Sick

Posted by Anonymous.

Imagine you had a grandchild who was immune deficient. Now, just say you had another grandchild who came down with gastro and then add into the mix that an arrangement had been made with two other grandkids (who you don’t see very often) for a sleepover. Would you then go and visit the infectious grandchild just before the said sleep over, considering those kids are the siblings of the immune deficient child?

Would you not tell the parents until the big kids had been in the house for 24 hours that you had been to see the sick kid?

Would you carry on and make the eldest grandchild feel bad when she wants to come home (for fear of infecting her sister with gastro) when she finds out that the still infectious child is coming to be babysat at the sleepover house?

What about if the grandfather suddenly came down with the stomach bug? Would you tell the grandchild she was selfish for wanting to come home?

As the mother of the immune deficient child, would you be angry because you know that once the gastro hits your house (and it will) and the immune deficient child gets it, it will mean another week in hospital?

I don’t get it.

No, my parents in law don’t get it.

Either that or they just don’t care.

We have a mess of kids. The bug will run through them like wild fire.

Our family dynamics are already strained. Very strained.

We don’t need this and yet the two (now infectious children) are on their way home.

I don’t usually swear but

FUCK.

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.

The Monster

Posted by Anonymous

I'm going to warn you now that this post might enrage you as it does me. Mostly because I cannot help the situation. I cry a lot over it.

I have a friend - let's call her Sarah - with three kids. Two boys are her oldest and youngest and her little girl is the middle child. These kids are kind, sweet, adorable, polite...everything their mother is and more. Sarah is one of my best friends.

About 3.5 years ago, Sarah left her husband of 15 years. She left him because she finally had enough of his abusive ways. She beat her, belittled her, broke her down repeatedly, often in front of the kids. He was a peeping tom and caught several times by wives of friends in
their old town. He has a very strong desire for teenage porn and has told Sarah many times that he can't wait for their daughter to have sleepovers.

He was not an involved father, drank to excess frequently, spent money they did not have, was unable to hold a job for longer than a few months and made them live on his income. Sarah was not allowed to work. She filled her time raising those three beautiful children who are all less then 12 years old now, so they were all less than 8 years old when Sarah finally stood up to him and left with her kids.

She told me in the car one day on the way to the gym that she was leaving him. I was shocked. Not only had my friend gone through hell those 15 years, she had hid it well from every single person she knew.

As Sarah went through a very trying time of securing a place to live, finding employment and resources to help her keep her family above water, the Ex played mind games, one after the other to intimidate her. He showed up at her new home without calling, he called her
repeatedly - sometimes 100's of times a night, he barged into her new place and stuck his hand down her pants to feel her, then accused her of still loving him because she was wet (aren't all vaginas naturally wet? Pervert.) He told the children to never bathe or shower with their mother because she was a slut now, sleeping around. (She hadn't dated anyone - she was too busy taking her children to therapy, family court, children's services, on top of school and 'normal' commitments.) Further to that, Sarah has been in 3 car accidents in the last 8 years - 2 of them the Ex was driving, the 3rd she was rear-ended. She deals with chronic pain and physiotherapy. She doesn't have an easy life as it is.

The mindgames escalated when Sarah used her grandmother's inheritance to buy her little family a used car. Ex showed up in the middle of the night, on 4 separate occasions, to deflate her tires, key her car, and other little things - but only on days where she had to be somewhere like children's services at 9 a.m. The Ex also claimed his income was $12K/year and got away with paying a mere $27/month/child. He never paid that meager amount anyway.

He called over 100 times while I was at her house one day. Finally I took the cordless phone outside and answered it myself. I asked him if he was drinking. I told him he was upsetting the children. He didn't like that I wouldn't put Sarah or the kids on the phone. I advised him that if he continued to harass Sarah, I would call the police. He kept calling and we called the police, who went to his home and got him to knock it off.

Within a week, he tried to hit my car with his. My kids were in the car too. Once again, the police were involved (I called immediately). He denied it and the matter was dropped.

Despite all of this craziness, Sarah, with the help of a lot of therapy and us as her friends, did a complete 180 on her personality and went from being this meek woman to someone who was very proud of herself, very aware of who she was and a woman who knew what she wanted. She remained a caring, sweet person, but now she had an unbreakable spine.

Nearly 2 years passed and Sarah began dating a lovely man, a guy my husband and I really liked. He was thrilled to have this instant family, this wonderful woman and her beautiful kids. But there was the Ex to contend with and make no mistake, he really made things
difficult.

The man was not put off by Ex's attempts - in fact, it only made it easier to love Sarah and the kids because the man felt the need to protect this new family.

And so he has. Through thick and thin - though times of bonecrushing stress, this man has stood because Sarah as she has navigated the court system to try and secure the best possible situation for her kids. He even bought a house in a small town for them all to live in.
They truly are a happy couple and the kids love him.

The court has sent those kids back to their father for visitation despite:

- the kids crying and screaming not to go to his house
- the youngest (age 7) wetting the bed
- the two youngest having repeated yeast infections
- the Ex not administering prescription medicine for ear infections
with 2 of the kids
- the Ex drinking and driving
- the Ex having kids in the front seat while driving (it's not safe
because he can't turn his airbag off and none of the kids are old
enough to be in the front seat yet)
- the Ex drinking and phoning Sarah to verbally abuse her while the
kids are in his presence
- the Ex telling the oldest son that he has a big penis and that girls
will really like that someday
- the Ex getting on MSN messenger to chat with the oldest and having a
picture of his 'girlfriend' in a bathrobe, legs spread eagle, as his
profile picture
- the Ex telling the oldest that 'mommy plays with herself in the shower'
- the Ex explaining sexual positions to the oldest
- the Ex telling the daughter that mommy is getting fat and to be
careful she doesn't end up like mom (Sarah is nowhere near fat)
- the Ex doing absolutely everything for the daughter, rendering her
an indecisive mess by the end of every visit (she comes home unable to
make decisions or do anything for herself - Sarah is very concerned
about what he is doing to her daughter)
- the Ex yelling and swearing at the kids, both in person and on the phone
- the Ex not feeding the kids, returning them starving after nearly 24
hours with no food in their bellies
- the Ex threatening the children if they say anything about him to
Children's Services
- the Ex not returning the kids at his designated time (this has
happened at least 10 times)

The list goes on and on.

This man is not a man. He is not a father. He is a monster.

Sarah has documented everything and submitted everything to Children's Services and the courts. The police have been involved so many times it's ridiculous. These kids really need to be protected from their father.

I hope today is the very last straw. Sarah called to tell me that Ex had told the kids to walk home after their visitation.

IT'S A 90 MINUTE DRIVE. ON A SUNDAY NIGHT. IN THE DARK.

The police picked the kids up on a road as they walked. Children's services is involved again.

Sarah has toed the line until now. She has obeyed the court's wishes to the letter.

She has sent her children back to their father for the very last time.

Her words to me today chilled me to the bone: "What more has to happen? Does he have to kill them?"

I'm so terrified for them. For her. Because I'm afraid that is exactly what he will do, and I don't know if it will be an accident from drinking, or something else - but he doesn't care about those
kids in the least. All he wants is to hurt her.

