About The Neighbor

Posted by Anonymous.

I know what I’m doing is wrong and that I’ve finally turned into a “statistic” but I feel like I can’t help myself. I’m your average, middle class, married working woman, two kids, nice house, church going, supportive family. Everything that should make me a “good” person. Here I am in the midst of a tumultuous affair with my next-door neighbor. Let me go back to the beginning…

I’ve been a good wife for the most part these past 10 years. Our marriage was never anything exciting but it was comfortable, solid, something I decided I just needed to be happy with. I never strayed all these years, though more than once I considered having an affair usually out of anger or frustration. Several jobs, two houses, and two kids later here we are at present day.

HE’s been there, lurking in my vision for quite a while now. Always a neighbor, never even allowing myself to think of crossing the line. Then this summer things changed, the world shifted. Suddenly I found myself flirting with him, albeit casually.

We live next door to each other and are the “outside” parents – the ones who are always outside with the kids, playing, laughing, and being the “fun” parent when we can. A little banter here, a little banter there. Suddenly I was in a whirlwind of having a crush on HIM. It was fun, harmless I told myself. But I found myself checking out the window to see if he and his kids were outside a little more frequently. My ears perked up at the sound of his truck coming home. I found excuses to be outside more and more and more.

I caught myself thinking about him here and there, imagining what a kiss would feel like, fantasizing about being wrapped in his arms.. Then that fateful night came. A neighborhood party. We hung out for hours, totally PG flirting. HE confessed HE wasn’t happily married. I could feel the tension between us. The interest. The desire. We finally walked back home and I wanted HIM to kiss me. It didn’t happen though we had some intense eye contact for a while.

Then two days later, a shot that rocked my world. HE was there. Just through Facebook at first. Sending an encouraging message, letting me know HE was thinking of me. One fateful day he popped up in a chat box on Facebook. I was sad and teary but he managed to make me laugh. Playing a chat version of 20 questions turned into him making a quick trip over to see me. The first time we had so obviously sought each other out. So friendly and neighborly. Numbers were exchanged and a few friendly phone calls followed.

A few days later, I was doing my best to put my life back together and a rare warm late fall day we got to be outside for hours with the kids. Flirting was rampant though kept in check due to the presence of both our spouses. In an opportune moment, HE leaned over and whispered HIS email address to me and asked me to email HIM the next day.

Our work email exchange was/is ridiculous. Sometimes as many as 50 emails back and forth a day. Pushing for more information, teasing, flirting, challenging me. I had the opportunity to be home early one day and let HIM know. HE came over to “talk.” I was a nervous schoolgirl. Couldn’t hardly look HIM in the eye. Things got close, intense. HE said I had to make the first move; I started to and then hesitated. He pulled back. A moment later, HE dove in. The most amazing kissing of my life. All the while, I was thinking, “I am breaking my marriage vows right here in my own kitchen with my next door neighbor. Seriously? This is my life?”

More phone calls and emails. Such chemistry. A few days later things progressed. I stopped just in the nick of time. Who am I doing this? On my own couch with my own neighbor? More days passed. Hundreds of emails, more than a few phone calls. It was time to piss or get off the pot. I got off the pot. We started having sex – in MY bed – on a fairly regular basis. Whenever we could meet up and it was relatively “safe” from discovery. The physical chemistry is just overwhelming. He’s so appealing to me even though this is crazy and messed up.

Almost three months later, I’m obsessed, wrapped up in a web of mixed emotions. I long to be with him but know it’s virtually impossible. Relationship with husband is seriously on the rocks and essentially over. All that’s left is for me to tell him it’s officially over. Know I’m hurting him but feel like I can’t imagine a life with us together ever again. As much as I try not to think of a “future” with HIM, it’s getting harder by the day.

We avoid talking about feelings other than to tease each other. We both have said we’re crazy for each other. My marriage is/will be ending soon. Not so sure about his. Life is complicated. Now the question is, will I be happy being the other woman in his life if he decides he can’t leave yet?

Yes-Mom

Posted by Anonymous.

I wonder if my entire relationship with my son has been based on my saying yes to everything.

He's 17, a high school senior, successful student and generally a good guy, except I learned he's not so nice and we're not so close when I say no. When he was 9, he was diagnosed as having an Autism Spectrum Disorder, Asperger's, but was "highly functioning" which meant that he was intelligent, oppositional, argumentative, sweet, loving and exhausting to raise. We sought all kinds of social and occupational therapy for him in order to help him develop the social skills he did not intuitively have. We indulged him when he found an interest in the video arcade game, Dance Dance Revolution, and we drove him to tournaments up and down the East Coast just like other parents drive their kids all over the place when they are on travelling soccer teams. He formed friendships, built confidence, and figured out how to deal with his quirks. He became popular. His dad and I indulged him by taking him on these trips to visit his friends and to participate in DDR tournaments. We permitted him to sleep over at friends' houses in the city where the tournament was held. We hung out in the town and got a hotel room, so we could be close by.

This started when he was 13. As he got older, he told us there was drinking sometimes but he did not participate. Then last New Year's we let him go to North Carolina with a friend, without us, to visit friends. Yes, there was drinking and yes, he drank. He concluded that because we allowed him to go, we approved of his drinking. Then over the summer while his father and I were on vacation, he begged us to stay home and we let him. His response was to have his friends over for a party, with alcohol, purchased with the spending money we left for him.

