A Life In Tatters

Posted by Anonymous.

We've been together for over 14 years, we own our own flat, we have two beautiful, wonderful little girls and the world's best cat. We've had our ups and downs, and yes, 2009 will certainly go down as one of the all time crap years - you got almost no work all year and we had two huge, unexpected purchases to make (over 18,000 € in total). Money is tight, so tight it's suffocating us, and you're still looking for work but having a really hard time finding it. I know all that.

But I don't know what to do when you start laying all the blame on me, when you start accusing me of a million vile, untrue things (you've been having headaches and ringing in your ears, and somehow this is a sign that I've been "doing something" to harm you, poison you, drive you mad; you've accused me of taking drugs, of being a tyrant, a hypocrit, a compulsive and pathological liar, of sleeping with our computer maintenance guy, of picking up men from internet dating sites, of sleeping with any number of men (of being a prostitute, in a way, but an unpaid one apparently), of being a compulsive internet gamer, of being insane...). It's all untrue, but you refuse to believe me. You insist that I be frank and honest and sincere, but when I am, you refuse to believe me. You've become Dr Jekyll - kind, considerate, affectionate, just like you used to be way back in the beginning - and Mr Hyde, accusing me of horrible, horrible things, saying (as you did this afternoon, in front of our friends, our children) that "I can't be with her right now, it's physical", saying you have to move out, even though financially that's just not a possibility while you have no income and I only have debts. You are destroying me, slowly, painfully.

Our younger daughter turned 6 last Tuesday and is having her birthday party tomorrow afternoon. I've been trying so goddam hard to hold things together to make her special day, her special party day, happy for her. But it's so hard. You give me hope, you talk sensibly and positively and then, the next day, BANG, you destroy it all again.

Right now, I hate you but I know, deep down, I love you like I always have. I'll never find it easy to forgive and forget all the hateful things you've said and done these last few weeks (the bitch slap in front of our elder daughter "I'm not saying why you deserve it because you know perfectly well" when of course I don't know (I should point out, to be fair, that you have never, ever hurt me before, this really was the first time) will be particularly hard to forgive and forget, as will the accusation that I'm trying to harm you physically), but I'll try. Just like I forgave (though didn't forget, I admit) your infidelities at the start of our relationship.

Ever since we've been together, I've been honest, faithful and supportive. I've worked like a slave to keep our heads above water (you did the lion's share of the household stuff, and I could never have worked as hard as I have without your help, I'm not denying that, or denigrating it, I appreciate it, but assumed it was just your role in the team I thought - wrongly, apparently - we were), I've done nothing but my best for us as a couple, a family.

You are now throwing it all away, on the basis of "facts" that you refuse to admit are false. I'm worried for your mental health, I'm worried about where this will all end. We live a long way away from the small amount of family I have, and almost as far from my two closest friends, so I feel horribly alone and totally unsure of what to do next.

I have to keep it together for tomorrow, I have cakes to make and goodie bags to prepare, I want our little girl to have a fun party, without you ruining everything by accusing me of something untrue in front of everyone. But I'm so scared, so very scared.

You're now talking about alternating custody, and that breaks my heart too. You refuse to go and see a counselor ("what for? You'd tell him your side, I'd tell him mine, it wouldn't get us anywhere"), you refuse to see a psychiatrist ("why? You're the one who needs psychiatric help!"), we just go round in circles.

I'm scared, I'm in pain, I'm alone and I'm more miserable than I've been in years.

I wish I knew what to do.

A Good Mother

Posted by Anonymous.

I thought I was a good mother, I recently found out that the very thing I did to protect my child put her in harms way.

Princess Petunia is the much wanted, long awaited, only child of parents who endured several pregnancy losses, were told they would never have a biological child, went through IVF, and against all odds, were blessed with this tiny, perfect proof that miracles happen on an ordinary day.

