First Love

Posted by Anonymous.

In a few hours midnight will come and I will slip down the hall to his room and lean over his sleeping form -so big!- and speak my love in whispers, in my mind, in my heart which needs no language. He will not wake, but I will imagine that his heart will hear.

He is my first love, love that wrenched my soul. How often have I read the blogs of other women who struggle to keep their identities underneath this crushing, precious wave of love? How often have I struggled with that myself, wondered if all I was, all I would ever be, was defined by those I love? Isn't that who he turned me into, seven years (almost!) ago? What identity did I have to keep, anyway? I wasn't a teenager when he was born, but not long from it. I was just beginning to emerge from that shell of daughter, sister into a fragile, barely-formed Me when he came, shattering all that, forever branding me mother.

It almost wasn't so. I tried to dial the number to the clinic, phone in my hand, frozen by the burden of choice. It's for the best, my friend told me. We can't do this, we're not ready. This from the father, though my mind shied away from words like father and baby. Did I know then? Did I understand on some level how a child changes you, dominates mind and heart and soul, turns you into someone you don't recognize? I could stop it. Dial the number, make the appointment, go and stay myself. Become myself on my own terms.

I can't. Tears pouring down my face, voice barely a whisper. Be rational. they said. Be practical, think about this. This will ruin your life, our lives. I couldn't be rational or practical, I couldn't think. All I had was that bone-deep certainty. I can't. Where did that come from? From him, that tiny clump of cells I couldn't wrap my mind around? From myself? Had I already changed?

I became someone. Loving him, I learned to choose wisely whom else to love. In protecting him, I learned to be brave. In failing him, I learned how to forgive, myself and my parents and others. Wondering how to teach him, I learned what I believed in. In imagining the kind of man I hoped he would be, I found a man who would cherish both him and me.

I've had more children. Even as I write this, I feel the fierce kicks of another who will both fill my heart and break it. But it started with him, my first love.

He made me a mother. But he also made me Me.

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

To My Mother

Posted by Anonymous.

Mother’s Day was filled with Facebook statuses and blog posts about the joy of Motherhood. Most also included special sentiments about the author’s relationship with her own mother, and each time I read one, I scowled like a child.

Let’s face it- you were absent for most, if not all, of my childhood. Yes Mom, I realize
you were always there, in the house. Always commenting about laundry and about how
I will need to tell people about all you do when I get older. Always there, drinking out of glass bottles, because “drinking out of cans is low class.” Always there, locked in your room, smoking marijuana because it helped you to “be creative”. Always there, because you never left the house except for a short walk across the street to buy cigarettes.

The excuses I would make for you were varied and creative- you had seasonal affective
disorder or that you were bipolar (because these had come up on television, and that
seemed to fit at times). You couldn’t come to my concerts because you were afraid of
crowds. You couldn’t come to my younger brothers’ Open Houses at school because you
were sick (an excuse used so often that teachers barely blinked at a 14 year-old showing
up to collect her brother’s special projects). You missed soccer practices and baseball
games. But as I recall, you never missed a nap. Should we happen to wake you up from
one, we knew to run and hide.

As I got older, I was willing to blame the alcohol. It was alcohol that you brought with
you, practically kicking and screaming, to my little brother’s wedding that you tried so
hard to get out of. It was a six pack that you cracked open within 20 minutes of meeting
my daughter, you first grandchild, that you refused to hold as you cradled you can of
Natural Ice (now long past the need for elegant bottles). If you could just get sober, then you could be the mother I wanted, the mother I longed for, the fictional mother, who at the very least could teach me how to apply make-up and could give me advice as three months of colic with my second child wore on and on.

But Mom, you’ve been surprisingly sober for three years, and still that mother has yet to
make an appearance. In fact, in a fun twist of events, after 1 year of sobriety that we as a family had fought so hard for, you left my ever forgiving father for a woman you met on the internet (“Oh please, it’s not a big deal. It’s been on Oprah.”). Suddenly you can drive on I-95, where you were too scared to do it before, thus missing my graduation for my Master’s degree. Suddenly you can fly- but only to Arizona with your girlfriend… not to NY to see your third grandchild.

I go for weeks without hearing from you. It’s like a game. How many days will go
by before you realize you haven’t heard from me, and you can rush to the phone and
apologize? Only you never do, because I give up and call you around day 14. And
your conversations always revolve around how this world has done you wrong; how
much you actually hate your girlfriend; how much you hate having to take care of my
grandmother as she slips deeper into dementia. How much you wish my father would
take you back. How bitter you are that my brother doesn’t speak to you and how it is his fault because obviously it is a “lesbian thing.” (For the record, he wasn’t speaking to you for 6 months before your coming out, but you didn’t notice.) How you are going to call J.G. Wentworth and fight for the rest of your divorce settlement because you and your dogs can’t stand living with my grandparents one more day. And I let you talk, because I don’t know what else to do.

This weekend, for Mother’s Day, we came out to the house to have Mother’s Day
with you and Nana. We ripped out weeds in the garden as you talked away on your
cell phone, upstairs away from your daughter and grandchildren. We planted flowers
while you puffed like a chimney on the back porch. We went out to lunch while you
drove to the Comcast building to replace your cable box, which apparently could
only be done right at that moment. We had a great time with Nana, who is more of a
grandmother to my daughters than you will ever be, but that doesn’t seem to bother you.