Since then we have had many conversations about drinking. He tells us that we're punishing him for being honest. We tell him that we worry about him making bad choices. Now, he asked to go away with friends to a New Year's party this year out of state, and we said no. He's angry and is acting out. He says that he's much more honest with us than his friends are, and that we need to trust him to make good decisions, since he is going to college next year and will be on his own. We tell him that there are so many bad things that could happen, like getting into a car accident or having a run in with the police and getting charged with underage drinking. We won't be anywhere nearby to help him if there is a problem. He said he's not handling his anger better because we have modeled bad behavior when we're angry. He says we're being inconsistent and arbitrary. He's saying whatever comes to mind.

He's being so unkind and so impolite that I don't recognize this rude person. Or rather, I see him clearly for the first time. I've been far too worried about being his friend and not being his parent. I did not think that is what I was doing but now I see it all more clearly. And it's too late to change it. He's leaving home in less than a year. He's 17 -- a know it all and barely listens to me. He's grown up thinking that we'll always say yes and he's hardly ever heard us say no. I thought I was teaching him and I see that by indulging him, I failed him. It feels like our relationship is a sham. We are not close because he loves me; we're close because I always said yes.

A Little Piece Of God

Posted by Anonymous.

I have an autistic son who is truly a bit of God broken off and fallen to this earth. I am fortunate in a a million ways that he is oh... let's say autism-lite. He has none of the most challenging behavioral and cognitive elements of the disorder and his therapy is moving faster than anyone could have imagined. I am in no way brave about this, and his diagnosis did very nearly turn me to dust, but recently someone asked that I write a letter to her friend, a stranger, who is struggling with her daughter's recent diagnosis. So I gave it my best shot.

This diagnosis is a pointing finger and nothing more. And now it’s my turn to whisper the important words--words that flicker just brightly enough to keep you from falling the whole hard way down: Your beautiful child remains your beautiful child, regardless of where a finger points. Mothers of auties pass those words down to new mothers of auties like some families pass down silver, and it may well be that this one act and these few words are the single speck of autism that we mothers hold in common.

Autism is so many things, so many different ways of being. People will ask you “what is autism?” Believe me, they’ll ask you all sorts of things, but when they ask this particular question, they may as well ask, “what is skin?” How do you answer? How can you? But since no mother begins this trip with answers and since you cannot give what you don’t yet have, leave it, just leave it. . Also, it’s very important right now that you pack lightly, so you must leave other people’s stuff behind. This is your trip and that pointing finger is where you start.

Take this road through whatever terrain you must--anger, grief, frustration--and know that you will come out the other side a changed and stronger mother. Go ahead and take the long road with all the hills and muddy spots. Stop where you feel the need, think a lot about turning around, and understand that you will always bitch about why you have to do all the damned driving. But you will drive and drive. And then drive some more. You will keep moving forward, I promise.

Claim your place now among like-minded mothers and know that we are tough. We will stand with you shoulder-to-shoulder, stretch mark- to-stretch mark because we have all done the drive, in our own way, at our own speed with our own stretch of muddy spots.

My autie is a million kinds of magic to me. Just as he had no words for the first five-ish years of his life, nor do I have words to explain our bond. His everyday obstacles show up on time every day, but they loom only as large as we allow. So often, too often, we show off those obstacles—we set them apart and make absolutely certain that we can say, “That’s my kid there, and wow, will you just look at the size of his obstacles ? They are RIGHT THERE and THEY ARE HUGE.”
Let me be very clear now, that those same obstacles have no power over the magic, not the least little bit. Say that outloud to yourself right now. Good. This child sits closest to my heart and I can tell you that even in his worst moments, I can see tiny bits of my best self. He is unbridled joy. He has a lightness that comes in quite handy during the darks. And while my chaos is just boring mommy chaos, his chaos is—well, he’s often quite glorious in his chaos. My own road is occasionally strewn with his gifts of glory wrapped in sticky chaos Now, understand that these gifts are rare and precious, mostly unexpected and sometimes quite sticky. Some days you will have to look long and hard to find even the dullest one. Some days you’ll give up looking altogether. Again, please know that giving up on today can never, ever forfeit the gifts scheduled for tomorrow. Keep looking. You’ll see.

Daniel’s diagnosis shattered me like a rock hitting glass--a big ugly hard thing hitting a not very sturdy at all thing. We sat in that tiny room with the tiny chairs and filled out those very not-tiny-at-all pages of parent questionnaires and I cried. The whole time. Long pages. Lots of crying.

Not a good day, to be sure, but one that you’ve now survived. You remember the tiny room with those tiny chairs, and you surely recall filling out the stack of parent questionnaires. You might also recall that your answers were often limited to three choices: Often, Sometimes and Not At All. So do you bend your beautiful child to fit those tight little circles? Oh, you know that answer already. And when you worry that your daughter's diagnosis might change how you see her, who she is, and who she might become, that answer fits quite nicely into one of those circles.

That answer is Not At All.

Parental Guilt: Reluctance To Seek A Diagnosis

Posted by Anonymous.

I am usually very confident about my parenting decisions. I either confidently make the best decision or confidently accept that I cannot do the best thing and that what I’m doing instead is good enough. I think carefully about my choices and usually feel good about the ones I make.

But there is one issue where I waffle, where I feel insecure, where I get defensive, and where I feel guilt over possibly making the wrong choice.

My son is not normal. I hate writing those words. I hate writing them because I reject the concept of normal. Of needing to conform. Of needing to be like and behave like everyone else. That aside, by the standards of the world around us, my five year old son is not normal.

