YOUR BRAINWASHING HAS FAILED

Posted by Anonymous.

Its 11:23 p.m. I've spent all day, and most of the evening preparing for my son's birthday. You joined me at the store only because you seen I had done my hair. God forbid anyone hit on me, right? It's been five years, and I hate you. I utterly detest you. In fact, I hardly doubt I ever had any feelings other than resentment towards you.

You moved into my life swiftly those five years ago: pretending to be some knight in shining armor. You have amounted to nothing more than demonic. I care not for your "mental" problems, your upbringing, or your addictions. Everything that has gone wrong in your life has been someone else's fault- but mainly, mine- even at times where I couldn't have possibly been there and had any saying in your life- the fault has still yet... been mine.

You tell everyone I'm crazy, disturbed, and have various mental problems. You even tell this to my kids. Contrary to your pathetic words, it is YOU that is disturbed and crazy. You stripped me of the polite, kind and caring human being I was once. There is not one part of my life you haven't touched upon and made fun of; even straight down to my personality. It is you, that is crazy.

You live your life pretending you are something more than you really are. The words "mundane and ordinary" cannot and will not describe you. You announced that your coworkers declared you a Saint. It is you, that is crazy.

You spend every ounce of your free time retarding yourself with video games. I used to argue for your attentions. What for? It is you, that is crazy.

I fought a good fight against you, but I surrender. I have no strength left in me to fight your madness. It is you, that is crazy.

I smile, laugh inside even- knowing that in the end, you will be stripped of every ounce of control you have over me. For it is me that is smarter.

You work. You play video games. You insult, you rant, you rave and you unleash hell through this house. It is YOU that is crazy.

And while you're busy doing that, I'm getting set to go- leave the confines you have shackled me in. And it will be YOU that does in fact, go crazy.

You haven't brainwashed me, but I can let you believe you have. Besides, doing so puts a smile on that face of yours I have grown to hate.

I can bite my tongue and stagger away from your unbelievable words. You? You can't. YOU are pathetic and weak, not me.

You believe yourself a non abuser because you have never hit me. The narcissist in you prides yourself on that.

I get to go on- and live my life. You? You get to wallow in your self pity being alone with yourself- trying to find anyone that will play your game.

Your supply has run short. Your cycles bring on adult tantrums. And still yet, I privately laugh at you.

By the time I am done firing back at you, you narcissistic abuser- the house will be empty.

All that will be heard is nothing. You.. you go live with that. I won't have to.

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.

How Did I Get Here?

Posted by Anonymous.

Growing up, success came fairly easily. Mostly 'A' report cards, co-Captain of the Pom Squad, Scholarship to college. Even college continued mostly along that line -- even the bumps in the road could be overcome with a little extra work.

Ever since then it's been downhill. First job after college I left after 2 years because I bombed. The next jobs were ok, so I thought things were getting back on track. Got married, had a child. Started on anti-anxiety meds for stress. Started to get more depressed and anxious. It started to effect my job. Marriage hit a major rough patch. Upped the meds. More struggles at work. Baby number 2 arrived and my depression ballooned into a hideous monster. Started therapy and what became the long process of more and more medication. That was 6 years ago. My job is in trouble, my marriage is in trouble, and my life is a mess.

My dad was a high functioning alcoholic. My mom is the classic "enabler" - sweeping everything under the rug. I'm the classic "Adult Child of an Alcoholic," constantly "people pleasing." I almost wish I were an alcoholic because then I would have a problem that can be solved --You can stop drinking (or taking drugs, or stealing). It's within your control --at least to a point.
With depression like this, there is no control. One minute things are going along Ok --then for the next 10 days you have no energy, stare into space and have no concentration.

I used to have a phenomenal memory. I could keep all sorts of appointments and scheduling in my head. Now I can barely remember things long enough to write them down. I have a pile of "reminders" to go through --many of which have passed the deadline by the time I get to them.

I used to be happy and bouncy. I used to have tons of self confidence. I feel like a shell of what I was.

