My Lovely Mother

Posted by Anonymous.

My lovely mother.
My lovely mother that 'taught me all i know'
My lovely mother who today, after i told her that my best friend went to my work to get ice cream, told me that she was worried that my employer would like my best friend better and hire her instead.
My lovely mother that complains day and night about all the laundry i cause her to do (which is a small amount mind you) and when i offer to do it all "no! you'll blow up my washer! you're too stupid to do it!" is the response i get from the couch shes 'resting' on.
My lovely mother whom supports me in nothing i do.
My lovely mother who when a guy doesn't call back immediately she makes 'a HILARIOUS' joke that maybe hes with his other prettier girlfriend.
My lovely mother who claims that i treat her like shit, when all i do is listen to her complaints about friends, family, work, and especially me.
My lovely mother whom as i sit, minding my own, yells at me to 'stop doing ..blank...!!!" something i'm not remotely even near executing.
My lovely mother who says " i don't care if your husband and all your guests at your wedding eat meat! i am not paying for anything if there is meat any where near that wedding!'
My lovely mother who forces vegetarianism and her religion on me.
My lovely mother who says constantly "you're eating agaaaain?" when i am the perfect weight for my age and height.
My lovely mother who takes more pride, and spends more money on her kindergarten students, but complains about spending money on shampoo for her daughter.
My lovely mother who took a pair of chop sticks i painstakingly painted by hand and used them as a back scratcher.
My lovely mother who critiques my artwork claiming "she has ideas that would make it better!"
My lovely mother who has the power to make me feel like a million dollars, when all i would ask is for her to make me feel like 10 dollars, makes me feel like an expired coupon.
My mother... my LOVELY mother.

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 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.

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.

Waiting On My Thirty Pieces Of Silver

Posted by Leslie, Daniel's Mom.

Ante-script: My mother has early onset dementia. She is not yet 70 years old and her deterioration is fast, quiet, harsh, and ceaseless. Suicide is very rare among patients with this type of dementia (mostly because they haven’t the ability to plan and process the act) but we have a strong family history—her own father, in fact. Today my father took a gun out of her hand but I can't speak to how or why it was there. I am not there. I can’t be there. I am far away with three children—one is Daniel, my little piece of God. My sister is there, but for reasons never given, she wants nothing from me—I “breeze in” for visits. (Anybody else “breeze” anywhere with a special needs kid? Did I miss that workshop?) Anyway, this piece is almost a year old (2/09)—she visited us back then with the fully disclosed understanding that I would submit my observations to her doctor. Truly, as much as mothers watch our babies change in a year, so has this daughter watched her mother change, only in a backwards dying way. I will need to write on this again, so background information seemed only fair enough to offer.

I submitted my super (and completely un-) secret documentation of mom's visit to her doctor as directed. Or, rather, I emailed it to my dad and he submitted it because I just couldn't send all that crap directly to a stranger.

You see, I told on my mother. Laid out her secrets, one by one, day by day. I kissed her on both cheeks and now they will surely come for her.

It would appear that my mother is only able to function as a result of my father's constant vigilance and well-honed sense of I-Know-What's-Rightiness. It would appear that way because without my father, she is just simply un-able. Unable to what? Well, it's all right there in the document, and frankly, you should probably be on the lookout for a copy because my father is forwarding it around like one of those 'This is Cute' emails. And this, this horrid thing that is scraping my mother away from the inside out, is not cute at all.
She's been gone a week today and my anger is becoming soft and grief-y. Well, you would be angry too (maybe) if you had to hide food and tape containers shut and guard your kids' snacks and wonder why the autistic kid keeps bringing his empty snack bowl back for more crackers(vocab: perseverity/eating disorder--elderly onset) and double check the doors and gates left open and listen to endless lies (vocab: confabulation) and accusations that your Daniel stole her watch. And you would especially maybe be mad if you, somewhere in the back of your head, thought that When Mama Comes It Will Get Better. It was not better. It was her making kids cry at the twins’ birthday party because she wanted to Huuuuuuuug them. Like a very scary Grandma Clown. It was her ignoring her beautiful grandchildren unless they were packing graham crackers (vocab: apathy). It was her describing her father's death (suicide by gunshot, btw) to your children in lurid detail while you did everything but gag her to stop it (vocab: comportment and insight, executive skills). God save me, it was her wanting to pray over Daniel so that he might be healed. Healed. (See prev. entries regarding how he's glorious and I am a mess) I could not bear for Daniel to hear what she might say during this over-praying thing(No vocab for that, but boy, it pissed me off something fierce). It was her no longer able call a light a light or a bowl a bowl (vocab: agnosia).

It was her no long able to be her. I know that. I do

And here's the thing: For all that I did what was asked of me, for all that I checked and double checked and worded and reworded to drain every last drop of drama from it, for all that I swear up and down before you and God that yes, it sounds crazy, but yes, it did all happen, and finally for all that I only did it so that she might be treated and thus be Grandma, for all that, I ratted her out. Betrayed her. She is livid and bewildered (when she’s not talking about what a great visit we had). Her doctor is, as my dad says, "pretty shaken." Great. Just Great. I would like to speak to a manager please. Surely, there is someone in charge.