* He has always been a spirited child, by every definition of the term.
* He is an anxious kid. He cannot go to sleep without parental presence at night. He’s just manipulating us people say. But it is more than that. He is truly scared. He sometimes goes through periods of stress where he clears his throat constantly or chews on the collar or sleeve of his shirt.
* He has extreme oral aversions to certain foods and textures. He is not just a picky eater (although he is that too). He will literally gag and have a major panic attack if he puts something in his mouth that his system, for whatever reason, does not like.
* He cannot sit still and cannot wait his turn. Not at school. Not at home.
* He is not yet dry at night.

He could have an anxiety disorder, a sleep disorder, an eating disorder, a hyperactivity disorder.

He is genetically predisposed to this. My husband and his father both suffer from anxiety. I have always had sleep issues. My brother and I were the weird kids in school, the ones shuffled off to “special” activities for the socially inept. There could be other explanations too, not necessarily that caused the issues my son is facing (since these things do tend to be genetic), but that perhaps exacerbated them. Things like the amount of stress I dealt with during my pregnancy (two very traumatic events).

I know that mental illness is very real. I have friends who deal with it everyday. I have friends who have successfully taken medication to deal with their illness (be it ADHD or anxiety or other) and have gotten their lives under control. I have seen them on and off their meds and I’ve seen the difference it makes. I know the disease is real. I know medication can make a difference.

Yet I hesitate to seek a diagnosis for my son.

* I hesitate because of the label. I worry about how it would make him feel (right now he is confident, likes himself a lot and has no inkling that he might not be like every other kid in every way). I worry about how others would treat him. That worry comes from how I was treated when I was sent off to special activities at school. Believe me: the other kids knew the difference between the times I was sent out for advanced French and when I was sent out to learn how to be more normal. Maybe if I felt like I benefited from it, I would feel differently. But I got the label of being odd without the benefit of anything that truly helped.

* I hesitate because he is doing well in his school. Despite the fact that he cannot sit still in class, he is excelling academically, he loves his teachers and they love him, he has friends, he enjoys himself and they cater to his needs. However, it is a small school that does not have the resources to deal with learning disabilities and a label or diagnosis could result in him having to leave the school. Am I sure he would have to? No. Do I want to ask outright? No. I think that would draw attention to the possibility and result in them asking him to be assessed. I know he would not thrive in our local public school for many reasons and I don’t want to have to send him there because of a diagnosis.

* I hesitate because we’re making progress. He tried two new foods in the past two weeks. That may be more than he has tried in the past two years. We no longer have to lie down with him for him to go to sleep. We can now sit on a chair outside his room with the door open and read something while he goes to sleep without him having a major panic attack. He hasn’t had any episodes recently of obsessive throat clearing or other tics.

While I understand how medication can help other people (and have seen it help other people), I think that if he can learn to deal with his anxiety and his aversions and his hyperactivity, if he can get it under control himself with our help, then he will be better off in the long-term. I’ve seen people do well on medication, but I’ve also seen what happens when they go off their meds because the side effects get to them or because they just don’t want to anymore.

Could therapy help? Maybe. But I don’t have a lot of trust in the medical establishment and, as mentioned above, I worry about the label and what that would do to him personally and to his school situation.

Do I sound confident about my choice? If I do, I faked you out the way I fake myself out every day.

I hated being labeled. I felt restricted by it. As soon as I was out of the environment where I was the “special” kid, I excelled. My husband on the other hand has never had any treatment for his anxiety and still suffers from it today. It isn’t debilitating, but it does create challenges for him sometimes.

There are good days, where I feel like I am making the right choice. Days where we see progress. Days where he seems like a normal kid. But there are also days where I feel like I am making the wrong choice. Where he would be happier and feel more in control if he were medicated and able to control his emotions and his impulses.

I feel guilty about not seeking a diagnosis. But I would also feel guilty about seeking a diagnosis. I feel trapped.

Booby Trap

Posted by Anonymous.

My daughter is 11 years old. When she was born, she refused to nurse, would not, could not latch on. The nurses at the hospital threw up their hands, the first lactation consultant told me "it must feel terrible to have your own baby rejecting you", the second lactation consultant showed up forty eight minutes late, after telling me not to pump until she got there and not to feed my baby so that I was engorged and my daughter was starving and it was not a good day. I cried a lot back then. I cried and I told my husband that I wasn't worth of being a mother. Because I had never heard of a woman being unable to breastfeed her own child. That was unnatural. That was fucked up. It destroyed me for weeks. I pumped and I fingerfed my daughter through tubings but I was hollow. I'd never know such pain, at a time when I was supposed to be so happy. I made bargains with God. "Let me nurse," I pleaded. "Let me nurse and I'll cop to breast cancer in a decade." I meant the treatable, curable kind of cancer, of course, but really, I was out of my mind. It hurt so much. So much.

A parade of lactation consultants went through my house.

"Your nipples are inverted," one told me. "You should have been wearing nipple re-inverting shields throughout your pregnancy," she admonished.

"You definitely have enough milk. A nursing mother has enough milk to feed the Red Army." I didn't want to feed the Red Army. I wanted to feed my daughter.

I'm sure that I had a healthy dose of postpartum depression thrown in as well, but whenever I think back to that time, I catch my breath. Because it's been over 11 years. And the memory is still sharp.

He's Terminal

Posted by Anonymous.

