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.

http://youtu.be/-nUgEt_MZOQ

Gutless

Posted By D

Once again you were busted. The funny part is, I knew already. I knew her number where she lived and her name. All the while you thought I knew nothing at all. Do you really think I am that stupid? I guess you do, and that is a shame. I knew about her just like I knew about the others. And you only have yourself to blame. With your constant lies and attempts at deception. Did you not think I would see her number on the bill? And all the text between you both. You denied and said you had no idea who was calling but yet you were on the phone with this person for hours at a time.

But the real kicker was when we were driving home together and she called. Driving home after a lovely dinner. After I told myself, I will let this go, we are a family and we will get through this. That she did not matter, that you loved me and that was all that mattered. You got to love bluetooth technology, 10:46pm at night on a Saturday and she is calling you. The look on your face was priceless as you said you had no idea who would be calling at this hour. All the while I sat there and watched you try to spin your web of lies. You are pathetic!

The worst was when we got home and I confronted you about her, told you I knew everything. I thought you would pass out on the kitchen floor from shock. You actually thought I had no clue, boy were you wrong.

And when I handed you the papers with not just her name and information, but the names and information of the other ones, you were stunned.

Tired of your lies. Tired of your deceit. Tired of your disrespect for me. And just tired of you.

So I write this letter to you. You Gutless Cheating Coward.

William Stafford Was His Favorite Poet

Posted by Anonymous.

Since you were four months pregnant, your husband has been cheating on you, with me. He told me he loved me, that I was the love of his life. We spent almost every evening together, in the park, by the library, up the hill, anywhere you can think of in the San Mateo neighborhood.

Then one night, we slept together at a hotel. I felt so guilty, yet I desired him so. I had tried to end it, when your daughter was born, he thought I was abandoning him without warning, made me feel terrible for leaving him in this state. Anger, bitterness -- it was all around. I went away to London and came back, thinking that if I had left him alone, he would not pursue this and take care of you and you daughter. I got weak and succumbed to him.

I admitted to my husband about the affair and it devastated him. I couldn't live with myself. I was in a battle between my head and my heart. I went back for more, but I also started to become domineering to ask him to tell you the truth. He wouldn't. He told me I was heartless and cold-hearted. You should listen to his words, every day, threatening to want to kill himself with sedatives. I felt bad and stuck with him and tried not to express my anguish and suffering. Once, I was so desperate for him to tell you and he threw a brick out of anger. I didn't understand, why he would tell me he loved me but he wouldn't confess his love. I got to a point where I couldn't take it anymore.

He texted me every day at work and abused me with his words. You know how good his words are. William Stafford was his favorite poet, he gave me his one and only book and used to read poems to me. I bet he did the same with you. I couldn't take his abuse and my own suffering anymore. I spoke to HR about it and they dismissed him. He was so angry. I felt so guilty. Yet you still have no idea. He came back, I met your daughter, he came back and made love to me for 3 weeks, even on a trip to Monterey. I was naive to believe that he was going to love me and leave you.

We have been sexually and emotionally involved for two years. I know it hurts, but you should have the right to know what happened so that you can decide for yourself. Your husband swore at me every day for destroying his life, career and marriage. I am sorry for what I have done, but I just thought you should know. I loved him but he didn't love me enough to tell you the whole truth. I hope he's a good man and will treat you well.

Hook, Line, And Sinker

Posted by Anonymous.

Preamble: I met someone, fell hard for him, and then found out he had lied about being married. They hadn't been divorced for 5 years - they had actually just celebrated their 10-year anniversary.

Here is the email I sent him after I found out...

Subject: WOW

Dear Russell:

Wow – that’s still the word to use. However, it certainly is meant in a totally different context than it did last week.

Congratulations – you fooled me. I fell for it all – hook, line, and sinker. You are good at what you do. Or maybe I am just the perfect victim. It seems like you have had plenty of practice. You know exactly what to say, exactly what to do. You certainly know how to pick them, I’ll give you that.

The thing that pisses me off the most is that my son was involved. Maybe in the future, you should leave the kids out of the picture.

I don’t necessarily have a problem with you being married. It’s the fact that you lied about it. You lied about a lot. I’ll never know which things you said were true and which weren’t. It doesn’t even matter. I’ll never know where you were coming from or what you were thinking. Or if you were even thinking.

