How Did We Get Here?

Posted by Anonymous.

I honestly don't know how it came to this, but deep down inside I always knew this day would come. When I first met you, I couldn't stand you after seeing you every day and I broke it off. A month later I remember driving down the freeway from my friend's house and passing the exit to get off for your work. I called you, and because your such a sweetheart you called me back and agreed to meet.

The minute I saw you that Thursday, February 2nd I then understood how they described love at first sight, but in this case, I had already seen you. But the notion of love at first sight still applied at that point. I remember you took me out to my favorite deli, and we sat in the back of my car and I was in tears because I knew I loved you, and it took some convincing but you agreed to give me that one chance. We spent the rest of the afternoon and night in the back of your mother's jeep (you had crashed and totaled your car) sharing the most passionate kisses I've ever experienced. I wasted no time in hinting I wanted you for mine, and you asked me, and I said yes.

But yet we've grown so much since then in the 2 and a half years (exactly yesterday) we've been together. We've loved and fought , moved out together and through hard times you had to move in with my parents and me . I can't help but feel responsible for the pain and rejection they give you...but I've always loved you for doing it for me, just so that I can survive in this hell hole. All the memories you've given me, I couldn't have asked for such a turn around in my life the minute I said yes to your question. You've supported me ever since I've been financially unstable. You've comforted me in the worst of times in the worst of my depression spells. You stand up for me even though I never gave you enough credit when you did, and even when i always got mad at you for not doing it enough. You fit me like the piece of the puzzle that has always been missing.

I am bipolar. I was molested for many years in my life by my real father, and my brain dealt with the trauma by blocking it out, so I only figured out why I'm so damaged by the time I was 16, and a year later I met you . I'm sorry I'm so damaged, I'm socially awkward, I have manic episodes and depression spells, and like I mentioned earlier, I knew eventually your patience and kindness would wear out, and it did. We've fought so hard and sometimes every day for a week or two , but this is different. When you left me that letter on the screen of my laptop last night, I flew outside and by that time you were gone, and I felt empty, like this time might be THE time it's over.

I've always been of the opinion that once you hit rock bottom there's only one way out, and that's up. Every time it gets bad it gets longer before it gets like that again. I was silly to believe anyone could bear the fighting and still come out kicking to save "us". I've always told you I'd fight until I was dead to make things right, and when I was driving you home after you agreed to come back to talk, I told you I wouldn't be able to sleep at all because after a fight I need to lay in your arms while you kiss my forehead and we soak up each other's forgiveness and apologies. You told me to wait in the car when we got to your grandma's house, and I waited for 10 min while you brought all your stuff from my house into your old room. You came out and got me and brought me into your room, and turned the lights off. You lay me down, and said " well you did tell me that you like me to hold you after a fight..." and I almost burst into tears that that was some sort of sign that you might just still want to make it work.

I am 20 years old now. I've been with you for 2 and a half years and yesterday was the day it was exactly that much time. But what did we do? We got into the biggest fight we've been in, in over a year. We didn't even realize what day it was. How did we get here? How can we both have tried so hard yet it came to this? Last year we made plans to get married, we even went to the department to get a marriage license, but you forgot your wallet. We were going to go back, but I would lose my insurance if I tied the knot with you, so we decided to wait. Would you have given me more chances if we had married? Sometimes I wonder about that, wonder about how a relationship is so incredible but while the light of the candle is dying, some people just decide to put it out. I decide to dig into the wax to make a longer wick for the fire to burn more brightly.

I love you .

A Letter To Me

Posted by Connie.

To Me, present and future...

I've been trying to figure out the best way to write this blog, but I can't figure it out, so if it sounds more like a rant and less like a well-composed intelligent thought, thats why.