My husband’s step-father, K, has been in our lives for almost as long as we’ve been together. They got married the year before we did. Since my husband had never had a father in his life, he was thrilled that his mother had finally found someone. Thrilled that she was happy, thrilled that he could finally build a relationship with a ‘father’. They both enjoy sports, and fishing (zzzz)… they both are pranksters that love to laugh. K is indisputably the most outgoing person on the planet – any time someone new walked by, he wants to say hi, see if they need anything, give, help, love. My husband is loving, but not nearly as outgoing and open.

We had our son in 2005. Immediately there was a bond between he and K. Immediately, my husband and I noticed that K was not being quite as supportive as we needed him to be as new, young parents. I struggled with breastfeeding my colicky son. “Just give him a bottle before he starves to death.” As he got older, we set boundaries and rules. Our son thrives on a rigid schedule. K didn’t understand. “Why is he going to bed so early? It’s the weekend.” He gave him loads of sugar that our high-energy, spirited son did not need… and then sent him home for us to deal with. He didn’t understand that smoking around our asthmatic son was probably not the best idea. He would volunteer to watch him for the weekends, and when he returned to us, our son would be miserably overtired, wheezing, and in desperate need of something OTHER than fast food or junk.

We had numerous conversations with K and my husband’s mother about how our rules need to respected. Yes, we understand that grandparents spoil their grandchildren and bend the rules – but we know what he needs to thrive. Within our rules, spoil him. Yes, he can have a piece of cake. No, he can’t have half of a cake. Yes, he can go to bed a half an hour late. No, 10:30 is probably WAY PAST HIS BEDTIME. Yes, he can watch TV. No, not for three hours straight. AND NO – shoot-em-up action movies with monsters are PROBABLY not the best idea for a three year old with an overactive imagination.

Yes, I’m a bit overprotective. Am I ridiculous? No.

Two and a half years ago, K had brain surgery for an aneurism. He was told to follow his doctor’s advice on nutrition, since he is a diabetic. He didn’t, and never has. He was told to quit smoking before his surgery. He didn’t. He was told by his doctors to a lot of things that he didn’t do. He was emphatic that he was going to die. He spent as much time as he possibly could with all of his grandchildren.

Yes, just his grandchildren. No, my husband has never gotten the father figure he wanted. K ignores him, mostly, and myself, unless our son is involved in the conversation. He spends more time greeting strangers than talking to us. We’re told that he has nothing but good things to say about us to others – but he really hasn’t made much of an effort to get to know either of us. So… I’m not exactly sure what it is that he says.

He survived his surgery.

And less than a year later was diagnosed with cancer. Lung cancer. He still didn’t quit smoking. Eventually, the cancer went into remission. And then came back. He still wasn’t following any advice from his doctors - he had to be coaxed into the radiation and chemotherapy treatments, and would postpone them or skip them whenever he felt the need. (I do understand that radiation and chemo are not easy on your body and that it is probably easier for me to say JUST GO GET IT BECAUSE IT COULD SAVE YOUR LIFE than it is to subject yourself to those kinds of treatments. But. It is still difficult for me to reconcile why someone wouldn't want to take these steps when there is still a very good chance that they could heal you. And also, knowing that the quicker that you respond to cancer, the more of a chance that you can get rid of it....)

He still was convinced that he was going to die.

Now, a year and a half later, he is terminal. The cancer has spread to his liver. And although he has quit smoking, I am angry with him. I am angry that he never listens to anyone. About anything. Not doctors, not us, not his wife. And that someday soon, my 3 ½ year old son is going to lose the grandfather that he loves so much, and there is a part of me that feels like if he had just listened to his doctors along the way - about the diabetes, the aneurysm, the smoking, the nutrition, the resting, ALL OF IT - maybe we wouldn’t be here. I am angry that he let my husband down, and – unintentional as I’m sure it was – that K reinforced his feelings of rejection from his own father. I am angry that strangers are more important to him than we are. I am angry that he is depressed, because even though it isn’t all his fault, I feel like he does have a degree of guilt.

I am angry that he is dying. And I am angry that I could never tell him, or anyone else, any of this.

Paralysis Of Thought

Posted by Anonymous.

When she wasn’t where she was supposed to be which was 10 feet to my left, when I had circled around twice, when I retraced my steps once again, when the well-meaning employee who stood by the door assured me that she was still in the building, when I circled around for the fourth time, when I began to realize she was NOT in the building, when I stepped outside, when her older sister began to panic, when I could feel my chest tightening, when I had to send her sister back inside to stand with a nice stranger, when my mind began to think words I would never say in her presence, when I could not see her in front of the building, when I could not see her at the side, when I found her standing next to our car, standing next to our car by herself, outside, down the stairs, along the sidewalk, across the parking lot, ACROSS THE PARKING LOT–BY HERSELF, when I saw her and screamed her name, when I saw the look of fear on her face–first of being alone and then upon hearing the shrillness of my voice of being in trouble, when I swooped her up, when I held her sobbing body in my arms, when I got nose-to-nose with her, when I impressed my fear upon her, when she impressed her fear upon me, when I returned for her sister, when I explained the “lost rules” again, when my throat began to unclinch, when my chest stopped hurting, when I began to be acutely aware of the fact that I was in the presence of a few dozen other moms but I was the mom who had just lost her 3 year-old child, when I calmly took both daughters’ hands in my own untrembling hands, when I crossed the parking lot again and buckled them in, when I pulled out of that parking lot, I did not think about it again.
I did not because I could not. My mind just. would. not. consider: WHAT IF. That is the only reason I was able to keep breathing. I just hope it stays that way, because I could die a thousand emotional deaths if it starts to move again.