People say, just focus on being happy. Just focus on getting things done. They don't realize I can't focus -- my brain is set on a loop of negative feedback.

So, how did I get here? How did I go from over-achieving to "holding onto my job by my fingertips?" And is there any way back up out of this pit?

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.

Dear Mother

Posted by Anonymous.

Dear Mother,

I am furious at you, and at the same time, have the urge to hold you until it's all better. Our relationship is over because of you and your mental illness. You need help. But I can't help you. None of us can anymore. It is time to help yourself. For the sake of our family, and most of all, for yourself.

I am slowly realizing that I will never be your child. Never be held close, never be comforted, never be allowed to be the weak one. Because you believe it is your right to have these things, even though you are my mother. You should have mothered me and asked for nothing in return. I am so angry that you would choose to adopt a child when you couldn't manage to care for my brother who had already been given to you by grace. To say that you feel your own son is a disappointment to you is shameful, because you created him that way. You raised him that way. And he still loves you. How? I don't know. Why adopt a child you can't care for? I would never say it to you, or perhaps to anyone face-to-face, but there are many times I have wished another family had the chance to adopt me, and not you. The lies you must have created, and the people you must have manipulated, so that you could adopt me, is a shameful part of you I just can't understand. One day you may be able to face the truth about yourself: that some things are entirely your fault, you caused them, and you deserve the outcome of your behaviour.

I am sad that now you will miss the birth of my second child. But what choice is there? You have tortured our family over the past 12 months with your pathetic attempts at seeking justice for your abusive childhood, and taking it out on your family who has, up until now, stood by you. You wonder why people have left you now? Because the truth is my father was holding it all together for you. He spent 30 years making excuses for you, covering up for you, and lying to protect you. And now that you have pushed him away, and are on your own, you can't cope. Surprise!

I have thought many times over the past few months that it would be easier if you had died than become estranged to us. It would be easier to grieve for you, and all that you never were to me, than it is to know you are just a short drive away, and dreading the next contact you might make with me.

I wanted a mother who was wise, tolerant, strong, educated, patient and could teach me how to be a great mother to my own children. But you can't do it. I have to teach myself, and learn from other strong, wonderful women in my life, how to go about it. I am determined to give my children all of myself, but unlike you, I plan to also protect them from the problems of adults around them, because they are CHILDREN. And not my counsellors, social workers, doctors or friends.

Please, please get the help you need. Even if we never see you again- just for yourself and to be healed from the pain you are suffering. I hope the people in your life who have hurt you so badly will one day say sorry to you. And mean it. But for now, please stay away from me, and contact me when you are ready to admit responsibility for what you have done. Yes, much of this is your fault. And it is time to take control.

I wish I had the courage to tell you this myself, and I wish that you were able to respond in the way that is needed. But we can't.

All my love.

Anonymous

Parental Guilt: Reluctance To Seek A Diagnosis

Posted by Anonymous.

I am usually very confident about my parenting decisions. I either confidently make the best decision or confidently accept that I cannot do the best thing and that what I’m doing instead is good enough. I think carefully about my choices and usually feel good about the ones I make.

But there is one issue where I waffle, where I feel insecure, where I get defensive, and where I feel guilt over possibly making the wrong choice.

My son is not normal. I hate writing those words. I hate writing them because I reject the concept of normal. Of needing to conform. Of needing to be like and behave like everyone else. That aside, by the standards of the world around us, my five year old son is not normal.

* He has always been a spirited child, by every definition of the term.
* He is an anxious kid. He cannot go to sleep without parental presence at night. He’s just manipulating us people say. But it is more than that. He is truly scared. He sometimes goes through periods of stress where he clears his throat constantly or chews on the collar or sleeve of his shirt.
* He has extreme oral aversions to certain foods and textures. He is not just a picky eater (although he is that too). He will literally gag and have a major panic attack if he puts something in his mouth that his system, for whatever reason, does not like.
* He cannot sit still and cannot wait his turn. Not at school. Not at home.
* He is not yet dry at night.

