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?

The Ring

Posted by Anonymous

It all came flooding back to me when I was cleaning out my car. In the glove box, under napkins and expired insurance cards, was a ring. I literally gasped when I found it. I thought I had lost it. There would be years that the ring would come to mind and I would clean my jewelry box out thinking that I might find it this time. After my unsuccessful searches I would put the thought away with the notion that it was better that I didn't have it anymore. But, now I have it again. Now it IS in my jewelry box. And with it has come so many memories.

I can't remember what year it was that he challenged me to try and slip that ring off his finger. He said that if I could do it I could keep it. With very little tugging I had the ring in my possession. I think he wanted me to have it. It is nothing special, simple in design, with his initals stamped on the front. It fit on his pinky and he told me he had owned it since he was a boy. He didn't demand it back, so I kept it.

He and I were never officially an item. That's what made our relationship so unique. It spanned nearly five years and yet we were never truly together. We had moments, sometimes they were stolen moments. He terrified me with the things he made me feel. I didn't understand them. And I still don't, not fully. He made me feel fragile and naïve, and yet so very beautiful and empowered. He would talk to me about how beautiful the arch of my back was or how much he loved my belly button. He would kiss me slowly, with reverence, as if he could freeze time and make that moment go on forever. He cherished me as a woman, before I had even really come into my own. He made my body hum, but he did not make my heart sing.

Now, I'm with a wonderful man. He has my heart completely and loves me without limitations. He cherishes me as a wife and as a friend. And although I do not miss the man that gave me that ring, I sometimes miss the way he made me feel.

I am thinking about sending his ring back to him. It's been over 10 years since we have even seen each other and he has a wife of his own now. Wouldn't that be the right thing to do? I don't want to cause problems or have un-needed questions asked of either him or me from our spouses. That chapter in our lives has long been closed. So, should I send it? Should I keep it? Or should I throw it into the lake and let the fish have it?

Deep, Dark & Dirty - The Follow-Up

Posted by Anonymous. Follow-up to THIS POST.

Today I called the insurance co and they said they cover both inpatient AND outpatient detox at 80%. Although I said I was calling for a friend, they still filed a case under my name - eek! I also called the drug help line , and from the broken English I cold understand, the guy kept saying "Methadone Clinic". However,from the research I have done and what I have seen first hand with other people taking it, I have heard Methadone is just as addictive if not harder to get off of than opiates.

The Husband Deal -
I really do love my husband, and though I have been told over and over how much I deserve better, I just can't bring myself to leave him. Especially because of the kids, although a lot of people say not to, it isn't always necessarily the right thing to do. Hubby and I don't fight very often, he works a lot and when he is here we get along well. (Well just as much as any other couple.) He is great with the kids, and they love him more than anything in the world. Even through all the horrible things he has done, I have handled it. The cheating though, it makes me sad and hate not being able to just have that carefree trusting love you have when you join as one with another soul in marriage. Later on in life I found out my Dad had cheated on my Mom, (and also found out nearly EVERY woman in my life has faced this adultery thing too!) it changed a lot about the way I finally understood a lot of the things about my own child hood and growing up observing my parent's marriage. Who by the way, are STILL married after 43 years. So that along with all the other testimonies I have heard are proof that you can work through adultery, even if it isn't easy.

Back when hubby was in the hospital, so was my Dad for open heart surgery complications. They were both in ICU at the same time, and my Mother and I were very close and helped each other through it. She basically stayed home with all the kids while I hopped between floors watching over both of them for several months. I literally lived there as long as hubby was there, sleeping on a blow up mattress on the floor in the corner. That bothered me a lot too, still having the fresh wounds of the affair and being away from my new baby so much, she refused to nurse just wanting the bottle she had been getting - it killed me. My oldest was 7 but bless his heart, he didn't fully understand. I remember a very intimate conversation I had with my Mom in a waiting room at the hospital one day. She shared with me a lot of her deepest darkest feelings and how her experience with my Dad's affair had always haunted her. Especially during the rough times in their marriage.Also, the times she had to forget everything else and literally take care of him on his death bed. It never goes away but you learn to deal with your past in time.

With MY husband, I do feel this is another way he can control me. Early on in our dating and marriage he was a very over jealous guy. He was always harassing me about where I had been, who I saw, talked to, etc. But he got a lot better about that after a few years as he grew up (we were only 17 & 18 when we married).