Dear Sonuvabitch

Posted by Anonymous.

Open letter to the sonuvabitch that refuses to pay his child support:

You suck!!!!! It's not fair!! And I wish you a slow and painful death!!!!!

Thank you. Now I can listen to my children mention their father without wanting to scream out what a dick he is. And a dead beat. And a no good, irresponsible, piece of shit that does not deserve to have such sweet children. (Did I mention I hate him?---Oh, you could tell? Well, then, good.)

The end.

Dear Everyone

Posted by Anonymous.

Dear everyone,

Firstly: boyfriend, I love you, but you are DOING MY FUCKING HEAD IN. You try looking after a baby and two demanding cats all day, trying to run a business, and still have some Me Time. Then imagine someone’s told you that of COURSE you have the fucking time to work, you can just do it in the evenings and at the weekends. Because I have a free evening when I’m not cooking you dinner and pouring you beer and tidying the flat. We’ve poured so much money into this, and I’m scared it’s going to fail if I can’t put more time in. We can’t afford a child-minder and our son is too little to go to nursery, but I need to make time to work. Even if I start as soon as he falls asleep, I still only get half an hour at a time doing useful stuff. I need to be working all hours of the day at the moment, and you don’t seem to appreciate it. In fact, you take everything for granted. You don’t tell me you love me without prompting, you expect to come home to cooked dinner and a nice cold beer and an evening in front of the TV, or playing on the Wii. You think you’re such a perfect modern man because you change the odd occasional nappy or look after the baby while I get a very occasional gym trip, but you’re stuck in the past. You want me to bring some extra money in? Let me work, and not in some shitty shelf-stacking job at the supermarket. Wake up.

Mother-in-law: yes, I get it. Your daughter had a baby too, and he’s smaller and cuter than mine. That doesn’t mean you have to stop being interested in your eldest grandson. I know you never really approved of him: your son and I aren’t married, and you’ve made no secret of the fact that you think I should’ve taken the morning-after pill. Your daughter has been with her husband for ten years and trying for a baby for eighteen months, and you had the gall to be upset when I got pregnant and carried to term after TWO YEARS of miscarriages? And of course, she wants to be a stay-at-home mother, and that makes her a better person than me. They can afford it, we can’t. I know that the baby is the most important thing in my life, but I need to be able to support him and your son, because hell, his company will go down the shitter if things don’t start improving soon. Also, when you do show some interest in your eldest grandson, be gentle with him. He might be a big baby, but he is still a baby. He doesn’t like being thrown around like a toy.

Father-in-law: I’ve worked for you for over a year now, doing bits of design and admin work. Remember we agreed in August that perhaps you could pay me for some of the work I do? Still waiting for that to materialize. Also, when you give me a pile of stuff to assemble into a workable presentation on Sunday night, and expect it done by Monday lunchtime, the answer is a NO. Not unless you’re prepared to fund a child-minder or let me bring the baby to the office. I feel guilty writing this, ‘cause you’ve been very good to me, but PLEASE will you pay me for what I do?

Mum: I’m a mother now. I can make perfectly adequate parenting decisions. I’m not breast-feeding anymore, and in your book that makes me a terrible mother. You know what? He’s thriving on formula and solids (I’ve never met a baby who loves his fruit and veg so much), and that’s much better than him ingesting any traces of Zoloft. I’m not going to put him in his cot and leave him to scream until he falls asleep without trying to rock him to sleep first, just because that’s the way you did it. Stop nagging me to stay chained to the kitchen sink, just like you were. My brother and I turned out so non fucked-up because of your parenting decisions, didn’t we? In addition, forcing me to eat isn’t going to cure me of my eating disorder, and making life so uncomfortable when we visit that I can’t take my antidepressants is going to do nothing but screw me up further.

Dad: Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Just... you need to stop being a soft touch with your son. You were incredibly strict with me when I was his age, and I can’t believe you like the way he treats Mum and you.

Brother: Get off your lazy backside and get a job. At least help your parents around the house. You’re sixteen years old and you’ve not had a day of responsibility in your life. Mum effectively did your GCSE coursework for you because you didn’t know how: you’ll never fucking learn if you don’t make an effort. Quit spending your money (that they give you) on beer and weed. If you keep having irresponsible unsafe sex with your girlfriend you’ll have to support someone else, and then you’ll be well and truly fucked. Also, quit stealing my money. Every time we come and stay with you money magically disappears out of my purse if I leave it in my room. I’m sick of it. Treat your parents with a little more respect. Grow up and be the man you think you are.

Son, I love you and your chubby baby cheeks and your gummy open-mouthed kisses. I just want to do what’s best for you... I wish I knew what it was.

Signed,

Girlfriend/Daughter/Sister/Mother

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.

Am I A Bitch?

Posted by Anonymous.

I'm a in my Mom of 5 year old absolutely healthy smart and sweet daughters we adopted from China a few years ago. X and I were married/together for 22 years before adopting. We tried for 12 years to get (stay) pregnant and after 8 miscarriages and so much heartache, we stopped trying. We then tried to live a life without children, and then jointly (key word... jointly) decided we really wanted children, and then we got so lucky-beyond belief and were referred two perfectly healthy beautiful girls over a few years. We're financially stable, we have a lovely house, we've travelled the world and had all the toys we could ever wish for, and we both have full-time quite stable jobs that are in pretty immune-as-it-gets industry with great positions and salaried. Jeez, it does sound perfect. But it's so not.