Let's hope this final straw will be the kick in the ass Children's Services needs to finally say no more to the Ex.

Postscript: He got access back. No, I don't understand why.

Quarterlife

Posted by Anonymous.

I'm 25 now.

It took me a little while to type that sentence. There's this distaste that enters my mouth whenever I write it or say it. I feel like that it should be the start of a longer sentence: "I'm 25 now, and I dally in Europe with my girlfriends." "I'm 25 now, and I own a home." "I'm 25 now, I have a wonderful partner, and we're discussing marriage." "I'm 25 now, and I know what I'm supposed to be doing with the rest of myself."

The fact is that the sentence is what it is. I'm 25 now. I don't dally in Europe with my girlfriends. I don't own a home. I don't have a wonderful partner, and I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing with the rest of my life.

Some have said that I am going through my quarterlife crisis. Logically, I know that it applies to me and that this is partly true, but being the one living the quarterlife crisis is different. I've always been the one in my family who has known what they were going to do. I'm the academic one -- that's the label given me by my family. I'm not the pretty sister, or the edgy sister or the hippie sister. Those never belonged to me, and I never aspired to those labels. I have always known what I was going to do with the rest of my life -- I knew what path I was going to walk. My family and friends knew me as a decisive person where my schooling and career was concerned. I didn't need a partner or dates because "you're so, so smart."

I landed an entry level job in my competitive industry of choice right out of college. I got a promotion to my dream position not long afterwards. And I thought that this was all I needed -- this job that challenged me and took up so much of my time. And then I turned 25. I got depressed, almost mournful. Nothing satisfied me. I felt restless and purposeless for first time since my freshman year of college. I realized that I got depressed when my job went into it's "slow period" for the year. I didn't realize that I had invested myself so heavily in my position until this bleak onset that came on suddenly. I've scared myself... I figure it's because I didn't have it there to keep me occupied.

So I'm doing little things to change me. I'm looking to buy a one-bedroom condo -- something small and economical where I can entertain. I'm supportive of my best friend, who now has less time for me since she recently found a partner. I'm trying not to work so much. I'm trying to date. I've looked into grad schools. I don't want to be "invincible" again, but I'm frustrated feeling this way. I'm going to go my doctor to discuss what's going on with me. I don't think this is depression, but I don't know, quite frankly. I'm tired of 25.

I just hope that 26 gives me back my sense of purpose. But if it doesn't, what will I do?

Dear Ex-Friend

Posted by Anonymous

A letter to my crazy, husband seducing, whore of an EX-best friend

I have always known you were crazy. I just thought it was in an endearing, I love you despite the fact that you kind of suck most of the time sort of way. We have been friends since 10th grade and we have been through just about everything together. I want you to know that our friendship endured because I allowed it to endure. Over the years people have asked me how I could forgive you for things. Like when you bailed out on being in my wedding just because you didn't like the dresses I picked out. I mean HELLO SELFISHNESS it was like MY freaking wedding!

Yeah, how about when you got mad at me because I put my daughter in Montessori preschool a couple of days a week. And then again when we signed her up for morning ESP at her school last year because I had a newborn at home. Newsflash! You are NOT the world's perfect mother. Oh and when you gave your 3 month old baby boy chicken broth in his bottle I DID think it was weird. I just believe that parents should keep their mouths shut if they don't agree with someone else's parenting technique.

I always defended you and made excuses for your bitch tendencies. I loved you even though you didn't bring your kids to my daughters birthday party ( 3 years in a row) and didn't even bother to call. I loved you even when you were about to cheat on your husband the first time. I told you that you were going to ruin your marriage and that you would regret it. I helped you to make the right decision and I supported you when 3 years later you yet AGAIN wanted out of your marriage. I tried to be a good friend. I never judged you, I just persevered and loved you despite the fact that you are hard to like.

I am not the only one of our girlfriends that feels that it is hard to be friends with you. You never make it easy. You criticize when you should gently be truthful, you are selfish and you are ignorant about the world around you. You are either in a great mood and you love everyone or you don't answer your phone for days and then act all bitchy when you finally come out of hiding. I really do think you have a mental disorder. I am no expert....but I have known you a very long time. If I had to guess I would say you are Bipolar. Now...don't misunderstand me. I have struggled with anxiety and depression myself, and I am empathetic to anyone who has problems such as these.

HOWEVER! I don't think it is an excuse to use your time with me as a reason to be around my husband. I guess hindsight really is 20/20. We were like family and now it is over. I thought of you as a sister and that is why I put up with your shit for as long as I did. Now I realize that I should have put you in your place years ago. I guess I was a little crazy myself. You do have your good qualities. I am just hard pressed to think about those now that you chose to come after my husband. You guys used to hate each other!

Even now it is hard for me to believe that it happened. I guess I just never thought that you would be able to hurt me this way. You knew that the next week was my aunt's murderer's trial. You knew that I was struggling with being in the same room as her killer and seeing pictures of the crime scene. You knew that we were going back to marriage counseling. You knew I had already made the appointment. You knew where the weaknesses were in every area of my marriage. You knew his vulnerabilities. I gave you a bloody road map on how to appeal to him.

I want to know....what were you thinking? You said that you weren't thinking about me. You said that you were only thinking about yourself and what you needed. I say that is impossible. You came to MY house right before you went to his gig! You came to bring me a cute little rug for in front of my sink! What was that? An "I pity you because I am about to go fuck your husband gift"?! I mean seriously! How could you come to my house and look me in the eye and get into your minivan and drive to his gig!!!!?

Now YOU are begging your husband to stay? I tried to help you to see that your marriage could be saved. But now I am afraid that you have gone too far. And I am a little ashamed to say that I am having a hard time feeling sorry for you. You had so many chances. I counseled you. I read you scriptures and I prayed for you and your marriage. I tried to be supportive and non judgmental.

I was an awesome friend to you. How could you make my life so much harder? You knew what he and I had been through. You knew our story and that our road had been a difficult one. Why would you choose to make it harder?

Guess what? I am still here. I am still taking care of my family. I still have faith in God. I believe that I am still sane because I have chosen to seek God in all areas of my life. This letter has helped me to realize that I still have bitterness to work on. I still have some forgiving to do. But I know that I will be ok. No matter what happens in my life, I know that I will be ok because of Jesus Christ who strengthens me. I suggest you run to God as well. He will forgive you if you ask Him to. Maybe something good can come of all of this destruction. If He can forgive you....so can I. I know you will never read this...but I didn't write it for you. I feel better already. I can feel the peace and contentment setting in already.

Don't even get me started on my husband's role in all of this. That is another post for another day.

Suffocating

Posted by Anonymous.

I went to seek drugs, because I need them desperately. They said, “you are exhibiting drug-seeking behavior. We will give you nothing.” Well, Sherlock... My aunt has the same illness I do, and has been sending me Xanax in the mail. I ran out, and I don’t want to ask her for any more. It makes me feel dirty and exploitive. So now I just scream into my sweater for hours.

