did and you're his mother. HE LEARNED TO SPEAK FROM ME! HE LEARNED TO CRAWL FROM ME! and he started to learn to walk from, yeah you guessed it... ME! ME! ME! So to all those people who say I don't know shit.. FUCK... YOU.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Should Have Listened

Posted by Anonymous.

I should have listened to my sister.

She told me to never get involved with a man with small children.

But of course.. me thinking I know everything... didn't listen.

Well, I got into this relationship with a man that I love dearly.

We won't EVEN talk about his ex wife who needs a good slap upside that ugly head of hers...


It's the constant spending of money. The wasting of money that kills me. Maybe because I have very little money of my own and very little to provide for my own nearly grown children that I see it as so wasteful. Whatever they want? They get it. Even if they don't ask for it? Or want it? He buys it. I have literally seen hundreds of dollars being spent on nothing. and everything. It makes me sick to my stomach.

I really don't feel it is jealousy on my part. I just see it as so wasteful and so damaging to the children.

I finally told him that I feel that he is really doing his kids a disservice..that NO ONE is going to be able to please them when they are adults. They will never be happy because no one will be able to provide for them like this.

They are spoiled rotten little children who feel that they "deserve" so much...

They are disrespectful and it sucks.

I can't say too much as I am just a "girlfriend"...and no one wants to hear someone else say something about their parenting.. so I am stuck.

P.S. I do not proclaim to be a perfect parent by any means. I am sure I have made my fair share of mistakes, too.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008


Posted by Anonymous.

You are so busted. You are so busted you don't even know it. When we said if you fessed up to your drug use, we would rally 'round the family with a pocket full of shells. We promised, I had all the funds ready to go for therapy, counseling, whatever financial help I could supply. All you had to do was tell the truth. We had the goods, we had everyone else telling what we already assumed. You failed. You said, I won't do anything-you just have to believe me. I have my life under control-I don't touch that stuff anymore.

She told us the breaking play by play. The coke use, when, with who. And the fact that your own sister was your dealer for it? Not so surprised. And you all would not be so surprised to know that I WAS the one who called Child Protective Services on her and that craptacular family. I didn't just do it because young kids live in that house, where prescription drugs are misused and pot is smoked and cocaine is snorted. I do believe their young and stupid mom can protect them to some degree. I did it to get your sister back for feeding you your poison. I did it as a silent message telling her to stop! You can't start up with that stuff again. YOU just CAN'T.

It shook all of us. Everyone was so mad at Sister and me. They thought we just dropped communication to be assholes. They thought 'we abandoned our mother when she needed us'. They didn't even know the half of it. And they didn't call to get our side, they just listened to yours. The druggies side. Who does that? But you did what every junkie does, you manipulate and feed the story to suite your needs. To get your desired effect. And you succeeded. They thought the worst. And you let them. Knowing all along what you had done. You were so deep in your own lie, you believed it yourself. You couldn't let them know, while they were hand feeding you, taking care of you, paying your bills, giving you shelter in their homes that you were out doing drugs with their money. I don't know I would risk that free ride either.

Weeks went by, months, you were assumed not to be in attendance at Sister's wedding. That was your penalty for not coming clean. For refusing the drug test. Which just answered our question. I know, I know....your new job had you do one. But we explained the piss test wasn't good enough. We needed the follicle. We needed to see just what you had been up. Your bipolar was in rare form. And you know it is almost impossible to get that shit under control when you are using. But you know hoe to tell when a junkie is lieing? Their lips are moving.