X has a quick temper. And he's quick to get quickly mad at the girls for being...well, sometimes cranky, bratty little girls. In other words, perfectly typical toddlers. His temper is bad. He yells....a lot. He gets mad...a lot...at the litlte girls. Our parenting styles are different. I try to take the brunt and intervene and manage the girls when I know they are tired or sick or cranky but i can't always be there in those cases and when he is around and they are not being perfect and sweet, he shouts a lot. For example, today when they were being cranky, he told them he was going to throw them in a closet and lock them up. Well, I know for sure he would never do that (and he would not...truly....) but he says that kind of stuff all the time. And it makes me very upset. Then we argue. And yell. And then i get unproportionally upset. And it just cycles over and over. It's not good for any of us but it is esp. bad for the girls. Then they walk around the house saying "Is Daddy being mean?" "Why is Daddy making you cry?"....Oh, it breaks my heart.

And, his temper affects everything. When he gets mad and I get upset, then I just feel myself retract...I just isolate myself and my girls and I put up my defenses up big-time. Then, when that happens, we certainly aren't intimate...ie I am sure not interested in sex. And then....that makes him mad. And then, he says the lack of sex gives him a short temper. Which then spirals down to him having more outbursts and me being less inclined to want to be intimate....And, downwards it goes. It's gotten so bad now that we're in a bad place and the LAST thing I want is to even think about sex. I don't know what to do.....And then....then....to make it all worse.....there is one more element in the mix. He is now (he says...) depressed because of lack of sex and he's exercising less and gaining weight. A lot of weight.

Which makes him even LESS desirable. And he is telling me the reason he is gaining weight as he is turning to food and beer instead of exercise due to the lack of sex. So, I need a sanity-check. I am mad at him. I am mad at his temper. I am mad at his outbursts. And I am aggravated with his weight gain. (i'm especially disgusted because exercise and staying fit is a big deal to me...oh, I sound like an absolute bitch, don't I?....)

So, I would like a sanity-check. Am I being totally out-of-line with all this? I want him to calm down but he says he won't because he's mad because I'm a "frost-queen". He totally completely fully and 1000% refuses to go to any counseling. He won't even consider it. What do I do? Is this all my fault? I don't want to have sex with him. I don't like him lately. But, we've been together for 25 years and I can't believe we can't get this fixed. Just don't know how.....Please tell me straight....I can handle it...Am i being a bitch?

Thanks for any feedback. I can't talk to anyone about this.....no one at all.....

Confessions Of An Evil Friend And Concerned Mother

Posted By Anonymous.

To one of my dearest friends and godfather of my two young sons,

There has been something on my mind that I wanted to talk to you about. Perhaps I should do it in person, but I know I will not be able to accurately and appropriately convey the information I need to convey so I figured I would convey it in writing in order to get my thoughts down.

First, I am glad that you are feeling better and getting to the point where you can go about your regular schedule. It's good to see you doing well.

I also wanted to let you know that we you and are here for you if you need to talk or hang out or anything.

Now to the two things that are not easy for me to bring up but that have been on my mind. I feel I would be doing our friendship a disservice if I did not bring these things up.

First, I have been thinking about your ex. I know I asked you the other night if you had told him about your recent HIV diagnosis and I couldn't tell whether or not you intended to tell him in the near future. However, I feel that ethically you should. I know the doctors told you when you contracted the virus, but one thing I have learned through my work, my psychology degree, and the need to see many types of doctors (OB/GYN, Primary, Dentist, Oral Surgeon, Pediatrician, Surgeon, Osteopathic doctor, Reproductive Endocrinologist, etc.) is that doctors, tests, and technologies are often incorrect/inaccurate in particular if they are new. Because of this I think it would be wise of you to tell him as soon as possible and encourage him to get tested. With all tests (even old, well-known ones like pregnancy tests) there is always a chance of error and inaccuracy. In fact, I called the CDC and was told that there is no test to determine when you contracted HIV as you have told us. For this reason, I think you should err on the side of caution for his and your sake and have him get tested.

The second thing I wanted to bring up, and this is hard for me, is certain habits that we as a group have that I feel may need to slightly change. I have always prided myself in being a level-headed, educated, and compassionate person when it comes to HIV. When you first told us that you may have the virus I did research on the tests available for detecting the virus, the percentage of chance that the test would come back false, and I refreshed myself on some of the methods of transmitting the virus. One of the things that comes to my mind is sharing drinks, food utensils, or essentially saliva swapping. In general, what I read says you cannot transmit HIV by sharing drinks or utensils. However, those same sources (such as the CDC) go on to say that in theory transmission is possible if one person has some portion of blood in their mouth and the person they share a drink with has an open wound. The language used on these sites also leaves room for the possibility of transmission in this manner but states it is unlikely.

For myself I think the chances are remote and I am not concerned. But I guess because I am a mom now I feel the need to be overly cautious (even if irrationally so) with my two year old son, K. I have to be honest and let you know that the other day when you came over to the house for the inauguration I was disappointed, scared, and upset. I was upset by the fact that you let K drink out of your water glass. I don't know if you noticed but K commonly picks at his upper lip and at times pulls the skin off which causes an open wound from which he bleeds. Also, it is common that we as human beings have some portion of blood in our mouths either from toothbrushing, cheeck biting, eating hard foods, or general canker sore types of things. For this reason, I think it is best not to share drinks with the kids. It may sound strange but for some reason I can think about the rational remote odds of something happening should I share a drink and dismiss it quickly. But I can't do that with the kids as I don't know what I would do if for some reason one of them became the first documented case of transmission through drink sharing no matter how remote the chances were.