I hate everything about college. I hate New York, I hate my classes, I hate the idea of transferring again. I don’t even want to be a writer anymore. It was all so fluid before; I only wrote when I had something to say. Now I have to write constantly, all the time, about things that I don’t care about, and it’s all crap, which makes me feel bad about myself, so then I go spend all of my money on alcohol and cab fare. I miss Colorado so much it makes my skin burn to think about it. All of my friends here are so glamorous; and they think that I am too, but really, I’m not. I read books and listen to decent music and know how to dress myself coherently. If that’s all it takes to be glamorous, than people should stop spending so much time reading up on it in Vogue. I will never be glamorous for real, because I am never going to be calm when I meet a famous person. I've become good at pretending, but the whole time I was talking to John Mayer I wanted to throw up. Also, John Mayer is an asshole. They are all assholes. Nobody here is normal. They get vodka companies to sponsor their birthday parties and then rent out some venue and fill it with people they don't know. I am constantly surrounded on all sides by strangers, and they have their faces pressed against mine in the photos the next day. Fuck you. I don't even know your last name, or what makes you laugh. You seem to be laughing always, with your head thrown back like someone punched you in the spine. Nothing is funny. Don't worry, everyone is looking. Being suffocated by people is the most frustrating way to be alone.

I was crying uncontrollably the other day, and M. said, “You just have to not do that.” Right. Because that’s how bipolar disorder works; you just stop. God, why didn’t I think of that? M. has allergies that are so severe she has to carry around an epi pen with her, and I wanted to say, “The next time someone accidentally feeds you a tomato, you should just not swell like that. Seriously, just stop.” But that would be terrible and mean, so I didn’t.

It’s lucky that I only live on the third floor of my building, because if I lived high enough that I’d for sure die on impact, I’d totally jump off of my fire escape.

Not Welcome

Posted by Anonymous.

I live in an elitist town.

What does this mean? It means I will never measure up. I will never be good enough to be in the "hip mom" circle.

Most of the time, I'm okay with that. I know I'm educated and my child(ren?) will grow up to hopefully be educated, caring people.

I don't care that I'm not the most fashionable mom at the park. I spend my money on things that bring pleasure to me, like books and photography equipment.

But sometimes, it really hurts.

Like tonight.

I went to an open house for a new toy lending library. I was hoping to get some business exposure (I have a home party business selling toys) since I figured that anyone willing to shell out $100 a year to borrow a few toys would be willing to buy some of these good quality educational toys.

Everyone at the open house was wearing a cute little dress and looked like they had just come from having high tea. I was wearing a decent shirt (no baby snot) and casual pants.

I tried to smile and act like it didn't matter that no one was talking to me.

The "owner" introduced herself and I was able to talk to her for a few minutes about our business possibilities since we had spoken on the phone.

Then one of the "committee" members came up and was introduced. And proceeded to monopolize me right out of the conversation by speaking only to the owner and facing her. Hello, I can read that body language a mile away. It says, "you're not welcome here".

I was so hoping to break into this circle for my business, but I guess I'd have to be "one of them" to do that. And that's not going to happen while I slouch around in my flip-flops, taking pictures of everything and not caring that I have dirt on my butt.

Give Me Some Credit

Posted by Anonymous.

I continually fight with myself to not flip out on my friends or family members when it comes to taking care of a child. I have taken care of children since I was six *with parental supervision of course* and I went to a babysitting course, and got my first aid to give immediate care if needed, I've babysat nearly 30 different children from newborn to 12. YET for some freaking reason when asked for my advice on some matter, they never seem to actually listen, do whatever was said, or even go as far as giving me the credit. I can't take it anymore and I can't believe how they treat me just because I personally don't have a child.

DO NOT sit there and say I don't know what I'm talking about.. I DO, I do know what you're going through. JUST because I am just a babysitter and NOT a mother does NOT mean I don't know what you're going through or that I don't know what I'm doing. I have to know what I'm doing, or OBVIOUSLY I wouldn't be a babysitter, and I wouldn't have all this trust from all these parents.

You have no problem asking me to babysit, do you? NO, because you ask me whenever you can. So don't sit there and ignore what information i have to offer WHEN YOU ASK FOR IT,
just because of the sheer fact that I'm not a mother. And if I'm babysitting your child from 7am to 6pm in my home and I tell you I've been telling your child not to touch something like a cord or a dvd, DO NOT sit there and let them play with them! Especially when you're living in MY HOUSE.

And HOW DARE YOU say I don't know what you're going through when I'm the one
spending everyday 4-5 days a week with them. That's MORE than what you did and you're his mother. HE LEARNED TO SPEAK FROM ME! HE LEARNED TO CRAWL FROM ME! and he started to learn to walk from, yeah you guessed it... ME! ME! ME! So to all those people who say I don't know shit.. FUCK... YOU.

Should Have Listened

Posted by Anonymous.

I should have listened to my sister.

She told me to never get involved with a man with small children.

But of course.. me thinking I know everything... didn't listen.

Well, I got into this relationship with a man that I love dearly.

We won't EVEN talk about his ex wife who needs a good slap upside that ugly head of hers...

Anyway...

It's the constant spending of money. The wasting of money that kills me. Maybe because I have very little money of my own and very little to provide for my own nearly grown children that I see it as so wasteful. Whatever they want? They get it. Even if they don't ask for it? Or want it? He buys it. I have literally seen hundreds of dollars being spent on nothing. and everything. It makes me sick to my stomach.

I really don't feel it is jealousy on my part. I just see it as so wasteful and so damaging to the children.

I finally told him that I feel that he is really doing his kids a disservice..that NO ONE is going to be able to please them when they are adults. They will never be happy because no one will be able to provide for them like this.

They are spoiled rotten little children who feel that they "deserve" so much...

They are disrespectful and it sucks.

I can't say too much as I am just a "girlfriend"...and no one wants to hear someone else say something about their parenting.. so I am stuck.

P.S. I do not proclaim to be a perfect parent by any means. I am sure I have made my fair share of mistakes, too.

Busted

Posted by Anonymous.

You are so busted. You are so busted you don't even know it. When we said if you fessed up to your drug use, we would rally 'round the family with a pocket full of shells. We promised, I had all the funds ready to go for therapy, counseling, whatever financial help I could supply. All you had to do was tell the truth. We had the goods, we had everyone else telling what we already assumed. You failed. You said, I won't do anything-you just have to believe me. I have my life under control-I don't touch that stuff anymore.

She told us the breaking play by play. The coke use, when, with who. And the fact that your own sister was your dealer for it? Not so surprised. And you all would not be so surprised to know that I WAS the one who called Child Protective Services on her and that craptacular family. I didn't just do it because young kids live in that house, where prescription drugs are misused and pot is smoked and cocaine is snorted. I do believe their young and stupid mom can protect them to some degree. I did it to get your sister back for feeding you your poison. I did it as a silent message telling her to stop! You can't start up with that stuff again. YOU just CAN'T.

It shook all of us. Everyone was so mad at Sister and me. They thought we just dropped communication to be assholes. They thought 'we abandoned our mother when she needed us'. They didn't even know the half of it. And they didn't call to get our side, they just listened to yours. The druggies side. Who does that? But you did what every junkie does, you manipulate and feed the story to suite your needs. To get your desired effect. And you succeeded. They thought the worst. And you let them. Knowing all along what you had done. You were so deep in your own lie, you believed it yourself. You couldn't let them know, while they were hand feeding you, taking care of you, paying your bills, giving you shelter in their homes that you were out doing drugs with their money. I don't know I would risk that free ride either.