Sister threw you a bone. But you forgot that one of your girls learned your power of manipulation. I played you. I promised whatever you told sister I would never know. But I never told Sister that. She knew the ramifications of me knowing you used again. That shit freaks me out. I can't even watch drug use in movies. But, just like I knew would happen-Sister called right after you hung up....and she said you came clean. You told her you had used. You were scared to tell the truth because we would be mad. We wouldn't trust you. Now, now we all have to make nice. Play fair. And act like nothing ever happened. Like a good little picture of perfection family does. Meanwhile, in all those posed and unposed pictures by the wedding photographer charging a King's Ransom, we will all smile our composed smiles. We will laugh and cry at the wedding. We will dance and drink. But all the while, I will know. You sold your daughters down the fucking river to save your own pathetic ass. You let us take the fall, you let them think the worst of us-all the while you know what you had done and what a drug test would show. You let us down, you let YOUR OWN CHILDREN TAKE THE FALL for YOU. Do you hear how fucked up that is?

Monday, November 10, 2008

The Fender Bender In The Corner

Posted by Maggie, Dammit.

When I got the call at 2am that my brother was crouched broken and drunk in his garage with a loaded gun pressed to his temple, my first thoughts were of you. Where the hell were you? How did you manage to sleep through these precious wretched hours while your husband was imploding? Why did he turn to his friends, these friends who called me at 2am, instead of to you, his wife? But I murdered those thoughts as quickly as they came because there just wasn't time. I had to keep both of you alive, I had to figure out what to do, I had to weigh the images in my mind of him shooting himself, of him shooting you, of the police shooting him, and decide which one I could live with. I had to make decisions from the deserted island of my living room floor, and I failed. I froze, and I failed, and though someone else stepped in and saved us all, the business of hating myself was enough to keep me busy and distracted for the next few months and so I did not think about you at all.

That was this summer, a lifetime ago, and the changes I've seen in him are nothing short of miraculous. He has quit drinking. He willingly takes his medication. The boy who would speak to no one now confides weekly in a therapist, and the boy who could not read until high school writes for hours in stacks of weathered notebooks. He seems so steady now he's almost unrecognizable to me, a likable stranger I plan to get to know if I can just baby-step through this trail of broken trust and old pain but, you? You are leaving him.

You're not just leaving him, you're slipping responsibility like a cocktail dress from your angular frame. You are pouring wine in front of him, you are poking at fresh wounds. You and your crazy family are searching for new problems, new mysterious ailments he must possess, and blaming his non-cooperation in his own witch-hunt as proof he doesn't want this marriage. It makes me question everything I have ever known about you, everything you have ever said.

When my brother was a train-wreck nobody noticed you, the fender bender in the corner. Now he is mending and you can't handle it, your own scratches and dings and decades-old mold coming to light. And it's not just the distraction from your own brand of crazy, it's something more, something sinister, and I don't think you mean it and I don't think you see it but it's there, and it's real, and it's this: It's like you need him to be sick, like it's feeding something in you. Without it, you starve.

I have waited 30 years to know my brother. You can leave him if you want to, I'm staying right here by his side.

Friday, November 07, 2008

Redemption In A Baby Album?

Posted by Amanda.

it's sunday. it's sunday again, and again i have put off everything. i always look forward to the weekend, thinking of the many things i will accomplish - oh how productive i will be. friday rolls around and i make mental lists, plan my time; strategize cleaning, organizing, sports, time with my son, finally getting that baby album together (hey, he's only 6...). during the week i convince myself that my inability to accomplish much at home is because i am so busy (work, mom duties, errands, every after school activity under the sun) and that redemption will come in the form of a weekend well utilized. yet every weekend, sunday evening comes and i begin to panic, start beating myself up for having finished practically nothing on my list. the minutes go by and i think to myself "do something! the week is about to begin again and you will have no time until next weekend!" i let myself watch a re-run of "law and order" or "i love lucy" - the two shows which seem forever on, making it difficult to differentiate days and times. i know, i'll check my email for the hundred and third time today. procrastination. and now it's almost time to make dinner. i can hear my son building with legos in his room. i take a deep breath knowing that after dinner there will be games, stories, then bed. there will be no redemption this weekend. the list will wait. who needs a perfect baby album anyway? i think i'll go play with my son.