So yesterday I struggled with whether or not to call you on Mother’s Day. I had come to the firm resolution that I would not, since I seem to mean so little to you. But in the late afternoon, I wavered, holding out still for that mother who may just show up one of these days. And I called that cell phone that never leaves your side for a second. And it rang and rang. I left a message. You have yet to call back.

So thanks Mom, for the blank slate you have given me on this journey into motherhood. Thanks for the advice you never offer. Thanks for giving me a clear path to make my own mistakes and the resolve to never repeat yours. I may not know how to be a mom, but I know how not to be one. My life is dedicated to being the best mother to my daughters that I can be, if only because I know how hard it is to find a Mother’s Day card that does not include any “great mom!” or “loving” sentiments. They deserve more than that, and so do I.

So Mom Is Dying And You Are Not

Posted by Anonymous.

My mother is dying. Slowly, but perceptibly. Fading out, like a blurry xerox, her features sinking inward and melting toward one another. And for the 9 months this has been happening, I have wished it were you, Daddy.

Because Daddy, she showed up. She was there for every lost tooth, every prom, every school play, every nightmare, every spilled juice, every outgrown shoe. It wasn't pretty. She yelled. She was so tired she fell into bed every night. She wasn't good at comforting me. But she was always there, like a rock, a tired, jagged, sometimes cold, but always firmly and absolutely present rock. And you? You missed it all. You were drinking, and then trying not to drink, and then piecing together the ravages of a self from what was left after you stopped drinking, and then you floated off into some kind of oblivion I still don't understand. I played the part you needed me to play: loving and uncomprehending little girl, forgiving adult. But when the diagnosis came in, when they told us what it was and we realized what it meant, all I could do was hate that it wasn't you. Because when she is gone, I will be an orphan. Only you won't know it, and I will have to go through the motions of comforting you about the fact that there's really nothing you can do for me anymore, make up things for you to do so you can feel like a dad after missing it all in the first place.

Mom and I, we had plans. She had bought a house. She was going to move near me, be a grandma, see my kid grow up, be there for her. For the lost teeth and the outgrown shoes and the school plays. That's all gone up in -- not a a puff of smoke, but a steady stream of twisted cells multiplying silently. So she'll go, and my kid won't remember her, and we'll have a photo or two of you, the grandpa she's hardly met, and at some point I will say to her, it's OK, honey, I hardly met him either. But your grandma? She loved you to pieces. She was there when you were born and she held you and rocked you and did your laundry and laughed with me about how stupid cloth diapers were, and she bought you your first clothes and your swim lessons and all your shoes till she died, and she put money away for college. She loved you. She was there for you. She hated not being able to see you grow up more than anything.

And Daddy, you'll never know any of us.

I'm Blowing It

Posted by Anonymous.

I'm blowing it. My life. I'm blowing my life. At least that is how I feel today. I should be happy, I'm 28 and just bought my first house. I did it by myself. My boyfriend didn't help a bit, even though he makes double the money I do. That is the problem, my boyfriend is a nice guy and a good provider. The issue is he only provides for what he deems important. I, on the other hand, work hard, at a job that I greatly dislike most of the time, to provide for everything else.

I was raised with a slower pace of doing things. To me nothing has be to perfect right now, just so long as I am happy with what I have. I grew up with far less than I have now, but I think I was happier then. I've never cared about the newest this or that, or the most expensive. It's always was been about being comfortable in my life. Well, I'm not comfortable anymore. I am exhausted. He is exhausting. When I get home from a long day of work, he wants me to unpack or clean up or hang things. I want to lay down. When I tell him that I am exhausted he mocks me or makes a half joking comment that I am lazy. From there I tend to shut down. It's not fair. I work very hard, I deserve to be happy. I'm blowing it. I should be enjoying my freedom, not dreading going home to my new house because someone is going to nag me to death.

I know this is a very childish thing to complain about, I get it. There are many people in the world with much bigger problems. l am just exhausted and drained and tired of being tired. I want my chance to live happily ever after. I don't think I will get it.

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?

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.

Hook, Line, And Sinker

Posted by Anonymous.

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

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

Subject: WOW

Dear Russell:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Looking back, there were a lot of red flags.

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

A Haunting

Posted by Anonymous.

The past week really has been a hell of sorts.

It hasn't been terrible, but once again I feel - I have no better word - haunted.

It's not anything supernatural or spiritual in the sense of the undead hanging out with me at random times. It's more of a heart-haunt and a mind-haunt. Thoughts and feelings that I thought were gone have suddenly returned and refuse to leave me as it did once before regarding this same situation. It's the very strong remnants of a past relationship - a relationship into which I invested too much, received next to nothing, but cannot seem to shake. I fell in love with someone who misled me into believing that she was actually available - that we could actually have a future. My greatest fears were realized only a few short weeks later when she was able to patch things up with her "ex" (who wasn't really ever her ex, I now understand), and she dropped me without a word.

I have had one conversation with her since then - ONE - 2 months later, and in it she again tried to lead me to believe that months down the line, there could be something for us. My mind knew better. My heart didn't, but at least it didn't become fully invested as it did before.

Now it's been a year since the line between friendship and anything more really began to blur for me, and suddenly she's back in my thoughts, especially my dreams, and in my heart. I'm not "in love" with her again, or anything of that nature. That, while it took months, finally subsided. But I do really and truly miss her. Part of me wonders whether this will get worse in July when it will have been a year from when we actually had a real relationship. What makes more complicated is that we have so many mutual friends that I get accidental updates on her, and her current relationship, often. (If you're curious: She's fine. Their relationship is better than ever. They're moving away together to Xxx, XX this summer for her girlfriend's job.)