And also, can I get directions to the nearest Potter's Field on Mapquest?

But you must understand, I knew her when she was. When she was giving me her wedding dress as my own. When she was giving my biggest boy his first bath because I was bloody terrified of that red wailing wiggler. When she assured me that "twins are a good thing" and "we'll get through it." When she called me at the NICU when Fuzzy was intubated (5 years ago today). When she cooked and cleaned and ironed and yelled at me to "keep nursing and they'll be okay." All of these years before the first shadow and pall of autism—The mother of all “I want my mommy” screams. All this before that. And these, you see, are just the tip of the was's. Just the ones out in front in this one tiny bit of scribble. There are so many--God, how I do wish that had been my task, handling the was's and not the is's. Because then you would laugh and nod and think to yourself, "Oh, Daniel’s Mama’s mama, she was something else, that is for sure."

And she was.

Dear Mother

Posted by Anonymous.

Dear Mother,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All my love.

Anonymous

What She Said

Posted by Anonymous.

“That’s great, but you are going to have to pay for cheerleading camp on your own” was her response when I told her I made the cheerleading team.

“Why can’t you be like your sister?” was what she said when she came home from a parent teacher conference and was told that I was a “social butterfly”.

“You deserve all of the pain you are going through” was what she said when I cried after giving my daughter up for adoption when I was 16 years old.

“I guess you can't go to church tonight” was her response when I had my stomach pumped.

“Are you on drugs? What is wrong with you” was what she said to me when my ex-husband and I went through a devastating divorce.

“Your children will never experience true blessings unless you have them baptized” was how she replied when I told her my son was being bullied at school.

Why can’t I ever find the words? Why can’t I say… “Isn’t a mom supposed to love her child unconditionally? Aren’t Mom’s here to celebrate with us when we have a moment of joy, and cry with us in times of sorrow?”

How do I move on from this? How do I forgive and let go when it continues? How do I fill the awkward silences, after her words have hurt me and I can’t find the strength to respond?

I would give anything to feel her arms around me and her voice telling me that I am good enough, to hear her say that I am a good mom and a good wife.

And that she is sorry.

Orphan

Posted by Anonymous.

I feel like an orphan

It started slowly. Somehow the experience of my having children pushed us further apart instead of bringing us together. When I struggled for two years with infertility, you repeatedly told me it must be God's will for me not to have children. But when I got pregnant, you were ecstatic. And then came the sonogram that the baby would be a boy and some of the air went out of your enthusiasm. Still you ran out to buy one of everything to setup for the baby at your house, even though you lived two hours away and we’d never spent a night at your house in my entire married life. And you came when he was born, camping out at our house for two days while I was in the hospital. But you couldn’t respect my choices when they were different from yours. When I struggled with breastfeeding you urged me not to waste my time since you had fed me formula. When my husband decided to go back to school and stay home with our baby, you belittled our choice and his efforts. You destroyed your relationship with my mother-in-law, a woman you’ve called a friend for over twenty years, because anytime you ended up at an event together you had to hog the grandson and pretend he loved you best. You put on a huge phony act about being the world’s greatest grandma when others were around and when left alone, you observed your grandson playing from your chair, rather than deign to interact with him. You stopped calling to check in on me and when I would call to check in on you, our conversations were never more than five minutes before you were trying to get off the phone. It got worse three years later when I told you I was pregnant again. Why would I want to have a second child? You did fine with one. And then you grew hopeful that this baby would be a girl. You became convinced. I still remember the flat tone in your voice when I called to tell you that there would be a second grandson and how quickly you got off the phone. At least you showed up when he was born.

But things have gone seriously downhill from there. When I had gallbladder surgery just five months after baby #2 was born, the woman who drove out in the middle of the night to pick me up from college when I got sick, spent the day packing to go on vacation. Granted it wasn’t emergency surgery, but scheduled a couple weeks ahead. I’m sorry the surgeon couldn’t do it when it was convenient for you, especially since your mother-in-law’s unexpected death (my grandma) had screwed you out of your scheduled vacation the previous year. So my mother-in-law showed up and watched my children and then brought us all home to her house a mile away from yours so that she could help my husband take care of me and the boys while you and dad drove an hour away on vacation and shopped in outlet malls for a week. So please understand why it angered me when you showed up for my husband’s emergency appendectomy the next year - taking precious time off of work – and made the whole day about you and how you almost died years ago when your appendix ruptured. Just what I needed to hear as my beloved was under the knife.Thank God he ended up being fine.

We had managed some repairs to our relationship and you had eagerly expressed a desire (without being asked) to take a week off of work when hubby and I started planning our two week overseas adventure for our ten year anniversary. I was delighted; things were finally turning around with us. I planned our childcare carefully, with mother-in-law taking the other week off to balance things out. And then four weeks out, after we’d paid the last of our non-refundable monies for the trip, you casually mentioned in a conversation that you wouldn’t be able to get out of work after all. In fact you would be unable to help babysit at all because you hadn’t put in for the time off from work and other folks had taken those days. Friends, neighbors and other relatives stepped in to help mother-in-law balance her job and our kids for the entire two weeks. When you heard my son mention to someone months later that he had stayed with mother-in-law while we were gone you quickly corrected him that you had helped out. I’m sorry that at five he forgot how you borrowed them two afternoons and fed them dinner once.