I don’t have an issue with casual encounters, as long as both parties are aware of the situation. Honesty will get you a lot further in life. Unless of course this is exactly what you were after. The game, the lie, the idea to completely fool them, the conquest. Did you go home and laugh? Does it make you feel more like a man to dupe someone? Do you even care about how your actions affect other people? Maybe this is exactly what you are after. If so, time to move on to the next conquest.

I will take some positive things from this experience. Not quite sure what all that will be yet. But one thing’s for sure, I know now to trust my gut over my heart. I still believe in myself and what I have to offer.

Looking back, there were a lot of red flags.

Congrats to you and your (3^rd?) wife on 10 wonderful years of marriage. I’m sure your whole family is proud of you.

Can You Hear Me Now? A Betrayed Wife Talks Back

Posted by Anonymous.

To my husband and his 'friend' -

I have slowly and bitterly watched the both of you for three years now. I've watched it go from a slightly older man mentoring a young woman to an older man befriending a younger woman. I've watched our phone records reflect talking up to 2000 minutes in one months' time and now see that after all this time of me crying and hurting and begging, you chop it down to 200-300 minutes and now it's supposedly, "just a friendship". Just because the two of you don't buy into emotional infidelity doesn't mean it doesn't exist. I'm glad you haven't had sex. I don't believe it, but I'm glad. Sometimes - when I'm crying alone in our bathroom because I know you've talked again and I don't want our children to see or hear me sobbing, I almost wish you had slept together. The emotional betrayal is so much more hurtful. I could, after a long time, eventually forgive a one-time indiscretion, but this on-going three year relationship is tearing my heart and my mind to pieces and causing me to lose respect for the man that I married and most of all for myself for putting up with all of it. I don't even know who you are anymore.

I am finished. I'm through being made a fool of - I'm through being disrespected. First, to you, my husband, I want to say that in a million years, I never, ever expected you to treat me like this. I can't fathom how you sleep at night or even how you can begin to roll over next to me as we fall asleep beckoning me to make love to you as if nothing has ever happened. I know that you called her on your way home or that she called you because you have that extra little hop in your step as you come in the front door - I've been proven right too many times after checking the phone records while you are playing with our children or watching a game on TV. Too many times, I've led myself into believing that you were just happy to be home and to see me and the kids only to see that you had an hour conversation with her. You don't think it affects our life together, but it does. You don't see how different you act when you haven't had your 'fix' with her. It affects us because it affects me. There was a time when you cared about how your actions affected me and you were proactive in making sure that you were considerate.

You are supposed to be my best friend. You are supposed to be my partner for life. I am supposed to be the only woman you talk to after a certain time of night. Why is it OK with you for her to call at 11:30 with each of her personal crises? Why is it OK for you to talk to her every morning on the way to work when you, yourself, have said you know that your relationship with her is going to cause the end of our marriage? Why would you still talk to her if you know that is the path it will put us on?

The only thing I can glean from this is that you are just being passive aggressive and are too chicken shit to end our marriage. You want me to be the jerk who walks away from a 12 year marriage and a 16 year relationship. You lecture our daughter about being accountable for her actions - about making good choices - about not just saying sorry over and over again, but really making changes to prevent the same mistakes from happening. Why don't you take your own advice?

And to you who I have affectionately been calling 'the whore', I am so embarrassed at the person that I have become since you entered our lives. I am a Christian and try so hard to forgive you and to pray for you. I've prayed so hard that God send a man into your life so that you would be removed from my husband's sight. I know you are only 24 and I try to tell myself that you are ignorant to the repercussions your calls/texts/emails are having on my marriage. I can't do that anymore. They are all excuses - my denial is over.

The feelings of hostility I have towards you weigh on me every day. I can't watch him text someone or decline a call when I am with him because I wonder if it's you. I hate you - and I don't think I've ever hated anyone in my entire life.

You distract him from his responsibilities - and he lets you. You pull him away from time with his children - and he lets you. You fulfill him in a way that only I should and I am not going to compete with you anymore.

I want to fall on my knees in front of you begging you to stop - begging you to please stop calling and please leave our family alone, but I'm not stupid. I know I didn't marry you - I married him. He's the one who should put a stop to it - and he isn't... so that should tell me what to do.

I hope you are happy. I hope that you both realize that your 'just a friendship' has slowly choked out a 16 year relationship and has left a piece of my heart missing forever.

