Posted by Anonymous.
A letter to everyone:
To my work wifey, I am sorry for what I am about to say…I would gladly sleep with your husband if given the chance. I never will, out of the fact that you’re married and you’re a great friend to me. But it does not help that there is an obvious mutual attraction that we have both admitted to. We’ve both also said we would never, ever act on it. But please know that if the circumstances were any different, I would gladly sleep with him. When he’s helping inexperienced me saddle up the horse, the look in his eyes is unmistakable. Why do you think I always ask you to help me? But he always jumps in, and you’re all too happy to let him so you can saddle up your horse. He’s a great man, loving, respectful, hard-working in every sense of the phrase, funny, and smart. I fantasize about him quite a bit. I’m sorry, I truly am. This is why I am not over at your house as much as I used to. Because I do not want to see him kissing you, wonder what it would be like if it was me. I know this makes me a horrible person, and I’m sorry.
To my fiancé, I am no longer in love with you and have not been for quite some time. You are a fantastic father, but a horrible partner. We have not made love in over three months. You come home late with no explanation or such a flimsy one; I am convinced you are seeing someone else. You smell like perfume that is not mine. You always have a new reason why you will not touch me. You’re tired, you’re sore, you’re mad at me for [insert small inconsequential thing], or you’re just not in the mood. I stopped trying after a month. That was two months ago. You always have to be right. You have an experts opinion on everything, and there is no such thing as a debate with you. You MUST be right, you cannot fathom that someone else would have a differing opinion. You always seem to find fault with something and yet you are so skillful at doing it. “I’m sorry, and I’m not trying to be rude but…” Can’t I do something 100% right anymore? You seem to think that it’s constructive criticism but when you say that there’s always this long list on what I’ve done wrong. I’m too impatient, too bitchy, not smart enough, don’t know enough, can’t do this, can’t do that…I cannot honestly remember the last time you said something positive or nice to me. And trust me, I sat here for a good ten minutes before I typed out that phrase.
If the constant belittling wasn’t enough, you seem to resent the fact that I have a life outside of the home. You don’t say anything until you’ve got yourself good and pissed then you explode. It is not my fault you’ve alienated all your friends and they never want to be with you. One of your “friends” admitted that he was tired of your cheap & elitist attitude, so he stopped calling. I go out maybe twice a month, which I didn’t think was THAT big of a deal. Most of the time it’s just hanging out with my girlfriends, helping them out with something, whatever. I have tried to explain that I need time away from the baby, you, the house, just to keep my sanity. I have explained the importance of girl-time, and me-time. You cannot fathom why taking a five minute daily shower is not enough. People that have only met you once or twice have commented on how surly you seem to be, and how short you are towards me. I am tired of saying, “Oh he’s just having a bad day. He’s normally not like that.” But you are like this. All the time.
You deposit my paycheck and then drain the bank account without warning. I stopped bothering using the debit card for fear that it would be rejected. It is humiliating to have to ask for $10 to treat myself to lunch ONCE A DAMN MONTH. I am a grown woman who works hard for her money, and I would think 4 years would prove to you that I do not spend money frivolously. Yet you treat me like I’m spending our rent money, or taking food out of our pantry. It is humbling and humiliating. You say you’re “shielding” me from the money stresses of our lives. You seem to forget that I am an accountant by trade. I deal with money and could probably do a better job than you’re currently doing but you control the finances with an iron fist. You REFUSE to let me get involved, and become infuriated when I ask to be so.
You aren’t aware of this yet but I am currently trying to figure out a way to leave you. Despite your protests, you WILL pay child support. You will NOT get her for a week on and a week off. That would mean two daycares and finding a daycare that is kosher with that arrangement would be impossible. No, you will see her every Wednesday and every other weekend, just like your children from your first wife. You will pay child support again. I do not care if you must move back in with your Mother. Tis I that must set up a whole new household, since you own just about everything. New furniture, new deposits, yeah, this is gonna get expensive quick.
I won’t do this to you, but I could nail your ass to a cross for sexual abuse. Oh, yeah, buster, I could. When I say STOP or NO or THAT HURTS, guess what? THAT MEANS YOU STOP. That doesn’t mean you should forge on ahead! You have whittled away my self worth to nothing, and I feel lower than a whore. At least a whore gets paid for services rendered. I get you rolling over and going to sleep. Last time you did that to me, I wanted to simultaneously vomit & crush your hands. I will say this to you….You should be thanking whatever cosmic deity you pray to that I have not told my ex-Special Forces father about this. You see, I’m still his baby girl that he will kill to protect. If he found out his precious baby girl was being molested by her fiancé, he’d have to kill you on principal. Laws be damned, nobody fucks with his little girl.
To my daughter, I am sorry that I can’t be the mother you need me to be. Right now, you’re only two years old. You’re content to blow kisses and proudly show off the new body part you learned that day. But you’re so full of energy, and you want me to run around with you and I have nothing left to give you. Between the demands of my job and trying not to break the eggshells I walk on around your father, it takes a lot out of me. I never wanted to be like my Mama was with me, but I fear I am: always tired, always crying, constant headache, popping anti-depressants like they’re candy. Mama drank pretty heavily, and I used to refill her wine glass all the time to keep her happy. The difference between Mama and I is that I wait until you’re in bed. I don’t get drunk like Mama did, but I know I drink too much. I drink to feel numb from the situation I feel trapped in. I’m sorry that you were given this sorry excuse for a Mama. I try to play with you, paste a smile on my face, and try to find the energy to be the Mama you need. You can’t understand this right now, but most of the time I feel like breaking down and bawling. But you don’t like it when I cry. “Mimi no cry?” you ask, wiping my tears away. No, baby girl, Mimi no cry. Mimi is happy! See Mimi smile! It’s so hard to smile when you feel dead inside, like the very life has been stolen from your soul. But I smile for you, my dear girl. Because you want to see Mimi happy, and because I would give up my life to make you happy. Because you are the only true source of joy in my miserable life anymore, because your smile and laugh makes me fall that much more in love with you. Because your hugs and kisses make me want to shed tears of joy that someone as wonderful and as magnificent as you loves me so completely, though I have done nothing to deserve your unwavering love. I am trying to be the Mama you want and need me to be, but please understand my darling girl…Sometimes Mimi’s do cry.