Then there was the phone call a couple of months ago when your sister died unexpectedly and you told your whole family that I’d be glad to officiate the funeral on a certain date without asking me. Nevermind that you scheduled her funeral for my birthday, it was four days before I was moving with two kids and both hubby and I were changing jobs. And when I had the gall to say no, that date didn’t work for me and offered up three other dates as alternatives (since she was being cremated), you tried all kinds of guilt and manipulation and crying before hanging up on me. And bless you for having father call me back later and pretend he cared before laying on more guilt. And that line about how ungrateful I am and how I would have dropped everything and done a funeral for husband’s family if they needed something was just the icing on the cake. My aunt wanted me to officiate at her funeral and would never have approved of your tactics, and I’m angry that you went ahead and held it without me, telling my cousins that I was too busy to be bothered. I do appreciate that you at least called to acknowledge my birthday and I know I sent a thank you for the birthday check I received in the mail.

Two weeks ago I needed surgery again, a biopsy to check for breast cancer, the disease you successfully fought off nine years ago. I was scared because I've had a lump before and know that our family history of cancer only heightens my risk. But this time I was smart. I decided not to get my hopes up that you would be there. I knew that you were already taking the week prior off of work to entertain company for your birthday and catch up on errands and dr visits. So we made plans to have mother-in-law show up and care for the grandchildren. When you politely inquired the night before if we needed you, we told you not to worry that we had everything under control. Imagine our surprise when you showed up at the hospital as we were leaving because you had called mother-in-law’s cellphone and realized she was in town. Sorry father let the cat out of the bag later - apparently you had arranged to take the day off of work and told them that you were coming to take care of me; yet you had intended to spend the day at home relaxing from all the company you had entertained the week before. I certainly didn't mean to ruin your day off. Mother-in-law went home after you showed up because she didn’t want to intrude. Only she didn’t realize that you would take off before I actually needed you. You sat around all day and watched me sleep and then packed up to go home leaving me groggy and nauseated alone with two kids after hubby had to go in to work for two hours. Since my surgery I have heard from you exactly one time when I called to tell you my pathology report was clear and I am fine.

Most days I feel like an orphan. I have no parents unless you need to whine about your life, or need me to do something or want to drag out your grandchildren for some special occasion to show off to your friends. You always lamented the relationship you had with your mother - a constant tug of war - and swore that you would never treat me like that, that you would be different. And you were right. You have become very different. You hardly bother with me at all.

Home Is Where The Hotel Is?

Posted by Anonymous.

I live in Florida. My daughters live in Florida. My grandchildren live in Florida.

My mom and my sister and my extended childhood family live in Michigan.

I subscribe to several airline emails to watch for good deals on airline tickets from Florida to Michigan.

So when I saw $19 tickets in January for flights in May, I snapped them up.

You see, I think I'm doing a good thing to buy a ticket for each of us to come home to see you. It's not like I didn't just show up on your doorstep and say 'here we are!'. I told you in January that I was coming home for 4 days in May. I gave you plenty of notice.

In reality, the $19 tickets cost me considerably more than $19. I had to pay for seats to be assigned (times 7!) and to pay for luggage. Unfortunately I didn't know that when I bought the tickets.

We love being at your house. Hanging in the back yard. No schedules to keep, no place to go but across town to visit more family. A trip to the cemetery to pay respects that I can't pay the rest of the year.

And then, two weeks before we were going to be there, you dropped the bomb on me that we couldn't stay at your house. WHAT? We've always stayed at your house!!

You said we were too many, too noisy, too confusing, too many people for one bathroom. We were willing to sleep on the floor and the blow up bed and the couch. All of us have stayed there before and the bathroom was never an issue. Shoot, 3 of the kids don't even use the bathroom!

And mom said, "You can't expect to just come home and have accommodations."

Well for starters, five months notice does not qualify as 'just'. And well, yes, as a matter of fact, that's exactly what I expect.

Mom said we'd have to split up and stay different places. So .. what .. we farm out the three year old? The two year old? The baby? No. That doesn't work.

You said groceries were difficult and cooking and cleaning was too much. Since when? I have never come up there that I didn't go immediately to the grocery store and drop a hundred bucks on groceries. We help with the cooking. We help with the cleaning. Not a meal goes by that my hands are not in dishwater washing dishes.

I really don't get this. All of a sudden ... we're not welcome???

You see, I am paying out my hard earned money to bring the family home so you can see them and they can see you. To foster a relationship between you and them. So you can see your namesake for the first time. Because we love you. We only come home once a year. Four days out of one year. But, no, that was too much hassle for you.