Hubby playing the sex game with them is partly my fault because in the beginning it was my way of 1. Originally trying to be the good wife, and make sure I do my job pleasing him so he wont cheat again (I know, it is messed up) and 2. A mask that makes us "even" and makes this problem okay to take most of the negative attention off of the real problem at hand. I know,still messed up.

Hubby said falling into addiction is due to not being mentally strong enough to not let it take over you and it makes you look weak. My honest opinion is it shows strength to even admit you have a problem and be big enough to ask for help! Believe me, if I had the actual ability of growing balls, I would have by now!

I know we have a less than perfect relationship, as most married couples do, but I need to take care of this bigger problem first. Then I will regroup and work on that situation. Right now, just as in the past, I am in NO position to up and leave with the kids and frankly, it would just make things worse right now. For everyone. First things first, I NEED TO GET BETTER!

I have talked several times with one of the commenters above and her words were more than encouraging. (Thank you commenter!) I also called the drug help line anonymously and got a lot of good advice and resources to use locally. Most were methadone clinics, so I am steering clear of that. I went to the Suboxone website and did a search for a local Dr that in certified to write it and can manage my case on a daily basis. I am very hopeful after learning about the Suboxone. Everyone I have talked to about this drug says it is like magic (although I know there is no magic cure), but it takes away the anxiety and cravings which is the part I have had the most trouble dealing with in my past attempts to stop.

I did end up getting more pills over the weekend and just spent 30 minutes breaking them down into smaller increment doses in a daily pill box to taper down (to lessen the withdrawal symptoms) about 5 mg a day until I get to zero, in which that is the time I will go into the Dr to get started on the Suboxone.
I still do not plan on telling my Mom & the rest of the family unless my plan fails and resort to my plan B. My family and the going to rehab would be my plan B.

I've gone through a LOT harder things in my life ALONE and know I have the strength to do this too if I set my mind to it, and this is something I REALLY have to do. There is no other choice and that is what I have made up in my mind. I HAVE TO DO THIS!!! This is the way it HAS to be. I made a plan and I am going to do my damnedest to follow through now that I know there is help waiting for me at the Dr's office after I take my last pill.

As far as all the love and e hugs and support I have received in the comments, I can't thank you all enough for the encouragement and all the kind words! Really, I mean I knew there was a lot of love in the blogosphere but ya'll gave me more than I could have ever hoped for! (With the exception of commenter #30, either you are Dr.Dickhead or you are just the type of cut and dry my way or no way asshatted person that has no hope in anything at all and I REALLY feel sorry for you. If you read my original post, I said that I would NEVER EVER risk my kid's being taken away and I meant that. Also, I have NO car, & NO drivers license so don't worry about me wrecking and hurting anyone. ALSO, like I said originally, I do NOT pass out from these things, they actually give me energy. Really, I'm just glad there was only one of you on the comment box!)

The past 2 days I have read and reread all the internets inspiration and it has given me the courage to take action. I can't thank you all enough and promise I will be back with a success story update in the next month or so to tell! In the meanwhile, please, PLEASE keep me in your thoughts and prayers! I know it won't be a walk in the park, but it is a journey I must take no matter what and just making my plan is the first step. Knowing there is a better life for me and my kids waiting for us is enough to keep me going!

~Anonymous

PS - If anyone wants to talk privately more than the anonymous commenter route, you can reach me at secretmommyblogger@yahoo.com . But PLEASE keep the negativity and hate mail to yourself. Remember, karma is a bitch! And to quote the commenter I have been in contact with: Anyone judging a drug addict ought to try being one!

Dear Tormentor

Posted by Anonymous.