Weeks went by, months, you were assumed not to be in attendance at Sister's wedding. That was your penalty for not coming clean. For refusing the drug test. Which just answered our question. I know, I know....your new job had you do one. But we explained the piss test wasn't good enough. We needed the follicle. We needed to see just what you had been up. Your bipolar was in rare form. And you know it is almost impossible to get that shit under control when you are using. But you know hoe to tell when a junkie is lieing? Their lips are moving.

Sister threw you a bone. But you forgot that one of your girls learned your power of manipulation. I played you. I promised whatever you told sister I would never know. But I never told Sister that. She knew the ramifications of me knowing you used again. That shit freaks me out. I can't even watch drug use in movies. But, just like I knew would happen-Sister called right after you hung up....and she said you came clean. You told her you had used. You were scared to tell the truth because we would be mad. We wouldn't trust you. Now, now we all have to make nice. Play fair. And act like nothing ever happened. Like a good little picture of perfection family does. Meanwhile, in all those posed and unposed pictures by the wedding photographer charging a King's Ransom, we will all smile our composed smiles. We will laugh and cry at the wedding. We will dance and drink. But all the while, I will know. You sold your daughters down the fucking river to save your own pathetic ass. You let us take the fall, you let them think the worst of us-all the while you know what you had done and what a drug test would show. You let us down, you let YOUR OWN CHILDREN TAKE THE FALL for YOU. Do you hear how fucked up that is?

The Fender Bender In The Corner

Posted by Maggie, Dammit.


When I got the call at 2am that my brother was crouched broken and drunk in his garage with a loaded gun pressed to his temple, my first thoughts were of you. Where the hell were you? How did you manage to sleep through these precious wretched hours while your husband was imploding? Why did he turn to his friends, these friends who called me at 2am, instead of to you, his wife? But I murdered those thoughts as quickly as they came because there just wasn't time. I had to keep both of you alive, I had to figure out what to do, I had to weigh the images in my mind of him shooting himself, of him shooting you, of the police shooting him, and decide which one I could live with. I had to make decisions from the deserted island of my living room floor, and I failed. I froze, and I failed, and though someone else stepped in and saved us all, the business of hating myself was enough to keep me busy and distracted for the next few months and so I did not think about you at all.

That was this summer, a lifetime ago, and the changes I've seen in him are nothing short of miraculous. He has quit drinking. He willingly takes his medication. The boy who would speak to no one now confides weekly in a therapist, and the boy who could not read until high school writes for hours in stacks of weathered notebooks. He seems so steady now he's almost unrecognizable to me, a likable stranger I plan to get to know if I can just baby-step through this trail of broken trust and old pain but, you? You are leaving him.

You're not just leaving him, you're slipping responsibility like a cocktail dress from your angular frame. You are pouring wine in front of him, you are poking at fresh wounds. You and your crazy family are searching for new problems, new mysterious ailments he must possess, and blaming his non-cooperation in his own witch-hunt as proof he doesn't want this marriage. It makes me question everything I have ever known about you, everything you have ever said.

When my brother was a train-wreck nobody noticed you, the fender bender in the corner. Now he is mending and you can't handle it, your own scratches and dings and decades-old mold coming to light. And it's not just the distraction from your own brand of crazy, it's something more, something sinister, and I don't think you mean it and I don't think you see it but it's there, and it's real, and it's this: It's like you need him to be sick, like it's feeding something in you. Without it, you starve.

I have waited 30 years to know my brother. You can leave him if you want to, I'm staying right here by his side.

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.

It's My Shower, And I'll Cry If I Want To

Posted by Anonymous.

What is it that is so hard about sending out and responding to baby shower invitations?

We moved out of the suburbs and into the Big City so that my husband wouldn't have to commute to work. It was the best decision for our family, but... and isn't there always a but... we may as well have moved to Mars. It's been a rough transition, and the loneliness is killing me.

The good news is, I now live within a few miles of several extended family members. Family members who I don't really know because our parents only met once a year for Christmas dinner, if that. It's a chance to get connected to them, if they'll have me.

The bad news is, my friends have always been my extended family, and now they're just out of reach. Just far enough away that I'm not part of their weekly routine anymore. For the most part, they haven't called, or emailed to ask how the move was... which is fine, that's life sometimes. But it hurts that they're not answering my efforts to go visit them, "Oh, HI! I got your messages, I /meant/ to call you back."

It *is* a lot of work to drive all the way out here to visit me and grab a cup of coffee. I am just out of reach. I've spent the last few lonely months thinking "maybe they'd come visit if there was something big like a party." People like babies, right? A family member offered to throw me a baby shower. It was so gracious of her. I can't express how grateful I am that she's making an effort to do something sweet for a relative she barely knows.

But, she invited my mother. And where my mother goes, so does all of my mother's drama. My father doesn't know about the last three months of drama. My mother lives for excuses to visit my father. I insisted that this party be women-only, because this should be about me, and not about my parent's failed marriage. My mother fought me on it, and tried to go behind my back to get our relatives to override me, because she wants an excuse to get my father to come visit her.

My husband is such a guy. When I started freaking about about the invitation list, he says "It's your party, invite who you want, don't invite who you don't want." HA! Ever the fix-it-man, he's even offered to rent me a place to throw a separate Girls Night, so I can see who I want.

Since this has become my mother's party, I couldn't invite my step mom, my dad's best friend (who helped raise me), or anyone else from my dad's town, the town where I grew up. Word travels fast in a small town. If my dad were to find out that I invited her, or her, or her or her, but not my step-mom, my dad would be livid. So none of those people who are part of my world were invited.

My father has already caught on that there is a shower that my step-mom wasn't invited to. He called and dropped some not-subtle hints to find out what was going on. I wasn't /really/ lying when I passed it off as "/Mom's Family /is throwing me a shower," even thought that's not how it was meant to turn out. He seemed to accept that. Or, at least he dropped the subject.

To make it worse, my mother can't attend a party without her sister and her sister's Ten Person Party Posse. I put my foot down about not inviting my father, and not making the party coed, so I had to concede to The Posse. The Party Posse is just that, an instant party: just add a buffet table. But it's not my party. It's a posse of distant relatives I see once a year, and have nothing in common with. The Party Posse is my mother's idea of a good time. Fine, whatever. Except that The Party Posse is so huge that there's no room in the house to invite *my posse.*

A month ago the shower invitations went out, to a dozen members of The Party Posse, and a few of my friends. My friends haven't responded, or have apologized when I've asked if they could come. Three weeks ago, my mother's sister found out about an unequally divided inheritance, and started pushing my mother to share the wealth. Of course, there was a huge phone-war that isn't resolved yet. The first time they will see each other is today, at my shower. I'm alternately bracing for a fight, and wondering if anyone from the Posse will even show up. I'm worried and embarrassed because my cousin ordered and paid for a huge pile of catered food that may go wasted. Either way, I feel empty and drained, and now I don't want to go to the shower.