I know the chance of contracting HIV in this manner is remote, but I would expect that when it comes to K (and eventually my nine week old son), we would all want to err on the side of caution in this type of situation. Especially because most articles I have read (at least the ones that look as if there was some scientific research involved) make statements saying "transmission is unlikely" but "possible in theory". I would also think that as a person living with the disease you would certainly want compassion, but at the same time you would want to take extra precautions to ensure that you did not do anything that may put someone else in harms way no matter how remote the chance.

I'm not sure how you will take this letter. We still love you, want to hug you and kiss you, and be your family. Because of that I had to share this with you as I didn't want to get bitter and upset for feeling like you were being irresponsible and negligent when it came to K's protection. I didn't want it to be something I worried about that would eventually cause distance between us. So as hard as it is to bring it up I felt I had to.

I'm sorry you have to deal with this.

No Clue

Posted by Anonymous.

I have no clue what the hell to do.

Do I play with them? How long should I play with them? Let them play by themselves in the yard? Leave them alone? Let them go to the park across the street without me? I've been a mom for 6 years and I feel so lost.

I have no example to go from.

I didn't have a mom from 3 until I was 11. Well I did, but she was drinking, drunk or passed out. Her mood depended on time of day and drink of choice. She wasn't volunteering to be the Cookie mom for scouts. She wasn't helping my class. She wasn't chaperoning the class trip or teaching us about art. She wasn't taking me to the park. She took me to the store down the street occasionally, but only when she was out of her drink of choice. She was either passed out, screaming at me to do stuff around the house, or telling me I was a waste.

I hated staying home sick.

Don't even ask about other family as everyone was working full time when I was born.

I remember being three, sitting on my Holly Hobby comforter and watching I Love Lucy and eating Oreos and Pepsi for lunch because she was already drunk and passed out. I was hungry and had to eat what I could reach. Or the time I had to tell the bus driver for my Early Childhood program that I couldn't go because I had no clean pants. Or having to go to grade school in clothes that didn't match because that was what was clean and I had to get my self to school on time so the school wouldn't have to call home and say I was late. How I stayed in that house is a mystery to me still.

I had a dad, but he had to work to keep us afloat. He came home each night, judged what had happened that day and took over. Did he have to cook dinner? Pick my mom off the bathroom floor? Check my homework? Take my mom to the hospital? Figure out where I was? By the end of all that, he was exhaused and just wanted to watch TV, not take his kid to the park.

So I have no clue how to be a mom to my kids. I still don't have it figured out at this point. What do I do? How much should I be involved? Am I too involved? Are they in too many activities? Too few? Do I step back and let them be more independent? Less independent?

The parenting books don't handle this. Their father is no help as he was raised by his grandma while his mom was busy making sure the younger brother stayed alive and his dad worked constantly or was drunk and passed out. Their father thinks I'm doing fine. I have my doubts constantly and frequently.

I am so confused.

God, Parents

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Redemption In A Baby Album?

Posted by Amanda.

it's sunday. it's sunday again, and again i have put off everything. i always look forward to the weekend, thinking of the many things i will accomplish - oh how productive i will be. friday rolls around and i make mental lists, plan my time; strategize cleaning, organizing, sports, time with my son, finally getting that baby album together (hey, he's only 6...). during the week i convince myself that my inability to accomplish much at home is because i am so busy (work, mom duties, errands, every after school activity under the sun) and that redemption will come in the form of a weekend well utilized. yet every weekend, sunday evening comes and i begin to panic, start beating myself up for having finished practically nothing on my list. the minutes go by and i think to myself "do something! the week is about to begin again and you will have no time until next weekend!" i let myself watch a re-run of "law and order" or "i love lucy" - the two shows which seem forever on, making it difficult to differentiate days and times. i know, i'll check my email for the hundred and third time today. procrastination. and now it's almost time to make dinner. i can hear my son building with legos in his room. i take a deep breath knowing that after dinner there will be games, stories, then bed. there will be no redemption this weekend. the list will wait. who needs a perfect baby album anyway? i think i'll go play with my son.

My Son

Posted by Anonymous.

My son will be 27 years old in a few months. Up until he was about 21 or so, he was a responsible, happy young man. His Dad and I never worried about him getting into trouble. He had many friends (mostly girls, but a few guys), held part-time jobs, life was good. The only area where there was a shadow was he never had a girl-friend (this bothered him, not us). When he confided this to us, we couldn't really figure out why, nor could he. People instantly liked him, including girls, but they always wanted to be "just friends", according to him.

He started to work at my husband's place of work about 4 years ago. He was doing well, getting lots of on-call work, making good money. Again, he seemed happy. He decided to move out with a girl he worked with (strictly platonic). It only lasted about 8 months. He wanted to live on his own, so he rented a small apartment. We helped him with the first/last month's rent. He again seemed happy. But he wasn't managing his money well, and got behind in his rent. Again, we helped him, with the promise from him that he would manage his money better. He decided to move in with a guy into a new apartment to save costs. Things then took a real turn for the worst, he started not showing up for work. This was so difficult for my husband (remember it was his place of work too), as we would get calls asking if we knew where he was, why didn't he show up. We would get worried sick wondering what had happened to him. Finally he would call us, saying his bosses were idiots and he didn't want to work there anymore. We bailed him out financially again. He started to work a string of minimum wage jobs, but claimed he worked for idiots and would finally leave. He told us he was very depressed. I tried to get him into counselling, doctors, he would have none of it. When I saw him he looked unhappy, worn out. I suspected drug use.