Dear Tormentor,

My husband is your minister, not your slave.
My husband's job is to please God, not you.
My husband is a good man and does not deserve your judgmental diatribes.
Why can't you see the way you make him suffer?
My kind hearted husband has been reduced to weeping by your sharp tongue.
Why do you feel the need to constantly "correct" me?
Who gave you permission to appoint yourself my judge?
If I spoke to you or your husband the way you speak to us you would be devastated and we would be fired.
Why can't we fire you?
If I treated your children the way you treat mine there would be a public outcry against me and you would pummel me into the ground.
Why does no one cry out on behalf of MY children? Why can I not protect my children from you without recrimination?
You are cruel to others in our midst as well. You have destroyed lives. Your husband does your bidding.
And yet no one is willing to stand up to you.
They are afraid of you.
You pretend to love God.
You pretend to be Spiritual.
What you really love is control.
You should be ashamed and yet you feel self-righteous.
Why does my honesty threaten you?
Admitting to imperfection does not make me a bad Christian. It makes me human.
I have been trying for years to be kind to you.
To be gracious in spite of how you hurt us continually.
I have embraced your children and refused to blame them for your mistakes.
I have tried to love you like I KNOW Jesus loves you.
And as a reward we have to leave our home, our job, our friends.
Because of you we have to find a new place to live and work.
We have to go somewhere away from here to give ourselves a chance to heal from the wounds you have inflicted.
Why is one bitter person allowed to determine so much of my future?

Sincerely, your minister's wife.

Fear Of Failure

Posted by Anonymous

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

But. . .

Isn't there always a but?

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

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

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

Rockabye

Posted by Audrey as part of the Mo' Babies Baby Shower.

My favorite memories of my early days with my daughter are the time that she and I spent cuddled in bed, nursing, sleeping, and getting to know each other. I had an unexpected C-Section that left me much less mobile than I had planned. Thankfully, I had help from my husband and my parents, so I was able (and forced!) to take it easy and not do much more than delight in my daughter. Now that we're preparing to get pregnant again, I treasure those moments even more, knowing that any subsequent babies won't get quite the same attention that I was able to give my first-born. I know that I will have as much love for as many children as we have, but I also know that as I am getting to know the next one, there will be a sweet little girl by my side, also taking in every detail of a new arrival.

I also can't get over how much I loved to nurse. I stopped recently, when my daughter was about 16.5 months old. I am not a "nursing Nazi" nor did I think I would make it as long as I did, but there was something so amazing about knowing that I was providing my daughter with those beautiful baby rolls, to know that I had sustained her in my womb for forty-one weeks and that I could still provide that sustenance. I loved to watch her root and when she started to play with my hair while nursing...so sweet! I loved to comfort her and stop her tears by nursing her. As a first-time mom, I didn't always know what my daughter wanted or needed. If all else failed, my boob usually calmed her. Even though we no longer nurse, rocking before bed is still our special time and I know it's because of the hours and hours we spent in the rocker together those first few weeks - maybe even months - of her life.

Rebecca and Kristen: congratulations on the sweet little girls about to enter your lives! I can't wait to hear about your births, your babies, and all of the trials, tribulations, adventures, tears, smiles, and laughter that your daughters will bring with them. Best wishes to you both!!

Beware The MIL With Internet Access. SERIOUSLY

Posted by Anonymous

I didn't expect to like this blogging thing. I figured I'd give it a whirl and abandon it within weeks, as I have countless other hobbies. Writing has never come naturally to me and it didn't seem like it would be a good fit. But, for some reason, it is and I love it. I love having a virtual baby book for my children. I love having a creative outlet and a world wide web of cyber friends. I love it all.

I began my blog mostly as a way to update friends and family on the kids. I figured it was better than sending photo links and long e-mails to people who may or may not care. People could come and go as they please. Sick of my antics? Take a break. Can't get enough of me? Visit every day, numerous times a day. Whatever. Had I known how much I would love this weird little world though, I would have done one major thing differently: I would have remained anonymous. Perhaps I would tell a handful of friends about it, and my husband would be privy to my rantings, but that's it. No aunts, no uncles, no parents, no siblings, no distant cousins, no neighbors, and no old coworkers. Most importantly, no mother in law.

Let me explain: My mother in law and I despise one another to the core have always had a rather strained relationship. We've battled for years and for the sake of my husband and children, finally arrived at an amicable place. Things were going along just hunky-dory. Until the day I blogged about her. If you read my blog, you'd see that I am very sarcastic and poke fun at those I love. My kids... my husband... even my poor dog. Imitation isn't the purest form of flattery, ridicule is. In my world, at least.