So ......... we didn't. We flew into the airport, rented a car and drove around the state like tourists. We went to the water park and other places my family has never been to before because .... we always came to your house. We stayed in motels and ate in restaurants. Oh, and the motels, still 7 of us ....... and only one bathroom. And never any problems. And trust me ........ I paid dearly. I paid for the car, most of the hotel rooms, most of the meals because they are broke and barely getting by.

Then one of the aunts stepped up and said you can stay overnight at my house. So we took her up on that. We slept on the floor, the couch and a blow up bed. Nine people in that house with ......... you guessed it ....... only one bathroom. We offered to buy groceries and they said they wanted to cook us dinner. We all ate around the table and had a good time. They enjoyed getting to know our little ones, and we enjoyed our time with them.

Oh, we made it to your house for a few hours on the last afternoon. But by then, the damage was already done. We weren't comfortable with you ... and you weren't comfortable with us.

And we heard afterwards that you complained about us being in the state for so long and only getting to see us for a little while.

Well you know what? You can't have it both ways.

And now, occasionally, you say things about the 'next time we are home'. Don't count on it. I have no plans to do so. If we are going to take a family vacation and stay in motels and eat at restaurants, we'll be going someplace else next year.

In case you haven't figured it out ....... things have changed.

I suggest you subscribe to airline emails and start watching for a Michigan to Florida ticket. And you won't have to worry about accommodations .... because, unlike you, I would make room regardless of what it took. You'd have a place to sleep if I had to give you my bed. That's where we're different.

I'm glad we're different.

Her

Posted by Anonymous.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cool Or Cruel?

Posted by Anonymous.

By the night of my 8^th grade dance at the end of the school year, which marked the elusive transition from middle to high school, I was already experimenting with drugs and alcohol.

Nothing major really, just drinking a few hard lemonades at a friend’s house while hoping I looked cool smoking that cigarette. My cousin and I had snuck out while we were camping with the family to sit by the river at night. We happened to encounter two gothic girls smoking pot out of a socket while listening to Marilyn Manson. We both smoked it, got a little buzzed and giggled in the dark as we walked back to our tents hoping we wouldn’t get caught stepping on stick or rustling some leaves.

Nothing major really. But the night of our dance I wanted to “have fun” and I thought all the older kids probably party on prom night and damn it, I wanted to party too. After all, I had always associated being “mature” with partying. So I ingested about 12 pills of a cough suppressant in hopes of “tripping” while at the dance. I soon found myself vomiting in the bathroom, covered in sweat and gaining attention from other girls in the bathroom. “Are you okay?” asked a blurry dark haired figure. “Must have ate some bad chicken” I told her the best I could in between heaves while I tried not to look at the little red dots floating in the toilet water and stomach bile. The assistant principle soon stood outside the door of the stall. She wanted to take me into the office where I could “lie down and sit in the A/C.” I couldn’t even walk to the office by myself and I don’t even know who helped me slump my way over there. They called my parents, (well .. my mom and step-father,) who soon picked me up. They told my parents they thought I was on ecstacy and that they might want to take me to the hospital to be sure. My step-dad slung me over his shoulder and carried me to the car. He fiercely interrogated me, asking me what I took, who gave it to me, saying he was going to kick their ass, etc. They didn’t take me to the hospital though. After being carried to my room, I laid down in my dress and asked him if I was going to die. He laughed a little and said no, I was probably just going to sleep for a while.

We talked about it the next day but I was never in trouble. They expressed their concerns, and admitted to some experimentation of their own. OK, not really experimentation. Usage. My own parents told me if there was a drug I wanted to try, to please let them know and they will get it for me. I mean, after all, they used to be big “rock stars” and all.

They didn’t want me to get hurt, or get ripped off, or buy something laced and be in a safe environment. I actually thought it was cool at the time. Can you really blame me? At 13 I was allowed to drink in my own house, as long as I didn’t leave and it was a widely known fact that I smoked pot in my room sometimes with friends. My stepdad and I even smoked together on occasion. That following Christmas I told them I wanted to try cocaine. I was 14 and it just so happened that they had some. I did one line and we laid on the bed and talked about the high and how “cocaine was an evil drug and isn’t really that much fun anymore…not like it used to be. But that the real high comes from ecstacy.” Naturally, I wanted to try it. We made plans and my younger siblings stayed at friend’s houses and me and my mom and my stepdad did ecsctacy together. I ate a bean and soon felt the “ecstacy” of ecstacy. We listened to music and sang and dance and snorted more beans throughout the night. We didn’t go to bed until daylight. I was barely 15. In total we did ecstacy together at least 6 or 7 times before I went back to live with my dad who has no idea anything like this ever went on. It just feels like such a weight now that I am older, a whole 21 years of age. It doesn’t seem cool anymore. It seems FUCKED UP. And I’m not saying that I had a bad time when we actually partied, it's just weird now. And I don’t think just on my end. Whenever I go home to visit there is always this weird awkward moment when I am introduced to one of their new friends in a party setting and they bust out a mound of cocaine or crushed up beans and snort a line right. In. Front. Of. Me.