To my fiancé’s ex-wife…You do not know the rage I have inside of me. It is only the fear of prison time that keeps me in check. Woman, you’re one more snide comment away from getting a black eye, courtesy of yours truly. I may not have a four-figure handbag, but at least I didn’t gang-bang a group of sailors on leave and then do a line off their erect penises. Yeah, bitch, that actually DOES make me better than you. That makes be SCADS better than your coked-out cum guzzling ass. How you haven’t lost custody of the kids is beyond me. But please…DO remark how my purse CLEARLY came from a discount store and YOURS is Gucci and by GOD that makes you a better woman. I trained under my ex-Special Forces Papa, and while I’m certainly not the most threatening thing on two legs, I can fuck. You. UP. And woman, the rage inside me is bubbling just below the surface, courtesy of a fucked-up family dynamic and your lovely ex-husband. When you see me smile when you pull up, it’s not because I’m happy to see you. I’m envisioning ways to maim your skanky ass. For this I am not sorry. I hope you straighten up, but I sincerely doubt that will happen. In the meantime, please just get arrested so the kids can go to their father. Or die. Dying works for me too. The contempt and hatred I hold for you knows no bounds. I think I’m a bad mother, I know you’re an abominable mother.
To everyone that tells me I’m bat shit crazy and need therapy. I’m in therapy, assholes. It’s not fucking working. Y’know what would work!? Lets see here…Oh yeah! My Papa could stop blaming my Mama for everything wrong in his life since they divorced, for starters. My Mama could stop drinking herself into oblivion every night. I wish my twins epilepsy would get under control. She’s losing her memory, her motor skills, and they’re coming without warning. Eventually, it’ll be ME taking care of her. Yet another thing I would happily do so she can FOR ONCE IN HER LIFE know some peace. Her life has been wrought with struggles, pain, and suffering. If taking care of her full time means she can be at peace for once, I will do it. My soon-to-be-ex could stop being such a controlling abusive asshole. Oh, yeah, that’s right, NONE of the above is going to happen any time soon. So I guess in the meantime I’ll have to shut up and plan on leaving.
And smile. Just keep smiling for the one true love of my life.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
Disappearing
Posted by Anonymous.
Sometimes I feel like if I don’t write, my head will explode. I don’t even have any privacy for that anymore. He checks my phone, my internet history, everything is suspect the moment I want a little privacy. I don’t have a blog either. No place to put all the words in my head, so they just circle the drain, maddeningly slowly, until they are gone.
The feelings that inspired them just pile up. They never go anywhere even when the words are no longer there.
I am so sad lately. Angry too. But the anger is at myself. I’m 39 years old. I should have known better than to find myself here, again. Why did I ever marry a man who doesn’t like me? Only a few months ago, in fact. And now I can see, he doesn’t like anything about me, nothing I do is good enough….certainly he certainly isn’t in love with me…. I have come to realize I simply can’t please him. He is never happy and always looking for something to criticize. No effort I ever make is good enough.
I myself, I have come to realize, am not good enough for this man. I can’t remember the last time he really smiled at me or made eye contact that wasn’t an angry glare. We never make love, seldom even “have sex” and when we do, it’s fast and rough and there’s no joy in it….I miss that loving touch and the beauty of that so much I can taste tears in my throat just thinking about it. No one but my kids ever touches me
anymore, no one really ever smiles at me. No one ever talks to me in a kind and concerned voice, to the point I teared up hearing a compassionate and caring tone from my doctor last week.
I feel so stupid. I knew this was what I was getting into…I knew I wasn’t going to be cherished, treasured, respected, prioritized, adored. I suspected he was using me and marrying me as a means to an end in his custody battleway to get more time with his kids. He didn’t propose, he just told me the kids were “ready” for us to get married. I feel so stupid and so, so ashamed. I can’t even pretend to be surprised, I knew all of it. He never urged me to do anything for myself, even buy a nice
dress for the wedding instead of the cheapest one. My dress was $13… his suit was $500….did I mention I paid for it all, and put the last of my savings on a downpayment for his new truck, while I drive a real clunker? There was , and has been, no mention of a honeymoon, nothing. Not even a wedding night somewhere special. Didn’t I think I deserved more?
All we have done since then is fight. He is sure there is, or has been, another man. Every day he turns something into “proof” of that and accuses me of all manner of nastiness. If I defend myself, he self-righteously claims that’s “proof” too. I want to take a lie detector test but he refuses to participate because his ego can’t handle the idea anyone would find out the lengths I’d have to go to get him to believe me. Also because (I secretly think) once I passed it, he wouldn’t be able to stay mad at me, and he enjoys that too. Because if I am tripping all over myself
defending his accusations against wrong numbers and texts to girlfriends and why I was 5 minutes late, he still has the upper hand, and I am not an equal.
We are in counseling. Already. We had homework, about my feelings. They are still sitting on my dresser three weeks later. He won’t ask to see it or talk about it. It will sit there until I get so embarrassed and hurt that I pretend it’s lost just so I don’t have to deal with it anymore.
The Dr. is running tests in a few weeks to see if I have something seriously wrong….maybe cancer even. It’s not likely, but even so. I just wanted him to hold me. To act upset that something might take me from him. To seem concerned in any
way. Instead he just told me I was probably in menopause and nitpicked me for not staying at the office and having the tests run right then., with my mother there (oh hell no.) There was no kiss, no stroking me, no kindness, no concern. I fell asleep
and dreamed he got upset and said he couldn’t stand the idea of anything happening to me. But it didn’t happen. , really. It won’t. Yesterday he got up and stormed out because I didn’t say “bless you” when he sneezed. But I guess I don’t deserve
his concern and comfort when I’m really scared.
Here it is the next day and all we have done is fight some more. He made a nice dinner and gave me a card, and now he’s insisting I haven’t “tried”. I have tried so hard and nothing’s ever been enough. I am tired of failing with every effort. I “try”
every day. It’s all I think about- how NOT to make him mad. I just want to hear something nice. Something kind and loving. Instead I hear how disrespectful and callous I am for being 5 minutes “late” home from the store or I get ridiculed at a
family gathering for how I am so stupid for flushing a tampon.
I used to be pretty, and smart and a good mom. I had nice things, I drove a nice car and wore pretty clothes. My house was clean. My kids got good grades. I used to have friends and people had nice things to say about me. I liked myself. I believed in myself and I had dreams. I wish sometimes I hadn’t. Maybe if I had never had that I wouldn’t have such a hard time with this, being no one.