In my life, I have always had a problem. What is that problem you ask? Well, to put it simply, I give people too many chances. I always lived my life believing that no matter what, people had GOOD somewhere in them, and that everyone deserved the opportunity to show that. So, when someone hurt me, I would let them go for a little while, only to let them back in the minute they came back around. I always thought that I was doing a good thing, but in reality, I was only hurting myself more. It was like I was telling myself that I didn't deserve to be treated right the first time, and that it was OK for me to accept only second best. In the last year, I have made alot of changes in that department. I have let go of alot of people who really just weren't good for me. It was hard, but I did it, knowing that the people that I still have care enough about me to make up for that absence. I have done this successfully with one exception: my mother. As (more than one person) pointed out to me, it's like I am a drug addict. No matter how crappy she makes me feel about myself, my life, and the people who love me, I keep going back for that "momentary high" that I get when she gives me even an ounce of praise. The problem I have come to realize is that its all an illusion. That praise is given with strings attached; with conditions. If I don't fulfill those conditions, it comes back ten-fold in the form of insults, hatred, and just plain meanness. No matter what, though, I always went back. Not only did this hurt me, this hurt the people around me who were finally starting to trust and care about me. This ONE relationship was tearing down all of my other ones. Not anymore.

The purpose of this blog is mostly for me. In the case that I couldnt get a hold of someone like J, M, or K in a weak moment, I can read this to remind myself why I left in the first place. Some of you might wonder "Is it really that bad?" The answer is yes, and so much worse. It would take a lifetime to detail the 22 years of hurt that has been laid upon me; for now, I will use this blog to remind myself of the ones that stick out the most.

When I was 8 years old, my mom took me and my brother to a 60s dance at the elementary school. Back then, I had a "boyfriend" named chris; he was my "boyfriend" because we were 8 and we sat next to each other in school for 3 years, LOL, and he invited me to his birthday party and told his mom I was his girlfriend. Anyway, at the dance, my mom was being a spoilsport, I remember, and I started dancing with Chris' mom. Apparently, this made my mother feel very jealous, and at the end of the night she told me that everyone probably thought that Chris' mom was really my mom because we were both so fat.

I have never been a skinny person. I have always been overweight. Don't worry though, because I never forgot that either. My mother made sure of that. She can say that it was "because she cared" all she wants to, but there is caring, and then there is purposely making someone feel bad about themselves. When I was 10 years old, I couldnt find an outfit to wear to church with my friend. I was upset about this, I remember, and instead of comforting me, my mother told me that "If I wasn't such a damn whale, I would be able to find something to wear". Thats hurtful at any age; imagine what it does when you are 10.

All throughout middle school and high school, I was terrified of getting bad grades. My mother actually thinks this is a good thing, like well at least you would never bring a bad grade home, but I on the other hand, know differently. Yes, I liked to get good grades, and yes I was a good student, but anytime I even brought home a bad progress report or report card (and when I say bad, I mean I got one C out of an entire semester), my mother would lay into me in her passive aggressive way. "Oh sure, a C is fine. A C means average, so as long as you are OK with being AVERAGE than thats great."

While I was living at home with my mother, after highschool and during college, I was working part time, sometimes full time, and going to school full time, commuting even, so my days were long and I never really had a break. I will admit it, when I got home, I was exhausted, completely, and all I really wanted to do was be able to enjoy what little time I did have open by spending it with my friends and, when the time came, my boyfriend. My mom got mad at me because I didnt help to clean up around the house enough. I wouldnt vacuum, I wouldnt do the dishes, trust me if u asked her the list would go on and on. I am not denying that I didnt do much housework, I didnt. It was not because I was lazy, however, it was because I was SO DAMN BUSY. At that point, my mother wasnt even working. SO basically, she stayed home all day and never did anything except play on her computer, yet when Kayla got home from school, I got home, or Marty got home, all from very long days, WE were supposed to do all of the work. Once in a while is fine, ALWAYS is just ridiculous. My mother had the nerve to tell me that having me in the house was like living with an extremely rude roommate. Why? Because I didn't clean up a mess that I didnt make? I barely ate at home, barely spent my time there, and when I was there she was also making me feel like crap. This went on for years and years and that feeling that she made me feel, that I was basically garbage, will never go away.