And why shouldn’t they? I have done it with them. I just wish that I could have the balls to tell them that I feel ….not right ..about what happened. Part of me wants to forgive them and say it was a mistake and part of me wants to let myself sob and ask them how they could put me in harm’s way like that? How they could voluntarily retire from being a parent and try to become a cohort? I have been in denial about the fact that this is an unusual and somewhat sad situation of a parent/child relationship. When my friends would bring it up in conversation, I would defend and protect them because I didn’t want anyone to think badly of them. They were trying to be cool and understanding, but really it warped my outlook on life from a young age. So now here I sit at 21 years of age resenting the fact my parents tried to let me experiment while so many people resent their parents for the exact opposite.

Dear Mom

Posted by Anonymous.

Mom,

I’m sorry to have hurt you like this. I just really needed to take a step back away from all of the drama that surrounds you and my sister. At times it feels like it’s engulfing me and putting my family in pain.

I’m tired of the family always asking me if I’ve seen or talked to you. I’m tired of being told I should make the effort even if you aren’t. It’s not fair to me to be the only one trying. I do not appreciate you telling my aunt that you call regularly and leave messages but I don’t call you back. If you leave me a message I always call you back. You rarely call me; you didn’t even bother to call me on Christmas. Every other year I called you. I’m tired of putting all the effort in. I have a very busy life of my own to worry about. It aggravates me to no end that you tell everyone how much you miss my boys but you’ve never once bothered to pick up the phone to specifically talk to them. Not once mom, no matter what you like to tell everyone.

That’s another thing. Your lies are out of control. Sometimes I don’t know if you know what the truth is anymore. I have caught you in lies about stupid stuff that doesn’t even matter. You lie about why you need money. You called me and told me drug dealers wanted $5000 from you or they were going to kill you. Seriously mom, how stupid do you think I am? My sister has called me numerous times because you’ve wanted her to get money from people she knows. You ask for thousands of dollars at a time. It would be one thing if you got into a jam once or twice for a few hundred, but you have many times over asked for thousands of dollars. What are you doing with your money? Normally I would say it’s none of my business but you’re the one that came to me needing money so you made it my business. I am really worried about you. Money isn’t the only thing you lie about though. I’m tired of lies, lies and more lies. You and my sister both are bad about that.

My sister is another thing. No matter what you say or want to think. She always came first in your life. If she did something the boys were blamed. When they moved out I got blamed. My brother’s wife didn’t tell you the truth about the type of parent you were to the boys because she isn’t the type of person to hurt someone else. The boys walked away from you because everything was always their fault, never my sister’s.

When I had my sister arrested because I was finally fed up with getting hit you told the police I should be arrested. You told them I started the fight, even though my sister did. You let me move out onto the streets when I was 16 with nowhere to go instead of kicking her out even though she was 26 and old enough to be on her own. When she busted a blood vessel in my eye (I was 12) you said I must have done something to deserve it. She hit me plenty of times and you never once stopped it. You’ve never protected me. You made me feel like I was unlovable and unworthy of love. Do you know how screwed up it is to tell your child her father wanted an abortion? He told me you wanted one after I told him you said that. I can remember plenty of times you slapping the shit out of me because I would fight back when my sister would start fights with me. I know I wasn’t a perfect kid, but I was pretty damn good. I was respectful, I stayed out of trouble, made good grades while I worked full time. I didn’t go out partying, I was the sober one to make sure my friends would be safe. Nothing I did was ever good enough to get your attention. You were so focused on my sister and niece. I was your minor child. I should have been your focus. I should have been killed in that car accident and I couldn’t even find you to bring me home from the hospital. You were out getting drunk. I remember calling hospitals because you didn’t come home all night. I woke up at 7 and when I noticed you still weren’t home I was scared you were killed in a drunk driving accident.

After my sister finally moved out you spent more time in a bar then you did at home. You were so worried about chasing men that it didn’t register you still had a kid to raise. Thank god I did a decent job of raising myself. Yeah you were there while I bowled and was in Job’s daughters, but you weren’t involved in it. I felt like you were there because it made you look good because I was good at both of them. I can remember you yelling at me plenty of times while bowling because I wasn’t doing a good enough job.
While growing up I pushed the hurt you caused me out of my heart. I figured I couldn’t make you love me; I couldn’t make you think I was as good as my sister so why get upset about it. After I had my own children all that pain came back. I look at my babies and I actually interact and play with them. I enjoy them so much. I am involved with every facet of their life. I look at them and wonder why wasn’t I good enough for you to want that with me? Why wasn’t I good enough to play with? Why wasn’t I good enough to talk to? Why wasn’t I as good to you as my sister is? You can keep telling yourself you were equal to me and my sister, you can keep telling yourself and everyone you love us the same, but I was there. There was no equality in that house. My sister was the light of your life. Two of my brothers both agree that my sister was it for you.