Finally, I convinced him to come home and get his life in order. He admitted there was drug use (mostly pot, but some ecstacy), introduced by his roommate. He also admitted he had been having suicidal thoughts, but had never acted on them. He often thought of hanging himself. His Dad and I were sick with worry. Again, tried to convince him to see someone. He refused.

Being at home seemed to bring him some stability, although the endless jobs continued. But whatever drug use there was seemed to stop. He was happy again, eating well and acting normally. He wanted to move out with two other roommates again. This was a year ago. We helped him out with money again.

In the last year it has been difficult because we give him between $300-$500 per month for living expenses. He finally agreed to see a doctor and counsellor and try anti-depressents. He claims they didn't work for him and he feels better just dealing with life on his on terms. He says he still gets suicidal thoughts and gets down but not as much. When he asks for money, I try and advise him on budgeting, etc., which he seems responsive to, but obviously doesn't implement because he needs money every month.

Part of his depression is the fact he can't meet someone. He says girls don't like him because he is only 5'4", yet he is an attractive, intelligent young man with a lot going for him. A few months ago he confided he may be bisexual. His Dad and I were very supportive of him and told him we fully accepted his choices in life.

Where have we gone wrong? Why can't he be responsible and act like an adult? My husband and I are very scared that if we don't help him financially, he will become depressed again and try and commit suicide. It feels like a Catch-22. His father and I have tried talking to him endlessly about being responsible with money, and he listens and nods but I guess he feels that we have always helped out so why bother. We do not feel he is doing drugs because he has held down a job in a coffee shop for a few months now and appears healthy and happy whenever we see him. He has also registered in a web design course at college (we have paid for this - it's $8,000) which starts in the fall. He is very excited and so are we for him.

So what do we do - continue to help him financially until he has completed the course and can look after himself? Although my husband and I do make good money, the monthly draw stills comes at a cost. I don't know what to do.

Fear Of Failure

Posted by Anonymous

Sometimes I think I am the worst mother ever. Now, I know that isn't really true. I have never hit my son. I have yelled at him, but not often. I try, I really do, to be a good mom. I love my son. I love him so very much.

But. . .

Isn't there always a but?

I get annoyed sometimes and just wish he'd go away. I want his whining to stop. I want him to accept that no means no. I want him to grow the fuck up. I feel so impatient and annoyed sometimes that I just want to hide somewhere so nobody could find me. He knows how to push my buttons and delights in doing so. It's been worse since my husband and I separated. Of course it has. My son is acting out because of his frustration and fear about the situation. I am less patient than usual because of the demands that have increased since I became a single mom.

Finances are tighter than tight, so tight in fact that I've considered asking my husband for a reconciliation. I know that isn't the right answer. I feel how much less tension there is in the house without him here. Most of the time my son behaves better than when his dad was living here, except those times when the outbursts happen, when he has his emotional meltdowns that are so much the source of my frustrations.

Sometimes I just don't know where to turn. It has been years since I had to be independent and stand on my own. I am scared, afraid that I am going to fail as a mom and as an independent individual. What if I can't do this? What if I fail? What will become of me and my son?

Beast

Posted by Anonymous.

Immediately after it happens, I am surprisingly cool. It's only a few minutes later, when I think of his little face and the fear and confusion written on it that I start to crumble inward. The guilt and disappointment in myself are overwhelming, and there's nobody to blame, no extenuating circumstances to add up and say "This is why it happened." It just comes out of nowhere.

I am surprised because it's not a particularly hard night. I was easy on everyone, letting the children watch a new DVD, skipping bathtime so bedtime could happen punctually. Kyle wasn't even resisting more than usual, and he even cleaned up his cars without being forced. But he peed in his pants and then asked for water. I said no. He cried. I thought about how he gets his way in this manner too often, that it's becoming a pattern and it must be stopped. So I stood firm, and kept saying no. He threw a tantrum. I lost it.

I slammed his closet door and yelled at him as loud as I could: "LISTEN TO ME! WHEN MOMMY SAYS 'NO' YOU SAY 'OKAY, MOMMY!' You do NOT throw a tantrum and scream and cry!" I held him by the shoulders and yelled this into his face, which made him cry harder. His eyes widened and he shrank away from me in fear and despair. He had awakened the hideous impatient unmotherly thing inside me. He knows the deal by now. He's already three. This would end badly, and he was totaled.

It only gets worse. I roughly pulled his Pull Up on and then shoved him into bed, yelling "I'm sick of you! Go to sleep!" and then slamming the door on my way out of his room. And then, as he wailed with rejection and sadness, I calmly took the garbage outside and threw a load of laundry into the washer.

Who is this version of myself that can treat my child this way? Why do I, the nurturing woman who dissolves into tears when I hear of any child being mistreated, mentally stand aside and watch from within as this happens? It's like another person takes over my body and I can only think "you should stop. This is getting worse. You'll regret this later."

And I do. I do, very much. My throat hurts from yelling and from suppressing the sobs that are just below the surface. My heart hurts, and it's making my back hurt and my toes hurt and my head hurt. I have hurt my child with my words and manner, and I can't take it back.

I need a way to handle this when it happens. I need my self to speak up when the angry beast rears her head and takes over. I need to stop this now, before it happens again as the children get over, and these episodes root themselves in their memories and affect the way they are shaped as people. I need help.