Hubby Needs A New Valentine

Posted by Anonymous.

Hubby needs a New Valentine!

One who will be tolerant of his childhood training.

My Motherinlaw was raised on a tenant farm absorbing the Slave Cultures needs to lie and keep secrets. Hubby's Mother trained him to tell stories and make things up for entertainment...She was bored by her life as a pastors wife, so to addressed it she trained her little boy to entertain her at every turn with outlandish stories, and so a Great Colossal Self Promoting Story Telling Man was Created!

The Long term Side Effects of her Creation ..chronic lying...an inability to mature...temper tantrums when he doesn't get praised for his lying.... pretending to pay the Bills...pretending to get a Masters degree ....On line Pornography addiction...Pretending all this is Not Cheating on your Spouse...

"Hubby Needs" seem to be the only thing we are allowed to address at our house. This technically is termed IDOL Worship...hahahahaha He really does Not Like the Fact that this has been Identified and spent most of last year leaving the house pretending to go to work trying to regain control over the worshipers

There are a lot of differing concepts concerning Hubby's issues...My Favorite advise is "Don't Take it to Personally" He uses this one all the time! If He were a 22 year old drug addict they would tell me to use tuff love and throw him out! But he is a hubby and a Father so he gets special treatment! If I want out I have to move to the streets because well technically he is not abusing me physically so there is no abuse?!?!!!!

Our Daughter rarely gets a Christmas or Easter Dress.....Hubby spent her last years home school grant on bills he didn't pay. Hubby balks at the idea that he is responsible for 50% of this relationship and 100 % as leader of the household. He acctually has a BA Degree is Phychology and he had to read Books about becomeing a Man to figure out What he is Doing is acctually WRONG?!?!

In Counseling ....Yes we have been to Plenty...they Do NOT CONFRONT the Problems they quietly exspect the irresponsible party to mature past their issues and stop createing Hell...But I have yet to see this process produce even a noted amount of improvement over 23 years...he just comes up with a New Issue...Like Pretending to Believe in God?!?!

The truth is he is trained to Do all of this to the core of his being ....its generational. It took me 15 years to figure out that the lying was generational..hahahahaha about the time his 65 year old cousin found out uncle bill was his Dad!..They had lied to him for 65 years....

My Favorite all time Lie.....I Love you enough to Stay Married to you dont I ?!?!?! This is not a consolation Prize this is a Valentine box filled with Mixed Chocolates ...most of them are gonna taste sweet and sickly and your NOT gonna like em so you just eat the the ones with NUTS...Because its NUTS!

By the way just call me

"The Whore that married the Pastors Son"

I wear the title with Honer Now

and a red string tied around my ankle to remind me who I believe In

Don't Follow Me

Posted by Anonymous.

She is falling. The bottom has dropped out, and she is hurtling towards oblivion. There is nothing to grab onto, nothing to save her, she is falling.

The phone has fallen out of her hand. It lies on the floor of the van. She stares at it. She looks up to see her mother and sister turned around from the front of the vehicle. She can see their mouths moving, but she has forgotten how to hear. She has forgotten how to breathe.

She looks out the windows of the car and sees people in the yards of this pretty development. Mowing lawns, setting up sprinklers, walking dogs. How are these people still moving?

She realizes she has stopped breathing. She has started to shake. She hears something, finally. The voice, it is her husband. It is coming from the phone on the floor. He is shrieking obscenities, screaming for her to answer him.

“What is this? What did you do? What am I looking at?” He is sobbing, making guttural noises.

Her sister takes the phone and speaks calmly, “We are coming home now. What happened? What is going on?”

“Your sister is a whore.” He screams, “Ask your sister, she’s a fucking whore.”

And then there is silence again.

Her mother has pulled the van over. Turned around in the seat to look at her. Eyes searching, questioning, bewildered.

“I was having an affair,” she whispers, barely audible.

“What? With who? When? How?” The questions come at her rapid fire. She is shaking and quiet.

The shaking becomes more violent and she begins to lose her grip on reality. She is moaning and sobbing, rocking back and forth, “My babies. He’s going to take my babies.”

With this, her mother snaps into action and calls her to attention.

“You need to speak to me. What happened? Tell me now.” Her mother’s authoritative tone grabs her attention just as it did in childhood.

“It was an e-mail relationship, with a guy from college. It started on Facebook.” She doesn’t say the name but she doesn’t have to. Both her mother and sister know immediately who it is.

“Did you act on this relationship?” her mother inquires, trying not to say the word sex.

“No. But there were pictures and graphic emails.” And he saw them all. Oh my God. He saw them all. How is this happening?

She begins to unravel again. The momentary calm is gone, and she borders on hysteria. She screams that she needs a cigarette, although no one in the car smokes. Her mother once again snaps her back to attention with her tone.

“We need a plan of action. First of all, where are the kids? “

She looks at the clock, 8:45pm. They are in bed, exhausted from a long weekend. It is a Sunday night. Having just spent the weekend in New Jersey and then all day swimming, they were tucked in by 7:30pm.

“They are sleeping,” she says.

“Okay. You need to talk to him,” her mother says, always the problem solver, the trouble shooter. There is nothing that she can’t fix. With a glue gun and heartfelt apology, this would be right as rain in no time.

Her mother and sister discuss quietly how they plan to handle the situation. Her husband said he wants her out. He wants her to get her shit and leave.

The focus of their discussion has shifted. The focus of concern is the children. “…don’t want to wake them…” “…I can stay with her…” “…she can stay at my house…”

She has three children. They have three children, six, four and two. Her babies.

She shoves their faces out of her head, too painful to think about right now. Her heart might explode.

She can only think about the leather stitching on the seat in front of hers in the van. She wants to die. She wants to stop existing. She wants to disappear.

She can’t say these things in front of her mother and sister because they will take them seriously, as if she might actually commit suicide. Would she? She guesses that this feeling is why people take that step. She couldn’t do that, wouldn’t do that.

Wouldn’t mind if something killed her but wouldn’t take it into her own hands. That would just add insult to injury.

She will have to face this like a grown up.

She is just starting to breathe again when they pull into the driveway of her house.

The violent shaking begins again. They walk in the door. She is flanked by her mother and sister.

This situation is awkward and humiliating for everyone.

He is sitting at the table and has the laptop open.

When he sees her mother and sister, there is a slight change, almost imperceptible to anyone but her. He softens and there is sadness behind his immediate rage.

He demands that she log back into the e-mail account. While in the thick of the initial incident, she had changed her password to lock him out of the account.

“Show them. Show them what you did.” He is shaking, too, she can see.

“Facebook. That fucking Facebook,” he repeats, over and over. “How could I be so stupid? So fucking stupid?”

When her mother and sister finally leave, sad and scared, the house is quiet. The home that they built together.

She looks at him. She waits. He can’t look at her. After an interminable silence, he says, “Why?”

The question hangs in the air. Unanswerable. Inexcusable. Unbelievable.

Mentioned in 20% of all divorce cases according to a survey by the American Academy of Matrimonial Lawyers (AAML), it seems that Facebook is certainly adding fuel to the fire.

In some cases, Facebook is used as way to collect evidence in an already heated battle. In other cases, like mine, Facebook is merely the gateway. The Devil’s playground. The Garden of Eden. The place where a woman feeling stifled by the boredom of being a middleclass wife and mother goes to find some excitement.

It all started so innocently. A simple, “Hey there! Long time, no see! You look great!” It moved into a daily communication. Simple stuff, “your kids are so cute,” “your new deck looks great.” Then there is the shift, so slight, almost unnoticeable, “Remember the time…” and then you are in, involved. You are thinking of another person right there in the middle of your perfect, amazing life.

It slides so naturally away from the “social network” to a more private exchange, e-mail. And then the phone calls begin. The text messages.

It’s all so easy, nobody is getting hurt. It’s not “real.” It’s all digital. Nothing “bad” is happening, just two old friends talking, and then there is the proposal, the mention of “what if…,” the innocent lunch meeting. In the moment there are choices to be made.