When we finally learned we were to be parents we were thrilled, our families were thrilled. We spent our days protecting her. I worked nights and her Dad worked days so we didn't have to put her in daycare until she went to school, then only before and after school. She was safe, she was loved, she was the sun we revolved around.

In the past three years this beautiful, sweet princess became bitter, moody, even mean at times. I chalked it up to teenage angst, only child syndrome, her parents were divorced, after all, she wasn't really a bad kid, just moody. About three months ago she asked to go to a counselor. I got her the first available appointment, what my baby needs, my baby gets.

Yesterday she confided to me something that she had already told her counselor and her dad: when she was six the driver for the daycare bus molested her.

My mind flashed back to the time she came home from daycare with a toy we hadn't bought for her, when I asked her where she had gotten it, she told me the bus driver gave it to her because she was such a good girl on the bus, never cried or screamed.

I marched right into the daycare director's office and demanded to know what was going on, making it clear this was not acceptable. The daycare informed me that "he" was a great guy, a dad himself, coached all the kids sports teams, everyone just loved him, besides, if would make me feel better he was going to be coaching full time and would not be driving the bus anymore, and "you know, Mrs. X, Petunia is a wonderful, well behaved child, I'm sure he was just rewarding her."

I left feeling like I had taken care of this, and besides, the Princess really is a great kid. Little did I know, the damage had already been done. You see, about a month or so earlier the day care had sent a letter home to all the parents explaining that due to the shortage of buses and drivers, sometimes it would be necessary for them to drop the children off up to an hour before school started, with no adult supervision. It was basically a permission slip asking me if they could not do what I was paying them to do. I told the director that they could not drop my six year old off at school to be unsupervised for an hour, if I did that it would be child neglect, I wasn't going to let them do it either. Princess Petunia was to stay on the bus until she could be supervised.

The conversation with my baby, who is now almost 17, started yesterday with: "Mommy, remember when I had to stay on the bus...?"

Now I feel like not only did I fail to protect her but I basically handed her to the pedophile that hurt her. I don't know what to think, what to feel. I think I'm still in denial. How did someone hurt my baby and I was completely unaware? How do I sleep at night knowing that I gave this... I can't call him a man... access to my daughter so her he could hurt her?

And how do I ever begin to make the world a safe place for her again. The saddest part is that she tried to protect me. She told her counselor and her father but she didn't want to tell me because, in her words " Mommy, I knew you would think it was your fault, and there was nothing you could do to stop it."

I used to think I was a good mother, now I think I have no clue what a good mother does to protect her babies.

Paralysis Of Thought

Posted by Anonymous.

When she wasn’t where she was supposed to be which was 10 feet to my left, when I had circled around twice, when I retraced my steps once again, when the well-meaning employee who stood by the door assured me that she was still in the building, when I circled around for the fourth time, when I began to realize she was NOT in the building, when I stepped outside, when her older sister began to panic, when I could feel my chest tightening, when I had to send her sister back inside to stand with a nice stranger, when my mind began to think words I would never say in her presence, when I could not see her in front of the building, when I could not see her at the side, when I found her standing next to our car, standing next to our car by herself, outside, down the stairs, along the sidewalk, across the parking lot, ACROSS THE PARKING LOT–BY HERSELF, when I saw her and screamed her name, when I saw the look of fear on her face–first of being alone and then upon hearing the shrillness of my voice of being in trouble, when I swooped her up, when I held her sobbing body in my arms, when I got nose-to-nose with her, when I impressed my fear upon her, when she impressed her fear upon me, when I returned for her sister, when I explained the “lost rules” again, when my throat began to unclinch, when my chest stopped hurting, when I began to be acutely aware of the fact that I was in the presence of a few dozen other moms but I was the mom who had just lost her 3 year-old child, when I calmly took both daughters’ hands in my own untrembling hands, when I crossed the parking lot again and buckled them in, when I pulled out of that parking lot, I did not think about it again.
I did not because I could not. My mind just. would. not. consider: WHAT IF. That is the only reason I was able to keep breathing. I just hope it stays that way, because I could die a thousand emotional deaths if it starts to move again.