I meant it to be funny and light. I thought we were at a place where I could be myself with her and she'd appreciate the humor. I even called her to tell her about it and to make sure she wouldn't be offended. I thought we were cool. Apparently, I was mistaken. Within moments of posting, my husband and I received a profanity filled e-mail from my mother in law. How dare I write about them. I was called vindictive and hurtful and mean. And the letters haven't stopped; from his mother, his 97 year old grandmother and other family members. Letters blaming me for the demise of their totally dysfunctional "perfect" relationship. Letters imploring him to see the light and side with them. Really upsetting letters.

Clearly, the strain is about a whole lot more than my blog, but it's easy to blame everything on a post-- it's there in black and white. They aren't speaking now, and the future is uncertain. In a way, it's pretty damn nice not to have to put on a happy face with people I can't stand. But it came at too big of a cost. My husband and children suffer, and of course that's not worth it. I didn't take the post down though, as I stand by it. I have apologized in vain and refuse to grovel. I meant no harm, and their reaction is the problem here. (And the recipe really is good.) But it wasn't worth it, not at all.

So, my sage advice to you: If you are single, marry an orphan. And if you are married, don't blog about your mother in law. If you are new to blogging, keep yours on the down low for a while, until you figure out who you really want to share it with. It would be much more fun, not to mention therapeutic, if I could honestly write about all of the wacked relationships in my life. I've contemplated taking my blog private, so I could do just that. But I've come to love the attention of strangers and blog buddies too much to abandon them. So, I will remain myself, and stifle some of the words I need to express most. Except today.

(Not so) Open letter to my well-meaning friends and family

Posted by Anonymous


I. GET. IT.

No really, I truly do. I understand exactly how lucky I am and I thank the universe for every single moment with the munchkin, and for every single breath she takes. What part is it that you think I don’t understand? She was born at 25 weeks and weighed one freaking pound!! Do you think maybe I missed that part? Do you think I was sleep walking during the 4 month’s we spent in NICU or that I somehow forgot?? Do you think I just glossed over all the information on future outcomes for children in her circumstances? Maybe you think I don’t look around at the other children at her follow-up appointments and see what could have been? Are you aware that there are still moments when I watch this precious gift sleeping soundly and drift to that dark corner of my mind remembering sitting by that isolette trying so desperately to force this child to take her next breath by willing it - thinking that somehow I could give her the energy to take that next breath and live that next minute…

And now I watch one and a half years later while this beautiful, living breathing child plays and runs around after her brothers. She’s not just living, she’s thriving.

The boys have gone upstairs, maybe to get a game, more likely to get a minute to themselves and she runs after them but is stopped by the gate at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes fill up and her bottom lip starts to quiver. I’m watching her face and waiting for the wailing to begin. Hold on a sec though – she blinks away the tears, her brow furrows, she gets “the look”…you can see her little mind working and the look definitely says “Oh I don’t THINK so” and then she’s yelling “Guys!” at the top of her lungs in that demanding little sister who “knows” that she’s the queen of the universe voice. I try to call her over and she shakes her head “No” and calls again. When her big brother comes running and picks her up over the gate she looks back and her expression definitely says “Ha! Told you so!” then she turns her attention to her brother and starts babbling in a voice that leaves no question that she’s giving him hell for leaving her downstairs in the first place.

It’s just a mundane family sort of moment, one that might even drive me batshit crazy on some days, but as I’m watching her in my mind’s eye the scene is superimposed with the image of that tiny raw, red newborn hooked up to so many machines, and tubes and wires that you could barely see her. I have a feeling that although the nightmare image has faded with time that it will always be there as I watch this amazing child grow, like my own little watermark on her life that only I can see. And I can’t believe that I am privileged to share this little moment with her and that I get to see that little bit of humor peeking through “See Mommy – they’ll do whatever I want” – she honestly thinks it’s funny !

So, like I said. I. GET. IT. More than you could possible know.

But no matter how lucky we are, no matter how many blessed moments we have there are also the more shadowy times.