I made my choice. I chose not to go to a hotel. I chose not to take that final step. But, in the end, it didn’t really matter. I was already there. I had already put myself in the situation. I made it real.

And I had to answer the question. Why?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One year ago, my world fell apart.

One year ago, I almost lost everything.

But I didn’t.

We survived.

I followed an angel down through the gates; I can only thank God it was not too late.

I found my place. I can only thank God it was not too late.

http://youtu.be/-nUgEt_MZOQ

This Is a Thank You Letter

Posted by Anonymous.

To Catherine for hosting this, but also to all the bereaved, betrayed, angry, and injured souls on here. This one isn't for everyone; some of you won't relate to this at all. That's fine too. This one is mostly for the married folk out there.

About Me:

I'm a simple man. A Man's Man, really. I love my woman, my kids, sex, cars, guns, weightlifting and beer. In that order. I am a United States Marine, so you can imagine the testosterone runs a tad high in my veins. I'm a brother to several sisters, a son to a quirky mother (think Ms Frizzle from Magic School Bus. Seriously.), and a dedicated husband to an amazing woman. I was not always so dedicated. In fairness, my first wife was not so faithful herself. This is not the point; it is just a bit of color for the background. We failed, through mutual immaturity, lack of a foundation (dated a year and married), infidelity on both sides, and several other fissure-sized flaws on BOTH our parts.

Now, I am remarried. Strangely enough, to a woman that I dated in college, almost 13 years ago. We broke up because I joined the Marines, of all things. 8 years later, and a spouse each, we met up again, and well...here we are. Both MUCH wiser the second time around.

BUT...

There is always that 'But,' isn't there?

I am still a Man, however much I have learned. And while I am proud of my genetic package, this presents a problem. I tend to think I have things under control. We men like that. To be The Man. In Charge. On Top Of It. Got This One on Cruise Control. This blinds us, willfully or otherwise, to an amazing array of things that women see as glaringly obvious. This trait above all others is what I credit with my first marriage's demise, at least from my end. We tend to think we have things figured out, and that is that. We will ALWAYS have it figured out. Because things never change, PEOPLE never change, right? Heh. Yeah Right.

SO...

Because I know this, I am paranoid. Always self-examining, always thinking, 'am I missing something?' But because I am NOT a woman, I'm a blind man trying to teach myself what the color Blue is.

Here is where the Thank You starts. To ALL of you. All of you who suffer, whose men AREN'T men, if only because of their willful blindness, their neglect, and their dispassionate self-justification (we're good at that, let me tell you...).

I thank you for sharing, for letting all your hates, hurts, and feelings fly. It's because of you guys that I know what to look for. It's because of your willingness to share that I can see those blind spots; they're damnably hard to find otherwise. It is because of the woman who loves her husband beyond all reason, all sanity, and pours out her troubles and feelings here, that my marriage is still kicking. I hope and pray for each and every one of you, that your situation will improve, that your man will wake up, that YOU will wake up, whatever the case may be. But, in the meantime, Thanks. Just know that you aren't screaming into the wind. By what you do here, another woman is spared the suffering you endure. Small consolation? Maybe. But it's what I have to offer.

I owe you all.

Just....keep saving me, would you?

Sincerely,

A Man.

Mom

Posted by Anonymous.

Dear Mom,

This is a letter that I should’ve written several years ago. I want to start off with saying that I love you even though you accuse me several times of the opposite. I am twenty-three years old, and I know you still see me as your little girl. Mom, I’m not a little girl anymore. I am almost done with graduate school. I have a lot of things left in life that I would like to experience in this world. I can’t deal with you trying to control every aspect of my life anymore. Prisoners have more leeway than I do.

I understand that you love me and worry about me, but you don’t act like this with the boys. You don’t make them tell you when they leave or when they arrive at their homes. You never have. I understand that you think things are different because I’m a girl. But, I am not a prisoner. I can’t let you control my feelings. Even though you think you don’t.

I am sooo sick of you constantly putting him down. He’s a good guy, a really good guy. Just because he’s black, not catholic, and doesn’t have an 8-5 job doesn’t make him worthless. He treats me well regardless of whether you want to believe that or not. He may not be what you have always wished for, but he works hard and loves me unconditionally. I don’t know what God has in store for our relationship; I just know that he brought him into my life for a reason. Maybe that reason was that our (yours and my) relationship can change into something different.

I have let you get away with a lot of things that I probably shouldn’t have. I can’t live the life you want for me. I need to live MY life. I understand you want the best for me, but like I’ve said on several occasions, you don’t get to decide. I am my own person. You raised me to be independent and to stand up for myself. When I stand up to you, you accuse me of raising your blood pressure and saying that I will give you a heart attack. You have absolutely no idea how much it hurts me for you to tell me things like that.

I know you are a good mom but you need to realize that I don’t do everything the exact way you do. I don’t think like you, and I view the world completely different. All you see are obstacles, and all I see are opportunities. I guess that is because we are almost 40 years apart. I refuse to argue with you every single day about the man in my life. I could understand you saying I deserve better if he treated me poorly, but he doesn’t. You know what it’s like to be treated poorly… I don’t. You think he controls me, but he doesn’t. He supports me. He is the one there every time you go off on one of your rampages about how much you dislike him and my lack of faith and blah blah blah. You’ve always known that I am not lacking in faith. I’m with you at church every Sunday on my own accord. I know I don’t have to prove my faith to you; it’s just irritating constantly being questioned.

I know I can’t control what you do, but I can control me. I do appreciate everything you’ve done for me; however, I can’t continue to have this relationship with you. I’ve told you on several occasions I wish we could have a mature mother-daughter relationship, but you refuse. You get jealous of the conversations I have with my friends because I don’t talk to you about certain things. The reason I don’t talk to you is because I can’t be open with you. You automatically judge me and disagree with anything you wouldn’t do or didn’t do. I AM NOT YOU.

I’ve prayed and prayed and prayed. I don’t know what to do about our relationship. The only thing I can think of is that I just need to stop giving in to you. I’m not sure if it’s best to just rip it off like a band-aid or not. I know you’ll go to my brothers and say how bad I am treating you and that it’s HIS fault. It’s not. Like I said at the beginning of this letter, I probably should’ve written this 5 years ago when I started college and the daily check-ins began when I wasn’t even in the same city. Now I’m back and have lived with you for a little bit, and I STILL had to check-in with you; otherwise, you blamed me for your lack of sleep. You aren’t the only one losing sleep. I just don’t tell you about it because I secretly think you’d enjoy that you get to me that much. I’m the one who has to go to work tomorrow, but I’m still up. I thought that writing this might help me to release some of my emotions. I’m debating on whether or not to send this to you.

I don’t know why you treat me so differently from the boys. I know you love them just as much, but you were able to let them go. I cry every day because I don’t know how to make this better. It’s killing me. I want to be able to have a GOOD relationship with you. Not one where you treat me like a five-year-old constantly. Mom, I’m going to make mistakes. I know that. But, it’s not like I’ve ever been in any serious trouble. The worst I did was talking in class when I was younger. For some reason, you think I am incapable of making decisions about my own life. You have to trust that God knows what he is doing in my life. I know eventually everything will work out, but I can’t wait to graduate and look for another job far away from here. I guess I think in my head that will help solve our problems even though secretly I know it won’t. I don’t know what to do. I love you, and I can’t take the arguments anymore.

My Sister

Posted by Anonymous.

The world as I know it ended on a cold December night in 2006. At 10:15 pm. my baby sister, who I had watched for over ten years fight the nightmare that is Leukemia, died. It was like my own death was taking place; I shut down, I became withdrawn, severely depressed and angry. It wasn't just her death that haunted me, it was the way she died, full of pain and anger, not wanting to accept her fate. It was the cruelest experience of my life.