I just don't want to feel stupid anymore - I don't want to feel this way anymore. I matter, even if not to the both of you, dammit - I MATTER. What I feel and what I know IS important and DOES have validity - even if only to me.

I'm done.

Waiting On My Thirty Pieces Of Silver

Posted by Leslie, Daniel's Mom.

Ante-script: My mother has early onset dementia. She is not yet 70 years old and her deterioration is fast, quiet, harsh, and ceaseless. Suicide is very rare among patients with this type of dementia (mostly because they haven’t the ability to plan and process the act) but we have a strong family history—her own father, in fact. Today my father took a gun out of her hand but I can't speak to how or why it was there. I am not there. I can’t be there. I am far away with three children—one is Daniel, my little piece of God. My sister is there, but for reasons never given, she wants nothing from me—I “breeze in” for visits. (Anybody else “breeze” anywhere with a special needs kid? Did I miss that workshop?) Anyway, this piece is almost a year old (2/09)—she visited us back then with the fully disclosed understanding that I would submit my observations to her doctor. Truly, as much as mothers watch our babies change in a year, so has this daughter watched her mother change, only in a backwards dying way. I will need to write on this again, so background information seemed only fair enough to offer.

I submitted my super (and completely un-) secret documentation of mom's visit to her doctor as directed. Or, rather, I emailed it to my dad and he submitted it because I just couldn't send all that crap directly to a stranger.

You see, I told on my mother. Laid out her secrets, one by one, day by day. I kissed her on both cheeks and now they will surely come for her.

It would appear that my mother is only able to function as a result of my father's constant vigilance and well-honed sense of I-Know-What's-Rightiness. It would appear that way because without my father, she is just simply un-able. Unable to what? Well, it's all right there in the document, and frankly, you should probably be on the lookout for a copy because my father is forwarding it around like one of those 'This is Cute' emails. And this, this horrid thing that is scraping my mother away from the inside out, is not cute at all.
She's been gone a week today and my anger is becoming soft and grief-y. Well, you would be angry too (maybe) if you had to hide food and tape containers shut and guard your kids' snacks and wonder why the autistic kid keeps bringing his empty snack bowl back for more crackers(vocab: perseverity/eating disorder--elderly onset) and double check the doors and gates left open and listen to endless lies (vocab: confabulation) and accusations that your Daniel stole her watch. And you would especially maybe be mad if you, somewhere in the back of your head, thought that When Mama Comes It Will Get Better. It was not better. It was her making kids cry at the twins’ birthday party because she wanted to Huuuuuuuug them. Like a very scary Grandma Clown. It was her ignoring her beautiful grandchildren unless they were packing graham crackers (vocab: apathy). It was her describing her father's death (suicide by gunshot, btw) to your children in lurid detail while you did everything but gag her to stop it (vocab: comportment and insight, executive skills). God save me, it was her wanting to pray over Daniel so that he might be healed. Healed. (See prev. entries regarding how he's glorious and I am a mess) I could not bear for Daniel to hear what she might say during this over-praying thing(No vocab for that, but boy, it pissed me off something fierce). It was her no longer able call a light a light or a bowl a bowl (vocab: agnosia).

It was her no long able to be her. I know that. I do

And here's the thing: For all that I did what was asked of me, for all that I checked and double checked and worded and reworded to drain every last drop of drama from it, for all that I swear up and down before you and God that yes, it sounds crazy, but yes, it did all happen, and finally for all that I only did it so that she might be treated and thus be Grandma, for all that, I ratted her out. Betrayed her. She is livid and bewildered (when she’s not talking about what a great visit we had). Her doctor is, as my dad says, "pretty shaken." Great. Just Great. I would like to speak to a manager please. Surely, there is someone in charge.

And also, can I get directions to the nearest Potter's Field on Mapquest?

But you must understand, I knew her when she was. When she was giving me her wedding dress as my own. When she was giving my biggest boy his first bath because I was bloody terrified of that red wailing wiggler. When she assured me that "twins are a good thing" and "we'll get through it." When she called me at the NICU when Fuzzy was intubated (5 years ago today). When she cooked and cleaned and ironed and yelled at me to "keep nursing and they'll be okay." All of these years before the first shadow and pall of autism—The mother of all “I want my mommy” screams. All this before that. And these, you see, are just the tip of the was's. Just the ones out in front in this one tiny bit of scribble. There are so many--God, how I do wish that had been my task, handling the was's and not the is's. Because then you would laugh and nod and think to yourself, "Oh, Daniel’s Mama’s mama, she was something else, that is for sure."