My few friends in whom I can really confide about the situation (without fear of further publicizing what ended up being her affair to minimize drama for each of us) are as supportive as they know how to be while being confused as to how I could possible have any amiable feelings toward this individual who treated me so poorly and rendered my heart so completely asunder. I appreciate them, but their support, comments, advice, etc. isn't solving this problem of being haunted by these remnants of my past relationship. I'm at a complete and utter loss as far as how to deal with this.

Best Friends Without Benefits

Posted by Anonymous.

In July, I will be married to my husband for ten years. My husband is a stay-at-home dad while I work full time as a teacher. I used to work 7 days a week because I would wait tables on the weekends as well. We have two children, a 7 year old boy and a 4 year old girl. The girl stays home with her dad all day.

We have a tiring life--doesn't everyone who has two little kids? Teaching takes a lot out of me. I love it, but it does drain me. My husband is dabbling in the movie making business (hopefully moving into that full force once Keira goes to school next year).

About a month ago, my husband told me that he felt like I had emotionally pulled away from him. He felt like I didn't try to connect with him anymore, and that I spent most of my time just trying to sleep. The fact that I would never initiate sex with him made him feel like I didn't want him. (In reality, I was just tired! The kids stayed up later than me most nights, so the sex we did have was at 3:00 in the morning when my husband would wake me up.) He said that he has been depressed, and that he was just realizing the extent of it. He felt like my caretaker rather than my husband.

Sounds like my husband has a case of the housewife blues. I get it. I didn't want to stay home with the kids full time. In a way, I think it would've been better if I would have--I would have gone to play dates and activities and LEFT THE HOUSE during the day. It seems like my husband has lost his sense of self.

Horrible. The next week, I quit my weekend job so that I wouldn't be so exhausted. I started trying to show him that I really do love him and that he is more than just a maid, nanny, and cook (terrible maid, by the way). I tried being more affectionate and emotionally available. (We've always talked all the time, so it wasn't that)

I think I missed my window, though. My husband has lost his attraction for me. He loves me. He is my best friend and I am his. He wants to cuddle and hold hands, but he doesn't feel the warm fuzzies or tingly feelings for me when he sees me. We took a long hard route in finding out this information. He didn't want to admit it to himself or me. It is a horrible feeling.

It feels better than what I had THOUGHT he felt. When he described it to me, I thought he didn't really like me or want to be around me. I thought he had completely fallen out of love with me. I thought he hated me, even though he told me that there was nothing about me that he didn't like. I thought we were through, even though I didn't really do anything bad--the feeling of rejection were mostly in his head. BUT, they were real FEELINGS, so he feels numb toward me.

How are we going to work through this? We are going to continue to be best friends. We can hold each other and cuddle. We won't be having sex, though. We haven't really been having much of that anyway, so in reality nothing much has changed. Is this forever? No way. We are going to do this until he either realizes that I am the hottest woman (for him) around or he realizes that I'm definitely not and we will drift apart. I'm fairly certain it'll be the first one. I'm fairly certain it'll be soon.

It is a weird arrangement, but it'll work. Here's the problem. How do I handle MY self-esteem? How do I handle that my husband has admitted that he thinks I am beautiful and a wonderful person, but he doesn't want to have sex with me? (He is kind of girly in his view of sex--there is no such thing as casual sex. He can't get turned on unless the FEELINGS are there.) How do I not act weird around him? How do I not focus on how the ACTUAL rejection is making me feel?

It is all a mind game. We were only doing it once every month or so anyway. Nothing has changed other than his recognizing his feelings and telling me what they are.

I kind of wonder if everyone goes through this--they don't have the warm fuzzies all the time. It is just really painful for me because my girly husband talks about his feelings and TELLS me about them!

I guess we will both be separately spending some time making ourselves physically feel better for awhile, and then (hopefully) sometime soon we can do it together.

To My Husband

Posted by Anonymous.

To my husband,

There are things I wish I could say to you, that I never have. They get caught in my throat and then just circle in my head. Let me start with I love you, more than you can ever imagine. I can't imagine my life without you. And yet at times like this, I wonder why I am still here.

There are so many things that I can't even begin to talk to you about. You are a bad listener. You are a great reactor. I wish I could duct tape you to a chair to get you to hear me. You are fun to be around, but only think of yourself. You are a good husband, but not the best father. You are ruining our relationship with our daughter. You are driving the wedge in further and further. My son is afraid of you. You lack empathy. I understand your desperation, your fear when it comes to your daughter. I really do. But clearly this isn't working.

I don't know how to fix things anymore. Our family is falling apart around us, and I can't hold it together. And you don't get it. I hate myself for not stepping in when you are mad at her. I hate myself because I know that if it was my son you were yelling at like that, I wouldn't stand for it. And because she is my step-daughter, I don't feel like I have the same authority, and neither do you. I hate that. I hate that this is effecting my son so much. I don't know how to protect him. Sometimes I feel like I should have left to give him a better life. But if I left what would happen to her? I love her like she is my own daughter, and yet she isn't. And within our family that is very clear.

A week ago we agreed to not have anymore children, or even a child together. It hurts, and I know it is the right decision. But this isn't how I imagined my life. How are your values so different from mine when it comes to children?