I had spent the months leading up to her death in denial. In all the years that she had Leukemia, I never once thought that she would die. I always knew that she could die at any moment, but i never really believed that she would. I know it was naive of me to be so optimistic, but in those ten years that she battled with the cancer, I thought my sister to be invincible - countless surgeries and infected ports, serious life-threatening circumstances never stopped her from fighting. Even when an irresponsible doctor botched a surgery and left her fighting for her life in what would be months of recuperating, she never lost hope, but she never fully recuperated either. She died of complications due to that surgery and from the cancer.

She was my everything. I lived and breathed for her and for all of a sudden for my whole world to be torn apart was more than I could bear. For months after she died, I would wake up in the middle of the night and tell myself that she was still in the hospital waiting for me to go see her. When she came home to die after they told her she only had four months to live, if that, she was in hospice. They had a nurse that would come to the house to make sure she was comfortable and wasn't in pain, but it didn't matter that they gave her medicine - she died in pain, it was never painless.

When she came home from the hospital to die, she was angry to say the least. She would cry and scream, she didn't understand why she had to die, why at sixteen her time was up. She who had never had the chance to have a real life because of her illness, who hung out with my friends who loved her because the kids at school didn't want to be friends with the girl who had cancer. Even though she was two years younger than me, she always seemed older. Maybe it was the fact that she never got to have a normal childhood that made her seem wise beyond her years. She didn't have time to think of petty things that other kids at her age thought of, not when she was constantly trying to stay alive.

I took a leave of absence from work to be with her. I withdrew from all my classes at college. I tried to keep going because I knew she would be proud of me. She looked up to me so much, and the last thing I wanted to do was disappoint her, but I couldn't stand to be away from her even for short periods of time. I always felt that if I left her, that she would die, and I would never be able to say goodbye or forgive myself for not being there. I became an insomniac; I was too worried and scared to go to sleep, I never knew if I was seeing her for the last time. It was torture to see her die slowly everyday. I couldn't stand to see it, but, at the same time, I couldn't stand to look away. Time was so precious, every moment i spent with her was precious.

She started to get worse - her body started shutting down, her organs began to die, she could no longer sit up in bed by herself. My mother and I would help her to the restroom. Years of steroids for pain had left her first using a walker and later in a wheelchair. If she would have lived, she would have needed a hip and both knees replaced. Three days before she died, a priest came to read her her last rites. We had to hold her up so that he could bless her. She was deteriorating so fast, the day before she had stopped talking. The last thing she ever said was my name and till this day, I don't know what it was that she wanted to tell me.

I know that my sister loved me, and I loved her more than anything, but losing her is something I will never be ok with. I've spent the last 3 1/2 years being depressed and unable to let go of the one person who truly understood me and who I couldn't live without. After her death, I became in a way a zombie. I stopped going out, I didn't want to go back to school, I kept working hoping it would take my mind off the pain, but it never did. I went back to work a month after she died, but I wasn't ready to go back. Everyone I knew was just sorry for me, but I didn't care, I just wanted her back. I just couldn't live in a world where my little sister didn't exist.

The worst part was dreaming of her every night. It would always be the same dream: me hanging out with her doing regular stuff like shopping or watching tv etc., normal things. And, to me, it was like she never died becuz I believed her to be alive. To everyone else, she was dead, but not to me -- she was alive in my dreams and how I wished that my dreams were reality. It wasn't until years later that I had a dream of her telling me that she was sorry that she had died and that she was ok that I realized that I had stopped living. I had become so depressed that I didn't know how to be me anymore. It was this dream that made me realize that all this time that I had spent dreaming of her, I was, in a way, preventing her from letting go, and I knew that by her telling me those things in my dream that she would never be able to if I didn't let go. As much as it pained me to not think about her everyday and miss her, I told myself that it was the right thing to do. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her in death, and I couldn't allow my depression to get in the way of her being happy and at rest.

It was complete torture those four months after the doctors told us she wouldn't be here for christmas, and they were right. She died five days before xmas. It was the worst day of my life. After ten years of fighting, you'd think she would have won. The hardest part of losing her was not knowing if she was ok, where she was, whether she was still in pain. As someone who has never been religious, albeit somewhat spiritual, it was very hard to believe that she was ok. How could she be ok if she was dead?? There had to be some sort of explanation!! Why was she taken from me when she who was always so devout in her faith yet had suffered beyond her wildest dreams, how is it that god had allowed this to happen????

I don't think I'll ever understand why she had to die. There's no reason or explanation that's ever going to be good enough. I've come to terms with it in my own way. I'm glad that for 16 years I lived and got to be in the presence of an angel, and, even though she is gone, she will always be with me. I deal with my depression every single day, but I am no longer crippled by it. I take it for what it is, and I no longer feel like a zombie. For the first time in a long time, I feel like me again and that's something I will continue to work on everyday. I've been back to school for a year now. I'm going to be a nurse someday so that I can help all those children who suffer like my sister did.

To lose someone you love, whether a sister/mother/father/brother... is extremely hard, but I found that letting go is harder to do, and until recently, I never felt strong enough to really talk about her without breaking down. Hopefully this will inspire if not help others to do the same with their loved ones. It sounds very cliche, but life goes on whether you want it to or not, and what better way to honor the person that you've lost than by allowing yourself to move on as well.

I love you my vito.

Stalker, Sexual Harasser, and Cult Leader

Posted by Anonymous.

I am a quiet person. I am divorced - twice, from the same man both times now. I live like a nun - in fact, I took silent vows to live like a nun.

That being said, I was none-too-happy to start getting anonymous voice mails from an unknown throaty man's voice telling me, "I love you, baby, I love you." After about 4 of them, I called back the number on the caller ID, and left my own message, "You have a wrong number. You don't know me. You don't love me. Please stop calling me." The messages got more intense. I called back, got a v.m. mail telling me I had reached "O--- and Darlene," and left another, firmer message, "You don't love me. You don't know me. Stop calling me." "This guy's married?" I thought, "Poor Darlene!" The next v.m. was from a different throaty voice, started with, "Hey, baby," and told me in no uncertain terms exactly what he wanted to do sexually to my body. Then I got a Christmas card in May with the nastiest insults you can imagine on it, my plants got cut down, my flower beds got dug up, my favorite windchime got cut to pieces...and on and on.

Fast forward 14 months from the first phone call, and a new man got hired on where I worked. Somehow, my supervisor got the mistaken impression that I knew him. It took him 3 days to start trapping me in small places while he came on to me and insulted me. It took him about 5 days to start lying to our supervisor about me to get me in trouble. Within the first two weeks, my cat disappeared and he guaranteed (his word) me twice that my cat was dead. He let me know he knew exactly where I lived and named the street, and he had seen me in 2006, tried to get me to pay attention to him at the time but I wouldn't look at him, and it had taken him that long to find me where I worked again. Within the first three weeks, he started talking to me about "romance" in the same throaty voice as the man who had left the "I love you, baby, I love you," messages on my phone. I told him very plainly the subject was off limits to him, but he persisted. That constituted the third complaint I made against him to HR.

My complaints to HR went unheeded. By this time, the lies he told our supervisor had painted me as a flaming bitch I was not, and she, for some unknown reason, decided to cast her lot in with him rather than look at my excellent work record and defend me. I started getting reprimanded for things that never happened based on his reports. I'm not talking about things that we perceived differently. I'm talking about incidents that never occurred. I avoided this man like the plague, and he manufactured complaints against me about things that never occurred when I hadn't even seen him for 2 or 3 weeks at a time.

He started forcing himself on me at lunch. He was cold. He convinced the kitchen staff I wanted to eat with him. I would be sitting with a table full of women coworkers, there would be no space available, and he would pull up another chair and force his way into the circle of chairs to sit next to me. Everyone else would get up and leave. He complained to our supervisor that he was "uncomfortable" because I didn't want to eat w/ him. I told her I was the one who was uncomfortable, and she relegated me to eating alone in my office. He would sit next to me in staff meetings and make inappropriate comments of endearment to me under his breath. I told him directly that I would not tolerate it, and he loudly laughed at me.