Every day is a struggle, nothing I do is ever good enough to matter. I work harder than I ever have, and its not enough to make anyone happy. I am invisible and unappreciated. I literally cannot remember the last time I felt whole. I think
about ending my life all the time, I don’t see any way that this will get better. I can hardly bear the idea of another 20 years of days like these- working and working and working with no one to hold me or love me or appreciate me. No one to ever smile
at me or laugh with me; no one to ever tell me I am special or smart or worthwhile. Just an endless stream of accusations and criticism and cold rejection….right now the only thing that keeps me here is a promise I made my grandfather- and
the thought of someone telling my baby girl that I left her on purpose. So I just go through the motions and I wait and see. I can’t put my kids through another divorce. No one wants to hear that you are in ANOTHER bad marriage. My family knows something’s wrong but they cant handle it and so they are turning a blind eye. I can’t leave. But I don’t know what happens to me if I stay. I am disappearing a little bit every day. At least sometimes in my dreams, he still loves me and I
am still good enough.
Sometimes I feel like if I don’t write, my head will explode. I don’t even have any privacy for that anymore. He checks my phone, my internet history, everything is suspect the moment I want a little privacy. I don’t have a blog either. No place to put all the words in my head, so they just circle the drain, maddeningly slowly, until they are gone.
The feelings that inspired them just pile up. They never go anywhere even when the words are no longer there.
I am so sad lately. Angry too. But the anger is at myself. I’m 39 years old. I should have known better than to find myself here, again. Why did I ever marry a man who doesn’t like me? Only a few months ago, in fact. And now I can see, he doesn’t like anything about me, nothing I do is good enough….certainly he certainly isn’t in love with me…. I have come to realize I simply can’t please him. He is never happy and always looking for something to criticize. No effort I ever make is good enough.
I myself, I have come to realize, am not good enough for this man. I can’t remember the last time he really smiled at me or made eye contact that wasn’t an angry glare. We never make love, seldom even “have sex” and when we do, it’s fast and rough and there’s no joy in it….I miss that loving touch and the beauty of that so much I can taste tears in my throat just thinking about it. No one but my kids ever touches me
anymore, no one really ever smiles at me. No one ever talks to me in a kind and concerned voice, to the point I teared up hearing a compassionate and caring tone from my doctor last week.
I feel so stupid. I knew this was what I was getting into…I knew I wasn’t going to be cherished, treasured, respected, prioritized, adored. I suspected he was using me and marrying me as a means to an end in his custody battleway to get more time with his kids. He didn’t propose, he just told me the kids were “ready” for us to get married. I feel so stupid and so, so ashamed. I can’t even pretend to be surprised, I knew all of it. He never urged me to do anything for myself, even buy a nice
dress for the wedding instead of the cheapest one. My dress was $13… his suit was $500….did I mention I paid for it all, and put the last of my savings on a downpayment for his new truck, while I drive a real clunker? There was , and has been, no mention of a honeymoon, nothing. Not even a wedding night somewhere special. Didn’t I think I deserved more?
All we have done since then is fight. He is sure there is, or has been, another man. Every day he turns something into “proof” of that and accuses me of all manner of nastiness. If I defend myself, he self-righteously claims that’s “proof” too. I want to take a lie detector test but he refuses to participate because his ego can’t handle the idea anyone would find out the lengths I’d have to go to get him to believe me. Also because (I secretly think) once I passed it, he wouldn’t be able to stay mad at me, and he enjoys that too. Because if I am tripping all over myself
defending his accusations against wrong numbers and texts to girlfriends and why I was 5 minutes late, he still has the upper hand, and I am not an equal.
We are in counseling. Already. We had homework, about my feelings. They are still sitting on my dresser three weeks later. He won’t ask to see it or talk about it. It will sit there until I get so embarrassed and hurt that I pretend it’s lost just so I don’t have to deal with it anymore.
The Dr. is running tests in a few weeks to see if I have something seriously wrong….maybe cancer even. It’s not likely, but even so. I just wanted him to hold me. To act upset that something might take me from him. To seem concerned in any
way. Instead he just told me I was probably in menopause and nitpicked me for not staying at the office and having the tests run right then., with my mother there (oh hell no.) There was no kiss, no stroking me, no kindness, no concern. I fell asleep
and dreamed he got upset and said he couldn’t stand the idea of anything happening to me. But it didn’t happen. , really. It won’t. Yesterday he got up and stormed out because I didn’t say “bless you” when he sneezed. But I guess I don’t deserve
his concern and comfort when I’m really scared.
Here it is the next day and all we have done is fight some more. He made a nice dinner and gave me a card, and now he’s insisting I haven’t “tried”. I have tried so hard and nothing’s ever been enough. I am tired of failing with every effort. I “try”
every day. It’s all I think about- how NOT to make him mad. I just want to hear something nice. Something kind and loving. Instead I hear how disrespectful and callous I am for being 5 minutes “late” home from the store or I get ridiculed at a
family gathering for how I am so stupid for flushing a tampon.
I used to be pretty, and smart and a good mom. I had nice things, I drove a nice car and wore pretty clothes. My house was clean. My kids got good grades. I used to have friends and people had nice things to say about me. I liked myself. I believed in myself and I had dreams. I wish sometimes I hadn’t. Maybe if I had never had that I wouldn’t have such a hard time with this, being no one.
Every day is a struggle, nothing I do is ever good enough to matter. I work harder than I ever have, and its not enough to make anyone happy. I am invisible and unappreciated. I literally cannot remember the last time I felt whole. I think
about ending my life all the time, I don’t see any way that this will get better. I can hardly bear the idea of another 20 years of days like these- working and working and working with no one to hold me or love me or appreciate me. No one to ever smile
at me or laugh with me; no one to ever tell me I am special or smart or worthwhile. Just an endless stream of accusations and criticism and cold rejection….right now the only thing that keeps me here is a promise I made my grandfather- and
the thought of someone telling my baby girl that I left her on purpose. So I just go through the motions and I wait and see. I can’t put my kids through another divorce. No one wants to hear that you are in ANOTHER bad marriage. My family knows something’s wrong but they cant handle it and so they are turning a blind eye. I can’t leave. But I don’t know what happens to me if I stay. I am disappearing a little bit every day. At least sometimes in my dreams, he still loves me and I
am still good enough.
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
The Problem With Porn
Posted by Anonymous.