But I love you. And I read this and it makes you sound like a monster, and you are not. You make us laugh and we're happy most of the time. But today the rug has been pulled out from underneath me. And it is all your fault. You don't get it.

dear friends, this warrior is a child

Posted by Anonymous.

perhaps nothing was said out of anger or negative emotion, but they surely were of sarcasm, even you made that clear... i know how easy it is to hind behind a screen coz i know how easy it is to hide behind my own face in person-to-person conversations... so in emails i say what i feel, if i should be feeling anything... if anything, i'm probably more open to expressing my emotions as words on paper or pixels on a screen than i do person-to-person...

and all the emails exchanged this week were solely meant to inform, (no sadness, no pain, minus that incident i clearly laid out, no anger, no resentment), however way they may have been construed... like i said, i'm tired... i've been trying so hard to calmly and objectively dissect this situation trying really hard to see where it all got disconnected, and even you today just said that you didnt know i explained my poor word choice to her... i didnt say you were taking my side, i said i dont want them to believe you're taking my side, since you're the one presenting the counter-argument... and im too tired to explain this in detail

i'm really tired... and your last email filled w/ sarcasm and turning my metaphor into my saying "how u end up being the holy great one" is the threshold for me... im not taking it too much to heart because i know you were just typing what's on your mind, but that's a not so common-day metaphor surely not to be found in the merriam-webster, and it has a personal, and very low, blow to it so i cant tell you that it didnt hurt b/c it did... time may heal all wounds... but the scars remain for a reason... to remind us of all the battles we've fought, whether or not they were meant to be fought or even necessary... and some scars i carry, physical or otherwise, in retrospect, weren't so necessary, but they are blemishes on my skin that i graciously accept and live with and learn from everyday nonetheless...

i'm tired dear friend.. really tired.. of having my words turned into something else.. or having parts of the story missing as told by her... or everything and anything that comes in between... i'm just really tired.... not just physically.... like i said in the voicemail earlier after reading your last email, i can't be you guys' friend if i can't be myself... because that's the biggest lie of all... and this week, it's been very taxing to be you guys' friend... with all of you believing you've heard it all, and that it still comes off as my saying this and that... i've reached my breaking point...

For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.

i dont and never did seek to "disclose this mystery".. i merely wanted to ensure my voice was also heard... and what i had to say was no secret...just facts... i dont want to sit here deconstructing every word, thinking of how it could come off, just like it happened today w/ what i thought would be an innocent email that you would understand completely without feeling like i had some "holy great one" complex... especially since you were agreeing w/ me earlier that people shouldn't take certain words to heart, i didnt think i needed to explain to you that word choice that just came out of my "metaphor area" in my brain, if such a center exists...

i refuse to unlearn metaphors i've learned since gradeschool just so i can't be misconstrued... i really don't mind being misconstrued... but when it happens this often, after a set of heart-to-hearts that i deemed as our truly understanding each other, it gets very draining very quickly... being myself shouldn't be a task... being a friend takes work, but i personally believe it should never be this hard...

For it is [mine] to fill your need, but not your emptiness.

so for now, i surrender my badge... i'm not trying to run away... i'm just really drained of energy and need to be refreshed... i dont need you to accept it, respect it, or even understand it... it is just what it is... i am just what i am... and right now.. i'm just being very true to myself and my needs...

I Don't Want Her In My Life!

Posted by Anonymous.

I am 28 years old, a married SAHM to two children ages 4 and almost 1. I am also legally blind. When I go out I use a white cane. I can see a little, but only a little. I have gone through so much crap in my life. I have many blessings too, but the crap is overwhelming at times, and it mostly has to do with my dad's second wife. I will just list some of the things:

* Parents divorce
* Dad's remarriage two months later
* Dad fighting with second wife
* Going blind
* Dad fighting with second wife
* Dad's divorce
* Dad fighting with second wife
* Dad's remarriage to his second wife
* Dad fighting with second wife
* Second wife fighting with my sister
* Sister cuts second wife out of her life.
* Both uncles fighting with dad and second wife.
* Both uncles cut dad and second wife out of their lives.
* My grandparents move in with dad.
* Second wife fighting with my grandparents
* Grandparents moved out and in with my uncle.
* Dad fighting with second wife
* Dad stayed with me for a week
* He moved back home
* Dad stayed with me for a week
* Second wife fighting with me.

These are some of the things that I am concerned about.

I do not want phone contact, because being blind I can not read my phone to see who is calling before I answer. Second wife has said some very disturbing things to me. This is also why I do not want any written contact.

The reason I do not want contact in person from second wife is because I am unsure what she will do and I am afraid of injury to myself or my two children.

Here is a list of things that second wife has done that disturb me greatly enough that I no longer want her around myself or my children.