The same kinds of things happening to my home property started happening at work. My plants continued to be cut down, one by one, whole flower beds were removed, soil and all, trenches left where there were rows of flowers. The wooden border around one flower bed was set on fire, and another stomped down to the ground. Air was let out of my tires, one by one, at work. The back of a condom package was thrown in through my barely cracked open back car window by someone whose hand was big enough to twist off the wind guard. This guy was enormous.

Eventually, I involved an attorney, and after 10 months of on-going sexual and professional harassment, he and I got a behavior contract. Our supervisor took his side, helped him counter-grieve against me, and I had a heart attack (myocardial infarction, no joke). I was informed I could no longer call him "stud." Stud? More like Stunned! Remember, I live like a nun, I took a silent vow to live like a nun. I have never, in my life, called any man stud! When I was married - twice to the same man - I never called my husband Stud!

I was, nonetheless, relieved to have the behavior contract because having to stay 10 feet from one another meant I didn't have to worry about him sitting next me. Well, he only kept to it when we were under camera. In the back hallway, where my office was located, there were no cameras. If we were walking down the hallway at the same time, he would walk across the hallway to all but brush up against me.

Things started disappearing from my locked office. One night, my keys were laying on top of my purse instead of inside it. I didn't want to believe someone else had had my keys, so I told myself I must have thrown them on top of it instead of inside it when I put my purse in my desk when I came to work. I didn't believe that, but I tried to convince myself of it. Then things started disappearing out of my locked house. I went home late one night, was going to do a load of laundry before going to bed, and neither first floor light switch would turn on basement lights. I figured both bulbs were burned out, and I went to bed. When I went to the basement the next morning to throw in a load of laundry, I discovered the two bulbs controlled by the 2 upstairs light switches were gone! They were not burned out, they were no longer in the light sockets, and nowhere to be found!

I vacated my house. As I was preparing it to try to rent it as a specific type of boarding house, I entered it late one afternoon to find unflushed feces that was at least a few days old in both toilets. Odd things disappeared from my house. Odd, and some important things, disappeared from my office. He attempted to make me go into agreement with him that I would rent the rooms in my boarding house to only his clients. I told him that would be a conflict of interest and refused. He threatened me! He told me I would be sorry, and he would sue me!

In late April, he actively stole a client from me. I asked him to return her, and he refused. Our supervisor sided w/ him. In early May, our admissions department reassigned a client originally assigned to him to me. He became furious and yelled and stomped and threatened to get even.

Mother's Day weekend, our grown son disappeared. His car was in front of his apartment, and his apartment was empty. His father had the police enter his apartment, and there was no sign of him. None of his friends had heard from him in 4 days. His father filed a missing person's report. When I returned to work on Monday, after having not slept at all the entire weekend, our HR department confronted me w/ computer print-outs supposedly written by me (but not) brought in by this man, after informing me that "unbeknownst to" me, his son and my son had been good friends for about 10 years. It turns out many things were done to me, my finances, and my reputation via computer that weekend, and I am still discovering them. HR went on and on and on about this man and my son, and I left her office sick that I had just been through one of the worst weekends of my life, and when I returned to work, this man's name was right smack in the middle of it! Just like his name was right smack in the middle of every work problem I had! Then I found 1/4 of a denuded small animal skull (my cat?) ritualistically placed under a pyramid of bricks in the back yard of the house I was not yet able to rent. I ended up back in the hospital with severe chest discomfort and very unstable vital signs. Since I couldn't get any protection from the administration at work, I reported the situation to our licensing board.

When I went back to work, I walked in the door being accused of things he had lied about me to our supervisor. When I told her I didn't know what she was talking about, she got very sarcastic with me. About the third day I was back on the job, and the fourth time she reprimanded me for one of his accusations of something that never happened, I thought I was going to have a third heart attack, and I turned in my resignation letter, stating, "I have a right to do my job without O---'s sociopathic abuse!" and I quit.

End of story, right? Oh, hell, no.

My son did not speak to me for 7 months. On one occasion he accused me of all kinds of horrible things on his blog, things I never did and never would do, and called me every kind of bitch and whore he could come up with. Prior to early May of that year, my son and I had an OK relationship with a lot of humor in it. Although we are on speaking terms again, we are no longer close, and there is no humor.

I could not find another job, and I could not get residents in my specialized boarding house. I had really good experience at that job, I didn't want to lose it from my resume, and I didn't know how else to account for the time. But, unbeknownst to me, the supervisor was telling potential employers AND referral sources for my specialized boarding house that I was psychotic. The supervisor also reported me to the licensing board for things that were not true, and alleged to the licensing Board that this man never did anything to me, that I did many things to him, and that I am psychotic. The licensing Board, never pausing to consider that she was one of the two people I reported, threw their towel in w/ her allegations, prohibited me from practice, then ordered me to have a complete psychiatric evaluation at my expense, and proposed to revoke my license! This is all in retaliation for my reporting on-going sexual and other harassment. By this time, I had no money, no credit cards, was in foreclosure on my house, and filing bankruptcy.

I continue to get nasty phone calls and things continued to be done to my car. I was informed by another person that his wife's name is Darlene - fascinating coincidence - and by yet another ex-co-worker that the word was out there that he was the father of my grown son! I posted a link to Worksite Bullying Institute after receiving unsettling e-mails from a couple of ex-co-workers referring to this man, and within 12 hours, received a v.m. from the same voice from 3 1/2 years earlier, saying, "Hey, baby," and then it sounds a whole lot like he's masturbating. When I moved my things from my locked garage into permanent storage, I found that not only were some things, like my professional licenses, selectively missing, but bins were broken, bins turned directly upside down (not fallen over or knocked over, actually flipped over on their lids) and bins of Christmas stuff filled with foul water.

Of course, the licensing Board, for whatever its reason, is discounting all this. They're calling my stalking log, copies of my many police reports, photographs of bizarre events "delusional" because the supervisor said they are delusional. And they reported me to the OAG as being psychotic. WTF?

My life has been destroyed by this man who entered it with a phone call telling me he loved me when I didn't even know who he was. He has retaliated with extreme vengeance against my every attempt to set limits and boundaries. He has invaded my life, my property, my career, my family - and why? I have no idea.

Recently, I was informed that this man is also a pastor! I looked up his "church" on-line, and it is absolutely a cult, manifesto, prime directive, and all. AMC, for short. I would love to give the whole name and warn people, but I'm literally afraid I'll end up in prison if I do! I don't think this man will stop harassing me until one of us is dead.

To My Mother In Law

To My Mother-In-Law,

I am tired of making excuses for you and your behavior. I am tired of defending you because you gave me the love of my life. I am tired of trying to find the good in your cruelty. I am finished with you and will not allow you to passively abuse my family.

Despite what you may believe, postpartum depression is real. I did not abandon your son when I moved back in with my family. YOUR son packed the baby and me in the car and drove us there to save my life. I would have abandoned your son if I had gone through with my frightening thoughts of drowning myself in the bathtub. How can you not see that? Why should we all be punished for doing what was right for us?

How dare you blame my postpartum depression instead of honestly admitting to your lack of interest in your first grandchild. How dare you blame my location on the simple fact you have never met him, 10 months later. Why would you ask me, 5 days after giving birth, if I was allowing my husband to get some rest because he sounds tired? When have you ever shown the least bit of compassion toward me? (Your son is in the middle east! I am alone, a single parent with no help 24/7. Not even an e-mail or a call... once.) I have given your son a child. I have given your son a loving home. I am YOUR grandchild's mother and father for these 8 months. I have gotten help and fought out of the most frightening darkness of depression I have ever experienced. Why do you despise me for these things?