This one is a sensitive topic, but one of the BEST ways to remind myself just why its best for me to stay away. When I FINALLY confessed to my mother that my brother had molested me for 9 years, she barely batted an eyelash. She gave the standard "oh really, im sorry" blah blah excuse, but she NEVER wanted to talk about it. Talking about it is what I really needed, and she just wouldnt. Even worse, after I told her this, she was still going out of her way to communicate with him, making sure he was ok wherever he was at, not making stupid decisions, worried when he started acting crazy, etc etc. And she would ask me about him and if I had heard from him, no matter how many times I told her I didnt want to hear about him at all. I remember crying on the phone with my friend while I was at work after my mom had called me and freaked out about Bobby. I was so upset that she just didnt seem to care about what I was feeling. I understand that Bobby is her kid and she will always worry. What I didn't understand was why she had to act like she was SO concerned with him, so worried about him, when she never acted that way towards me. I felt like no matter what, I would always just not be good enough for her.

And finally, the most recent BIG THING I guess, even though there are thousands of others. In February, I had to have emergency surgery to remove my gallbladder. And by emergency, I mean ambulanced out of work during a 3 foot snow storm emergency. James drove from Fairfax to Woodbridge in his truck with horrible traction, in the snow, to be by my side. He was there with me for 9 hrs, and drove me to CVS after, got my prescriptions, drove me home, etc etc. He was there taking care of me and making sure I was ok the WHOLE time. The next day, I called my mom. I was upset because I did not have insurance, and the surgeons deposit was going to cost me 1500. I didnt have this; I wasnt using my credit cards and I didnt have any in savings. I didnt want to, but I asked my mother for help. Yes, she helped me out and for that I am very thankful, but it didnt come without cost. First, she told me that this was all my fault; that it was from the way I lived my life. Then, when I told her that I might need her to drive me to the hospital on the day of my surgery because James wasn't sure he would be able to get the day off, she insulted him and made me feel bad at the same time. She said, and I quote "What good is it to have a boyfriend who lives near you if he can't take care of you?". Im sorry, but what a horrible fucking thing to say to your daughter. My boyfriend had spent the last 9 hrs in the ER with me, by my side, holding my hand, etc. SHE didnt even come to the ER. (And by the way, James took off work and took me to the surgery, my mother never even came.) Jean, (the lady I live with) drove me to the pre-op appt. So yes, my mother gave me her money. I guess that meant she didnt have to give her time.

Like I said, this probably didn't sound like the most put together thing in the whole world, but I felt the need to get it out of me, to put it in writing so that I would be able to come back to it. There are people in my life that care about me; people who are GOOD for me. Its unfortunate that my mother isnt one of them, but at this point, it doesnt even matter. I just need to remember to call them first.

Ce La Vie

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.

Stolen

Posted by Anonymous.

When I was 16, I was anally date raped. Before this, I had only kissed one boy. I was naive to the ways of the sexual world. I still had my innocence. That innocence was stolen from me from a man who used vaseline to force himself into me.

That thievery led to my becoming involved with abusive men, not to mention the toll it took on me mentally, including suicide attempts. Eventually it led to my marrying a man in another state, at age 22, whom I met online and barely knew. He was into S&M he raped me both vaginally and anally. He was a good guy, until he got sexual. He even told me how his two previous relationships, along with other women whom he was just dating, ended because of the same reason, - his sexual deviancy.

He was in the military. When he deployed to Iraq, I found myself again. I was happy. I was the owner of my body once again. Dr. Phil once said "The only thing worse then being in a bad marriage for seven years, is being in a bad marriage for seven years and one day." That was my motto that helped me stay strong and I left him when he arrived back home 15 months later. But while he was gone I lived free and happy and spent his money. I didn't work, I simply had fun discovering ME. What made ME happy. What MY personality truly was.

I became pregnant soon after dating a new man. He was wonderful and sweet and kind and he turned into an asshole and I said I'll be damned if I suffered through bad relationships and a horrid marriage just to end up in another. I left him when I was 7 months pregnant. The scariest and hardest thing I've ever had to do, but the best decision for myself and my unborn child. I would not raise a child in an environment where a man thinks he can treat a woman anyway he wants.

I am now 32. I have a better sense of self and am constantly trying to improve my life, and learn more about me. I'm striving to make up for the years I lost for myself and for my daughter. I deserve happiness.

Roman Polanski is a criminal and needs to be punished for stealing a child's innocence and for stealing the life she would have had.