It started off as "one of those days" and it's turning into "one of those weeks." I'm happily married, or so I thought, I have a beautiful son who is about to turn a year old and a hard working husband. Just last week I found out that he's been watching pornography. I researched and researched and I get the technicality of it. How it has nothing to do with how happy he is with me, that it doesn't mean I'm unattractive to him, and someone compared men and porn to women and fashion. I didn't buy any of these explanations. When I confronted him about it I asked him if he was unhappy with me, or if I wasn't enough anymore. He said, "Men just watch porn. It doesn't mean they're not happy." I told him I considered it cheating and he opposed. The thing that bothers me the most is that a few weeks ago we had been discussing the subject and somehow it came up and he explained to me that when men watch porn they imagine themselves being the man on screen. That just keeps running through my head. How can that NOT be cheating? HOW?! You are imagining yourself with another woman that's not your wife.
This is slowly tearing me up from he inside out. I already feel myself falling away from him. Already know I'm going into a depression. I might be overreacting but I really feel cheated. I feel inadequate. I don't care what the "experts" say. It's not right. I just don't know what to do. I know he's not going to stop, and it hurts me so much to know that. I feel like our marriage is a lie. Sex is intimate, and should be shared with your partner. Not by yourself as you fantasize about some other person. For anyone who might suggest for me to watch it with him I refuse. It makes me nauseous.
It started off as "one of those days" and it's turning into "one of those weeks." I'm happily married, or so I thought, I have a beautiful son who is about to turn a year old and a hard working husband. Just last week I found out that he's been watching pornography. I researched and researched and I get the technicality of it. How it has nothing to do with how happy he is with me, that it doesn't mean I'm unattractive to him, and someone compared men and porn to women and fashion. I didn't buy any of these explanations. When I confronted him about it I asked him if he was unhappy with me, or if I wasn't enough anymore. He said, "Men just watch porn. It doesn't mean they're not happy." I told him I considered it cheating and he opposed. The thing that bothers me the most is that a few weeks ago we had been discussing the subject and somehow it came up and he explained to me that when men watch porn they imagine themselves being the man on screen. That just keeps running through my head. How can that NOT be cheating? HOW?! You are imagining yourself with another woman that's not your wife.
This is slowly tearing me up from he inside out. I already feel myself falling away from him. Already know I'm going into a depression. I might be overreacting but I really feel cheated. I feel inadequate. I don't care what the "experts" say. It's not right. I just don't know what to do. I know he's not going to stop, and it hurts me so much to know that. I feel like our marriage is a lie. Sex is intimate, and should be shared with your partner. Not by yourself as you fantasize about some other person. For anyone who might suggest for me to watch it with him I refuse. It makes me nauseous.
Wednesday, September 01, 2010
Utterly Miserable
Posted by Anonymous.
I'm so sorry, but I'm utterly miserable here.
I'm so sorry, but I'm utterly miserable here.
You have been great this last week, putting on this little act. But I know it'll disappear and you'll be this uncaring, unaffectionate person again that finds fault in every little thing I do. It's happened before and it'll happen again.
We never touch each other anymore, despite my advances. I asked you if you were seeing someone else and you blew me off. Is she at least prettier than I? I am pretty sure you're seeing someone else. You come home from a 4-hour haircut smelling like cheap perfume. You work late but your paycheck doesn't have any overtime on it.
You're also abusive. You've never hit me, this much is true. But you control every penny of our finances and make me feel like a spendthrift for daring to need a new pair of jeans since my old ones fell apart. You get mad when I need things like shampoo or soap and I have to beg for $10 to put gas in the Jeep.
You make me do things in bed that hurt, and I don't like them. You keep forcing them on me, and telling me I'll learn to like it. I don't like it, B, I never have. I've told you that and you keep doing it to me. Why do you degrade me in such a way? I've been a mother to your kids when your exwife was out getting drunk, and I'm the mother of our daughter. Haven't you seen the tears when you're doing this to me? Of course not, the lights are out and you probably don't care.
Thanks to you, B, my self esteem and self-worth are no longer there. I feel like the lowest scum on the planet right now. I cry constantly, I'm a nervous wreck, and I'm not too far from a nervous breakdown.
You're not aware of this, but I've signed a lease on a new apartment. I haven't told you yet because I am scared out of my mind and my heart is breaking. I know this will cripple you financially, and I'm sorry. For what it's worth, half of my income will go for rent. It's the only place I found that isn't in the middle of gang land. I can barely afford it, but at least I know every night won't be an episode of cops.
I hate to see you move back in with your parents, but I have to do this. I hate to do this to our daughter, who will not see you every day now. She adores you so much, she lights up when she sees you. But I know if I gave her over to you before we had a custody agreement in place, you wouldn't give her back to me. At least until everything was finalized, which you've said before you'll drag out as long as you can to spite me in the past.
God, B, I love you so much despite what you've put me through the last 4 years. But I cannot do this anymore. I am so utterly miserable, I hate coming home. Your touch makes me cringe for fear that you're going to do something to me that I don't like.
I love you, B. I love you more than you can ever fathom. But I cannot stay here when I am so utterly miserable that I would sooner die. Which, if I stay, that's what will happen. My soul will die inside and I'll be that Mama that cries all the time and never smiles.
Good-bye, B.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
William Stafford Was His Favorite Poet
Posted by Anonymous.
Since you were four months pregnant, your husband has been cheating on you, with me. He told me he loved me, that I was the love of his life. We spent almost every evening together, in the park, by the library, up the hill, anywhere you can think of in the San Mateo neighborhood.
Then one night, we slept together at a hotel. I felt so guilty, yet I desired him so. I had tried to end it, when your daughter was born, he thought I was abandoning him without warning, made me feel terrible for leaving him in this state. Anger, bitterness -- it was all around. I went away to London and came back, thinking that if I had left him alone, he would not pursue this and take care of you and you daughter. I got weak and succumbed to him.
I admitted to my husband about the affair and it devastated him. I couldn't live with myself. I was in a battle between my head and my heart. I went back for more, but I also started to become domineering to ask him to tell you the truth. He wouldn't. He told me I was heartless and cold-hearted. You should listen to his words, every day, threatening to want to kill himself with sedatives. I felt bad and stuck with him and tried not to express my anguish and suffering. Once, I was so desperate for him to tell you and he threw a brick out of anger. I didn't understand, why he would tell me he loved me but he wouldn't confess his love. I got to a point where I couldn't take it anymore.
He texted me every day at work and abused me with his words. You know how good his words are. William Stafford was his favorite poet, he gave me his one and only book and used to read poems to me. I bet he did the same with you. I couldn't take his abuse and my own suffering anymore. I spoke to HR about it and they dismissed him. He was so angry. I felt so guilty. Yet you still have no idea. He came back, I met your daughter, he came back and made love to me for 3 weeks, even on a trip to Monterey. I was naive to believe that he was going to love me and leave you.