I will never again cry a single tear when I have finished speaking to you. I will let go of my fantasy notion of acceptance from you. I will never again allow you to penetrate my armor which you have forced me to apply and scorch me with hyper criticisms or your passive aggressive silence. When you do not call for my sons birthday, I will forget you exist. This is your loss. This is your own loneliness and punishment. Thank GOD for my family and their involvement with this beautiful little angel. I am sorry for you and your misery.

S

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 .

How Did I Get From There To Here?

Posted by Anonymous.

Even as I write this I don't know if I will post it. How can I put this out there amidst these beautiful blogs written eloquently and with style. Once upon a time I wanted to be a writer. I think, just because I loved to read so much. Then I had children and they sucked out my brain. I don't know who I am or what I am doing anymore.

How did I get from there to here? A little girl with dreams and ambitions, thinking I could conquer the world. Now reduced to picking Chihuahua poop off of the floor, because my daughter moved 600 miles away and left her "Christmas gift" from her ex-boyfriend with me. She is living the life I wanted and dreamed of while I break my back to pay off the 4,000 I had to borrow from the bank to get her out of jail because she was rebellious and was with the people I told her not to be with. Now the charges have been dropped and she moves on, but I'm left holding the debt.

I'm left picking up the pieces of a marriage and a household that has been through more traumatic events in the past year than most people face in a lifetime.

My grandmother dying of cervical cancer.

A month later my 17 year old daughter being arrested and facing 20 years in prison just 2 days after my twentieth wedding anniversary. We were supposed to go do something fun, because we had never had a wedding or a honeymoon, but instead we spend all our money bailing her out of jail, so she won't get put in general population with who knows what. Then she has the balls to sneak out of the house the next night, and I fight her for the next three months before she meets the man of her (and my) dreams and she moves out of the house. Thank God for C. He changed her life for the better!!!!!!

Three months after she moves out my husband has a mid-life crisis and quits his job of 11 years. A good job with insurance and retirement and decent pay. He gives up 10 days of twelves with six days off in between to be a truck driver spending a month away from home at a time. He then spends the next four months quitting and going back. Not brining home any income. We're talking 1,500 in ten months. In the meantime all of his 401 k money is used up on monthly bills, because he can't make up his mind what he wants to do and I'm jealous, because I wanted to run away and he beat me to it.

I find out 2 days before graduation that my daughter is actually going to get to graduate by the skin of her teeth, because she could not find it in her to get up and go to school That was a fight all freaking year. I'm exhausted, but it's over.

Then in June the elementary school gets a new principal who wants to hold my 12 year old dyslexic son back and make him repeat the 6th grade. Everyone else will be gong to junior high and we will be stuck with the idiot math and science teacher that we have had for the past two years and were counting the days until we could get away from them. My son already asks me why he is stupid. We fought for 2 years with this math teacher. He threw up almost every morning last year before her class and I can't go through that again. We are still fighting that battle and school starts in 3 weeks. Wish us luck. But I'm tired.

Now, all the 401k money is gone and my husband has not given me money.... ever. I only make 2,000 doing a job I never really thought I would be doing and our bills are 4,000 a month. Now my house and my business are on the line and it is not looking good. He has never helped me with anything anyway, so I don't know why I'm still married, except that I do care for him. God only knows why. He's great at holding the couch down when he's home, and that's about it. Oh yeah, and he calls Me the day after I tell him we are probably going to lose the house and tells me he backed into someone in his semi and we now have to pay a 210 fine. Like we have any money.

Then my 21 year old son gets pulled over a block from my house and gets a DWI and spends the night in jail. My friend the dispatcher calls me from the sheriff's office so I can walk the block to my pickup and drive it home, but I can't hear the phone in the bedroom at 2 in the morning so they tow it thirty miles and we have to pay 230 dollars to get it out of impound because it's the only vehichle we have running because my van broke down and I can't afford to have it fixed BECAUSE MY HUSBAND IS A DOUCHE.

The next day a classmate I graduated with was driving drunk and killed himself and a family of four in a horrific head on collision, and I thank God it was not my son. I pray for his mother who is a customer of mine, his sisters who are friends of mine and for the family of the people he killed.

I'm a good person. I am very sweet and loving, which could be part of the problem. How did I get here? How did I make the transition rom being a bright girl with her whole life before her to being 38 and sitting in the middle of all this funk? I am now officialy white trash. Two of my children have been arrested. What the hell? Where did it all go wrong? I think I need to grow a spine. Can I borrow one, because I damn sure can't afford to buy one.

What Would You Do If I Told You I Loved You

Posted by Anonymous.

This all started 20 years ago I met a cocky big mouth extremely good looking guy that I had watched grow up before my eyes into a startling handsome man we dated a few times and I spent a lot of time at his parent's house (where he lived at the time) me and his mom were best friend's if you can believe that she always' said me and her son would get married. And then thing's would start to happen I guess I would get to clingy or I would run outta money and off he would go with someone older usually with her own house and she would support him and I would turn to whoever was available to fill the void I did it with my first marriage and I'm doing it with my second.

All of this just recently came about a couple of month's ago we found each other on Facebook then we started texting each other or should I say sexting we stayed up all night swapping pictures and he said he couldn't talk anymore he had to have me so we made plans to meet and I swear I was a nervous and a virgin on prom night. We met on a Friday he had drove down from a different state not to far from mine and it was like instant chemistry we couldn't keep our hands off of each other he's like heroin to me and when I don't get it from him I hurt. Well that was April 30th although I have talked to him at least twice a week via texting I always' ask the same question when are you coming back down to see me and his response is always' I'm real busy at work but can you send me some nude pictures of yourself and of coarse I always' get an I love you.

For awhile there I was thinking about kicking my current husband out because we've become more like roommates then man and wife even though he treats me like a queen and is a great father to our 2 kid's I just don't love him the way I love the other guy and I never will I consider him my first love and my only true love.

I asked him the other night what would you do if I told you I loved you and wanted to only be with you and he said I would tell you I love you with all my heart to but your married and I'm engaged and I said yea well marriages and engagement's end all the time. But I'm coming to realize that he doesn't want to stray to far from this new much older then me girlfriend she must have money she bought him a car and just this weekend he said he was going to go pick up a boat and I know she's paying for it all so he's got him a sugar momma and I can't compete with that. Well I guess that's all of my rant now I'll sit here for at least a couple of hour's just in case he besides to text me yea I'm pathetic I know every night I swear I'm not gonna text him first but I always' wind up doing it anyway I think I'll just go ahead and get sucker tattooed across my forehead and get it over with.

Signed Anonymous

Bad Is As Bad Does (An Apology)

Hey everybody. I owe you all a BIG apology.

It's been a month since I posted any submissions. And there are submissions to post, it's just that I haven't posted them, which is unfair, because you dared to write them, and send them, and I've let you down by not posting them. But the months prior to the holiday season were exceptionally difficult for me, and I struggled - not always successfully - with too many demons and it was just beyond me to delve into the heartache of others, and so I was lazy with posting, and then over the holidays, I stopped entirely. I'm sorry. I shouldn't let my issues get in the way of this space being what it is.

I'll be resuming posting this week. I'm also working to integrate the Basement into my main site, so that it's more accessible from there. But I'll keep posting your posts in the meantime. Please do keep sending them. I learned over the holidays that sometimes, turning your attention to others - to their joys and their sadnesses and everything in between - can be just what the heart needs. So, yes. Please keep sending. And please keep reading.

And please accept my apology for failing you.

Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree

Posted by Anonymous.

First, a little history. My husband and I have been dating or married since 1999. When we got married, I was slightly horrified to discover what his Christmas celebration plan looked like. He got up early on Christmas morning, raced over to his parent’s house, opened presents there and then went to his grandmother’s in the afternoon. It wound up being this non-stop marathon of a day, where he was never home. AND they never went to church. On one of the most important holidays of the year, his highly Christian family (as in, no swearing, very little drinking, prayer before meals, goes to church twice a week, etc) doesn’t go to church on Christmas. I was flabbergasted.