There are ten people who I cling to, ten people who I've been desperate to see, and to share this pregnancy with. Ten people who would have /loved /to be invited to my first baby shower. Ten people who I trust to give me sound advice about having my first baby. Ten people who I've been desperately lonely for. Ten people who have been just out of reach. Ten people who know me well enough to understand how lonely I am, and how my mother and The Posse effect me. Ten people who I couldn't invite because my mother and The Party Posse, my father and the inheritance have taken over. I feel alone, even though I'll be surrounded by people today.

My husband said, "It's your party, invite who you want, don't invite who you don't want." Part of me wonders if I should have invited everyone except my mother. If that would have had more or less fall out.

This is my baby shower for my first baby. This was supposed to be the last thing /about me/ before life starts revolving around the baby. I feel robbed. Today, I'll be faking it, pretending not to miss my posse, keeping up appearances for everyone else's benefit. Again. Anything less would be ungracious.

Dear House Guest

Posted by Anonymous

Dear House Guest,

I’m not a person who thinks this about kids very often, at all. But. Your daughter is a brat. I won’t have her pouting and ruining the fun for everyone else while you are here for the next two weeks, so yes, I will be continuing to say things to her to let her know that her behavior is unacceptable. Sorry you don’t like it – but really? I can’t believe that among all our extended family, nobody says anything to her or to you about it. You’re in my house now – so I’m saying something. My kid has started copying her pouting, victim, whiney, everybody-is-to-blame, zero-responsibility, I’m-the-center-of-the-universe thing, and I’m just not going to have it. By the time you leave, she’ll at least know what she can’t get away with in this household. And hopefully I’ll set an example for you, her mother, of what she can’t get away with in the real world.

I also wanted to talk to you about that wishy-washy thing you do when I ask you what you’d like to do each day. This vacation is for you, not for me. Just answer the fucking question, ok? Don’t leave it up to me to guess what you would like to see and do in the big city. When I give you a list of 10 options, pick one, and we’ll go with it. If you do that crap again today, we’re going to stay home. I’ll sit right here and work, and you can watch TV, entertain my kids, do my laundry, make dinner for everyone and then clean up afterwards! That sounds like an awesome vacation to me. That would be my choice. So, seriously. Fucking pick something.

One last thing, as long as I’m writing a letter to you that you are never going to read. I fully understand that it is 8am right now, where you live, and that you went to bed really early last night. But it is 6am here. So shut the fuck up.

When I came out and asked you to please not clink your spoons like that and to keep your voices down, because it had just woken me up and I didn’t want it to wake up the kids – and you said, “There were no spoons! You imagined it! Go back to sleep!” That shit was not funny. At all. I tried to go to back to sleep, but I was too pissed off at your non-funny “joke.”

Then, when I came out to get a cup of coffee too, and you cracked another covert joke about how I looked like I needed some sleep? Not funny. When I said, “That’s really not funny, the “humor” is actually pissing me off, so I can’t sleep.” And you looked all horrified? That’s nothing compared to what I wanted to say to you. So suck it up and be happy that I didn’t tell you to fuck off.

In about half an hour, I’m probably going to feel like I should apologize to you, in order to keep the peace and let you have a pleasant vacation. And I’ll do that. Then I’ll decide what you want to do today, and I’ll pack us all a lunch and load up the van so we can go. I’m a nice person, see? I take responsibility for the feelings of those around me. I don’t think I’m the center of the universe. I don’t whine and act like a victim. I don’t pout and blame other people for the situations I find myself in. Oh wait. This sounds familiar. I’m beginning to see why your daughter gets away with all that.

Ten more days!

Love,

Me

My So-Called Life

Posted by Anonymous.

I hate my life.

I’m very aware of how teenaged that sounds, and I probably need a slap upside the head for thinking it and two for typing it. And that is exactly why this is the only time I’ve ever said it to anyone.

It looks good on paper. I’m 21, in a major university, and working a part time job that by all accounts, I should be in love with. I live with two considerate roommates, and I live in a good area of my city. I’ve got two parents who would do anything for me. Where’s the downside, right?

I. Hate. It.

I’m miserable being this far away from my parents, my family and my friends. I miss having that support system at my fingertips, and physically there. My parents are always a phone call away, but it’s not the same as a hug from my dad. In 21 years of life, I have never felt so alone. It’s ridiculous of me, because that family is not gone, but it’s not there physically and I don’t belong anymore.

There are days I can’t bring myself to drag myself out of bed, shower and get to class. I just can’t. I want to but I just can’t. There are three things that inevitably follow that: me crying, me feeling absolutely numb, or me eating more junk food than any person should. The repercussions of the first two aside, the third is resulting in weight gain. I’m not at the point of obese yet, but it’s getting to the point of chubby around the midsection, which (call me vain, if you’d like) isn’t helping with the self esteem levels.

I’m also not a typical university student. I don’t drink to excess (I have never been drunk in my life; believe it or not), I’ve never smoked or tried any drugs. That puts me on the outside of the university social life right from the get go. Everything revolves around alcohol, so it seems, and when that’s happening, I’m uncomfortable and desperately want to leave. I last all of 5 minutes in a bar before I’m searching out emergency exits to make my escape.

The last three years of my life have been, by far, my least favourite. I feel like I’m drowning and I don’t know how much longer I can stay above the surface. I’m not a crier, but I’ve burst into tears too many times without knowing what caused it. I’ve spent too many hours feeling terrible and not knowing why, and I’ve had far too many mornings where getting out of bed and keeping up the happy public face is impossible.

In my mind, I’ve got the perfect picture of where I want my life to go, and it’s the one thing that keeps me going. I want to be a teacher and it’s what's keeping me in university. I want to get married, have children and create my own family where I belong. But that dream is slipping further and further away, and I don’t think I can keep swimming.

My Secret Past

Posted By Anonymous.

Alright, I have to confess. A few months ago I was searching something online and came across a link that lead to another link to lead to a blog. Then I was hooked. I clicked on blogs after blogs. How I wished I could do this. How I wished I could go online and air my secrets. Then just today I stumbled across this site. It took me no time at all to know I was going to post.

I know you are suppose to look around first and make sure what you are about to post will not offend anyone. (I think you are?) But my fingers are aching to type. To type this secret. To get it out there. So here it is.

I am a mommy. I am a mother of a 20 year old son, a 17 year old son and a daughter that is 14. I have been married happily at times for 18 years. And I also was a high paying escort for 9 of those years. Yes that is a pretty name for prositute or charging whore. ( I just had to pause to read that statement. Just to see it on this screen is sending mixed emotions already)

I stopped escorting 2 years ago. I thought everything would fall back to its place. But I was wrong. Very wrong. Don't get me wrong, when I was escorting I made sure my kids had EVERYTHING. All of my money went on them and my husband. And yes, before you all ask he knew. I guess I felt guilty for doing it so I couldn't even imagine spending it on me. We went on trips, had the best clothes, toys etc. But it was at a cost. The cost being, I lost myself. At first I loved LOVED the attention. To know that guys thought I was so hot that they would actually pay me high dollars just to spend time with me. When in reality, all they cared about was getting sucked, fucked or whatever.

