Posted by Anonymous.
I feel like shit. I interviewed for a position and the person they hired posted their resume on the internet. I googled her. She speaks 3 languages, has a degree and diploma, has worked with countless graphic design firms, and she had to come along and eat the little job I was applying for. Why didn't she try for something bigger and leave the scraps for me?
What makes me upset the most is that there's no way for me to get what she has. I have no time to upgrade my skills or gain the experience she has without risking my steady paycheque. I spend ALL of my free time taking care of three children. I can't go to the bathroom myself, can't shower by myself, can't go to sleep by myself. It's always "mommy, mommy, mommy" for everything, even in the middle of the night. My whole life has been interrupted by these kids. I once had so much fire in me that I felt I could take the world by storm and show them what I'm made of. Now I've been reduced to a depressed mess.
I feel like I missed my chance to have a career, and not just a job. I wanted a family, but didn't realize at the time that it would mean my doing 90% of the household work and still being looked at like I'm not doing enough. I didn't realize at the time that I would have to give up who I was and what I stood for in order to be 'mommy' and 'wife'. I didn't realize how much I would have to sacrifice to have kids. And despite how many times people tell you about the true responsibilities of having kids, I never fully got it until I had them. Now I'm bitter and angry.
I'm mad at my husband for being allowed to carry on as if nothing has happened to his life. He can still climb that corporate ladder, socialize and put his needs first without being accused of being a bad parent, while I have to take a back seat and pretend that I have no needs of my own. I have to listen to other mothers at work talk about mommy guilt and how they can't do enough for their babies and wish they had time to do more for their kids. More? Really? Is sacrificing everything not enough? It's like they've been sucked into a 'mommy' universe where they are no longer people, no longer women, just mommies with no desires outside those that involve their kids. Some women will whisper to me about the difficulties they face, but won't say anything out in the open. It's like a secret, a big shameful secret to be tired and exhausted from carrying an entire family on your shoulders.
I just want to scream sometimes in the most inappropriate places "I can be a mother to my children without having to give up everything!!!!!!!". Even if I just had a space to talk about it and not have to bottle it inside to avoid the 'selfish mother' title. Now, I'm stuck in a job I don't like and I barely have enough time to brush my own teeth let alone study for school to upgrade my skills. Even though I love the little people inside my house, I know that given the chance, I would not ever do this again. The price of motherhood has been too much for me. I am so miserably unhappy.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
The Bank Account
Posted by Anonymous.
Yesterday my husband went to the doctor. He got a new perscription and, rather than wait however long it took for the pharmacist to get the insurance company's approval for coverage, he paid the total cost of the perscription with a check.
There was not that much money in our checking account.
There is so much of a marriage that goes into mistakes like this, so much history that informs its meaning. We are both inept with money, but about ten years ago I became the household accountant, due to the fact that I am slightly less horrible at it than he is. I pay bills late, but I don't bounce checks. I still struggle to do the responsible thing with money, but not bouncing checks is enough to make me Chancellor of the Exchequer around here.
But last night the husband was childishly impatient and he wrote a check he should not have, so today I drove to the little bank that holds my little personal savings account, and I took out nearly everything and deposited it in our joint checking account to cover the check. I was in time. It will not bounce.
And then I sat in my car and I cried. I cried because this tiny little savings account, though it would never make me rich or even get us out of debt, was mine. It was the only thing in our lives that was, really and truly, mine. That mattered to me. I am the stay-at-home mom to our children, which is the right decision for us, but leaves me with no career, no job experience, and precious little indiependence. Those dollars cobbled together from birthday gifts and rebates I sent in and other odds and ends told me that I still had a separate identity, something independent of my children and my husband. Even if I raided it occasionally to cover other family expenses, I had invested it with the significance I Am Still A Person, not just a cog in the household machine.
Now it is gone. Tomorrow I will get up again and do the usual chores, and over the next few years I will add to the account by dribs and drabs again, and we will be alright. This doesn't end things. It just hurts, and I wanted to say so in a place where I was free to grieve, somewhere I could be openly sad for this small loss.
Yesterday my husband went to the doctor. He got a new perscription and, rather than wait however long it took for the pharmacist to get the insurance company's approval for coverage, he paid the total cost of the perscription with a check.
There was not that much money in our checking account.
There is so much of a marriage that goes into mistakes like this, so much history that informs its meaning. We are both inept with money, but about ten years ago I became the household accountant, due to the fact that I am slightly less horrible at it than he is. I pay bills late, but I don't bounce checks. I still struggle to do the responsible thing with money, but not bouncing checks is enough to make me Chancellor of the Exchequer around here.
But last night the husband was childishly impatient and he wrote a check he should not have, so today I drove to the little bank that holds my little personal savings account, and I took out nearly everything and deposited it in our joint checking account to cover the check. I was in time. It will not bounce.
And then I sat in my car and I cried. I cried because this tiny little savings account, though it would never make me rich or even get us out of debt, was mine. It was the only thing in our lives that was, really and truly, mine. That mattered to me. I am the stay-at-home mom to our children, which is the right decision for us, but leaves me with no career, no job experience, and precious little indiependence. Those dollars cobbled together from birthday gifts and rebates I sent in and other odds and ends told me that I still had a separate identity, something independent of my children and my husband. Even if I raided it occasionally to cover other family expenses, I had invested it with the significance I Am Still A Person, not just a cog in the household machine.
Now it is gone. Tomorrow I will get up again and do the usual chores, and over the next few years I will add to the account by dribs and drabs again, and we will be alright. This doesn't end things. It just hurts, and I wanted to say so in a place where I was free to grieve, somewhere I could be openly sad for this small loss.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
You Just Don't Know
Posted by Anonymous.
I need to get something off my chest. You (my sibling, my mother-in-law, my mother, my friend) call me and you ask me how I’m doing. I answer “overwhelmed.” And somehow this is your cue to gush “Oh! I know!” and then launch into the many ways you are busy and also overwhelmed.
I’m sorry. You don’t know.
You, with your no children or older children or grandchildren cannot possibly “know” how overwhelmed I feel with three small children, a busy husband, a house, volunteer commitments and the other million little things that need my attention every day. You who sleep all night cannot possibly understand what it’s like to tackle all I have on my plate after night after night of little sleep. So please don’t tell me “you know” because you don’t. You can’t fathom my level of overwhelm right now.
Listen, I do know that you’re overwhelmed. I believe it! I too have felt completely overwhelmed without all that I have going on right now. The point of this is NOT that I’m way more overwhelmed than you are. The point is that I don’t share this information with you so that I can hear about everything going on in your life. I tell you I’m overwhelmed because I really need to vent and get some support right now. When you respond “I know!” and launch into a litany of all the things on your plate it feels like you’re taking my plea for help and throwing it back in my face.
So in the future, when you ask how I’m doing and I respond “overwhelmed!” instead of “good!” please, please don’t take this as an opportunity to add even more to my plate. Please take a breath and acknowledge that I’ve reached out to you. Because you really can’t know unless you’ve been here or you’ve asked me what it’s like.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
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.
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Monday, December 08, 2008
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.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, December 01, 2008
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?
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?
Thursday, November 27, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, November 24, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
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?
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?
Monday, November 10, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, November 07, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, November 03, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, October 31, 2008
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
Monday, October 27, 2008
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.
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