He could have an anxiety disorder, a sleep disorder, an eating disorder, a hyperactivity disorder.

He is genetically predisposed to this. My husband and his father both suffer from anxiety. I have always had sleep issues. My brother and I were the weird kids in school, the ones shuffled off to “special” activities for the socially inept. There could be other explanations too, not necessarily that caused the issues my son is facing (since these things do tend to be genetic), but that perhaps exacerbated them. Things like the amount of stress I dealt with during my pregnancy (two very traumatic events).

I know that mental illness is very real. I have friends who deal with it everyday. I have friends who have successfully taken medication to deal with their illness (be it ADHD or anxiety or other) and have gotten their lives under control. I have seen them on and off their meds and I’ve seen the difference it makes. I know the disease is real. I know medication can make a difference.

Yet I hesitate to seek a diagnosis for my son.

* I hesitate because of the label. I worry about how it would make him feel (right now he is confident, likes himself a lot and has no inkling that he might not be like every other kid in every way). I worry about how others would treat him. That worry comes from how I was treated when I was sent off to special activities at school. Believe me: the other kids knew the difference between the times I was sent out for advanced French and when I was sent out to learn how to be more normal. Maybe if I felt like I benefited from it, I would feel differently. But I got the label of being odd without the benefit of anything that truly helped.

* I hesitate because he is doing well in his school. Despite the fact that he cannot sit still in class, he is excelling academically, he loves his teachers and they love him, he has friends, he enjoys himself and they cater to his needs. However, it is a small school that does not have the resources to deal with learning disabilities and a label or diagnosis could result in him having to leave the school. Am I sure he would have to? No. Do I want to ask outright? No. I think that would draw attention to the possibility and result in them asking him to be assessed. I know he would not thrive in our local public school for many reasons and I don’t want to have to send him there because of a diagnosis.

* I hesitate because we’re making progress. He tried two new foods in the past two weeks. That may be more than he has tried in the past two years. We no longer have to lie down with him for him to go to sleep. We can now sit on a chair outside his room with the door open and read something while he goes to sleep without him having a major panic attack. He hasn’t had any episodes recently of obsessive throat clearing or other tics.

While I understand how medication can help other people (and have seen it help other people), I think that if he can learn to deal with his anxiety and his aversions and his hyperactivity, if he can get it under control himself with our help, then he will be better off in the long-term. I’ve seen people do well on medication, but I’ve also seen what happens when they go off their meds because the side effects get to them or because they just don’t want to anymore.

Could therapy help? Maybe. But I don’t have a lot of trust in the medical establishment and, as mentioned above, I worry about the label and what that would do to him personally and to his school situation.

Do I sound confident about my choice? If I do, I faked you out the way I fake myself out every day.

I hated being labeled. I felt restricted by it. As soon as I was out of the environment where I was the “special” kid, I excelled. My husband on the other hand has never had any treatment for his anxiety and still suffers from it today. It isn’t debilitating, but it does create challenges for him sometimes.

There are good days, where I feel like I am making the right choice. Days where we see progress. Days where he seems like a normal kid. But there are also days where I feel like I am making the wrong choice. Where he would be happier and feel more in control if he were medicated and able to control his emotions and his impulses.

I feel guilty about not seeking a diagnosis. But I would also feel guilty about seeking a diagnosis. I feel trapped.

Her

Posted by Anonymous.


I have something on my mind that I need to get out. I need to share it for some odd reason. I started a blog of my own after my daughter was born as away to journal our experiences (it ended up being very therapeutic for me) but family members read the blog (okay, two family members) read the blog and I just could not mention this kind of thing there because it would get back to her.

Her. My mother. I really had thought that I put all of the feelings aside and forgave her a long time ago but with the birth of my daughter it drug them all back up and now it is super hard to forgive and forget. My guess is that having my daughter made me realize what it is to be a mother to a daughter and all the love and emotions I have makes it harder for me to forgive my mother for all the things she has done. If I love my daughter this much then shouldn’t all mothers? And if all mothers do then why did my mom do all the things that she has done?