Anyways, when we got married, I told my husband that I wasn’t enthused about the way Christmas worked, but I would do it until we had kids. When we had kids, I wanted to make some changes so that a) the kids were able to wake up in their own beds on Christmas morning (something that I didn’t get to do as a child very often) and b) not have to be rushed through present opening, and c) not have to leave newly-opened, and hopefully much longed for presents to go to someone else’s house for more Christmas celebrations. He agreed. This is important to note: MY HUSBAND AGREED THAT WHEN WE HAD CHILDREN WE WOULD CHANGE HOW CHRISTMAS WORKED.

Fast forward to now. We have children. Two of them. A girl, E, who is 5.5 and another girl, L, who is 3.5. To date, we have done the Christmas thing roughly as described above for the last eight years. When E was born, I said “I don’t want to do Christmas like this anymore.” And then caved because she was 4 months old and as long as she had food and a pacifier, she couldn’t have cared less about what we were doing. Each year, I would mention that I was still unhappy with the Christmas craziness and every year, I would back down because the kids were too young and they wouldn’t care. Or because my parents were in town (my parents are divorced and remarried. My mom and her husband live about 20 minutes from us and my dad and his wife live in Michigan) and so things were slightly nutty anyway. I think we skipped exactly one Christmas because his mother couldn’t grasp the concept of naptime. My kids, when they napped, went to bed for nap at 1 pm. Every day. Maintaining the consistency of naptime was very important to me so that I wasn’t dealing with the Anti-Christ on Christmas evening because someone hadn’t had their nap. Now that they are older, they don’t need to nap as much and I can be more flexible.

Anyway. Last year, I said my annual “I don’t want to do Christmas like we did it last year. It’s too crazy, it’s too much. I don’t like it.” And my husband talked to his parents about potentially changing things so that we could host Christmas here or make some other arrangement so that everyone was, if not happy, at least more content. It was flatly turned down. His dad didn’t want to change things. Whatever. I bit my tongue, and worked very hard to relax through the day so that I wasn’t a vibrating ball of stress. It was a nice day. Not exactly what I wanted, but good enough.

This year, October turned to November and we started thinking about Christmas. And I said my usual piece about how much I hate the craziness of his family’s celebrations. And my husband, bless his heart, dutifully called his mother and said again that we would like to host Christmas. Or make some other arrangement so that those of us who weren’t happy with it could be happier. Or something.

-> I need to insert a small digression here.

OK. So the whole tradition of everyone trooping over to my husband’s parent’s house has its roots in his mother freaking out about running all over kingdom come on Christmas Day and deciding that everyone could come to them and they would just stay home. This was probably 30 years ago? I think? SO. You would think, if you were a logical person, that she would COMPLETELY understand where I’m coming from. Given that SHE ONCE HAD THE SAME ISSUES. Apparently not so much. Either she has COMPLETELY forgotten how her tradition came to be or she just doesn’t give a shit about my opinions, because we have told her repeatedly that I don’t like the craziness and I want to just stay home on Christmas with my family. She even SAID when we were talking about this stuff that when the time came, she would willingly change it so that WE COULD JUST STAY HOME ON CHRISTMAS. I’m not much for swearing, but WHAT THE FUCK, WOMAN?!

/Back to the story.

One of the things that my mother-in-law said to my husband was that he needed to contact his siblings (he has an older brother and a younger sister) and make sure that they were OK with the potential switch from Christmas morning at his parent’s house to Christmas morning at our house. Now, in here, the communications between my husband and me got a little garbled. What his mother said was, if your siblings are OK with it AND her slightly agoraphobic/somewhat strange/also Alzheimer’s-y parents were OK with it, then you can host Christmas. What I *heard* was “If your siblings are OK with it, it’s OK with me.” Now, I’m not sure where that message got messed up, but regardless, I’ve spent the past week and a half under the impression that I was hosting Christmas morning at our house. His family is somewhat large – there are the 3 kids and their spouses, plus my mother and father-in-law and then my 2 kids and his sister’s 3 kids, plus his mother’s parents and aunt and sometimes his mother’s brother and his girlfriend. So that’s what? 18 people? In my 1400 square foot house. And my nephew and nieces, God love ‘em, are somewhat like hyperactive bulls in a china shop. On speed. (The bulls. Not the china shop.) So, this Christmas celebration wasn’t exactly what I was looking for when I said I just wanted to stay home, but it was better than dragging my kids away from their presents at 815 because we had to get dressed and ready to go to Nana’s house.

So last night my husband calls his mother to talk about Christmas. And as the conversation progressed, I could tell that the kibosh had been put on us hosting Christmas again. This time, his mother said that she’d been dithering back and forth, trying to decide what to do. And then his dad made the executive decision that Christmas was being hosted there. Because my mother-in-law’s parents would maybe come to their house for Christmas, but they ABSOLUTELY wouldn’t come to Christmas at our house.

My husband gets off the phone and relays this information to me. And is upset because he thinks that we won’t be going to his mother’s for Christmas. At which point I lose my ever-loving mind.

The problem is this.

Well, there are actually a bunch of problems.

1) My husband is perfectly happy with things the way they are. He’s been doing this for so long, it’s how Christmas should be to him.

2) He wants to see his siblings and parents ON Christmas Day. Christmas Eve doesn’t count. (I don’t understand it either, but I’ve given up trying)

3) I don’t really want to host Christmas.

4) There isn’t a viable or acceptable alternative to the current Christmas plan.

-> Here’s another slight digression.

When my husband spoke with his brother to make sure he was OK with changing the venue of Christmas, my husband was all “E doesn’t want to do this anymore. E doesn’t like running around all over the place for Christmas. E wants to just stay home.” Which, while perfectly true, somewhat tossed me under the bus. And pissed me off. My husband hasn’t exactly grasped the concept of presenting a united front to people and so he doesn’t see anything wrong with what he said. I’m hoping I can help him see the error of his ways with that. Because OMG I was ready to smack him.

/end digression.

Now back to the problem.

So all of this boils down to the fact that I am not happy with this situation. I don’t like rushing on Christmas. I want to stay home, relax and linger over breakfast and presents. I want to stay in my pajamas if I so desire until I decide that I want to get dressed. I want to have the ability to consider going to see a movie or watching a movie. I want to watch my children open and then play with their new presents. I want to be able to wander off and take a nap if I so choose. I can’t do any of that because we have to leave the house at 1045 to get to his mom’s roughly near the 11 o’clock hour and that means we have to be done with presents by 10 and we shouldn’t have a big breakfast because his mom will be serving brunch. And if we have to be done with presents by 10, that means we should be dressed and more or less ready to go by 9. And so on.

So my choices are:

- Give it up and go with the flow. My girls don’t know any different – this is the way it’s always been.

- Or decide to make a stand and make my husband very unhappy.

- Or or have our family Christmas celebration on Christmas Eve, wherein we do the leisurely present opening, breakfast eating, potential movie watching, nap taking and relaxing the day before Christmas and then go to his parent’s on Christmas Day.

-> Yes, another digression.

We bought our house from my husband’s parents. His parents built this place back in the late 70s and when we bought it, we agreed that they could stay in the house with us until the house that they were building was sufficiently completed for them to get their Certificate of Occupancy. When we moved in, we naturally started going to the church that his parents were attending. I was 4 months pregnant with E. I wasn’t all that wild about the church, mostly because the members were mostly of the same age as my in-laws. My husband’s sister and her husband were also going to the same church, but that was about it in terms of people our age in the membership. It is a VERY small church. When E was born, I received very little support from the church. And when E reached an age where she was beginning to be a disturbance in the sanctuary during the (usually hour to hour and a half) service, I was encouraged to take her into the pastor’s office, which was attached to the back of the sanctuary. It had a speaker in the room so that I could hear what was going on, but I was still essentially told to leave.