She’s fallen down and pulled a chair down on top of her and left a bump on her head. She screams, and arches her back, and won’t let me hold her to comfort her. She squirms away from me and crawls to a corner of the sofa and hugs herself into a ball to calm down and I watch with my heart breaking because my baby hurts and I can’t freaking comfort her…

We’re in the ophthalmologist’s office sitting with her on my lap in the exam chair while I hold her with one arm in a death grip around her head, the other around her thrashing arms, and Dad holds her feet to keep her still while the doctor examines her eyes – I don’t know which is worse, the kicking and screaming or when she finally gives up and goes limp in my arms, disassociating from the exam that she hates so much…

She’s in her high chair at dinner time and has just finished eating her pureed dinner, but she spies what we are eating and wants to try. I sigh, and try one more time to give her a little piece. She’s so freaking pleased and excited, she plays with it for a second and then pops it in her mouth just like her brothers, she’s even chewing this time (that’s new and VERY exciting) and I start to think that this might be the time – but then no, here comes that familiar panicked look and she’s gagging. I manage to get her to spit it out and give her a sip of milk, letting her know how proud I am that she chewed this time, that it’s OK we’ll get this, reassuring her brothers that everything is fine, and my 8yo puts down his fork and says “Mom – it’s not fair” with tears in his eyes…

See, that’s where we are right now. It’s not that we don’t know that we are so very lucky; it’s not that we don’t realize how much worse it could have been. It’s not like we don’t know that these are all really little things in the bigger picture…but there are days when it seems like the little things are never going to end. There are times when as much as I couldn’t picture a moment without the wonderful child that she is, exactly the way that she is, that I mourn the carefree easygoing child that she was in my dreams before my pregnancy started to go down the toilet.

And there are days when it’s just not fair. This wasn’t supposed to happen to her or any child and the fact that it did and that it makes things more difficult for her sucks sometimes OK? So if I complain, or if I seem sad about something that you judge to be “nothing compared to what could have happened” PLEASE refrain from telling me I don’t know how good I’ve got it or how lucky I am, or how worse someone else has it – I get it already…

You Quit Your Job Today

Posted by Anonymous.

OMG.

You quit your job today. We have 2 kids to feed, school to pay for and medical bills, and grocery bills, and why did I buy that new couch?

You quit your job today. I am so neurotically scared. What will we do, how will things get done? Am I going to be homeless? Oh, my, I am such a drama queen even in my head.

You quit your job today. I am trying so hard to be optimistic, supportive, and wise. But, seriously? You quit your F'ing job today. Because it was boring and complicated. And you don't have another. And you want to start your own business. And we live off your income. How can I be optimistic, supportive and wise when I am so scared? I am a Zoloft-taking, therapy ridden, sleep deprived, materialistic, stay at home mother of two without a college degree. (Truly, y'all I'm a crazy bitch, who needs her meds but always forgets to take them. Why is that?) Oh, I should have finished college, I should have stop letting myself quit when things got overwhelming and scary but that's what I do... It's what the Zoloft is for truly. So, it's really overwhelming and scary for you to quit your job (and brave) and it makes me want to run away, hide in the sand, freeze time. I'm just so frightened. But not you. You're brave, you say, " Let's do it now while we're young and dumb and can recover from our mistakes. Let's earn "real" money so we can have the life we want now, not when we are to old to appreciate it." And you're right. And I'm proud. But really scared too...

You quit your job today.

What if the worst happens... What if I have to get a "real" job?

Deep, Dark and Dirty

Posted by Anonymous.

That is my secret. A secret that tears me apart mentally & physically and has every day for a year now. Today is the kinda anniversary of my first realization of it. I'll just go ahead and come out with it, though I've never been able to speak the words aloud, even to myself. I have a problem. A BIG problem. I am addicted to prescription pain medicine. Vicodin to be exact.

This has gone on for a year now and it seems so insane it has been this long. I know the first thing anyone reading this will think is to automatically judge me and think badly of me as a drug addict. I hate that term and all the feelings associated with it. To me, it sounds like some cowering thieving no good dirty rotten teeth creature hiding behind a dumpster shaking and sweating ramming needles in its arm. That's the mental image a lot of people get associated with the term drug attic. I know I did, I thought the same thing, until I realized I was one. Yet I am far from that visual to the eye. Did anyone hear Cindy McCain was addicted to pain meds back in the late 90's? I know it made me not feel SO horrible and trashy about my problem, though I know it doesn't justify shit.

