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

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.

Out From Under The Table

Posted by Anonymous.

Many years ago I used to build forts under the kitchen table. It was my safe spot in a home life that was hell. My mother was in an abusive relationship. He was an angry mean drunk. He started abusing me when I was 10. At first the abuse was just physical and then it turned worse. I was dragged from under the table one night and raped. I would be raped again and again for some time until my mother finally got the courage to leave him when I was 13.

This past week my mom went back to that street, that house where her daughter was raped to see it. When I asked why she would want to do that I was met with don't you remember the good memories and from my sister you should concentrate on the good times we had growing up.

My memories of childhood are of a fleeting number of good times but most lets just say I could write a best selling horror novel based on my tween years. After leaving the drunk my mom got involved with men who ran drugs and my mom was a mule into the prison system, what is worse she took me and my sister with her. She never got caught. I have few good memories and those I do have are not of times with her or that house but when my father would come and take us away from it all for a fleeting moment.

I don't think I am crazy when I say why in the hell would you want to visit a place where you almost died and where your child had their childhood stolen from them! I think visiting that place brings back nothing but bad memories at least for me even hearing of her visit I was brought back to that moment when I was dragged from under the table and raped.

Then when I blogged about being a childhood rape survivor my mother and sister got after me and said some things should remain private. Some things should not be talked about. My mother dared to say to me, "What kind of mother will people think I was?" You see, even at her old age she is in a new relationship unfettered by past choices. She doesn't want to acknowledge the hell we lived through and survived. My sister wanted to just bury it.

Me --the survivor-- needs to talk about it and share because maybe just maybe I can help someone else. I did survive and there is life out from the under the table and it needs to be shared and cherished but with that said the past needs to be remembered or it will be repeated and I will not let that happen as long as I have a voice.

Wanting To Erase The Past

Posted by Anonymous.

It all started when I was 17yrs old, one of those " summer flings ".... Jayce and I met and were best friends, he would drive 30mins at 12:00am just to be there to talk to me in person

(helping me with issues I had with my mom, as I did with his abuse issues with his father)

Slowly the intimacy started to occur. We were SO close yet so distant from each other at the same time... well needless to say after a couple of months of being together he was

"my first"... things slowly ended between us... I can honestly say I don't remember why. but they did.

About 5 months went by with out talking or seeing each other and I had a new boyfriend - Jayce contacted me from time to time ( personally I think it was to make sure I hadn't forgot about him, and OH how I wish I could have sometimes) we would make small talk, pointless conversations really.. I mean I was 17 - What ever would I have to say to a boy who took my V' away and just kind of vanished from my life... well the boyfriend and I broke up.

Jayce and I still occasionally text & called each other - always saying we needed to get together and for some reason it never happened. Well after about 3 more months went by I FINALLY accepted my best friend's brother's request to take me out, we dated, fell madly in love, moved in together.

THEN Jayce started texting again same old small talk, after a couple days I straight up told Jayce to stop texting/calling me. I was happy and if I wanted things to work out with my boyfriend I needed him to stop the pointless texting etc... it just didn't feel right. So he stopped, COMPLETELY stopped. I was relieved and at the same time so very distraught about the fact that I may never talk to him again.

The one who seemed to help me through so much, yet put me through so much at the same time. Mean while boyfriend and I got engaged and were trying to save for a wedding...by this time we had lived together for about a year and a half.. ( our relationship got a little rocky,whole different story) so I got scared and I left. During our "break" I decided one day I needed to contact Jayce. I NEEDED him - after years of being with out him.. I needed him? Hoping he still had the same number, I text him " Hi ".. He replied instantly .. during the conversation via text he asked if I was married etc... I let him know what was going on and that I just broke off an engagement. Then it was my turn. "Are you married?" ... His reply was "yes" - my heart stopped, I couldn't breathe... it was intense.

I continued ..well I was just wanting to make sure you were alive and well , and to apologize for telling you to not contact me anymore- I've felt bad about it ever since.

Well the conversation went on and he called me later on to continue our conversation, after that day to day we would text back and fourth randomly. He calls me 2 days later, we talk he mentions that he would like to see me just to say hi etc.. knowing inside I shouldn't have gone I went anyways.

We met, talked for a second no physical contact ( even though when I saw him I just wanted him to hold me forever) the visit was brief, I had to head back to work. He calls me 2 mins after I left and said " that wasn't long enough, meet me by the lake." I go down there... we meet.. I tell him whats going on in my life ( the ex, family etc..) I simply start to cry because I realize what I have lost out on and what "could have been" He holds me , we talk more before you know it, it's 6:00pm. 6 hrs FLEW by.

We went our separate ways. Texts and calls continued to be exchanged between the two of us.

We end up meeting again, this time there was a little bit of physical intimacy... no intercourse. We leave , he calls me and we both agree not to see each other again.

Days go by, still contacting each other..we meet again, this time was innocent and only a short period of time. We continue to stay in touch. My Ex and I worked things out, got back together. Jayce still randomly contacting me as I am him.