When I turned a trick, I was under a different name, a different personality. I made her up the first time I went to a shady motel and met some guy. A nameless, faceless guy. I had the whole story of my life made up. If they asked, I had this life down pat. I knew what to say. Somehow my mouth would open and out would pour the lies. I was great at it. Never got mixed up on my stories once. But the problem is that I lived being her for some many years that my true self started to fade. And pretty soon I didn't even realize the voice that came out or the face that I saw as I past the mirror. I was the life of the party though. Everyone wanted to spend time with 'what's her face." But now that I turned my life around and started on a new track.... I am finding it so hard to find me again. And if truth be told, sometimes I miss the chick that turned those tricks. She was fun. She knew how to have fun, she was always happy, she knew what to say and how to say it. She was confident and made you feel at home. Now I am stuck with just me and not very happy with just me. I find now I don't know what to say to people and I don't feel so confident.

I could go on and on with this story. But I just wanted to get this out there. I know many will judge, many will have their mouths open, many will want to know more details. All is fine. I have lived with all of those for years. I am really not wanting anything. All I wanted to do was to get my fingers busy and type this secret.

Signed,

Hoping to find my true self soon.

Cheat

Posted by Anonymous.

I cheated on my husband 4 days ago.

Two weeks before our 10th anniversary.

We agreed before we got married that if one of us cheated, it would be the end of our relationship. As many times as I've said that I'm going to run away from home, I can't bring myself to do it. I realize that I could be in a lot worse situation - at least he doesn't drink, or beat me, or run around with other women. But I'm tired of being last on his list. Everyone and everything else in his life comes before me and the things that need to be done at home. If his one of his buddies calls or one of his parents call, he will drop everything he is doing and run right over to the house. But I can't get him to run the vacuum, help me keep the house clean, walk the dogs, fix the dryer - NOTHING. And if it isn't his family or friends taking precedence, it's that damn computer game that he plays during every free moment that he has. Even if he only has 15 minutes before he leaves for work, instead of spending that time with me, he's out there shooting with his online 'friends'. When I fall asleep in the chair in the evening while he plays with his online 'friends', he tells me that's why I don't get any attention. It's all my fault, all the time. If only I'd stay awake, then he would be happy to take me to bed - when he's done playing. He tells me that I don't understand how difficult I am to wake up. Jeebus, man, I'm freakin' tired after working all day and then coming home and having to take care of everything that needs to be done here. Once I'm asleep, I don't want to be bothered until the alarm goes off the next morning. Maybe if you'd pay some attention to me and engage me in some conversation instead of ignoring me, I wouldn't be so prone to falling asleep early all the time. Maybe if you weren't just one more thing that needs to be taken care of around here, I wouldn't feel the need to seek out someone who will pay attention to me.

Over the past 16 years, he has had and lost his fair share of jobs. After the last job loss and no good prospects in sight, we made the decision for him to go to college and take an accelerated program where he could earn a Bachelor's Degree in 3 years. We're now in year 7 of that 3 year plan and there doesn't seem to be any end in sight. He's got a job, but I'm still paying all the bills, including his car payment. I have made so many personal and financial sacrifices in order to help him succeed and he doesn't appreciate any of it. I supported him financially the first couple years he was in school so that he could concentrate on getting good grades. We lost our place to live and I had to stay with his dad for a short time. All the while, he got to stay in nice hotels because there was no student housing available. Even though he knew how miserable I was being in that house with his father, he still wouldn't get a job to support himself so that I could put my money towards a new place to live. I ended up taking out a loan to cover my moving expenses just to escape from that hell. Then, when he did finally get a job, it was a 3rd shift position and that was his excuse for his grades falling. There won't be any children because it's too embarrassing [his exact words] for him to go to the fertility doctor and see if he is part of the problem. But it was okay for me to undergo every embarrassing and awful test and procedure out there to see if I was the one with the problem. And he's content to let me be the reason why we can't have kids. One more thing to add to the list of things that are all my fault. Some days I feel like such a failure as a woman because I can't bear him children, but I realize now that being unable to have kids is a blessing in disguise. It will be a lot easier to decide who gets the dogs than who gets the kids.

So, now I've hooked up with an old lover. I've only kicked it with him the one time and I don't know if it will happen again. The sex was weird, awkward, and boring. The whole encounter was surreal and totally lacked any semblance of passion. He laid on me, wiggled around for a minute or two, then jumped up off me, apologized for 'going early', said something about needing a hot shower, and left the room. I laid there on his bed for a moment and wondered what the hell just happened. Then I realized that he had 'gone early' on me [ew] and I really could use a hot shower myself. However, I had to make do with a quick toilet paper whorebath in the guest bathroom and hoped to make it home in time to get a real shower before my husband came home. This guy wouldn't look me in the eye afterwards, kept finding little things to keep him preoccupied so that he didn't have to deal with me, and the day ended with us both reminding each other to be careful on the road as we went our separate ways. It was all so very strange. Not at all what I imagined. I really don't know if I want there to be a next time. It's a lot of work to get out of the house and keep the story straight so that I can stay out late when my husband is used to me always being around and never going out. And I'm not sure it's worth all the work.
A really strange result of this encounter is that I have been insatiable all week. I have had to have my husband again and again and again. Of course he doesn't mind, but I wonder if it is all because deep down, I feel guilty or remorseful. I don't feel like I feel either one of those, but maybe deep deep down they're there. I know that he thinks sex makes everything better. Am I just subconsciously trying to keep him happy so that he doesn't suspect anything? I wonder if in some strange way, this encounter with the old lover showed me the true value of what I have at home and that I have to keep trying to make it work - no matter what.

Do I Need A Little Patience, Or...?

Posted by Anonymous.

My hubz has been off work since mid-May.

At first it was okay... even nice! But now the money is getting low, my patience is wearing thin... he NEEDS to go back to work! We've been married for eleventy-hundred years (okay... 28) and he has always managed to take care of his family, so I probably shouldn't worry... but I am FREAKING OUT! He has spent the last month sitting on the couch watching movie after movie. Once a week he files his unemployment stuff online and every once in awhile he might check his e-mail, but there has been no effort to find a job. I find myself losing respect for him. I'm noticing that I don't look at him with the same love & adoration as I have for the past eleventy-hundred years.

Am I being too picky? Is it just MY problem? I don't know! I have no one to talk to about it. Ugghh! Some times I feel like I just want to run away.

What I Am, What I Never Was

Posted by Anonymous.

I'm a lesbian. Did you know I was? Can you tell? I have the perfect life to you, to everyone. But I'm not perfect or at least not to you or my husband or to my child. I'm a lesbian and no one knows but you. I love someone I can never have and am loved by someone who will never receive the full love he deserves. My whole life is a mess. It's all a lie and why? Because of you. Your judgment, your need to control, your love.

I want you to be proud of me. I want you to accept me. I resent you and yet worship you. I tell you you're the one that needs help but I need help.

Mom, I'm not what you want me to be. I never was.

Fat

Posted by Anonymous.

I love my mother. She understands me better than anyone in the world, because we are the same. She calls me her heart

About eight years ago, I had to tell my mother that I had an eating disorder. I pulled away from her. I didn’t want her to take the news so hard, so I tried to be distant and mean so that maybe she wouldn’t feel it.

I felt embarrassed and guilty. I tried to make it about me.