I didn't intend on acquiring this awful habit, as I'm sure nobody sets out to do so. I had a surgery last year that had many complications resulting in lasting pain, thus me staying on the pain medication longer than originally intended. After the first week or so of taking them, I didn't really feel buzzed off of them like I did in the beginning. They just took the pain away and I could function. A few months later when I tried to stop taking them, I felt AWFUL.At the time, I didn't realize it was from stopping them, but knew I felt better when I had been taking them. For 3 days I walked around (or tried to) and just could not function. The mental anguish of anxiety and feeling like I was just gonna lose it, crying non stop, sweating profusely alternating with cold sweats, the diarrhea SO bad I couldn't go further than 4ft from the toilet. Looking back - Now I know what it was, it was withdrawals. At that time I didn't even have a clue it was related to the drug use but I knew I felt better ON them. And it wasn't considered a bad thing in my mind at the time. The Dr had given them to me for a valid reason and told me to take them. So I started taking them again - and felt back to "normal".

When my Dr suddenly quit writing them for me, I was worried. I enjoyed this feeling, not only did it give me the boost of energy to go about my daily routine, but it made the previous depression I had so long suffered with almost disappear. The past 2 years in my family's life has been pure hell, one thing after another with me being the targeted victim getting the brunt of it all. This could & should be a separate post in itself ---> I went through a stressful complicated pregnancy in late 2005 - early 2006 alone (though I was married), only to find out my husband had been having an affair the entire time and was planning on leaving me and taking our older child with him. (All of these events could be a novel in themselves so I'll try to keep it short. And I KNOW it is not an excuse for MY behavior or to blame for my problem. I'm just trying to convey the level of stress causing and contributing to my depression.) After a long painful 3 months of living with this horrid situation trying to make it work, hubby and I decided to part ways. After learning all the down and dirty details of this affair (thanks to his slut bag mistress telling me EVERYTHING I never wanted to know - I drove myself insane with rehashing these memories over and over!), doubled with the PPD, no, tripled with a screaming colicky baby that wouldn't let me put her down = I was a basket case.

So he was leaving, and I had no where to go. 4 days before he was to leave, he was diagnosed with 2 very horrible types of cancer (karma?) and was given 2 weeks to live. It was the scariest situation I have ever been through in my life. I couldn't leave him lying there on his death bed, although I truly hated him for all he had done to me. I was stuck. So I did the humane thing I knew I SHOULD do, against the advice of my closest girlfriends at the time, and stayed. I stayed with him throughout all of the chemo and hospital stays and nursed him back to health at home for an entire year. Supposedly, everything was "better". This life changing event was supposed to make everything all better - but I still had all of those horrible feelings crammed down inside me. Just because he got better, those feelings never went away. All that stuff was still there, merely pushed aside for a bigger crisis. However I was the only one who seemed to remember it and feel it. I had no closure on the situation.

He got better and went back to work, leaving me at home with the now 1 year old and an 8 yr old. Alone. Day & night while he tried to make up for a year's lost wages. I was alone with the baby during the day until my son came home from school, just them, me, and my insanity. All the depression was still there, just like it had been since I was 15 years old when my parents started me in therapy for it. But I quit after I became pregnant with my first child at age 18 thinking the baby would bring joy and hope into my life and I wouldn't be depressed anymore. Not to mention the antidepressants I was on were fairly new, and the effects on an unborn child were unknown - so I quit taking them. Plus, I had to focus on him, not me anymore. It got a little better in the first few years I had him, being a busy young Mom trying to make a life for us. I didn't have time to sit around and worry about how I felt. Hubby and I grew together and made a life for our new young family. Things were better. Until the 2nd baby mess came about and all that drama.

Off and on I have struggled with this addiction, hating myself, feeling ashamed, trying several times to get off of them on my own only to go right back to them. I've tried everything, replacing them with other meds, tapering them down to lessen the withdrawals but nothing ever works. Not with where I am. Now I have to find them "on the streets". Just like those creatures behind the dumpsters. Humiliating. Hubby KNOWS fully about my problem, and even gets them for me so I'll be "OK" because he hates to see me like that. He also plays sort of a (really fucked up demented) game with them, making me agree to do sexual favors for him in exchange for him getting them. The few times I tried quitting on my own I never made it past the 3rd or 4th day being stuck on the couch, unable to function or even get up or think and be the super Mom everyone expects of me. That I HAVE to be. Maybe if I were alone, not solely responsible for a high demands 2 yr old screaming at me ALL DAY LONG, I could lay in bed and eventually get over it. But with the responsibilities I have now, I can't accomplish both. I just can't do what I need to do where I'm at right now. So hubby does his work, calling around, and brings me some asking if I feel better now. (I know, he is awful for enabling me, I hate it too).