We have been sexually and emotionally involved for two years. I know it hurts, but you should have the right to know what happened so that you can decide for yourself. Your husband swore at me every day for destroying his life, career and marriage. I am sorry for what I have done, but I just thought you should know. I loved him but he didn't love me enough to tell you the whole truth. I hope he's a good man and will treat you well.
Since you were four months pregnant, your husband has been cheating on you, with me. He told me he loved me, that I was the love of his life. We spent almost every evening together, in the park, by the library, up the hill, anywhere you can think of in the San Mateo neighborhood.
Then one night, we slept together at a hotel. I felt so guilty, yet I desired him so. I had tried to end it, when your daughter was born, he thought I was abandoning him without warning, made me feel terrible for leaving him in this state. Anger, bitterness -- it was all around. I went away to London and came back, thinking that if I had left him alone, he would not pursue this and take care of you and you daughter. I got weak and succumbed to him.
I admitted to my husband about the affair and it devastated him. I couldn't live with myself. I was in a battle between my head and my heart. I went back for more, but I also started to become domineering to ask him to tell you the truth. He wouldn't. He told me I was heartless and cold-hearted. You should listen to his words, every day, threatening to want to kill himself with sedatives. I felt bad and stuck with him and tried not to express my anguish and suffering. Once, I was so desperate for him to tell you and he threw a brick out of anger. I didn't understand, why he would tell me he loved me but he wouldn't confess his love. I got to a point where I couldn't take it anymore.
He texted me every day at work and abused me with his words. You know how good his words are. William Stafford was his favorite poet, he gave me his one and only book and used to read poems to me. I bet he did the same with you. I couldn't take his abuse and my own suffering anymore. I spoke to HR about it and they dismissed him. He was so angry. I felt so guilty. Yet you still have no idea. He came back, I met your daughter, he came back and made love to me for 3 weeks, even on a trip to Monterey. I was naive to believe that he was going to love me and leave you.
We have been sexually and emotionally involved for two years. I know it hurts, but you should have the right to know what happened so that you can decide for yourself. Your husband swore at me every day for destroying his life, career and marriage. I am sorry for what I have done, but I just thought you should know. I loved him but he didn't love me enough to tell you the whole truth. I hope he's a good man and will treat you well.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Like A Sister
You’re my best friend.. Like a sister to me but not blood related. At one point in our lives, I’d drop everything to make sure you were safe. Because I was in the same situation.
Now... I can’t bare to be in the same room with you. You’re constant want for sympathy is sad because of this situation. Your belief that your husband is actually going to come home, in your house and everything will be the same makes me want to scream at you.
A. He’s a pedophile B. He was arrested and jailed for the past four months for throwing your son across the room and making visible marks. C. Just because he’s a pedophile won’t make the courts want him to go back home just because he needs a place to stay.
I’ve been in the same situation my friend, my ex-husband whom you know very well had done some pretty nasty things to me, but never to our son. There is now a full standing order of protection still on myself and our son, from the court. And he has supervised visitation.
And you actually believe your husband is coming home? I'm afraid what's going to happen when it happens. When he doesn't.
For the past three months, I’ve tried talking to you about the things going on in my life. I told you we‘re planning on getting married… and all you can do is fiddle with your phone, texting your “so-called” friends and yell at your kid. No congratulations, or anything. I wanted you to be my maid of honor. You sit there and get depressed at my son’s birthday because you miss your husband. Because you can’t stand to see other people happy
I’ve BEEN there for you!! I’ve sat by your side and held you when you cried. Convinced you that getting up every morning is a good thing and taking care of your kids is your first priority. I’ve offered time and time again to take your kids when the courts were threatening to take them away from you. And this is what love you show me?
I'm sad. Our friendship has taken to this point where I can't even talk to you anymore without feeling like I'm going to get a argument thrown at me or you saying something negative. I sat there and cried today, wondering if it's going to be like this for the next whatever amount of years. Because my love for you as a sister just can't go away. Sadness, anger, hurt, a little betrayed by your lack of caring. But it will never go away.
I want things to change, I want you to be happy. I wish I could make things different but life just can't be placed on a full halt because of your situation. Sometimes other people need a little hug too, especially sisters.
Now... I can’t bare to be in the same room with you. You’re constant want for sympathy is sad because of this situation. Your belief that your husband is actually going to come home, in your house and everything will be the same makes me want to scream at you.
A. He’s a pedophile B. He was arrested and jailed for the past four months for throwing your son across the room and making visible marks. C. Just because he’s a pedophile won’t make the courts want him to go back home just because he needs a place to stay.
I’ve been in the same situation my friend, my ex-husband whom you know very well had done some pretty nasty things to me, but never to our son. There is now a full standing order of protection still on myself and our son, from the court. And he has supervised visitation.
And you actually believe your husband is coming home? I'm afraid what's going to happen when it happens. When he doesn't.
For the past three months, I’ve tried talking to you about the things going on in my life. I told you we‘re planning on getting married… and all you can do is fiddle with your phone, texting your “so-called” friends and yell at your kid. No congratulations, or anything. I wanted you to be my maid of honor. You sit there and get depressed at my son’s birthday because you miss your husband. Because you can’t stand to see other people happy
I’ve BEEN there for you!! I’ve sat by your side and held you when you cried. Convinced you that getting up every morning is a good thing and taking care of your kids is your first priority. I’ve offered time and time again to take your kids when the courts were threatening to take them away from you. And this is what love you show me?
I'm sad. Our friendship has taken to this point where I can't even talk to you anymore without feeling like I'm going to get a argument thrown at me or you saying something negative. I sat there and cried today, wondering if it's going to be like this for the next whatever amount of years. Because my love for you as a sister just can't go away. Sadness, anger, hurt, a little betrayed by your lack of caring. But it will never go away.
I want things to change, I want you to be happy. I wish I could make things different but life just can't be placed on a full halt because of your situation. Sometimes other people need a little hug too, especially sisters.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Wanting Someone You Can't Have
Posted by Anonymous.
I’m so confused!
I want someone I can’t have. I know I can’t have him because he is too good. If I did have him I’d then feel bad.... feel at fault... even though he can make his own choices. He won’t choose me.
... but the yearning is so strong. I’m so happy when he’s around. I count down the minutes until I can see him again.
We’ve become such good friends that I would really hate to ruin that friendship. I want to grow that friendship, not just so I have those opportunities to be near him... even just to hear his voice, or see his smile... but because I really do like him as a friend too!!