You told the family way before my husband and I ever had problems that he was cheating on me. You say my niece told you he was. What about asking me first before spreading it around? My life is my life; it’s not gossip material for you to spread. You keep talking how my husband’s family treats me like shit. They used to, but not anymore. How they treated me was my fault too. It’s been instilled in me that I do not deserve to be loved so I figured there was no way they would love me. I took everything as a slight because I was taught to be the victim. Now that I’ve finally let them into my heart and realize that they do love me, things are much better with them. I have a happy life here. I don’t miss the drama that I dealt with up there. I’m tired of you asking me when I’m going to visit “home” again but in all the time I’ve been gone you haven’t made the effort to visit me. 9 years is long enough to save the money to come visit. Last time I checked the road goes both ways. Quit telling people how much you miss us when you don’t bother to call or even attempt to visit.

I’m not ready to have a relationship with you right now. I don’t know if or when I will ever be. It’s too hard to love my kids as much as I do and have my heartbreak knowing you never once made me feel that way. When they wake up scared or sick at night, I go to them willingly with no anger. When I was 12 I cried out for you because I was sick and you yelled at me. I realized then, you wouldn’t be protecting me; you weren’t there to make things better. I was 12 when I first started thinking about suicide. I felt so alone and unloved. I thought my own mom doesn’t love me; my dad was wrapped into himself because of grief. If they couldn’t be there for me I would be better off dead. I wanted the pain to stop. Thankfully I realized I didn’t want to go to hell so I stopped myself. I prayed every single night for God to let me die. I was so angry with God because I thought he was tormenting me by making me go through life unloved. I thought I was a bad person because I was so unlovable. I thought God was punishing me for being so bad. I prayed and prayed to die. I prayed until I met my husband and finally found someone willing to give me his heart. Do you have any idea how hard it is to spend that much time waiting for God to let you die so you won’t hurt anymore?

I wish I could forget, and let it go. But there are so many things I remember, so much hurt I felt, it just stays at the surface. This hurt, this pain, this anger, it’s enough to make me scream. I can remember you threatening not to sign the financial aid paperwork for college because you were mad at me. You said you wouldn’t help me with school. When I told you all you had to do was to sign the papers, you told me you wouldn’t. What kind of mom says that to her kid?

I don’t know if or when I’ll be ready to talk to you. I’ve got things to work out in my heart before I can deal with this drama. I’m tired of lies, especially the lies that are easily found out. I’m not a stupid person, when you lie to me I will uncover the truth. When you tell crazy out there lies, I know it’s a lie. I can tell by the tone of your voice when you’re telling lies or stretching the truth. We can’t have a relationship until you figure out how to stop with the lies. Relationships can only be built on the truth.

Your not good enough daughter

Mother, Dearest?

Posted by Anonymous.

My mother. How do I describe my mother?

I am nearing 25, happily married to a wonderful man and a new mother to a baby girl that is the center of my world. I have a 16 year old sister who still lives with our mother, alone. The two of them live together in the charming small town I graduated high school from, while my sister attends a Christian private high school - totally different from my own upbringing.

My mother is someone that I can no longer recognize. The last time we spoke was December 24th, 2004, when I told her on the phone that I was engaged. She told me that I was stupid, irresponsible, she wanted nothing to do with this, and that I had no business getting married. Granted, I was only 20 years old, but I was responsible, being as I had been on my own since two weeks after I turned 18; self-sufficient and still in college.

She has never had a successful, happy relationship, and I think she was jealous. She suffers from severe depression, is bipolar, and I believe an alcoholic. She divorced my stepfather, my sister's father, in 2001, and he died in 2002. Their marriage was certainly never the stuff of romance novels - he was a cocaine addict, consistently had affairs throughout their nine-year marriage, and lived with us probably only for a total of a year during that time. Thusly, she was damaged, angry, and broken.

She is an angry, violent, bitter person. She took out her wrath on me during my childhood with belts, fists, and words. I spent at least a third of my life either recovering from bruises or "you are so worthless, I never should have kept you". I spent years in therapy, with the idea that I would be able to recover from the damage my mother and stepfather's marriage had inflicted on me, but we always seemed to spend the time discussing my mother's dysfunction instead.

My sister is now caught in the crossfire. She is nearing her 17th birthday, and does not acknowledge publicly that she has a sister. I believe she is brainwashed to say these things to the people around her; that if my mother ever heard her admit my existence, she would suffer the same fate as I. Recently, I received a phone call from one of my mother's brothers, a dear man that I don't know well as a result of his estranged relationship with her. He told me, reluctantly, that my sister had gone to a party with some friends from school, decided to experiment with alcohol, and had gotten drunk. A male friend from school attacked and raped her.

She is a Type 1 diabetic, and ended up in intensive care after the attack from diabetic ketoacidosis, in and out of a comatose state. My mother is enraged. She has called my sister every name she can think of, and has told her repeatedly that it was her fault. My sister is on virtual lockdown and does not even think without permission.

Consequently, I am thisclose to purchasing a plane ticket and flying out to my home state to see her. My husband and I want custody of her, but it will be difficult securing and paying for an attorney five states away, plus, my mother will undoubtedly pull out all the stops to fight me every step of the way.