I have had countless break downs curled into a fetal position on my bed crying, BEGGING him to PLEASE let me go to rehab and get help.But he just kinda blows it off with the opinion of the fact that he grew up with parents submersed in addiction and has no sympathy for it cause "it's all in your head". He is desensitized to it all. He just says, "Oh, you'll be alright, it's not that bad, you just need to grow some balls and get over it.You're making it a bigger deal than it is." But then the next day or so he'll come home with some and say, "I just want you to be happy." Every time I bring up rehab, he has a million reasons of why NOT. Because it would be an embarrassment to our family, he can't take off work to keep the kids... It's even harder because I am literally a stuck at home Mom with NO car, no way to go anywhere, take my kids anywhere, go to the store, or especially take myself to the Dr. I have always depended on either hubby or my Mom taking me where I needed to go. Now that Mom is not talking to me, I am really stuck, not to mention lonely as she was my best friend, my ONLY friend.

Earlier this year, I went into my OB/GYN for my check up and saw one of 9 Dr's practicing there. (Not my regular sweet loving compassionate female Dr that offered me nerve pills at my 6 week PP follow up when I told her about the affair...and I didn't accept them but it was the thought that counts to me.) I saw a male Dr, the one I like the least,a cocky prick by his manner, but he was all that was available. I broke down sitting on the exam table telling him everything thinking he would immediately offer help and support and actually FUCKING HELP ME or something. Seeing where I am today, you can probably guess that didn't go as planned. He said that was not his department or place and his words were so sharp and hurtful saying stuff like "You're going to hurt your entire family with this, not just yourself, and how horrible and selfish of you to do this to your children. They usually take drug addict's kids AWAY from them and place them in foster care..." The first few comments WERE true, all of it I already knew but still, he had NO compassion or tact at all. Like I hadn't thought all those same things! But the threat of having my kids taken away???? Scared the living shit out of me!!! I ran from his office crying and praying he didn't call the cops on me.

I do have family, that if it came down to it, would keep my kids for me. But as of right now, we are not on speaking terms because of a fight we had and I don't want to face them - not in the state I am in now. They're close to knowing, they know something is going on, but not exactly what. It kills me to be estranged from them after being SO close my entire life literally working together, eating together, always being at each other's house, talking on the phone 20 times a day. But I just CAN'T tell them. I can't hurt them like that. They've got enough of their own problems as it is. Besides, there are several other of our family members that have prescription drug problems, and I know how they are treated and viewed among the family. I don't want to be put into that category.

I CAN NOT live like this anymore, I want my old life back, even if it was depressing. I am not the same super Mom I used to be, baking cookies for neighbors and teachers, working hours on end in my garden, playing with my children...I used to have projects that I enjoyed working on, now they're all crammed in the garage for another day. I used to be creative and artistic and find joy in creating things and doing stuff. Now it is all I can do to tread water to keep up with the mandatory daily stuff. Now I stay in my house secretly consumed with counting pills, worrying if I'll have enough for tomorrow, harassing hubby to hunt for more... I don't have any real life friends anymore, I don't talk on the phone anymore or even open my blinds. Son goes to school, hubby goes to work, and daughter and I stay home, inside, killing time until the guys come home. I have the same routine everyday, 2 loads of laundry, the dishes, cooking, keeping daughter content. It is very rare that we leave on any outings during the day, and if we do, I have to make sure I have enough pills to take with me.

It has affected my relationship with my kids too. I know I'm not the same Mommy I used to be and the older child has made random comments about me not being happy and always being grumpy. He takes every opportunity to go home with his cousin after school instead of coming home. I don't blame him, I know it sucks here. I know I am hurting my kids with my addiction and behavior. I feel deep down also that it is affecting HIS behavior, which lately has been spiraling down fast. The guilt alone from that, thinking I am messing my kid up makes me hate myself even more.