* She has said things that do not make sense. She told me her mobile phone was broken, but my husband checked my phone and she was calling from her mobile phone.
* She said that I wanted her to die. I have never said anything to give her this impression. That is why this scares me. I have never said anything to give her any thought along this line. So, I am worried that she may want to harm me, because of her thoughts.
* She has said she is good as dead. She implied that she was going to kill herself.
* The majority of the time when my family has gone over to her home she usually is drinking some type of alcohol.
* Being around her she has acted withdrawn, talking very slowly, and like she can not comprehend what I am saying. She also seems like she has a hard time trying to say things, like she no longer knows what the meanings of some words are.
* Almost any time she gives us food to take home from her home the food is expired.
* She told me that she was going to drive. I did not think she had a license. In the state she was on the phone I was worried she would drive to my home. I did not know what she would do, but I do not want her when she is in such a state around me or my children.
* She threatened to sell my wedding dress. I was able to get that from my dad.
* She threatened to sue me for the financial assistance my dad gave me through college, the computer my dad helped me pay for when I was in college, and the video camera I was given at my baby shower.
* She has called me all sorts of things.
* She wanted me to return every thing that my dad or she has given me.
* My dad brought back anything that I had given to them. He said he didn't want it destroyed.
* She sent my husband 70 texts in less than two days saying many terrible and horrible things. My husband didn't respond and we had to change our phone numbers and email addresses.

My dad was going to get divorced but it seems like he isn't now and he is putting a guilt trip on me and wanting me to let her back in my life.

I don't think she cares about if I am in her life or not she just wants my children. I don't want to subject them to her. I don't know if she will be stable or not and I love my kids too much to put them in that situation.

My dad says she just has health problems and needs a lot of love. I just keep thinking, what about me? Don't I deserve a chance to be happy and anxiety free?

Whenever I think about her my chest hurts. I have an anxiety attack and can barely take care of myself. Since I have cut off contact I feel so much better, but my dad just tried to convince me to have Easter with them. I feel bad because I want to forgive, but I just can't emotionally handle her. It makes me wonder why can't I just get over it. I guess because there has always been some issue involving her since I was 15 when my dad married her. I don't think I can do that to myself again.

I have told my dad all these things, but still he continues to try to convince me to let her back in. Why doesn't he care about the way I feel? I have told him countless times but my words don't seem to matter. Every time I get anxiety.

I have had enough.

I'm Not Real

Posted by Anonymous.

I'm not sure how to explain what is happening to me. I don't know who I am. No one else knows me either.

The most recent time I can think of when I was really being myself was probably when I was about 13 years old. Somewhere around the time I entered high school I started fearing judgment by other people so much that I stopped putting myself out there almost completely. I had a few good friends who I was very open with, but when I was around other people I always had my guard up.

Since then I have continued this relationship pattern by letting in only a few people in college and later a few people at work. When I got married and soon after became a stay-at-home mom, my world started closing in on me. We didn't live anywhere near either of our families. I was no longer forced to interact with the same people on a daily basis. I (barely) maintained a couple friendships, but was still so guarded and private that it was difficult to make friends with anyone new. We moved regularly for my husband's job and that made it even harder to make and keep friendships.

In the past few years I have become increasingly aware of how much I keep secret about myself. There is no reason for it, really. I don't feel ashamed about anything in my past. I have worked so hard at it though that I have lost touch with who I really am. I struggle to find my opinions on basic issues and I rarely spend time doing things I really enjoy (besides things I enjoy doing with the kids, which I do genuinely enjoy).

I have three kids and no idea who I am apart from their mom. I have a vague idea of who I could be, but I am afraid to become fully "myself" because I might have to admit I've made some wrong choices along the way and that I need to deal with the consequences. These consequences could also affect my kids and I do not want anything I do to have a bad impact on them.

I am tired of feeling misunderstood. I don't even feel like my husband really knows me all that well. I understand it's my own fault for not being more open, but I don't really know how to begin being more in tune with myself. I feel like a child lost in the woods.

Too Much Motherly Love

Posted by Anonymous.

It all started about 3 years ago. I was in a rocky "relationship" if you will and my mind had started to wander. There was this boy. He was 22 and I was 18. He worked at the same place as my mother. He was her manager, so she knew him fairly well.

One day, my mother and I went in to her work to get her check and I was introduced to him. He was handsome, and funny. My mother stood and talked to him for a few minutes and I occasionally threw in a witty comment with which he would reply with a smile.

From there on out, the flirting got more intense. I started finding excuses to go into his work when I knew he would be there. We asked each other questions about past relationships and what we looked for in other people. Eventually, he wanted to see me, outside of work. I knew it was a sticky situation to be in because of my current boyfriend but I was intrigued so I agreed.

I ended up breaking up with my boyfriend before this other boy and I hung out. We went to a local amusement park and spent the day there. Before I went home, we exchanged our first kiss and he asked to be my boyfriend. I accepted the offer.

My mother was NOT happy. She had every excuse in the good book as to why I shouldn't be dating her manager and this that and the other thing. I secretly though she might have had a thing for him because of the way she acted around him and past remarks she had made about him but I never said anything. Eventually everything blew over and our relationship continued with no problem. She grew accustomed and even encouraged it.

We have been dating for almost 3 years now and he lives with my family and I. I know they text message frequently as well as go to the gym together every day. I have always in the back of my head sort of suspected something, like I said before, but I always pushed it to the back of my mind. He loved me. She was my mother. End of story.

Last night he left his cell phone in my car and my curiosity got the best of me. I know it was wrong, but there was something in my head telling me there was something I needed to see. I started to go through his text messages and saw nothing out of the ordinary. I figured I'd read some of my mother's text messages because they do talk a lot, and what could they POSSIBLY have to say? She's 40, he's 25.