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

My Son

Posted by Anonymous.

My son will be 27 years old in a few months. Up until he was about 21 or so, he was a responsible, happy young man. His Dad and I never worried about him getting into trouble. He had many friends (mostly girls, but a few guys), held part-time jobs, life was good. The only area where there was a shadow was he never had a girl-friend (this bothered him, not us). When he confided this to us, we couldn't really figure out why, nor could he. People instantly liked him, including girls, but they always wanted to be "just friends", according to him.

He started to work at my husband's place of work about 4 years ago. He was doing well, getting lots of on-call work, making good money. Again, he seemed happy. He decided to move out with a girl he worked with (strictly platonic). It only lasted about 8 months. He wanted to live on his own, so he rented a small apartment. We helped him with the first/last month's rent. He again seemed happy. But he wasn't managing his money well, and got behind in his rent. Again, we helped him, with the promise from him that he would manage his money better. He decided to move in with a guy into a new apartment to save costs. Things then took a real turn for the worst, he started not showing up for work. This was so difficult for my husband (remember it was his place of work too), as we would get calls asking if we knew where he was, why didn't he show up. We would get worried sick wondering what had happened to him. Finally he would call us, saying his bosses were idiots and he didn't want to work there anymore. We bailed him out financially again. He started to work a string of minimum wage jobs, but claimed he worked for idiots and would finally leave. He told us he was very depressed. I tried to get him into counselling, doctors, he would have none of it. When I saw him he looked unhappy, worn out. I suspected drug use.

Finally, I convinced him to come home and get his life in order. He admitted there was drug use (mostly pot, but some ecstacy), introduced by his roommate. He also admitted he had been having suicidal thoughts, but had never acted on them. He often thought of hanging himself. His Dad and I were sick with worry. Again, tried to convince him to see someone. He refused.

Being at home seemed to bring him some stability, although the endless jobs continued. But whatever drug use there was seemed to stop. He was happy again, eating well and acting normally. He wanted to move out with two other roommates again. This was a year ago. We helped him out with money again.

In the last year it has been difficult because we give him between $300-$500 per month for living expenses. He finally agreed to see a doctor and counsellor and try anti-depressents. He claims they didn't work for him and he feels better just dealing with life on his on terms. He says he still gets suicidal thoughts and gets down but not as much. When he asks for money, I try and advise him on budgeting, etc., which he seems responsive to, but obviously doesn't implement because he needs money every month.

Part of his depression is the fact he can't meet someone. He says girls don't like him because he is only 5'4", yet he is an attractive, intelligent young man with a lot going for him. A few months ago he confided he may be bisexual. His Dad and I were very supportive of him and told him we fully accepted his choices in life.

Where have we gone wrong? Why can't he be responsible and act like an adult? My husband and I are very scared that if we don't help him financially, he will become depressed again and try and commit suicide. It feels like a Catch-22. His father and I have tried talking to him endlessly about being responsible with money, and he listens and nods but I guess he feels that we have always helped out so why bother. We do not feel he is doing drugs because he has held down a job in a coffee shop for a few months now and appears healthy and happy whenever we see him. He has also registered in a web design course at college (we have paid for this - it's $8,000) which starts in the fall. He is very excited and so are we for him.

So what do we do - continue to help him financially until he has completed the course and can look after himself? Although my husband and I do make good money, the monthly draw stills comes at a cost. I don't know what to do.

Monday, November 03, 2008

It's My Shower, And I'll Cry If I Want To

Posted by Anonymous.

What is it that is so hard about sending out and responding to baby shower invitations?

We moved out of the suburbs and into the Big City so that my husband wouldn't have to commute to work. It was the best decision for our family, but... and isn't there always a but... we may as well have moved to Mars. It's been a rough transition, and the loneliness is killing me.

The good news is, I now live within a few miles of several extended family members. Family members who I don't really know because our parents only met once a year for Christmas dinner, if that. It's a chance to get connected to them, if they'll have me.