And she was.

Living With The Hurt

Posted by Anonymous.

You hurt me and the hurt has not gone away. I can't seem to push it down or pull it out of my mind. You, my "mother" for more years than my real mother was able to spend with me, lied about me. It was several years ago that you sent out a vicious email in response to an innocent question from me. The saying "ripped me a new one" came alive for me as I read your diatribe. I felt physically ill. I felt a deep rage. I go for months without thinking of it and then it pops up in my head. It still can make me sick to my stomach.

You, you go on later as though you are the kindly Christian woman you'd like all of us to believe you are... no apology because you are right no matter how horribly you act. You think you deserve an apology. I won't give it. I go along with your stupid game only for the sake of my siblings and my poor Alzheimer's father. Without them you would have been the recipient of a hard slap and then I would be gone. Forever, never to be hurt by you again.

I don't know where your anger came from exactly but I can be fairly certain it has something to do with the fact I won't kowtow to you. I won't leap to the rescue with every crisis. You don't seem to be able to live without a crisis. You make everything all about you. Someone's mother-in-law dies and you talk endlessly about the guilt you feel for not praying a specific prayer over her. WTF? I am pretty sure that God would have heard your prayer regardless of where you said it. What in the world does that poor woman's death have to do with you?

Everything revolves around your little bank book of pluses and minuses - You did X for me, so I need to let you treat me like shit and be at your beck and call. It took me a long time to realize that no matter what I did it would not be enough. I would never be good enough. Never. And then to wonder why, why would I care? All I wanted after my mother's death was someone to love me and encourage me. Instead I got you. Lucky f**king me.

I try not to hate you because that hate will just hurt me.

Is Your Love Enough?

Posted by Anonymous.

Is loving someone really enough? Is it enough to forgive wrong doings? To move on from past hurt, so much hurt? Can love make you trust someone again even though you have been so thoroughly hurt?

I love/d you. I did everything I could for you to make you happy. I was there when you went through one of your biggest hurts, through a time that I thought you just might fall. All the way. I trusted you with every secret I had, with every pain, thought or emotion I had. I put myself on the line for you, did everything I was always afraid to do. To trust someone explicitly with my heart. To actually say that I love you and to not be scared. To accept parenting advice without getting defensive. I let you into my family at a time that I should have been scared to but we just clicked. It just worked, we worked. We didn't have to try hard to get along, we never had to explain ourselves, we just got each other. Then. She is where it all went wrong. You didn't like one part of me, one you were not willing to share with me, something sooo easily fixed that all you had to say was the word and I would have done it. I would have done it happily and done it for you. But she came along, she knew about me, she fucking met you when we were together. She was there for you when you needed it but I didn't know. I suspected as much, asked you and you lied. YOU LIED TO ME. We ended and I hurt. I moved on but I didn't get over you. It takes so much effort for me to reveal who I am, so much effort for me to be comfortable and you took that and left me.

We didn't talk for months and all I heard was that you were miserable, I just didn't understand why we broke up. Then I found out about her, the one I asked about and then dropped because you said it was nothing. It was nothing at first. Then she got you, she got the one part of you that I didn't. We stayed in contact throughout your whole relationship, on and off. We tried to just be friends but we often went to far and I never felt bad about it. I never cared because I didn't care about her feelings. I still don't care. Now you are over and you realized you made a mistake. You want to make up for it, you are a different person but we are not sure if we can be together. Are you really sure you're not going to up and leave again? Can I love you enough to trust you?

Every day I fight with believing you again. Everyday I have to remind myself that I finally got the one aspect of you that I never had before, that it is obvious you have changed. You are trying to change.

I am already in too far to walk away unscathed but I might be able to walk away with some of my heart and my pride in tact. She still calls occasionally, she knows about me. She doesn't know everything but she knows enough and I am glad. I am a bad person for being glad that she got hurt, so she can know some of the pain that I felt. I know it's wrong but I am. I unintentionally hurt you so you hurt me again and I forgave you again, I don't think I can forgive you even one more time but I am so drawn to you, you are so drawn to me. We can't walk away but is love enough? Is it really enough? I know you still love me and I still love you but is it enough? Are you enough? Can I accept you for all your faults? I just don't know and it's killing me.