Anyways, long story almost short... I shouldn't have looked. There were suggestive texts from HER to him about outfits and hotels and surprises on the way to the gym. Texts about being dirty with no interruptions. REPLIES from him egging her on. I was sick to my stomach. I couldn't read anymore. I drove home, stormed in the house and confronted the two of them. They both insist it's a joke and there was never anything done. They make me feel like I AM CRAZY and shouldn't be upset. My mother tells me I shouldn't throw away my relationship over silly jokes. I know what I read though. I know what I saw. I don't feel it's right for a mother to be talking like that to her daughter's boyfriend. I love him and I saw forever in him. He was good to me, but I feel like this is something I just CAN'T get past. I guess the whole point of this is, does everyone else think I'm wrong too? I should leave him, right? I can't be the only one in the world who feels this way. It hurts and I don't know what to do.

-Anonymous

Bridging The Gap Between Us

Posted by Anonymous.

Everyone asks, "Aren't you afraid?"

I want to tell them that I am. But not for the reasons they think. I'm not afraid of being a young mom, of giving up the "best years of my life." It's not that, or delivery, or how my husband will handle school, work and his new son. I am afraid because I am doing the hardest thing I have ever done in my life: I am letting you back into my heart.

I thought about you every day when I was a little girl. I wondered if we had the same nose or if my hands would ever be the same shape as yours. I heard my mother cry all alone in the bathroom because she had been shamed and now had to struggle alone. It would be years before she told me about the other women, the drinking, the time you'd broken her back. At that time, I thought maybe I had asked for too much simply by asking about you. I thought she must be regretting something awful that caused you to leave her. She never said a single bad word about you. I thought you must have been the most perfect person in the world.

It's funny how even when I found out that you were nothing like the picture my mother painted, I always wanted to protect you. It didn't matter how many times the counselor at school pulled me aside and asked about my busted lip [or my broken ankle, or the bruises on my arms, or my black eye, or the cuts that later appeared on my arms...] I always had a plausible excuse. Because I loved you, and I loved that we had the same nose and the same shaped hands. My mother left me with you hoping that you had changed, thinking it was the best chance for me to grow up in a house and not in a series of apartments with her new boyfriends. I came to you hoping that you could be everything I'd dreamed a father could be. "You were a mistake," you said instead. "Just do something useful; get those dishes. Don't forget to iron my work clothes." Those were things I'd never done before, but I learned how just to make you happy. To cook, to clean, to make the best grades, to hide my tears and physical pains with a cheerful smile.

Eight years later, when they pulled you out in handcuffs, I cried. The officers asked, "Weren't you afraid?" I shook my head because I couldn't speak. Of course I wasn't afraid- you hadn't meant to shoot at me. You'd missed on purpose. You'd just been drinking again, and I didn't want you to go away. "It's okay. Put him to bed and he'll be okay tomorrow!" Oh, I pleaded. Even knowing that tomorrow you might find out that I had been hiding my pregnancy and miscarriage from you. You told me all about that boy and what he wanted, you tried to save me by banning him from our home. And when you were right, you had to make sure that I remembered for a long, long time. "Please. I don't want you to take my daddy away!" I'd take it all back- wishing you would disappear. All the self-doubts and suicide attempts. The resentment. The regret for all of those feelings. being so confused about whether I hated you so much I loved you or loving you so much I hated you. I'd swallow it back up and we could just forget it all.

They didn't listen. They placed me back with my mother, who cried and cried when she saw my arms and face. When she the bullet holes in the wall for herself. When she realized in full the chance that she gave me. I saw you in court and you sat next to me. "Sweetie," you said. "My God, what did I do? What have I done? Can you forgive me? Can we just forget all of this happened?" I wanted to say, "Yes, yes, let's forget and go home. I haven't even done the laundry yet and I know you need your work clothes for tonight." But my mother's lawyer screeched at you from across the room- "get AWAY From her!" My mother couldn't understand why I mourned the loss of you again. I'd lived my whole life wanting to please you and now I'd ruined my chances forever.

Five years later, when I wobbled up to your doorstep before my grandmother's funeral, I held my husband's hand so hard that he had to ask me to let go entirely. "I'm so sorry that I'm afraid" I told him, wondering what you would do. Would you scream at me? Would you throw your fists at me? Would you blame me? Or worse, would you pretend not to see me? It felt like the years of therapy had melted all away. I felt sixteen all over again, watching them shove you into the back of the police car. You answered the door and you hugged me. "I knew you'd come back, Honey. I just knew you'd forgive me." You held my hand, the one that was now not just the same shape, but the same size as yours. You blinked back tears, you talked to me for hours. You gave me Grandmother's fur coats, her handwritten recipes, money to help us get home. You begged me to keep in touch so that you could make amends. I asked my husband what he thought as we were driving home. He simply said, "Your father looks like a sad old man that can't hurt you anymore." I realized then that you'd turned 50 this past year. And indeed, perhaps you couldn't hurt me anymore.

I called you two months ago to tell you that I had made your dreams come true- I was finally able to give you the grandson you'd always wanted. A little boy after so many daughters and granddaughters. I was so scared to pick up the phone and dial those old numbers. Afraid you'd pick up and say, "I was lying all along. I can't change. I'll find you, I'll make you pay for disappointing me!" Instead, you laughed and cried and asked me all about my son. You asked if you could come to be with me when I gave birth. You asked for pictures and constant updates. I hesitantly gave you my phone number then and you even called me the other day. You scolded me so lightly for making you worry about our little family. I felt my heart seize up before you said it was only because you want everything to go perfectly. You got serious. You said, "If I could take it back, I would, you know? I did a lot of things that I'm ashamed of, and I wish I could make it up to you. The best I can say is that I am sorry; I know you don't want excuses. You don't have to trust me- but I'm glad you do. It's the best gift anyone has given me."