The bad news is, my friends have always been my extended family, and now they're just out of reach. Just far enough away that I'm not part of their weekly routine anymore. For the most part, they haven't called, or emailed to ask how the move was... which is fine, that's life sometimes. But it hurts that they're not answering my efforts to go visit them, "Oh, HI! I got your messages, I /meant/ to call you back."

It *is* a lot of work to drive all the way out here to visit me and grab a cup of coffee. I am just out of reach. I've spent the last few lonely months thinking "maybe they'd come visit if there was something big like a party." People like babies, right? A family member offered to throw me a baby shower. It was so gracious of her. I can't express how grateful I am that she's making an effort to do something sweet for a relative she barely knows.

But, she invited my mother. And where my mother goes, so does all of my mother's drama. My father doesn't know about the last three months of drama. My mother lives for excuses to visit my father. I insisted that this party be women-only, because this should be about me, and not about my parent's failed marriage. My mother fought me on it, and tried to go behind my back to get our relatives to override me, because she wants an excuse to get my father to come visit her.

My husband is such a guy. When I started freaking about about the invitation list, he says "It's your party, invite who you want, don't invite who you don't want." HA! Ever the fix-it-man, he's even offered to rent me a place to throw a separate Girls Night, so I can see who I want.

Since this has become my mother's party, I couldn't invite my step mom, my dad's best friend (who helped raise me), or anyone else from my dad's town, the town where I grew up. Word travels fast in a small town. If my dad were to find out that I invited her, or her, or her or her, but not my step-mom, my dad would be livid. So none of those people who are part of my world were invited.

My father has already caught on that there is a shower that my step-mom wasn't invited to. He called and dropped some not-subtle hints to find out what was going on. I wasn't /really/ lying when I passed it off as "/Mom's Family /is throwing me a shower," even thought that's not how it was meant to turn out. He seemed to accept that. Or, at least he dropped the subject.

To make it worse, my mother can't attend a party without her sister and her sister's Ten Person Party Posse. I put my foot down about not inviting my father, and not making the party coed, so I had to concede to The Posse. The Party Posse is just that, an instant party: just add a buffet table. But it's not my party. It's a posse of distant relatives I see once a year, and have nothing in common with. The Party Posse is my mother's idea of a good time. Fine, whatever. Except that The Party Posse is so huge that there's no room in the house to invite *my posse.*

A month ago the shower invitations went out, to a dozen members of The Party Posse, and a few of my friends. My friends haven't responded, or have apologized when I've asked if they could come. Three weeks ago, my mother's sister found out about an unequally divided inheritance, and started pushing my mother to share the wealth. Of course, there was a huge phone-war that isn't resolved yet. The first time they will see each other is today, at my shower. I'm alternately bracing for a fight, and wondering if anyone from the Posse will even show up. I'm worried and embarrassed because my cousin ordered and paid for a huge pile of catered food that may go wasted. Either way, I feel empty and drained, and now I don't want to go to the shower.

There are ten people who I cling to, ten people who I've been desperate to see, and to share this pregnancy with. Ten people who would have /loved /to be invited to my first baby shower. Ten people who I trust to give me sound advice about having my first baby. Ten people who I've been desperately lonely for. Ten people who have been just out of reach. Ten people who know me well enough to understand how lonely I am, and how my mother and The Posse effect me. Ten people who I couldn't invite because my mother and The Party Posse, my father and the inheritance have taken over. I feel alone, even though I'll be surrounded by people today.

My husband said, "It's your party, invite who you want, don't invite who you don't want." Part of me wonders if I should have invited everyone except my mother. If that would have had more or less fall out.

This is my baby shower for my first baby. This was supposed to be the last thing /about me/ before life starts revolving around the baby. I feel robbed. Today, I'll be faking it, pretending not to miss my posse, keeping up appearances for everyone else's benefit. Again. Anything less would be ungracious.