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.

Shock And Concern

Posted by Anonymous.

A few days ago I was over at my sisters visiting. My sis "J" was noticeably so I asked her if she was ok…what she proceeded to tell me completely floored me.

My niece, my little 9 year old niece that I love to bits and have lived with for 5 years on and off helping to raise, well she has a journal and lately J has been having an odd feeling so on a whim when she was up in her room putting laundry away upon seeing her journal laying on her desk….she read it.

Now I do not agree with her reading it at all...that's something very personal and yes even though my niece is only 9 it's still personal….but.

What she found in there warranted some concern…scratch that….A LOT of concern!

My little niece has this boy who likes her and of course she's crushing right back…..turns out this little boy has commented that he wants to have sex with her. That's right... SEX!!!! J told me this and I swear to god my heart stopped.

When my sis and I were growing up we were raised in a very religious house…very religious, plus my mom was in a serious car accident when I was quite young, one that resulted in her having brain damage that made her acting like an actual mom fairly impossible. I didn't learn about sex until I was 15…and that was from romance books..and I didn't even have sex until I was almost 25, not for lack of opportunity but because I consider it something special. I was also very inappropriately touched when I was young throughout my teen years by extended family members, "friends" of the family and boys at school..and I had NO idea what was really going on. I knew it was wrong but that was it.

J and I had had numerous chats before she had kids and she had told me she was going to start having the body talk, inappropriate touching and sex talk early. So when she told me that my niece had written this I asked her if they had already had "the talks"…..and I couldn't believe it when she said no….and even more concerned when she expressed…almost disgust…at the thought of having to have the sex talk with her 9 year old. I think, mostly with the fact that she thinks , as I do, that 9 is WAY too early to even be thinking of sex.

Am I out of line to be concerned? I just don't understand how she could have waited for so long. Girls are starting to become sexually active so much earlier then when I was a kid and seriously..I am only 27!! When I have kids..boys included..I plan on talking to them as soon as they can talk. Of course not the whole adult explanation but things they CAN understand, such as that their bodies are private and special, bad touches, good touches. I don't want my kids to learn about sex and their bodies from their "friends", I want them to be able to come to me and talk to me about anything…about any concerns or questions, no matter what.

I'm now also concerned that my niece will hide even more from my sister. They have such clashing personalities that they don't always get along and it's getting worse as my niece gets older. She knows she can come to me and talk to me about anything but my sis doesn't like me to "interfere" as I'm not her mother.

J talked to my niece after she read her journal and it turns out the boy didn't tell my niece this directly but was talking to some of his friends who then told my niece. But now also..my niece knows that J read her journal….what if she stops writing in it? I don't know what I would have done..would I have read the journal and then talked to my niece in a roundabout way? Would I have admitted to it? Or would I have just sat her down and had the talk without admitting to knowing anything?

I don't know what to do….I'm just so worried. I want to talk to my niece but I don't want to overstep my boundaries. I am not her mom and I know this…I know it's not my place. My sis is a wonderful mom, she really is but I think this is just really uncharted territory.

So what do I do? Do I talk to my sis and ask her if they've had the talk? Do I talk to my niece? Do I just let her know if she has any questions that she can talk to me? Do I then relay her questions to my sis? I've encouraged her numerous times before to talk to her parents if she has any questions at all and I know she does sometimes.

I am not looking forward to being a mom when it comes to this….can't we keep them little forever???

Like It Never Happened

Posted by Kate.


OK, ladies, grab a drink and clear out some time, this is gonna take a while - it's a long story, even by my standards.

Right up front, I was raped when I was 12. It was a violent thing, nasty, and I ended up with rather severe PTSD. Part of the messed-up-ness was because he told me the standard, "If you tell anyone, I'll kill you and your family," which I believed wholeheartedly. So my parents didn't find out for three years, and then it was during a fight that I kind of threw it at them. They were shocked and upset, as you can imagine. I didn't fully grasp it then, but now with children of my own, I have an idea of how completely devastating that would be to hear.