I hesitated last night before putting the envelope containing Jackson's ultrasounds into the mailbox. Just for a minute. And then I thought, "Why am I so afraid?" [Forget that voice that kept asking me if I would do the same things to my son, if I'd pass on my anxiety just by him being within me, if I could even do this, if you would come back into my life and hurt me so deeply again.] I pushed the letter in the box and pulled up the flag. I walked inside and I didn't dare look back. If I did, I might have run back out and snatched my son away from you. I see now what my mother was hoping for. I see now what she tried to do. And as I try to do the same thing almost two decades later, I pray for the best just like she must have done.

So, Daddy, we can still have the relationship we were supposed to. Please don't disappoint me this time. Keep your word. Make it up to me by loving my son the way you should have loved me.

Etiquette Rules for Facebook (A Guide for Fathers, Dung Beetles and Glenn Beck)

Posted by CFM.

Today, I became a fan of a dung beetle on Facebook.

Apparently, someone thought it would spark revolution if this tiny creature gathered more virtual pals than conservative blow-hard Glenn Beck. Thus far, Glenn Beck is outpacing the dung beetle by about 450,000 fans. It's discouraging, but it's not keeping me up at night, because Facebook is not real.

I am not really a fan of dung beetles.

Dung beetles do not really care if I like them.

I fanned the dung beetle without putting much thought into the decision. I take it for granted that everyone involved realizes my relationship with the dung beetle is fleeting, a momentary announcement to my friends via my profile page, and nothing more.

When it comes to Facebook etiquette, though, there are different expectations for interactions with dung beetles than there are for, say, fathers.

My father friended me on Facebook.

Then he unfriended me.

Then he friended me again.

This is the most I have heard from him in more than 10 years. Our relationship before that wasn’t great, either, after many rocky years during which my parents divorced and remarried various people with whom I did not get along. As I entered adulthood, I made a few efforts to reconnect with my father. I was rebuffed, I gave up and I tried not to think too much about him until he showed up on Facebook.

I really don't give too much thought to out-of-the-blue Facebook friendship advances when they come from casual high school acquaintances I have not seen since I successfully grew out my bangs and learned to walk around without my gaze glued to my shoes. (I don't think those two events are necessarily related, but they did occur at about the same time.)

When a person I barely knew back in those bad, old days of high school casually friends me, I assume that person, like the dung beetle, understands our Facebook connection does not actually make us friends.

I politely accept those requests, flip through my yearbook to place names with the (17-year-old, outdated images of) faces, then forget about these faux friendships until a status update about weather or dinner menus reminds me of these tenuous connections.

All of this is absolutely fine for Facebook friendships with former adolescent acquaintances.

Blood relatives, though, should follow a different set of etiquette rules on Facebook, I think.

A personal message should be required to accompany the family "friend" request.

In the case of my father, something like, "I remember when you were born! What's up?" might be appropriate.

After I accepted my erstwhile parent's foray into Facebook friendship, I wondered about his motives, but also about what he would gather about me from my page.

I'm not a 16-year-old angry girl anymore. But maybe that's not clear from status updates like this one: "Put this on your status if you know someone who deserves a smack in the face with a shovel."

Does a relative who chose not to RSVP to my wedding want to know that my gangsta name is Rebizzle, that I have never gambled in Las Vegas or that I am a member of a group called, "Can this dung beetle get more fans than Glenn Beck?"

Probably not.

But I hope he hangs out in my Facebook photo albums. I hope he sees his three-year-old granddaughter dressed up like a fairy princess for Purim last year, and my younger daughter’s first birthday when she cried even as she shoved cake into her mouth and the two of them bundled up in their warmest clothes to revel in a rare deep South snowstorm. I hope he sees all that and realizes that my little girls are pretty awesome in pictures, but they are way, way better in real life.

Damaged Beyond Repair

Posted by Anonymous.

I found out about a week ago that my husband has been fooling around with a sales rep that he is doing business with. My world has been in a tailspin ever since. I feel such tremendous hurt, embarrassment, shame, and pain that I can barely breathe. We have been together for almost 20 years, and married for 10. We have 4 beautiful kids. We are in the process of buying our dream house. And then this.

I feel like I've experienced a death... the pain is so intense. As far as I can tell - and as he's told me - I discovered it before it got to the physical level, but somehow that doesn't bring me much comfort. I can believe it happened. I can't believe this is my life now. I don't know what to do. I am constantly reliving every moment every day. Every hour. Every minute. I feel like I am never going to be okay. Like I am never going to be able to recover from this pain. I can't eat or sleep. I've lost 10 lbs. in just this week alone. I feel like I've been robbed of my future, and wonder if my past has been all lies. My heart aches for my kids, for they don't deserve this, and have no idea that something is so terribly wrong. I don't know what the right thing to do is, and I am just frozen in the pain and sorrow.

Are people able to recover from such things? Can you ever really learn to trust again? I don't know how I am ever going to go on from this... I wish it never happened.

Day One

Posted by Anonymous.

Before I can tell you about today, I need to tell you about last Tuesday. Last Tuesday was my first day of sobriety. But before I can tell you about Tuesday, I need to tell you about what happened before Tuesday.