We talk about random things, important things, petty things, our lives in general.

Months go by and the texts turn into " what we wish we could do" etc.. dirty conversations and what not. Well December rolls around and he wants to meet one day when I was leaving work, I say ok and we meet. we met, we had sex.

I felt as if it hadn't even really happened. He calls me the next day all I heard from him was

" I couldn't take it anymore, I told her everything, she doesn't know your name or anything. but she knows what happened. I'm sorry - this is not your fault. It takes two"

I reply with "OK".

That was that. He changed his number and we're done.

I got married 2 months later. Things are pretty tough for us right now (many reasons, again that is a whole different story.)

I think of Jayce day, night, eating, sleeping, working you name it.

This has always been the case .. since I was 17.. will it ever go away?

Will my feelings for him ever fade?

This has had a big effect on my marriage... physically,mentally EVERYTHING in so many different ways. I know you are thinking " This girl is messed up and should have gotten her shit together before getting married to someone" ... That's what I think too - however I can't imagine living with out my husband.

My husband does not know about this , he doesn't even know about Jayce - he has no idea... but he DOES wonder why I am the way I am .. ( depressed, not talkative, wanting to be alone, why I don't touch or kiss him very often)

I know your thinking , silly girl - we all have our first loves etc...

That's what I have always told myself and I will KEEP telling my self.. but it is getting worse and wearing me down. It's adding to the pile of stress that's already upon my shoulders .. I know I was digging myself a deeper grave when all of this occurred but I need it out of my head. I need to erase him.

The Secret

Posted by Anonymous.

He was 18. She was 12. My husband, who could never even hear the kids in the night when they were throwing up, heard the sound of our daughter's doorknob turning. Normally, this would not be cause to get up in the middle of the night but something prompted him. He opened our daughter's bedroom door and there was my 18 year old stepson at her bedside, reaching for her, wearing only his underwear. My husband told him to give him his house key and get out now. He offered no protest. He was gone within minutes. My husband was so angry, he was afraid he would kill him if he touched him.

In talking to our daughter, this had been going on for some time. How could we not know? Who would ever suspect that kind of sick behavior? Why didn't she tell us? The hole she kicked in her wall next to her bed that I thought was just from a temper tantrum, was made after another nighttime visit. I stayed home from work the next day and tried to talk to her about it. She was afraid to tell us, she said. I wanted to go to a counselor right away and tell someone who could help us. I wanted to tell my family. My husband said no. He was afraid that if we did, CPS might get involved and take our 2 daughters away from us while they investigated. That was too horrible to think about.

So began the secret.

In retrospect, there were behavior clues we should have identified. He poked a hole in our bedroom door that would have given him a view of our bed. I saw it right away and we covered it up. I worked in an office near our home and usually came home for lunch. If he was out of school, there were times he would be "napping" on the sofa and would be exposing himself. He would wear loose shorts and no underwear and sit with his legs apart. I would get furious and yell at him to get dressed. I never knew that during all these years he also had twisted feelings for me, too. To be honest, I never liked him. He was a brat and never minded me, but he was my husband's son so I tried to make it work. When all this happened with our daughter, I was more than glad for him to go.

Over the years, he slowly reentered the family, keeping his distance. A few months before the wedding, he and his fiance were staying overnight with us. I got up early to have coffee, as I do every morning. He came into the kitchen and tried to come on to me. I told him in no uncertain terms that he needed to knock it off. He started crying and saying he thought I had feelings for him. Let me tell you, I NEVER did anything to give him that idea. I always made sure I was dressed appropriately, way more so than you would do for your kids. I never walked around in my nightgown or underwear. We were active in church and encouraged them to attend youth activities. We didn't have movie channels on our cable or pornographic material in our home.

How do you not tell family what is going on, yet not let on that there is a problem? What about when he is engaged to a wonderful girl? And they get married? And have a baby? Our whole family attended the wedding. We were there when the baby was born. . Our daughter forgave him. My husband and I tried but you can never forget something like that. The grandparents, aunts and uncles don't have a clue that we have this secret. We love the daughter-in-law and the beautiful granddaughter. We want to be part of their lives.

This summer we went for a short visit. After dinner the first night, we were sitting around visiting. He was wearing snug knit shorts and periodically would make sure he was "arranged" down there. My husband was so upset that he was still doing things like that. We cut our visit short

Last week my mom asked me if they were coming for Christmas so she would know whether to mail their gift or not. I called him and he said probably not because funds were tight. I told him we really wanted to see the baby, she must be getting so big, and on and on. He called and left a message on my phone this week and said he was going to come see us this Sunday and stay until Tuesday, if I was going to be off work. HE COULDN'T WAIT TO SEE ME. Nothing about his dad or sister. He couldn't wait to see me. In all my phone conversations with him, I am always careful to say things like "we" want to see their family, never just me.

Now I feel sick. I don't want him to come here, especially not alone. If I tell my husband, he will tell him to not come. If it weren't for the baby, I would too. Do we sacrifice our relationship with our only grandchild?

Secrets are bad.