I do not know how to deal with this woman any longer. I had every intention of calling her, finally, after the birth of my daughter six weeks ago, to share the wonderful news with her that she had a grandchild. But that same day was the day I recieved this news, and my heart has grown colder towards her. I no longer believe I can ever have a positive relationship with this woman ever again, particularly not as long as she tries to not only keep my beloved sister from me, but that she works to damage her as she did me.

I've wanted for years to have an intact family unit and to have not brought this darkness down on my husband's family, but thankfully they are wonderful, forgiving, lovely people who do not judge me based on my familial background. They are my family now, and I love them wholeheartedly.

My question is, is it even feasible or realistic to ever hope to have a relationship with my mother ever again, and is it even more unrealistic, if not, to fight for my sister's life? I am willing to sacrifice my relationship permanently with my mother to save my baby sister and bring her here to me.

I welcome any and all advice.

Crazy

Posted by Anonymous.

Am I crazy? I think I just might be. My mother was, so it would stand to reason that the Nutso might jump from her branch to mine in the ol’ family tree. (She wasn’t like, dangerous crazy. Not really. I mean, she might have been, given a weapon at the right time, but since that never happened, she was generally not physically harmful. Emotionally, however, is a different story… And that wasn’t intentional. She didn’t mean to be the way she was…)

I’ve wondered for years – since I was old enough to observe that other moms weren’t like mine, and that I wasn’t like other daughters -- if maybe, just maybe, I’m cracking up. Maybe my attic has a few leaks, if you know what I’m saying. The idea scares the ever living shit out of me, the thought of being out of control in the same ways that I witnessed for so many years, the very possibility of harboring that kind of beast inside my brain… Why, it’s enough to make me want to scratch my own face off.

You see, my mom was different. Very large Catholic family. Very, very religious. She thought she heard God’s voice as a child, and she may have. Having never heard it myself, I wouldn’t recognize it and have no reason to brush off her claims. (She was a lot of things, but never a liar.) She was her father’s favorite. They weren’t poor, but were rubbing elbows with it. She married a rich boy straight out of high school, he joined the military, they moved overseas to a small island. He became wildly abusive, attempting to kill her every chance he got. She had my oldest sister in a hospital in Germany, alone, when she was 20 years old. They all moved back to the states, and eventually back to the place my mother was born and her family still lived. Her father was diagnosed with cancer and died. Her husband mocked her pain, and in her rage she found the strength to leave him, although she was no longer… whole. The years of terror and pain and torture had left her already-fragile mind fractured. She was still beautiful, brilliant, vibrant and so brave, but there was something foreign in her mind after that, something that warped her view of herself, the world around her and the people in it... She met my ‘father,’ married him, had my other sister. I believe she then had an affair with a man she never identified to me let alone admitted to being with, and then I was born.

She loved us so much. More than I can even fathom. We were her entire world, my sisters and I, or at least everything in it that was good. That love didn’t keep her whole, though. In fact, it frequently acted as a bludgeon she used to break our hearts and her own. She had two major psychotic breaks that I know of, because I was there for them. I grew up idolizing her, and living in terror that I would become like her. She was everything to me- my fear, my love, my hate, my protector and the person I longed to escape. As I got older, she became one of my best friends, the person I loved more than life. She died three years ago. Cancer. Was diagnosed in January, died in June of the same year… It literally tore her apart. One of her obituaries said “died peacefully after a long battle with cancer.” What a fucking load of shit. It was a horrific, swift massacre. Nothing peaceful or long about that “battle.”

Oh! When she died? I was pregnant. My boyfriend of seven years and I were expecting a baby. A little girl. I was the exact same age my mother had been when she had my oldest sister. Did I mention that we were high school sweethearts, and that he joined the military? Or that he was stationed on an island overseas? And wouldn’t you know, he had this really odd habit of getting violent when I made him angry, which happened a lot. (His hurts were small potatoes next to the torture my mom lived with, but he was gearing up for the big stuff with shocking speed and enthusiasm. However, I’m sure we can all see the parallels between her life and mine.) Yeah… So, she died about 4 and a half months into my pregnancy. I turned to my boyfriend for comfort, he shoved me, I fell and went into early labor. Miscarried a few days later. That was three weeks before my 21^st birthday. Four months later, I left him. (I know. Really long time, huh? Well, I probably AM crazy. So duh.)

Then I got together with a guy that was my best friend. He was happy, spiritual, beautiful. He was everything I’d ever wanted. He was more than I ever thought I’d get, given the fact that my stepfather and my mother’s psychosis pounded “you’re shit” into my brain for many, many years. Three years later, he wasn’t even a shadow of the man I’d met and I called our relationship off because I got tired of killing him. We ended up being really terrible for each other… I made him sad, and he made me angry. We both struggle with clinical depression, so… bad combination. I loved him so much, I never thought we’d be apart. Leaving him was the most terrible choice I’ve ever had to make.