I’m smart enough to know and understand the millions of reasons why this shouldn’t happen.... why it won’t happen... (The top are I’m married, he’s married, he’s religiously moral, he’s very happy with his wife...)but I’m having a really hard time reconciling my head and my heart to be on the same page. The other significant factor is our work relationship – I’m pseudo-management, and he’s a front-line worker, and there’s so many complications with that it makes my head spin!!
I’m not looking to change my situation, somehow I do love the one I have – but it’s not enough, and I’m tired of just settling for 2nd best. I’m tired of being the roommate.
I think I should be applauded for one thing though... I’ve been super careful to try to not put out too many of the “I want to jump your bones” signals... I’ve really toned down my usual “flirty” self – which hasn’t been easy to do!
I wish I was a mind reader and knew what he was thinking about at times. If he was thinking, even remotely, the same thing I was. But if he is, would I take that opportunity and potentially screw up everything; or take the opportunity and enjoy the ride while it lasts; or smartly turn it down and continue driving myself mad with should of, could of...
Why does this have to be so confusing?!?!
I’m so confused!
I want someone I can’t have. I know I can’t have him because he is too good. If I did have him I’d then feel bad.... feel at fault... even though he can make his own choices. He won’t choose me.
... but the yearning is so strong. I’m so happy when he’s around. I count down the minutes until I can see him again.
We’ve become such good friends that I would really hate to ruin that friendship. I want to grow that friendship, not just so I have those opportunities to be near him... even just to hear his voice, or see his smile... but because I really do like him as a friend too!!
I’m smart enough to know and understand the millions of reasons why this shouldn’t happen.... why it won’t happen... (The top are I’m married, he’s married, he’s religiously moral, he’s very happy with his wife...)but I’m having a really hard time reconciling my head and my heart to be on the same page. The other significant factor is our work relationship – I’m pseudo-management, and he’s a front-line worker, and there’s so many complications with that it makes my head spin!!
I’m not looking to change my situation, somehow I do love the one I have – but it’s not enough, and I’m tired of just settling for 2nd best. I’m tired of being the roommate.
I think I should be applauded for one thing though... I’ve been super careful to try to not put out too many of the “I want to jump your bones” signals... I’ve really toned down my usual “flirty” self – which hasn’t been easy to do!
I wish I was a mind reader and knew what he was thinking about at times. If he was thinking, even remotely, the same thing I was. But if he is, would I take that opportunity and potentially screw up everything; or take the opportunity and enjoy the ride while it lasts; or smartly turn it down and continue driving myself mad with should of, could of...
Why does this have to be so confusing?!?!
Thursday, August 12, 2010
What It Feels Like To Be Left Behind
Posted by Anonymous.
Dear "K",
The other day I was brushing your daughter's hair, making sure the part was even, forming a twist, making it just right. She smiled in the mirror when I told her I made a French twist and because it was "French" it was fancy. Then I grew mad, chills went up my spine. I thought of another woman brushing my daughter's hair, parting it, twisting it and I couldn't take it. I couldn't stand the thought of another woman standing in and doing something so intimate with my daughter. The mere idea of someone touching her head and making her feel that good moved me to tears and made me angry. Call me selfish but that's just me.
When you drove down the road in your U-haul I watched those girls cling to their father, did you know it took every ounce of strength I had not to run after your truck? Did you know I wanted to drag you out of that truck by your hair and hit you? I never had a stronger desire to hit, beat, mutilate someone in my life. You left. You were selfish. You left your children and I HATE you for that. I hate you as much as I hate my own mother.
One day I woke up to find all my worldly childhood possessions packed up in black garbage bags. Say good bye because after school you are going to live with your dad. That was it. I was disposable. That is how it felt. I wasn't worth the fight. It hurt. It still hurts now.
Seeing you hurt your daughters in the same way is something that is too personal to me. I hate you more then these words can say. It would take fire. It would take death to separate me from my children. I won't, couldn't leave them. I know what it feels like to be left behind and that is enough for me to hate you like I do.
Susan
Dear "K",
The other day I was brushing your daughter's hair, making sure the part was even, forming a twist, making it just right. She smiled in the mirror when I told her I made a French twist and because it was "French" it was fancy. Then I grew mad, chills went up my spine. I thought of another woman brushing my daughter's hair, parting it, twisting it and I couldn't take it. I couldn't stand the thought of another woman standing in and doing something so intimate with my daughter. The mere idea of someone touching her head and making her feel that good moved me to tears and made me angry. Call me selfish but that's just me.
When you drove down the road in your U-haul I watched those girls cling to their father, did you know it took every ounce of strength I had not to run after your truck? Did you know I wanted to drag you out of that truck by your hair and hit you? I never had a stronger desire to hit, beat, mutilate someone in my life. You left. You were selfish. You left your children and I HATE you for that. I hate you as much as I hate my own mother.
One day I woke up to find all my worldly childhood possessions packed up in black garbage bags. Say good bye because after school you are going to live with your dad. That was it. I was disposable. That is how it felt. I wasn't worth the fight. It hurt. It still hurts now.
Seeing you hurt your daughters in the same way is something that is too personal to me. I hate you more then these words can say. It would take fire. It would take death to separate me from my children. I won't, couldn't leave them. I know what it feels like to be left behind and that is enough for me to hate you like I do.
Susan
Monday, August 02, 2010
I Wish I Never Married You
Posted by Anonymous.
You,
You,
I'm tired. I can't fight this uphill battle another day. I just don't have the energy to bridge these gaps anymore. I feel sorry for your crappy upbringing and absentee parents. I know it's hard to lateral your experience into a connected and loving family life, but people do it every day, including me. I didn't exactly come from the best corners of life, either. I'll never say this to you, but I think having a child with you was a huge mistake. I have no regrets about our son, as he is everything to me. However, I have regrets about having him with you.
Don't you understand how hard I work at this? I lost my dad, my mother abandoned me and I was barely raised by my sister. I didn't even have anyone making sure I bathed and brushed my teeth, nevermind the more important stuff in life...so this is a struggle for me. When it comes to parenting I go off of love and common sense, as I don't have much else. I am trying to instill the things in him that were not instilled in me. I try to keep myself calm, despite the fact that riding my last nerve seems to be his favorite hobby as of late. I try to be a firm parent and do the right thing even when it hurts to do so. While these are normal parenting issues, what's not normal is your complete lack of involvement. Your son is going through puberty and he asks ME questions. Not you. ME. And that pisses me off to no end. He should be asking you these questions. The fact that he comes to me for everything proves that in his young life you haven't established any kind of closeness with your boy. He's halfway to adulthood and you've made no effort to positively influence him in any way whatsoever. Do you know what he tells me? "I can't ask dad, he'll say no." Dad is on the computer, he won't help me." "Dad is in the other room, he's busy."