She approached me, crying. “It’s my fault.” I showed her anger, told her not to be ridiculous and to get her own problem. Stop meddling with mine.

I lied to her. It, of course, was my fault that I was not taking in enough calories. It was my fault that I was throwing up on the hour. It was my fault that I was costing my parents thousands of dollars in therapy bills. It was my fault.

But it was about her, too.

I can remember the first time my mother called herself fat in front of me. I was 4. She had just had my sister, and was depressed. She cried. I understood then that being fat was one of the worst things in the world. It was to be feared and hated. Skinny people were worthwhile. Fat people were not.

I grew up scared to mention anything about my mother’s appearance, even if I thought she looked pretty. I knew what the answer would be: “Oh, my rolls are showing. My butt looks big.” Though she always told me I was beautiful, talented, smart, loved and worthwhile, I knew differently. I, after all, was just like her.

And I felt those feelings festering inside myself. And I hated myself for being weak like her.

I don’t have an eating disorder anymore. I told myself I’d had enough, and I am very careful to eat well, exercise and enjoy everything I denied myself.

The eating comes easily, but the fear still lurks inside.

I cried this morning because I gained five pounds in a month. I just started a new birth control pill. I knew this could happen, and it should not bother me. These things always straighten themselves out.

I am healthy, strong and beautiful. I live with a man I love, and who loves me always. We have a nice home, jobs, family. And I cried over five measly pounds.

I’m scared to get married to the man I love, the man I have lived with for nearly three years, because I’m scared to have children. I want them desperately, but I don’t want to see the click in my daughter’s eyes the first time I slip up and she, too, equates fat with worthless.

I refuse to let this carry on into another generation of beautiful, talented, smart, loved and worthwhile women. But I don’t know how to go about changing. Yet.

The victories come slowly. The first time I looked at myself naked without judging. The first time I bought a swimsuit without sobbing. The first time I went months without weighing myself.

But there’s always the accompanying sweetness of knowing that, maybe, the next one will be the last first time.

Scared

Posted by Anonymous.

My husband is a loving, caring person, who spreads himself very very thin to try and provide for everyone who more or less depends on him: myself, his daughter, his sick father, his family, work.

A few weekends ago we started talking about this daughter, as she is going through a phase of crying for just about anything, and doing a lot of emotional blackmail to get attention. She is six and when she is with us she is the center of attention, as she is only with us 4 days a month. We try and make that time as enjoyable as possible, and we all get on great and have a good time together. However, the crying is there every day, for one thing or another, normally "small" things (like spilling her juice, or the sound of cars on the street making her afraid) that is, things that have always been there before but did not ensue tears till now).

During our talk, I realised for the first time that my husband is afraid of this ex-wife, for the simple reason that she has custody of their daughter, and that she has the power to hurt him (like she has done many times in the past). She constantly uses her priviledge to hurt my husband, as she knows his daughter means the world to him. She has done it before, even to the detriment of her own daughter's emotional health, so she can do it again. And he is becoming one of those divorced parents that I always criticised: saying Yes to everything and spoiling his daughter just so that the girl has nothing to say to her mum that could put his rights in jeopardy.

I have set limits to the girl as it's my life and my house as well, and she is a very good kid in general, she loves me dearly and as I said we get on very very well. But, as the father, my opinion is that he should be educating and preparing her for the world, and not spoiling her like he is, specially not due to fear that his ex will do something against him.

I just wish there was something I could do to help him in this situation but I don't see a way. It's a long way until his daughter is old enough to make her own decisions and to see through her mother's actions, and I'm not sure how he will manage this long-term.

And I also fear for how our (future) children might be affected by this. I don't agree with how he brings his child up and my children will be brought up differently, and I wonder if this will cause issues among the siblings.

I don't know anybody in my situation who I could talk to. I've read many books on the subject, but nothing has enlightened me so far.

I love him dearly and I want to help him if I can.

Broken

Posted by Anonymous.

My dear mother-in-law,

I don't know that you realized this weekend how much your cavalier comments regarding the abuse that I endured as a child have wounded me. Your flip responses and unwillingness to hear what I was saying have thrown me into a tailspin, causing me to recall many of the painful, humiliating, terrorizing events of my childhood. I feel that I need to clarify exactly what I mean when I say that I was abused, so that you can make your own decision whether or not to believe me.

This weekend you repeated to me, multiple times, that you assumed that my father was "only" verbally abusive. While "only" being verbally and emotionally abusive may seem like a trivial matter to you, the fact is that those are the wounds that never seem to heal. The bones that have been broken and the bruises that I've had are long since gone, but I deal with the after effects of the emotional abuse to this day. While you may have convinced yourself that I was "only" verbally abused, I can recall several occasions where I discussed with you about exactly what my childhood was like and described the abuse that I endured. The fact that you don't recall these conversations forces me to believe that you did not take my history seriously, and dismissed it. If you once again choose to disregard my truths, I'm afraid that for the best interest of my marriage and my child, I will have as little to do with you as possible. I simply cannot tolerate your type of negativity and close-mindedness – I have worked too hard to build a happy, productive life.

For your edification, I will give you a few examples, and a bit of history:

My very first memory is of my father lunging across our kitchen table to try and strangle my mother. She had made some sort of financial mistake, and written the wrong number in a ledger in pen. He pulled out a large clump of her hair – she never even fought back. I was sitting on the floor, playing with the dog. I couldn't have been more than two and a half when this happened. Shortly thereafter, his attention and anger shifted toward me. I bore the brunt of his abuse until I left home at 18.

In another of my earliest memories, Dad had made me cereal for lunch. He was taking care of me that day, because he was in college and preschool was expensive. I was eating the cereal out of a bowl that stuck onto the table by means of a big suction cup on the bottom. While trying to get the last of my Cheerio's out of the bowl, I accidentally upended it, spilling the milk all over the kitchen floor. Dad made me lick the milk up off the floor, telling me that I had to get every drop or he would beat me. He then made me spend the rest of the afternoon crawling on all fours like the "animal I was." He didn't like messes, you see.

When I was in elementary school and had gotten in trouble for something (I don't remember what) Dad forgot to hit me where my clothes would cover the bruises. I lipped off, and he hit me with a balled fist. I got a horrible black eye – I had a laceration on my eyelid and my eye itself almost swelled closed. My Mom, who was teaching in the same school as me at the time, told everyone that I had fallen down the steep stairs to our basement. They believed her. I learned a hard lesson that day. Adults were quite willing to believe a story told to make them feel better, at the expense of the well being of a child. Of course, I was too scared to tell anyone what really happened. Sadly, it seems to me that you, too, would rather invent for me a happier childhood than the one that fate dealt me.

The day that I was graduating from high school, I spent the afternoon home with my father and grandmother. Dad decided that I absolutely had to change the oil and filters on my car before he'd allow me to go to my graduation. I was graduating 8th in a class of four hundred and something kids, and receiving several awards for academic excellence. He said that he "didn't give a fuck what I'd done in school, that I would always be an arrogant little bitch, and he was going to teach me a lesson." He did. He knocked me around, pushing me to the ground in the garage and shoving my face underneath the car. I somehow managed to change the oil and the filters and still make it with minutes to spare to the graduation ceremony, though I remember still having grease on my hands. It was a hard day for him. It's always been difficult for him to see me succeed where he'd failed, and he dropped out of high school at 17. All I could think about was how the end of high school and my childhood meant that I could get away, far, far away, from him.

