Hubby Needs A New Valentine

Posted by Anonymous.

Hubby needs a New Valentine!

One who will be tolerant of his childhood training.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

By the way just call me

"The Whore that married the Pastors Son"

I wear the title with Honer Now

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

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.

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.

God, Parents

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Spiritually Stuck

Posted by Anonymous.

I hate going to church. I hate it.

If I only had to go on Sunday I could manage to trod along but it’s not just Sundays. For example, by the end of this week I will have had church related commitments, either for me or one of my children, everyday for the past 9 days. 9 freaking days of meetings or activities that my kids needed to attend or lessons I have had to teach, on at least half of those days there was more than one thing that needed to be done.

If it were only the time commitment I could probably manage, even though it’s gotten to be a huge time commitment, but I am sick of feeling like even when I’m dragging myself and my family uphill against the wind to make it to everything I am still being judged. It’s as if I am surrounded my people who want to tell me if I could just give a “little more” I would be almost good enough. Almost. And there are couple of women especially, that I feel like if I have to have many more conversations with them I am going to pull my hair out. All of it, and I have thick hair, it could take a while. The problem is I work closely with at least one of these women so, yeah, I’m going to be having many more conversations with her, all the while I am screaming inside.

The worst part is that even if I had to attend something EVERYDAY with women who need to take hormone shots if I believed in it I think I could do it, but that’s the thing, I don’t think I believe it. I feel spiritually dead, and I can’t tell anyone. If my husband knew that I felt like this he would be devastated. He would start with an exorcism and move on from there. He was raised religious and I was not. I have tried to be what he wants, at times I have been pretty good at it, but for the last year it has been getting harder and harder for me. Our religion is everything to him. I’m afraid to say anything, it’s not just a Sunday thing, it’s a lifestyle (an often time sucking, guilt inducing, demanding lifestyle) and our kids have been raised this way and like I said there are commitments and expectations.

I hate it and I’m stuck. I know I’m stuck because the consequences of me dropping out would be too great. I love my husband and my kids too much to quit something that is so much a part of our (their) lifestyle. I’m mad and sad because I feel like I have no alternative but to keep pretending. I feel like I have sacrificed my life on the proverbial alter and there is not one person in my life that I can talk to about this, I can’t think of anyone I know who would understand. They would either tell me to pray harder to keep Satan at bay or those on the other end would never understand why I feel like I have to keep faking it.

It feels cowardly to post this here, but if I don’t get it out, even just this little bit, I feel like I am going to explode, or worse, shut down. I just keep wondering if I can keep this up forever.