Do you know how much this breaks my heart to hear? DO YOU HAVE ANY FUCKING CLUE HOW MUCH IT MAKES ME HATE YOU?
This is why I fucking nag. Because you put no effort into your relationship with your family whatsoever. Your closest relationships are night elves and shaman, not us humans that love you and stand by you. I know I sound like an out and out jerk, but I have to bleed out the hate and hurt if I am going to get to the heart of things. I want to be sympathetic, I really do. I give you credit for supporting us financially. I give you the respect you deserve and do nice things for you. Somehow, though, you stopped noticing or appreciating any of it. Then again, recognizing mine or our son's value would mean you'd have to pay attention and God forbid you pull the World Of Warcraft out of your ass for 5 minutes. This is why I'm angry. And no matter how many times I've tried talking to you about it, I get nothing.
Speaking of nothing, that's how our love life is now. Do you know how much it hurts to know that I've been treated better intimately by lesser men than you? It makes me feel like less than nothing. When I got sick and couldn't work anymore, you slowly but surely stopped touching me except for at 3 a.m. when you roll over and offer to "help" me finish the job I started. If you don't love me enough to initiate, you can go fuck yourself. I am not a glorified means of masturbation! I am a human being with thoughts and feelings, I deserve better than that! We didn't even consummate our marriage on our wedding night. You spent the night watching movies with your mother while I slept alone.
I WISH I NEVER MARRIED YOU.
Whew...ok. Now I am shifting gears again. I'm sad. What the hell happened to us? We've always had our issues, but we stuck together. Now I feel like we've never been further apart. I don't trust you when you compliment me. I don't like it when you touch me. I miss the days when you didn't push me away. I feel like a lot of this went to hell once I got sick. I feel like you don't love me anymore because I have limited mobility and can't hold down a job right now. I don't expect you to understand what it's like to be me, but I understand you. I know it's hard to watch someone go from a vibrant go-getter to someone that can't carry groceries into the house anymore. I just wish you never pushed me away. I know your heart is good and that you love us, but I don't think you know how to love us. And I'm sorry to say that it's just too late for me.
As the saying goes, "I'm too old for this shit." I really am. I am tired of waiting patiently for you to decide you want to be part of this family you helped make. I'm tired of giving you a pass because you had a shitty childhood. I'm tired of talking about it with you for nothing to happen. I'm just tired. I'm tired of trying to volley a ball that isn't even on my side of the court. I'm just done and will bide my time until I get my health back on track and become financially independent again. I have complete faith it will happen, and when it does it's time for me (and our son) to go. 15 years...I can't do it anymore. I want affection, connection, someone that will want to have a relationship with our son. He's such an incredible kid....I'm so sorry you don't know him the way I do. Perhaps it will be better the next time around...and there will be a next time. I'm not allowing our failure of a marriage to sour me on relationships. Who knows, maybe you just don't love me and don't want to admit it. Maybe your next relationship will be a better one, too. I never wanted to say goodbye, but you're giving me no choice. I can't live in misery much longer.
Somewhere deep down inside a micron of my being holds on, hoping the situation will turn around and our family will improve. Unfortunately, my head is 100% convinced it will never happen. Either way, thanks for the good memories. May we all grow from this mess we're in.
Me
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
First Love
Posted by Anonymous.
In a few hours midnight will come and I will slip down the hall to his room and lean over his sleeping form -so big!- and speak my love in whispers, in my mind, in my heart which needs no language. He will not wake, but I will imagine that his heart will hear.
He is my first love, love that wrenched my soul. How often have I read the blogs of other women who struggle to keep their identities underneath this crushing, precious wave of love? How often have I struggled with that myself, wondered if all I was, all I would ever be, was defined by those I love? Isn't that who he turned me into, seven years (almost!) ago? What identity did I have to keep, anyway? I wasn't a teenager when he was born, but not long from it. I was just beginning to emerge from that shell of daughter, sister into a fragile, barely-formed Me when he came, shattering all that, forever branding me mother.
It almost wasn't so. I tried to dial the number to the clinic, phone in my hand, frozen by the burden of choice. It's for the best, my friend told me. We can't do this, we're not ready. This from the father, though my mind shied away from words like father and baby. Did I know then? Did I understand on some level how a child changes you, dominates mind and heart and soul, turns you into someone you don't recognize? I could stop it. Dial the number, make the appointment, go and stay myself. Become myself on my own terms.
I can't. Tears pouring down my face, voice barely a whisper. Be rational. they said. Be practical, think about this. This will ruin your life, our lives. I couldn't be rational or practical, I couldn't think. All I had was that bone-deep certainty. I can't. Where did that come from? From him, that tiny clump of cells I couldn't wrap my mind around? From myself? Had I already changed?
I became someone. Loving him, I learned to choose wisely whom else to love. In protecting him, I learned to be brave. In failing him, I learned how to forgive, myself and my parents and others. Wondering how to teach him, I learned what I believed in. In imagining the kind of man I hoped he would be, I found a man who would cherish both him and me.
I've had more children. Even as I write this, I feel the fierce kicks of another who will both fill my heart and break it. But it started with him, my first love.
He made me a mother. But he also made me Me.
In a few hours midnight will come and I will slip down the hall to his room and lean over his sleeping form -so big!- and speak my love in whispers, in my mind, in my heart which needs no language. He will not wake, but I will imagine that his heart will hear.
He is my first love, love that wrenched my soul. How often have I read the blogs of other women who struggle to keep their identities underneath this crushing, precious wave of love? How often have I struggled with that myself, wondered if all I was, all I would ever be, was defined by those I love? Isn't that who he turned me into, seven years (almost!) ago? What identity did I have to keep, anyway? I wasn't a teenager when he was born, but not long from it. I was just beginning to emerge from that shell of daughter, sister into a fragile, barely-formed Me when he came, shattering all that, forever branding me mother.
It almost wasn't so. I tried to dial the number to the clinic, phone in my hand, frozen by the burden of choice. It's for the best, my friend told me. We can't do this, we're not ready. This from the father, though my mind shied away from words like father and baby. Did I know then? Did I understand on some level how a child changes you, dominates mind and heart and soul, turns you into someone you don't recognize? I could stop it. Dial the number, make the appointment, go and stay myself. Become myself on my own terms.