Neighbors And Fences

Posted by Anonymous.

I moved into my home 10 years ago. I had an 18 month old daughter & was expecting my second daughter at the time. The neighborhood was still in development at the time. One of the next door families was already here, the other family moved in shortly after we did.

We hit it off with the "First" family the day we moved in. My now late-husband and the First family dad, a firefighter, talked every day, borrowed tools from one another, helped each other with projects. The First family mom has always been easy and fun to talk to.

The First family kids, 5, 9, and 14 were always comfortable visiting and asking for help. They locked themselves out of the house sometimes and sat with me until one of their parents came home. When the daughter missed the bus on her first day of high school the 9 year old spoke up for her, asking if I would mind taking his sister to school. I put my 18 month old in the van and I laughed along with the older kids when I had trouble finding the high school.

Fast forward to October of 2003. My late-husband lost his battle with cancer on a Friday night.

My girls were with my parents at the time. The First family mom and dad stayed with me while I waited for the ambulance, while I waited for my dad and best friend to make the 45 minute drive to my house. The First family mom and dad followed me from the living room to the front porch and back again several times. My dad thanked them for looking out for "his girl." First family mom told him that I was "their girl, too."

We have always had a great relationship, I thought. First family dad took my riding mower to the repair shop a few months ago. He took care of my lawn and the lawns of a few neighbors.

After taking my girls to school a couple of weeks ago I saw First family dad outside. I ran into my house, grabbed the cash I owed him for mowing a couple of days before. He was talking on his cell phone, so I handed him the money and we did the one arm half-hug thing.

A few minutes later he called and asked if I could run over to their house because he wanted to show me something right quick. I thought nothing of it, I have been in their house too many times to count. I followed him through their kitchen and into the living room. We made small talk as we went into his living room. I looked at the Mother's Day cards and family photos on their coffee table. He had looked down at the coffee table, then around the room. I thought they had bought the wide screen TV they have wanted for a while. I was still looking around when I heard him say "OK". When I turned to him, he had his thumbs hooked on either side of his jeans and was pulling them down.

I freaked out and started walking back to the door leading to the garage, waving my hands in the air, chanting "no, no, no,no". As I was leaving the garage, he opened the door and yelled "You're not gonna tell on me, are ya?" I said something profound like "No, no, no, sometimes, um, people's pants, um, just...fall down!" and kept walking.

When I got home checked the locks on my doors, put my gun on my coffee table, and stared at the wall. I called my best friend. I called my aunt. I didn't want to tell my husband but my aunt said I needed to. She drove to my town after work and told my parents and brother for me. They all came to my house and waited while I woke my husband from his after-work nap and told him. Each of them blocked a door when he came out of the bedroom.

My dad talked to a friend of his, a police officer, who sent an officer over to talk to me. I didn't want to press charges because I didn't want first neighbor's wife, two kids still living at home, 6 year old grandson to ever have to know.

Of course first neighbor dad told the officer nothing happened that morning. The situation was even more awkward because the officer is the father of one of my younger daughter's classmates.

I keep bouncing between feeling sad and furious. I am heartbroken because I can never be friends with him again. I am beyond outraged because I had to tell my parents, brother, aunt about what happened. I am livid because I had to tell my 9 and 11 year old daughters to stay away from him and why. I'm embarrassed because I feel stupid. First neighbor dad had made comments to me 3 years ago, saying that since he was home alone on many weekdays and so was I (soon-to-be current husband worked out of town) that perhaps we could "visit and help each other out." I thought he understood the NO I responded with.

I don't feel comfortable leaving my garage door open if my husband is home. I feel like a fake when I respond to First neighbor mom's "Hey, how are ya's." I told my second next-door neighbors because she is home alone during the day.

I'm tired of crying at odd times of the day and night. I hate that someone I trusted did such a crappy thing to me.