As E became older and more active, the setup was less than optimal. Finally I asked the pastor if it might be possible to set up a small nursery somewhere so that I could take E someplace that had some toys and wasn’t equipped with printers and copiers and computers and other office equipment that is so very tempting for a mobile baby to get into. He agreed that sounded like a good idea, given that in addition to E, there was now a second baby, my nephew T in the group. That was the sum total of the child care available to us at that church. It’s been 5 years and I STILL find that appalling. When I spoke to the pastor several years (and 1 building move) later, and said the lack of Sunday School/Child care/ volunteers to watch kids/what-have-you was troubling me and making me unhappy at the church, his response was “Start a Sunday School.” THAT wasn’t my point. My point was HE was my pastor and it was HIS job to (forgive the Christian-y language) shepherd his flock and provide for their needs. After ANOTHER entire year of this, I finally had had enough. I told my husband that he was perfectly welcome to take the girls to that church, but that it was affecting my relationship with God and I had to go somewhere else. We both made it exactly one week. He agreed to leave that church and begin looking for somewhere else that would better meet the needs of our whole family, not just him.

/end digression.

This whole Christmas thing has a very strange “déjà vu” feeling for me. It feels so eerily similar to the church issue where I spent FOUR YEARS repeatedly telling my husband that I wasn’t happy with something and he repeatedly telling me he didn’t know what I wanted him to do and around and around until I finally reached my breaking point (during the church thing, I remember asking him “how long? How long is long enough? How long do I have to be unhappy at this church before it’s long enough for us to go somewhere else? Another year? Two? Because if I know how long I have to deal with this, I can do that. But I need to know how long.”) and made the decision more or less for him. Unfortunately, I can’t do that here. I can’t up and decide that I’m going to take myself out of the equation because it’s Christmas, not Sunday church services. But the fact remains that again, I’m telling my husband that I’m not happy about something and while he’s willing to work with me on this, he’s also not entirely convinced of the issue.

A big part of what brought this to such a gigantic head this year is a conversation I had while waiting to pick L up from preschool. A woman, who was there to retrieve her grandson, and I were talking about the craziness of the impending holiday season. And somehow she said that she really regretted not taking just one Christmas to spend at home with just her family. That they always did the rounds to see all the relatives and while no one complained and everyone seemed to have a good time, she really missed just taking that time. Because her kids are all grown now and have families of their own and so she doesn’t get to just spend the time with them. I desperately want to do that with my family. And I’m essentially being denied that chance.

But I know that if I put my foot down and say that I don’t want to go to his mother’s for Christmas, that my husband will go along with it, but he won’t be happy about it. And when I look for agreement that this was a nice Christmas to have, he won’t agree. Because he didn’t see his family. And I don’t want to do that. Not only because he won’t agree that my vision of the perfect Christmas isn’t the same as his, but also because I don’t want to keep him from seeing his family. And I don’t want to be “THAT girl” in this family. Though I am sure I already am. Clearly I have opinions and am not shy about expressing them.

I just don’t know what the hell to do. What do I do? Do I go along to get along? Do I cobble together an acceptable alternative? Do I give up on the perfect quiet Christmas at home? Do I tell him that he can have Christmas as he wants it as long as I get {insert other large-ish religious holiday here} the way I want it?

Also, Christmas is in a few days. How the HELL am I going to rid myself of the seething anger and hurt and sadness that comes pouring out of me at the mere MENTION of Christmas in time to be all happy happy joy joy on Christmas morning? And then continue that happy happy joy joy-ness while I’m visiting my parents in Michigan, since my stepmother LOVES this kind of conflict and will drag this out of me faster than fast? And then bring it up for YEARS to come in a pseudo-caring, but really just nosey and gossip-monger-y way?

Please help me, O citizens of the basement. I don’t know what to do. And it’s tearing me apart.

Thanks ever so much.

Santa Doesn't Come Anymore

Posted by Anonymous.

Christmas is just a little sadder now. Ever since I can remember, Santa came to visit on Christmas Eve at some point after we’d fallen asleep. We’d wake up to a wonderful, magical Christmas morning. I don’t know how old I was when I realized who Santa really was, but that didn’t stop me from believing in Santa. Not at all. Santa was still just as real, only the embodiment of Santa changed. Santa still came every Christmas Eve. This year I’m 37. Santa stopped coming for me a couple years ago. He sort of came the Christmas before last, but last year… Last year he faded away completely. You see, my mom was the best Santa around. She made every Christmas absolutely magical. It didn’t matter that her kids knew Santa wasn’t “real”. Santa kept coming, year after year. Even after we’d left home. Even after I’d married. Even after I had kids of my own. Santa still came for me.

The Santa part of my mom was taken by an insidious evil we call Alzheimer’s. My mom is still here. She’s still my mom and she’s, mostly, the woman she used to be. Mostly. The sending cards part of my mom has been snuffed out. The going out and picking out gifts for loved ones part of my mom has been extinguished. I can only imagine that Santa is in there somewhere. Trapped. Longing to get out and be free and play the role again. But Santa can’t.

At first I thought it was because the focus had shifted to the kids – at least that’s what I wanted to believe. But my kids are six and three. Santa still came for me when they were littler. I realized it wasn’t a decision to retire Santa. Santa was forced out by something much stronger. And with each passing Christmas it becomes more and more apparent that this malicious disease is taking more and more of my mom. Things are different. I wonder if the tree will get put up this year; if she’ll think of it. I wonder if she’ll pull out all the ornaments from years gone by and lovingly hang them from the tree. Or will my dad have to be the one this year to think of putting the tree up? I don’t think he quite realized until now how much my mom really did when it came to occasions. Birthdays, anniversaries, weddings. She was the gift-getter. She loved it. Looking for the perfect gift. The look on the faces of the recipients. Now? The task either falls on him – or gets forgotten completely.

I know this post is very sad, and it seems that Christmas has a dark cloud over it now, but I am thankful I still have my mom. And, of course, there are my kids. Santa lives on in the eyes of my children. The wonderment in their eyes is just amazing and I hope I can keep Santa alive for them, even though he’ll change form in their minds through the years, just as my mom did for so long for us.

The Co-Worker From Hell

Posted by Anonymous.

Gotta get it out...

Dear C,

The following is what I cannot, for the sake of TT and both our jobs say to you but I have to get it out of my soul. Here it goes. You actually are not without a couple of redeeming qualities. You are a master at public speaking and relating to youth. Probably because you are so much closer in age but ok, well whatever. I am now, however, going to list the 50 million things I hate about you in no particular order and I wish that I had an “ANGRY” font to put it in because today I feel like I could choke the life out of you. Here goes:

#1. Your cocky, arrogant, classless attitude toward pretty much everyone around you. I’ve seen your FB posts about wanting to know why girls aren’t attracted to such a gentleman. HA! What a fuckin joke! Do you even realize that you have shoved every woman on the team (besides c, who you want to bang) to the side to get your precious front seat and that if anyone dares sit in it you fume all the way home? That you allow every door you walk in to slam into our faces? That in every presentation if you do not have command authority of every detail you sit and act like an immature child until you do? I think you are blind to your own actions and its sick!

#2. Your pathetic, incomprehensible so-called love for God. First of all, you are a man divided against yourself. You openly talk about women’s breast and naked women, yet openly talk about women who don’t bother to wear skirts to your stupid Pentecostal church. In addition, you have TWO churches. One that is super holiness and one that is grace based. So you can attend whichever one suits your needs. ARROGANT LITTLE PRICK!

#3. Your know-it-all, comprehensive attitude on any given subject. Whether it be a job I’ve applied for, or about relationships, not only did you write the book, but all people and admire you for your intelligence on the subject. Please allow me to give you a fuckin wake up call prick! Every single person on our team thinks you couldn’t hold a girlfriend if a terrorist asked you to. SHE’D RATHER BE WITH THE TERRORIST THAN AN ASSHOLE LIKE YOU! THAT IS THE TRUTH SUCKA> YOU'RE THE LAST TO KNOW YOU PRICK! That sweet girl that had it for you so bad was treated like yesterdays garbage while you threw your sick puppy eyes c’s way last Christmas. What a dumb, ignorant jerk you are. You are the exact opposite of what you say you are!