Looking back, it's obvious that I've been an alcoholic, or an alcoholic in training, for a long, long time. My parents tell stories about me as a toddler or preschooler, stealing sips of beer. I remember drinking a glass of champagne or wine with dinner as a young child (maybe age six or seven) and liking it so much that I wanted a refill. I know that at age seven I preferred my mother's tropical cocktail (Planter's Punch) to my own Shirley Temple. I remember at around age 13, our family had a leftover keg in our garage from a block party, and I drank one or two glasses a day from it until it disappeared.

The first "official" time I got drunk I was 14. Fuzzy Navels and tequila shots. My friend, who had driven us to the party, wound up putting a very dizzy, barely conscious me into bed, obviously disappointed by what a crummy sleepover guest I'd turned out to be.

College? Plenty of binge drinking, followed by throwing up and blacking out. Bad behavior.

After college, more of the same.

I took a break for a few years, when I was pregnant and had small kids.

But once the kids got old enough to go away for sleepovers, more binge drinking. No more throwing up, but plenty of overindulgence followed by passing out and nasty morning-after hangovers.

Fast forward a few years. My husband's diagnosis of metabolic disorder gave us a great excuse to drink daily: red wine is a key part of the Mediterranean diet! My frequently-used jest was, "My doctor told me a glass of red wine a day is good for me. I say two glasses are twice as good!" In reality, however, two glasses? That was by six o'clock. We quickly got to a level of drinking that meant we recycled three or four boxes of wine per week. I was keeping up with his every drink, sometimes surpassing him, and he outweighs me by about 150 pounds.

I stopped going to sleep. Instead, I blacked out. Many mornings, I'd wake up naked, but not sure if we'd had sex. I had to ask my husband what we had done.

But certainly, I'd told myself, I wasn't an alcoholic. I didn't miss work because of drinking. I didn't start drinking until at least 5:00 p.m. (of course, sometimes I'd sit staring at the clock, with a glass ready, for ten or more minutes). I never got a DUI. I never went to jail. I never hit my kids.

But I started to get sloppy. Over the holidays, I drank too much and was obviously drunk at my in-laws' house. I embarrassed my husband. And the week after New Year's, my husband and I had a sincere conversation in which we determined that we drank entirely too much, and that we needed to cut down.

What happened? He cut down, even skipped nights, drinking one or two drinks at the most. I, however, started putting my wine in coffee cups, or, more disturbingly, waiting until everyone else had gone to bed before starting to drink, and getting drunk.

And that brings us to Monday night. The husband went to bed around 10:30 p.m. As soon as he was in bed, I went to the kitchen and turned on the faucet, as though I were filling up the tea kettle. Instead of tea, however, I made myself a glass of bourbon with one ice cube. (The water running disguised the sound of me pouring the liquor into the glass, as well as the clink of the ice cube.) I took my drink to the living room and played computer games, sipping on the drink as I played. Soon enough, it was empty. By this time, he was fully asleep, so I didn't need to disguise the noise when I poured the second drink. This one polished off the bottle, and for a moment, I considered funneling the bourbon back into the bottle. I quickly dismissed this impulse, however, and put the empty bottle into the recycling bin (in the back, so it wouldn't be easily seen). The second drink went down faster than the first. And here's where it gets confusing.

I must have gone outside to smoke a cigarette. I had my coat on. I fell. I don't know if I tripped or if I passed out on my feet, but I went down face first onto the patio. I don't remember falling. I don't know how long I lay there before I got up. I remember seeing blood on my right hand. That's all I remember.

I somehow got my coat off, and got undressed, and put myself to bed. I wasn't quiet about it, though, and my husband woke up. He says it was around 3 a.m. He told me the rest of it. I fell down on the floor on the way to bed, then got up and fell down again. He asked me what was going on, and my answer was "floor." He got up and saw what I would see the next morning: my face was covered with blood, with my upper lip bearing the majority of the injury. My glasses were scratched, my nose looked broken (it wasn't), and I'd broken a tooth.

Next morning, I woke up, aware that something was very wrong. I took inventory of my injuries with fingers and tongue. My front teeth were there. Good. But the next tooth, oh no. Was broken in half. My lip was numb, but everything else hurt. A lot.

My husband came into the room and discovered that I was awake. I'll never forget the look on his face, and the sob in his voice, when he asked me, "What have you done to yourself?" I tried to answer, to make up a story, but he already knew the answer. He wanted to take me to the hospital. I refused. He tried to clean up my face a little. And then he helped me get to the bathroom, where I took a long look at myself in the mirror, then collapsed onto the vanity. He helped me clean up more, then put me back in bed, where I was freezing and needed blanket after blanket. (I guess I was in shock or something.)

He ran me a hot bath, picked out some clothes, and took better care of me than I deserved.

While I was in the bath, he poured out the only liquor remaining in the house (1/3 of a bottle of vodka).

I spent the day resting, occasionally sleeping, crying a lot, and I asked for help. I called a friend who'd been sober for years, and asked her to take me to a meeting.

And that's day one. Today is day six. I've been to five AA meetings. I have not taken a drink since that night. I hope I never do again. I came very close to death that night. My blood is on the patio, only inches from four ceramic and terra cotta flower pots. I shudder to think how the whole thing would have gone if I'd fallen a few inches to the right.

I lied to my husband. My integrity? Non-existent. My self-respect? Right there with it.

I've got nowhere to go but up. I want to live in reality. I want to have integrity. I want to deserve my family's trust. I don't want to die because of alcohol.