At my mother's insistence, I went to two therapists, once each. The first was a family therapist, who first met with me alone and told me, "OK, when your parents come in the room, I want you to tell them why you kept that secret for three years." I was a pissed-off 15-year-old, totally not ready to work with her or get healthy, so needless to say, I clammed up and refused to go again. The next one sat knee-to-knee with me and said, in that stereotypical overtherapisty sicky-sweet kind of way, "Tell me everything that happened." She was literally in my face, and her eyes looked like ET's eyes. Again, I clammed up and wouldn't go back. After that, my mother stopped trying to get me to see anyone, and she never, ever mentioned anything about it.

And that's how it continued for the next 17 years. Once in a while I would make a vague reference to it, she would become visibly uncomfortable, and one of us would change the subject. Fine, I can't blame her there, that Mom-guilt has got to kick in, blah blah. I did get therapy - two full years with the same woman, when I was 21-22. And took medication then, and generally worked harder than I've ever worked in my life and turned a lot of things around. I got healthy, basically. Eventually. It just so happens that this June will mark 20 years since the attack, and I am grateful for just how good my life is, even when it's hard.

Anyway, fast-forward to last weekend. When we were visiting her house, I took the kids to the zoo and left Willem at my mom's house doing schoolwork. He and my mom were alone in the house, and when he took his lunch break, she kind of cornered him. It started appropriately enough: "I'm really concerned about Kate, I hope she's getting treatment, I want you to know that I'm always here, if you or she needs a place to get away for a while..." A little pushy, in spots, but not unreasonably so, coming from a mom.

Then she brought up my blog, which she does not read, has never read, refuses to read despite my assurances that it is public and written with the knowledge that anyone might visit. But because of two factors, I've been much more forthcoming and descriptive about the rape in recent months. One, I've reached a stage in my life where I feel a need to stop treating it as a secret, shameful thing, and can share the details because it might resonate with somebody, might even help someone, somehow. And two, because I've been so depressed, I have been way much in touch with my unhappy memories. Whenever you're feeling something of a certain intensity, it's going to remind you of other times in your life when you've felt similarly.

So, my sisters read my blog once in a while - not every day, but when they have time and interest. Which is fine, I don't mind them stopping by and I don't expect them to be daily readers. They read one of the more graphic posts, maybe in January or so, and Sarah (my 22-year-old sister) was upset about it. She's very empathic by nature, so it makes sense that it would have hit her hard. She went to my mother with it, because she was afraid it would hurt me more (this is before I was even on an antidepressant, much less having it start to work).

So (GAWD this is a long lead-up, but I can't figure out how to explain it differently), my mother mentioned that all to Willem, about how intense the post was and how it upset the girls, and how "they never visit the blog anymore now" - which is untrue, I haven't noticed any change in their frequency of comments. And then.

She said to him, my husband of 8 1/2 years and most trusted confidante, who has seen me go through the worst of the PTSD and come out on the other side... she said, "You know, the longer Kate goes on believing that this happened, the harder it's going to be on her. It never happened." And she repeated, "It never happened."

Willem told me the next day - he didn't want to mess up the weekend, and rightly so. Because it has really, really messed me up. (Again, thank God for Zoloft, if it hadn't kicked in I would be a blithering, sobbing puddle.)

And, to make it all MORE fun, I called her on Monday to talk to her about it - I'd have called her when I found out, but we were in the car with the kids and didn't get home until 11:00. I just don't believe in letting things fester too long, and I knew this was something that wouldn't just ease up if I gave it some time - it was going to eat away at me until I talked to her about it. She denied ever saying that. She says that she told Willem, "I don't know the details of what happened, because I wasn't there, and nobody except Kate knows those details." But I've known Willem a long time, and conversed (and argued!) with him over a lot of years. I know that he very rarely can remember the specific words that someone used, he gets the broad idea but can't quote (I can, neener neener) but when he does remember, he is always right and very firm about it.

Which means my mother is lying about her words, and apparently she either believes that I am lying about the rape, or that I am delusional. I know this, not just think it, because later in the week I talked to Sarah about it - I wanted to let her know that I knew about the weirdness with Mom and that she could always come to me with any questions she might have, just to get both sides of the story. She jumped at the chance to ask a few questions (mostly, "Why didn't you tell me earlier?" to which the answer is, I wasn't ready to share earlier, plus you haven't been an adult for all that long.) And then she said that Mom told her the exact same thing in January, before I could tell her about the Willem-interaction..