I HATE that I have let these horrible things consume me and kill every sign of life I ever had. I HATE being a slave to them and letting them control me. I know I could stop if I could just go somewhere long enough to get better. I have spent countless hours researching online about treatment options, rehab facilities, etc. I found a great one, but it is clear across the other side of the states for me, and it costs $17,000. I know my insurance would cover something here too locally if I could find a place where I could stay long enough to detox and get through the withdrawals. I just can't get through that part here where I'm at. That is the hardest part in my point of view right now. I'd like to find a place that is caring and compassionate with their patients, NOT treating them like they are criminals or 2nd class citizens. The same way most everyone else views the situation, looking down on a user. Believe me, I've gotten down on myself enough as it is. I don't think I could get any lower, my self esteem is completely gone. I've thought all the horrible things and said all the horrible negative things to myself. My biggest fear is reaching out for help and just getting beat down & judged even more - if that is even possible. Also the looming fear that if I do try to reach out for any help on my own, even just calling somewhere would alert authorities somehow and possibly my children being taken away. That alone is enough to keep me hiding this secret, I just won't risk that. I'm not a criminal, I'm not endangering my kids. They are healthy, clean, fed, and have everything and possibly more than most kids do not have the luxuries of. Just not a happy Mommy that they deserve.

Just writing this, is the biggest step I have ever taken in concern to this problem (besides telling Dr Dickhead). I have never let on to ANYONE about it besides my husband who is just as ashamed as I am about it. So this is my deep, dark, dirty secret. I ask that if you do comment, please try to be gentle. I know what a horrible person I am for having this problem, but it can happen to anyone anytime. Everyone says they don't judge other people, but it is impossible to not. It is human nature and we ALL do it whether we realize we are doing it or not. I judge myself every single day, hating myself for being like this and turning into one of "those" people I myself used to judge and think bad about. How did I let myself get this way???

Any advice, suggestions, support, similar stories of I can relate from personal experience or a family member - just anything would be appreciated. In my short time visiting the blogosphere I have seen first hand the love and power that can come from it. I know I need help. I really do want it more than anything in the world. Even if nobody comments at all, at least I said it out loud. It is killing me keeping this for so long.

Today is one of those days where I am down to only having 1 left, and nervously await hubby to try to meet up with "the guy" after work to get more. If it does not work out, tomorrow will be hell and all the days after until I can find some.

I just want out.

The Post-Partum Week From Hell

Posted by Anonymous.

The last four weeks of my pregnancy were hellish. First, my doctor almost killed me and my unborn son by administering an anemia treatment to which I had a severe allergic reaction.

I could barely walk by the end, and when my doctor told me she wanted to deliver me five days early, I issued no protest.

Now I'm wishing I could turn back the clock.

It isn't the baby - he is as sweet as pie, some nights even sleeping for six hours at a stretch. He wakes twice at the most. The blessing of birthing an almost 10-pounder. I earned some good karma while waddling around with his big noggin pressing on my cervix.

But this week? This week after the birth?

Is from HELL.

First, every in-law I have descended on me, with my FIL and MIL doing their level best to divert my husband's attention from me and our new baby. Their 30-year-old divorce feud spills over into every family event, culminating this time in a call from my MIL to my husband the day after I came home from the hospital, summoning him to her hotel room so she and her husband could interrogate my husband as to his "feelings' about the divorce.

IT WAS 34 YEARS AGO. GET OVER IT ALREADY.

Then my brother found me on Twitter and made his way to my blog. This is such a bad, bad thing. Such a very very bad bad thing. He and his wife now have the goods on me - my mother doesn't know about my blog, and my brother - and especially his wife - hate my mother.

There is little to deter him from using my blog as a weapon against my mom - or me, for that matter - should one of them get in a snit about something.

And I don't want to hurt my mom. I never told her about my blog, because at the beginning it was a place for me to vent and grieve in private anonymity. Not even my husband reads it, giving me free reign to write honestly about my inner life.

A freedom now curtailed.

I am stifled by the idea of their eyes on my words. I'm tentative, where once I was fearless.

What do I do? Clear out my archives of precious words and tell her? Or wait, crouched in defensive position, to have the bomb dropped for me?

How do I explain it?

Oh, and just after that, my husband decided we should finally, after six years of marriage, combine our bank accounts. Let's just say we have very different ideas when it comes to finances. And that was the last vestige of freedom I had - my own checking account.

As a woman who gave up all her independence to stay home and raise children, the few dollars I earn from my writing gave me a sense that I am not totally reliant on my husband.

And now I am.

I had hoped to avoid anti-depressants this time around. But major life changes are my biggest triggers. How about a series of stressful life-changing events?

Please pass the Lexapro.