So all the background stuff because like I said I need to tell someone and I need to not be judged. My mother had me when she was in her early 20’s and divorced my biological dad when I was two. I never had a relationship with him which is probably its own story. My mother has since been married four other times and in numerous…….NUMERIOUS relationships. Two of the men my mother has been involved with sexual molested me when I was under the age of five, I have seen men beat my mother up, I have seen my mom wasted out of her mind on various drugs and alcohol. I have seen and heard my mother in sexual relations. She once left me with “friends of the family” for over a year. I was scared to death to go to a baby sitter, afraid she would not ever pick us up.

When I was in the fourth grade my mother married her fourth husband. He is what I consider a normal guy and provided us a normal life, but my mother is anything but normal and could not stay past seven years. When she left, she left all of us. One day I came home and she was not there. No words, no explanation she was just gone. I think this might have been harder on my father because he was so caught off guard, he didn’t really have a clear idea of what our past had been. My sister and I, we were upset but more upset for our father who was devastated. I am calling him my father because he adopted us when they got married. Eventually I tracked her down but she did not want to talk about it, she acted as if everything was normal. I couldn’t take it, I stayed with my father and my younger sister went with my mother.

My sister. My baby sister is a mental case. Really. No other way to put it. She is better now but it took a lot of psychiatric help and drugs. After my mother left my father she moved away. My mother was not in my life for almost five years. She didn’t call, she didn’t write. I have no idea what was going on, I just kind of went on and thought it was probably for the better. But when she was in a bad spot, needed money and know one else would help her she contacted me. She called me out of the blue and I broke down crying. I had already forgiven her (thank you, Oprah) and was grateful to be in touch with her. Her response, “why are you crying, what’s wrong?”

That was about twelve years ago. Like I said I have forgiven her and had accepted her for what she is. She has stayed in the same city/town since then so I would see her occasionally when I would go back to see family members. She has even come to visit me three times in the state that I live in. It was nice. I mean we couldn’t talk about the past and there are never any questions asked because she only denies or withdrawals. It just didn’t seem worth it, so I too moved on.

When I was pregnant I was hoping my mom would be here. I think I was super duper hormonal and I really thought she was going to be here. She agreed and said she would get the time off. Yep, you guessed it none of it happened. She told me when she went to ask for the time off everybody had already asked for it and she couldn’t come when I was giving birth but would be up soon after. I had a rough time delivering and ended up back in the hospital one day after being released. I did not bother to call my mom but my grandmother had called checking up on us, found out and insisted that my mother get in a car and come help us. By the time I had gotten out of the hospital the second time she showed up, stayed two whole days and left. The two days she was here she talked non-stop to my sister and nephew on the phone.

Three months later, I am still on maternity leave and my hubby had training he was to do for three weeks in another state. At the same time my mother was on a cross country road trip. Two months after that, still on maternity leave my mom was on another vacation. I finally went to see the family for Thanksgiving and my mother could not be bothered to take time off of work. We spent time with her over dinner one day.

My mother has taken several trips and even as I write this, is taking a cross-country road trip. I found out through my aunt because I can not tell you the last time I have spoken to my mother on the phone.

I am mad. I am pissed. I am ashamed. I am even more upset that I am upset about this in the first place because the reality of it is, she has not changed. She has always been like this and I for some reason thought she would be different to her grand-daughter. She is not interested. I want her to be. I want to have a mom and I want my daughter to have my mom as a grand-daughter.

Understand that if I mention these feelings to her she probably won’t talk to me again. Although it seems like I won’t be loosing much I will be loosing the only mother I know. The only bit of mother I have, I will loose. I am just not sure if it is worth it. I guess what I need is some advice is to get over this, in a healthy way. I CANNOT let my daughter be affected by this.