I have confronted my mother with it, and it just went nowhere. She is so completely defended against this, she has all of her lines and reasons all figured out already. And I have no idea who else she has told.

I can't wrap my head around this. I can't understand why she feels the need to share her disbelief with others. What bothers me isn't that she disbelieves me - I can't control that, obviously. There's no way I could "prove" it to her, and I would never force her to listen or read all about it. What bothers me is that she has chosen to seek out other loved ones and tell them about her thoughts. Now I have three of the closest people in my world involved, with Willem and Sarah telling the same story (and without having talked to each other about it) and no motivation to lie about it, and my mother denying it completely... both the initial act and her subsequent statements.

I'm someone who copes best with situations if I have some idea of why it happened... I don't need to agree with the why, I just need to understand it. But I don't understand hers. My best guess is that she believes something like, "If something like that happened to my 12-year-old child, I would have noticed something wrong." My parents always labeled me as overdramatic, and apparently she is now forgetting the hypersexuality, the panic attacks, the refusal to sleep in my own room because there was only one door to escape from, and so on. So it has become a measure of her own parenthood - if I truly was raped, then that means she didn't do everything right, at least in the follow-up, and she can't live with that. Or something.

I imagine that it's just too painful for her to imagine that she missed that. I have long since taken responsibility for my own actions - and my own bad choices, like chronic lying and hiding the experience for many years - and have had to let go of any resentment I might have had that she wasn't psychic or perfect. I know she did the best she could at the time.

Sigh. If you've made it this far, thanks for hanging in there. It's a lot, isn't it?

I wish I could just let it lie, smooth it over... because apart from this, our relationship has really grown strong in the past few years. But it has really been gnawing at me. And I just can't see how it would be healthy for me to ignore the sense of betrayal and hurt I'm feeling right now.

So, what do I do now?? Given that I've already had two very long, unsuccessful, unpleasant phone calls with her about it and have gotten precisely nowhere.

And how do I understand this better? Because she's denying so much that I'm not getting any sort of guidance from her, about why it serves her better to disbelieve and tell others than to believe, or to disbelieve and keep it to herself.

She has been very hurtful through those calls, critical of me (ohbytheway, she also doesn't believe that I ever went through any sort of therapy for this), comparing me to her emotionally abusive coworker, talking about how "Now I can't just relax and be myself around anyone because I'm afraid I'll be misunderstood and punished for it" (an excellent attempt at a guilt trip, I have to admit).

My mom is a lot like me in a lot of ways - she can come across as almost too assertive, intimidatingly confident, very self-assured, even when she's not feeling at all like that inside. She Does Not like to be caught or accused of making a mistake or doing something hurtful (not like any of us do, but she's especially defensive about it), even if it's something small like being chronically late or confusing the day's plans.

Anyway. Enough. Sorry this was so endless, but it feels better to vent and organize it a little... I can't blog it. I don't want my sisters feeling any more in-the-middle than they already do, and I just don't feel the need to preemptively defend myself there - but I really could use some insight.

PS: As an update, after writing the above, I decided to wait until I had something to say before calling my mother again. A month went by, and I finally called her on Mother's Day, mostly to let the kids talk to her. I kept my side of the conversation quick and light, no more than polite. Apparently this signaled to my mother that everything is A-OK now, all smoothed over, like it never happened. She calls me a few times a week "just to chat" and hasn't even obliquely referred to any of this. I've continued to be polite, to call if there's something I need to know (she's hosting my sister's high school graduation in a few weeks), and to wonder what this is really all about. I'm not angry, or even overtly upset anymore, mostly just disappointed and baffled. And I still don't know what to do.

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.