Now, there’s this great guy. A guy that’s so peaceful, so mellow, so supportive. I have no idea how to be with him. I’m so far out of my depth that I can’t even see the shore, even though he’s right there with me, encouraging me to swim. You can do this, you can be this, it’s okay, I’m right here. After being on an emotional roller-coaster for nearly 25 years, I don’t know how to stand still. I don’t know how to be sane, or even how to fake it. I know he makes me wildly happy, and that he cares for me and understands my issues as much as he can, and is so loving. I know he quiets the static in my brain and eases the terrible grief in my soul. Yet… every day I find something to dissect, something to pick apart and sharpen and stab myself in the heart with. Something that tells me I’m not good enough, I’m fucking it all up, I’m ruining everything and the sky is about to fall in.

I can’t get out of my own head, I can’t stop the shockwaves that keep pounding me down into the terrible, dark hole I know is waiting just beneath this delicate net he’s woven for me, allowed me to weave for myself. It’s the hole my mother dug, the one she was trapped in for most of her life, the one she pushed me toward and shoved me away from. I see it there and know it like the back of the hands I inherited from her- every detail is etched into my mind. I’ve had a quarter of a century to stare at that hole, to slip into it and claw my way back out. I can’t stop staring at it now, from the corner of my eye, even as I try so hard to focus on this happiness in front of me, this reality that could so easily be mine if I could just fix what’s wrong in my head and heart and quiet the voices that scream out so much terror from the bottom of that pit.

I know that the next time I fall, when the net finally gives, that I’ll never get back out of that terrible darkness again.

I am so scared. I don’t want to be this way.

Babies Having Babies

Posted by Anonymous.

So I might have to warn some of the mothers who read this....you might not want to and I'm sure that what I am about to say might offend some people but I don't know where else to say what I need to say.

I know a dozen or more people who got pregnant out of wedlock and yes I'm going to be judgmental and say that bothers me. Several of these people say its because they "could not afford birth control" well the last time I checked a box of condoms for about 3 was about $4 maybe even less than that. Oh and planned parenthood will give them to you for free!!! You can also get the pill for a 90 day supply at some drug stores for $10....wow that must be so expensive. But yet these same people can afford $1,000 a month town houses and the latest video game systems.....but who cares about trying to prevent pregnancy.

Did you ever think they considered how much a kid would cost? Probably not, I mean what could a little unprotected sex hurt, right?!?!?

My parents have also never been fans of unprotected pregnancy but they are also pro-life.....I know if I ever got pregnant out of wedlock I would quietly take care of the problem and never tell them. That's my own choice and I don't want to get into that, different topic and too many opinions there. But just today my mom informed me that a family friend who is 23, still in college, working an unpaid internship and has no medical insurance is guess what, pregnant. This is her bosses daughter, who I used to be very close with, almost like sisters. I was angry when my mom told me because I know that this girl is smarter than that, but her parents are excited for her and so is my mother. Her and the father will be living with her parents and I can almost guarantee they will take care of the baby, since she and baby daddy are still in college and jobless.

My mother, the person who would throw me out on the street if I EVER told her that I was knocked up - she is excited for this girl. I just wanted to scream.....I just cannot fathom how people think this is okay....maybe I am too old fashioned but I am also careful. In my life I have had 2 pregnancy scares and in one case took the Plan B pill just to be safe. I have been on the pill since I was 14 and I wasn't even sexually active then.

I'm tired of pretending to feel sorry for them when I know how easy it is to not get yourself into that situation. I know for some people things work out but for most they don't. Its much easier for one of the parents to get out of the situation when there is no legal marriage. Not planning for things almost always means there is little to no money to help raise that child either, so there goes my tax dollars into their WICK and Welfare checks.

I don't plan on attending her shower or calling her to tell her a fake "congratulations." I can't keep letting myself feel sorry for people like that. I cannot fathom how a person could be excited to be in that situation. My mother tells me not to pass judgment but that girl is not her daughter and if the tables were turned I'd be living in a homeless shelter. I've watched many of my cousins do the same thing, I've seen them fight for child support, work dead end jobs and one of them even had her 4 children put into foster care.

I don't know if its wrong or what to feel like this but it just makes me sick inside. I just hope and pray it never happens to me but if it ever does I know what to do and I know what would be right in my heart. Maybe there is something wrong with the way that I feel but I do know how else I am supposed to feel. How can I react to situations like this without feeling the way that I do.

Signed,

Too many babies and shot gun weddings

Of Prayer Lists And Politics

Posted by Anonymous

I noticed it on her nightstand as I was tucking my daughters into my mother's bed after an evening of early-Thanksgiving cheer. I know I shouldn't have read it, but there it was--my mom's prayer list. And on this list of prayer concerns: mine and my husband's political views.

I know my mom and I don't see eye to eye on politics. But is this really something of such concern that it requires prayer? Can't she trust me to prayerfully come to my own conclusions about politics and the leadership of our government? And better yet, shouldn't she ask me what my political views are rather than assume they are cause for prayer? Is that too much to ask? Or is it that there is only one godly choice and anyone who votes otherwise is outside the fold and needs prayer to bring them back? Is this really something that a parent needs to critique about their adult child?

I won't lie. It hurt. It bothers me. And, unfortunately, I'm not going to say a word to her about it because I don't need the drama. Thanks for listening/reading.