Take your God’s gift to women self and go take a short leap off a long bridge. I was the #2 producer this year despite the fact you tried every dirty handed trick in the book to plaster your name over my work! You may think I’m a washed-up mother but at the end of the day, this washed up mom got the best of you, and bested you at your own game so suck on that lemon a little while. Come back to me in 15 years when you’ve probably been through a couple of divorces and you’ve been knocked righteously off your ass. I bet your little tune will have changed dramatically. All I want to say is until then don’t procreate. I can’t think of anything sicker than another you!

Neurotic

Posted by Anonymous.

It's been six months since my baby was born and still, every time I see you and have to fake smile and ask you how you're doing as if I cared. I feel so furious. I'm a new mother, you were once too so I assumed you would understand. If I don't want children visiting us in the hospital and holding the new baby then as the mother of the baby guess what? I have the right to make that decision! We made the decision that we didn't want any children at the hospital, just adults. We did not selectively choose your kids and say that they were the only one's not allowed. At NO POINT did we say this was because we thought they were diseased and would infect the new baby, why the heck would you assume that? Although if I had to be honest about it, it's true I don't trust you enough to be able to control your kids around the new baby, they're manipulative whiny brats. The fact that you decided not to visit because your kids couldn't was your decision, not ours. We accept responsibility for our decision, why not accept responsibility for yours?

That day was not about you or your kids, it was about the new baby and the fact that you would call us selfish self-centered idiots only goes to show just how insecure and neurotic you are. Screaming at us in letters and writing on facebook about how dumb we are and how selfish our decision is only shows what kind of person you are. Everyone, and I do mean everyone in the family hates receiving your little "The world didn't revolve around me for five seconds and I'm mad about it so I'm going to blame it on you" letters. Stop writing letters and talk to us- maybe we could clear up some of the misunderstandings you get in that delusional little head of yours.

You are the parent to your children and as such you have the right to make decisions regarding them, explain to me why that isn't the same for everyone else? Are you super fucking special? Now I can't see my brother without there being a strain and it's obvious that the relationship is forever marked by your insecurity and bi-polar behavior. Thanks, really.

YOUR BRAINWASHING HAS FAILED

Posted by Anonymous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Questions For My Mom

Posted by Anonymous.

It’s been over six years now since you left this world. I think about you every day. I wonder what you would think about the grandchildren you left behind and the grandchildren who’ve come along since you left us. You definitely loved your grandchildren no doubt. I used to watch in wonderment at the interaction between you and the grandchildren and wonder why you never felt that way about me. It’s amazing how a grandmother’s love can be so different from a mother’s love. It’s also amazing how you as a mother could show your love between your children so differently.

I came to know and love you better as an adult. I could actually understand your actions better after you finally disclosed your sexual abuse as a child by your relatives.

What I don’t understand is why you chose me as your target when I was a kid. Why was I called names and insulted, slapped in the face so often?

Why did people allow you to call me “fat, lazy heifer” instead of my name for weeks on end? Why did the school allow you to send me to school with just a cold hamburger patty and an orange in my lunch box for weeks on end because you thought I was too fat? I look at the pictures of me when I was 8 yrs old and I see a normal sized child. Why were you frequently over feeding me and then either making fun of me or denying food to me? Why didn’t you care that I was humiliated by you every day? Do you think your name calling and insults could have something to do with me being 75 lbs over weight today?

Why were you so violent? Did you enjoy seeing me cry? What about the welts and bruises?

Weren’t you embarrassed for people to see me? I was told that when I learned how to act right, you wouldn’t have to do that to me anymore. Why would a mother ever NEED to make her child bleed or bruise? You could try to make me believe that I deserved whatever punishment you dished out, but when other adults questioned me about who left the marks I knew that it wasn’t right. I knew other kids’ mothers called them by their names and not insulting, hurtful names.
Why did you have to degrade me when I started my period? Why was every new aspect of puberty an excuse to belittle or embarrass me? Why was it my fault when an uncle tried to molest me? I never said I enjoyed being “manhandled” as you accused me. I was 12 years old! Couldn’t you remember when you were molested as a child and no one helped you?

Why did you upturn my room and empty my closet and drawers out onto the bed every time I left the house for years? What were you hoping to find? I was too scared of you to ever drink or do drugs! You would have killed me if you’d ever found anything.

Why would you leave me for days on end with the people who abused you? Did you want me to be abused, too?

Why did you love my sisters and not me? What was wrong with me? Did you have me too soon after the first baby? 20 months apart was just too much for a 22 yr old, I know. But it wasn’t my fault! Why did you have more kids if you didn’t have enough emotional capacity to love them all equally?

Why did the other kids get to take piano lessons and have friends spend the night? Why was it ok for them to go to camp? Why was I ALWAYS on restriction? I remember, my grades! When I got behind in school, did it ever occur to you to help me? You were a college grad, you could have helped a 3rd grader with math homework before it got so bad that I got so discouraged that I could never recover. But, no, your solution was to put me on 3 months TV restriction, until the next report card. Did you honestly think that would help me understand multiplication and fractions?

When high school came around, why did you discourage me from going to college? Why did you refuse to help with filling out financial aid and application forms? When I told someone my dream of being a physician’s assistant, why did you laugh and tell everyone, “She’ll never make it”? Why did you make it easy for my sisters to go to college and refuse to help me?

What was so different or unlovable about me? Why was I your target? I think I could have peace in my life if I just understood your reasons and motivations. Unfortunately it’s too late now. I’ll never understand or get the answers I crave. I do try to look ahead and be the best mother to my children that I can be.

Without You

Posted by Anonymous.

I married your ex husband and raised your three children. They were 4,5,and 6 when you left and 15, 16, and 17 when you killed yourself. You left me here holding the bag.

I took you in and made you a part of our family so that YOUR kids could get to know YOU. I raised them as if they were mine and they never wanted for anything. Except for you, that is... You were around in the end but you were more like a favorite aunt instead of a mom. They loved you then and even more now. I disciplined them, taught them right from wrong, loved them unconditionally, held them while they cried over your absence, tried to explain why you left them with their dad, I was everything you didn't want to be.

So why did you do this to me? I never resented you for leaving your responsibilities with me! I loved you as a friend but I loved you mostly because you were the mother of the children that I loved so much. Since you have been gone the two oldest kids will not speak to me any longer. They hate me for doing your job for you.... Your family hates me for raising and loving your children. How could you be so selfish? Were you trying to get back at me for taking your place? What else was I supposed to do? You gave them to me and they needed someone to care for them, so I did.

In the wake of your death, your children have turned their anger on me. It breaks my heart that the children I love so much, resent me so heavily. It pisses me off that you were a horrible mother but now that you are gone, you were the greatest thing that ever lived. Your oldest son wasnt even speaking to you when you died because he was so angry at you. Now he goes around telling everyone what a great mother you were. I wasted the last 15 years of my life raising your kids. I devoted the last 15 years of MY life to YOUR kids! I hate you for what you have done. I regret the day that I ever told you that I would take care of them! This has turned out to be the worst mistake I have ever made. You took a really good thing and destroyed it. But I guess that was what you did best! Destroyed everything good in your life. Yet, somehow, I am the bad guy! How does that happen?

It has been three years and it seems to get worse as time goes by. You took the love that I felt for those kids and turned it into anger, resentment and regret! I took you to get help and you pushed me away. I knew this was coming and I threw my hands up because I was so frustrated. I am so sorry I didn't try harder to save you. Maybe if I had, "our" kids would still love me. But, what's done is done, and your kids are lost in this world without you and now without me. If I could go back in time, I would NOT do this over! I hope you are happy where ever you are! Just so you know.... we are anything but.