Broken

Posted By Anonymous

**A warning before you continue reading. This might get graphic, it might not make sense, it might go from one thought to the next, and it’s not well written, but I’ve got to get this out.**

I’m twenty-one and I have a secret that I’ve kept my entire life. I just recently told my therapist this secret (more like she flat out asked me saying that she just had a hunch). You see, I hate my father. I hate him with all that I am. It’s not your typical type of hate, but I am filled with a hatred that goes through every part of my body and soul. It is this secret that I keep, that keeps this hatred strong. My mother divorced him when I was around five because he came home so drunk one night that he hit her instead of coming for me.

I was sexually abused. How I hate typing those words. But they have been in my mind forever, swirling around, hiding at times, but it’s always there. Since freaking out and tearfully saying yes to my therapist, it’s been on my mind constantly. I’m constantly terrified. I can’t sleep, I either don’t eat or eat too much, I can’t take showers unless I’m wearing a bathing suit, and I sleep in jeans, sweatshirts, and sneakers. I have panic attacks throughout the day and I can never relax.

I can’t stand people to touch me. I don’t like people getting close to me. Even family members that touch me, cause me to coil in fear. The only people that have ever touched me and don’t make me feel sick are children. They seem to be the only innocent things that exist. I can’t explain to my mom that when she touches me on the shoulder why I jerk away. She won’t understand. As it is now, she yells at me for being inconsiderate of her feelings when I ask her to please don’t touch me. She doesn’t give me a chance to say why, instead she reminds me of how selfish I’m being. How I must hate her because I don’t want her to touch me. That’s the same thing he used to tell me.

Almost every night he would come into my room, smelling of alcohol and cheap cologne. That smell still makes me sick to this day. I can’t remember the first time, and I don’t remember every time. For that I’m thankful. He would wait till the early hours of the morning and sit on the edge of my bed. It started off with only his hands roaming over my body, then it changed. Apparently that wasn’t enough for him and he started having sex with me. I went away in my head, and that’s always worked for me until now. Since admitting my secret, I haven’t been able to just go away in my mind. Hours aren’t passing as quickly and that scares me because it means that the memories and feelings are always there.

I feel like it’s my fault. I didn’t do enough to stop it- I blame myself. I didn’t tell anyone, so does that mean that I wanted it? Did I subconsciously not tell anyone so it would continue? Did I want it? Did I ask for it? Is it my fault for tempting him? I not only hate him, I hate myself. I hate myself for letting it happen, I hate myself for keeping a secret, I hate myself for telling my secret.

I hate that because I am his only child, I have to take care of him. He’s sick. He has heart problems, lung problems, he still drinks and smokes, and he’s in and out of hospitals. I’m next of kin and power of attorney. Everyone expects me to be the adult and take care of him. I also am next of kind and power of attorney for him mother and brother (both who are in nursing homes- Parkinson’s and stroke respectively). I hate having to see him, and each time I spend days trying to feel ok again. I never feel safe. I never feel relaxed, and rarely do I feel ok.

I don’t want people to feel sorry for me, but I want to be a kid. I never got to be a kid. From the time I was little, I was a part of his adult fantasy, and now I go to school full time, I work two jobs, and I take care of him, my grandmother, and my uncle. I’m tired of it all. I’m tired of having to be the perfect daughter. But most of all, I’m tired of hating myself.

I’m tired of this secret, but I fear that if I say anything about it now, then no one will believe me. After all, I’ve kept it this long. I’m scared and really all I want is someone safe to hold me and tell me it’s ok. I want someone to tell me that it’s ok to feel like this, that it’s ok to be scared, but also that I will be ok, and that they will protect me.

Cruel Dilemma

Posted by Anonymous

Last summer my 8 year old son was molested by his 12 year old adopted cousin. Thankfully we found out about it right away and we were able to have good discussions with our son... We have not allowed ANY contact from the boy who molested our son. However, now we are getting pressure from the both the parents of the molester, and the grandparents to "get over it", "move on" and let the boys get together again... for the sake of "family harmony".

I just don't know how that would effect my son.

Would seeing the boy who molested him hurt him more emotionally? (We would NEVER let him play alone with him)

Or would it be good?

If we did start seeing them again, I do worry about safety. The molesters parents are very laid back... we have FOUR sons to try to keep safe.

For me, as a mother, the easy answer is never to see this boy who caused so much pain again.

But is that what's best?

Thanks for listening, any advice is more than welcome.