I thought that leaving home would be the answer to all of the problems that I had with my father. I had always baited him when he was angry and spoiling for a fight, because, quite frankly, I was the only person in the family who could endure his wrath. I always figured that if I diverted his rage towards me, my mother and sister would be safe. And it worked, until I left home. As soon as I left, he turned his abuse more towards them, and I was powerless to do anything about it from thousands of miles away.

I accepted plane tickets from him to come home from college over spring break; despite the fact that I knew it was a bad idea. By this point in my life, I realized that everything he'd ever given me came with strings attached. But I was desperate to see my mom and sister, to make sure that they were doing all right, so I came home. Within a few days of my (two week) vacation, he decided that I'd broken his computer. And when I couldn't fix it quickly enough, he threw me into a wall, then another, then a chair. When I reached out to hit him back (by this time I was in therapy and realized that I could not let him abuse me and retain what shreds of dignity I had left), he grabbed my wrist. I heard it snap. I got in my car and called a friend from the the out-of-state college that I was attending who was in town visiting high school friends at the local University. She told me to go to the doctor, and I did. I had 3 broken ribs and a hairline fracture in my wrist. While this was the first time that I'd had x-rays to show that my ribs were broken, I remembered having the exact same pain many times as a child. The x-rays showed that my ribs had many previously healed fractures. I can't say that I was surprised. I spent the rest of my break staying with a stranger (a friend of a friend) in the dorms, because I didn't have anywhere else to go. I swore then that I would never let him hurt me again.

The next year, I returned to my hometown to attend the state school there. I knew that, academically, it was a poor decision. I had a 3.95 GPA and a great scholarship at my out-of-state school – it wasn't as though I'd had any trouble succeeding there. But the suspense of worrying about my family day in and day out was wearing on me, and I made the decision after the spring break incident that I needed to be closer to my sister. At that time, she was only 10 years old. I wanted to be able to provide that safe haven for her if she ever needed it, the one that I'd never had. So I rented an apartment with another student, rather than moving into the dorms. If she needed a place to stay, I wouldn't be allowed to take her in with me in the dorms. An apartment had no such restrictions.

At school in my hometown that fall, I met your son. I was, when I met him, prickly at best. I was just learning how to live on my own, and dealing with many more issues than most other kids my age. Nevertheless, his kindness and generosity helped convince me that every man was not necessarily out to hurt me. Quite simply put, he restored my faith in the opposite sex, and taught me that the way I was brought up was the NOT way it had to be. I fell in love with his kindness first, because I was unaccustomed to a person who genuinely cared for someone else without expecting something in return. Without feeling the need to hurt them. Until I met your son, I had thought that pain and love were inseparable, at least in my life. I credit his upbringing with the majority of his kindness – you should be proud of him. He is a truly good person, in a world where such character is increasingly rare.

That brings me back to why I'm writing you this letter. Because, you see, I have worried for years that I would not be able to break the cycle of abuse. And now that we are expecting a child, it weighs increasingly on me. I know in my heart that I would not intentionally hurt my child, but I still fear it. That was what I was trying to express at breakfast the other day. But you chose to misinterpret what I said, to twist it. I don't know if it was your ignorance that prompted your comment about "having to set my child's bones" or some sort of hubris, but I want you to know that it was out of line. That it hurt me deeply, because to me, that comment and those that followed proved to me that you either never listened to my story, or have chosen not to hear it.

With a child on the way, I will again be in a position where I need to protect someone other than just myself. I will not allow anyone else to again twist my childhood to make it appear something it was not. I lived in a house where irrational anger and unexpected tirades ruled. I learned to cover bruises with makeup before I was 10. I have risen from that upbringing to become a generally positive, productive, successful adult. Your son has played the major role in my transformation. He, too, has sacrificed so that we could live near my sister and create a home for her, should she need it. He, too, has deflected my father's anger many a time.

I know that it is difficult for you to reconcile my relationship my family with how I feel about the abuse. Simply put, I abhor the sin but love the sinner. While I have managed to forgive everyone involved, I still would not trust my father not to hurt me or someone else again. That isn't ignoring the abuse, that's just being responsible. He has proven over and over again that he is incapable of controlling his anger, and it is only prudent for me to take the appropriate precautions to protect myself and those that I love.

By denying the conditions that made me who I am, you are ignoring what I consider to be one of my greatest achievements. I stood (close) by and bore witness to my father's abuse – to the extent that I was able, I did not allow him to pass that abuse on to my sister as he had to me. I have protected my mother whenever I could, despite the fact that she was, at best, complicit in most of the abuse. I have been there for them. My mother and sister have known that I would do everything in my power to protect them. My sister always knew that if she wanted me to, I would sue for custody of her. For the last eight years, she has had a safe place to go, with strong locks on the doors. She had a haven to run to when he was being irrational and she was afraid. And she needed that safe place, many times. She never had to sleep in a car when it was below freezing outside, as I did. I am proud of that. I think that your son is, too.

In the interest of maintaining a relationship with you, I can't allow you to insist that I am lying about my childhood. I can't allow you to twist my reality to fit the mold that you would like all families to fit. It is simply too important to me that I remember, so that I can bear witness against it should I ever face that demon again in my life. So that I can stand up for others who do not have the resources or fortitude to stand up for themselves. You can choose either to accept my less-than-perfect upbringing, or not. But if you continue to dispute me on it every time it comes up, I will have to have as little to do with you as possible, for my own self-preservation. I still fall apart when these memories are called, unbidden, from the deepest recesses of my mind. I have been a mess for days. I am hoping that clarifying what I have lived through will help you to be more compassionate, and less aggressively argumentative when I discuss such things around you. If you can't handle it, I understand that, too. But it means that you will play a seriously limited role in my life, and that of my child.

Sincerely,

Your daughter-in-law

Tears And Fears

Posted by Anonymous.

I have a confession. I cry. A LOT. And I'm angry.

My husband and I are trying to get pregnant. Like most people, I thought it might take 3 or 4 months max, and that was 9 months ago. In the mean time, everyone around me is getting pregnant. I've been to more baby showers in the past 9 months than I've been to in my 28 years of living. I get angry every time that someone else makes their announcement. I break down every time another baby is born. It makes me nauseous to hear that they got pregnant the first month that they tried. These people are close friends and family. I'm supposed to be happy for them. Part of me is happy for them, but the other part wants to steal their baby and run! (Only kidding. I haven't gone that far over the edge!)

My big sister tried for 3 months and got pregnant right as I started trying. 3 months....and she thought she was having serious problems. Went to a specialist and everything. She's having her baby tomorrow. I've had 16 breakdowns in anticipation...and that's just been this afternoon. Her c-section is scheduled for early tomorrow morning, and I'm expected to be at the hospital right after work. How am I supposed to do that when all that I really want to do is curl up in bed, cry for a few hours, screw my husband, and go to sleep?

Did I mention that I'm terrified, too? 3 more months and my doctor will officially stamp me "INFERTILE"!! What does that mean, anyway?