I can't. Tears pouring down my face, voice barely a whisper. Be rational. they said. Be practical, think about this. This will ruin your life, our lives. I couldn't be rational or practical, I couldn't think. All I had was that bone-deep certainty. I can't. Where did that come from? From him, that tiny clump of cells I couldn't wrap my mind around? From myself? Had I already changed?
I became someone. Loving him, I learned to choose wisely whom else to love. In protecting him, I learned to be brave. In failing him, I learned how to forgive, myself and my parents and others. Wondering how to teach him, I learned what I believed in. In imagining the kind of man I hoped he would be, I found a man who would cherish both him and me.
I've had more children. Even as I write this, I feel the fierce kicks of another who will both fill my heart and break it. But it started with him, my first love.
He made me a mother. But he also made me Me.
Monday, July 19, 2010
A Letter To Me
Posted by Connie.
To Me, present and future...
I've been trying to figure out the best way to write this blog, but I can't figure it out, so if it sounds more like a rant and less like a well-composed intelligent thought, thats why.
In my life, I have always had a problem. What is that problem you ask? Well, to put it simply, I give people too many chances. I always lived my life believing that no matter what, people had GOOD somewhere in them, and that everyone deserved the opportunity to show that. So, when someone hurt me, I would let them go for a little while, only to let them back in the minute they came back around. I always thought that I was doing a good thing, but in reality, I was only hurting myself more. It was like I was telling myself that I didn't deserve to be treated right the first time, and that it was OK for me to accept only second best. In the last year, I have made alot of changes in that department. I have let go of alot of people who really just weren't good for me. It was hard, but I did it, knowing that the people that I still have care enough about me to make up for that absence. I have done this successfully with one exception: my mother. As (more than one person) pointed out to me, it's like I am a drug addict. No matter how crappy she makes me feel about myself, my life, and the people who love me, I keep going back for that "momentary high" that I get when she gives me even an ounce of praise. The problem I have come to realize is that its all an illusion. That praise is given with strings attached; with conditions. If I don't fulfill those conditions, it comes back ten-fold in the form of insults, hatred, and just plain meanness. No matter what, though, I always went back. Not only did this hurt me, this hurt the people around me who were finally starting to trust and care about me. This ONE relationship was tearing down all of my other ones. Not anymore.
The purpose of this blog is mostly for me. In the case that I couldnt get a hold of someone like J, M, or K in a weak moment, I can read this to remind myself why I left in the first place. Some of you might wonder "Is it really that bad?" The answer is yes, and so much worse. It would take a lifetime to detail the 22 years of hurt that has been laid upon me; for now, I will use this blog to remind myself of the ones that stick out the most.
When I was 8 years old, my mom took me and my brother to a 60s dance at the elementary school. Back then, I had a "boyfriend" named chris; he was my "boyfriend" because we were 8 and we sat next to each other in school for 3 years, LOL, and he invited me to his birthday party and told his mom I was his girlfriend. Anyway, at the dance, my mom was being a spoilsport, I remember, and I started dancing with Chris' mom. Apparently, this made my mother feel very jealous, and at the end of the night she told me that everyone probably thought that Chris' mom was really my mom because we were both so fat.
I have never been a skinny person. I have always been overweight. Don't worry though, because I never forgot that either. My mother made sure of that. She can say that it was "because she cared" all she wants to, but there is caring, and then there is purposely making someone feel bad about themselves. When I was 10 years old, I couldnt find an outfit to wear to church with my friend. I was upset about this, I remember, and instead of comforting me, my mother told me that "If I wasn't such a damn whale, I would be able to find something to wear". Thats hurtful at any age; imagine what it does when you are 10.
All throughout middle school and high school, I was terrified of getting bad grades. My mother actually thinks this is a good thing, like well at least you would never bring a bad grade home, but I on the other hand, know differently. Yes, I liked to get good grades, and yes I was a good student, but anytime I even brought home a bad progress report or report card (and when I say bad, I mean I got one C out of an entire semester), my mother would lay into me in her passive aggressive way. "Oh sure, a C is fine. A C means average, so as long as you are OK with being AVERAGE than thats great."
While I was living at home with my mother, after highschool and during college, I was working part time, sometimes full time, and going to school full time, commuting even, so my days were long and I never really had a break. I will admit it, when I got home, I was exhausted, completely, and all I really wanted to do was be able to enjoy what little time I did have open by spending it with my friends and, when the time came, my boyfriend. My mom got mad at me because I didnt help to clean up around the house enough. I wouldnt vacuum, I wouldnt do the dishes, trust me if u asked her the list would go on and on. I am not denying that I didnt do much housework, I didnt. It was not because I was lazy, however, it was because I was SO DAMN BUSY. At that point, my mother wasnt even working. SO basically, she stayed home all day and never did anything except play on her computer, yet when Kayla got home from school, I got home, or Marty got home, all from very long days, WE were supposed to do all of the work. Once in a while is fine, ALWAYS is just ridiculous. My mother had the nerve to tell me that having me in the house was like living with an extremely rude roommate. Why? Because I didn't clean up a mess that I didnt make? I barely ate at home, barely spent my time there, and when I was there she was also making me feel like crap. This went on for years and years and that feeling that she made me feel, that I was basically garbage, will never go away.
This one is a sensitive topic, but one of the BEST ways to remind myself just why its best for me to stay away. When I FINALLY confessed to my mother that my brother had molested me for 9 years, she barely batted an eyelash. She gave the standard "oh really, im sorry" blah blah excuse, but she NEVER wanted to talk about it. Talking about it is what I really needed, and she just wouldnt. Even worse, after I told her this, she was still going out of her way to communicate with him, making sure he was ok wherever he was at, not making stupid decisions, worried when he started acting crazy, etc etc. And she would ask me about him and if I had heard from him, no matter how many times I told her I didnt want to hear about him at all. I remember crying on the phone with my friend while I was at work after my mom had called me and freaked out about Bobby. I was so upset that she just didnt seem to care about what I was feeling. I understand that Bobby is her kid and she will always worry. What I didn't understand was why she had to act like she was SO concerned with him, so worried about him, when she never acted that way towards me. I felt like no matter what, I would always just not be good enough for her.
And finally, the most recent BIG THING I guess, even though there are thousands of others. In February, I had to have emergency surgery to remove my gallbladder. And by emergency, I mean ambulanced out of work during a 3 foot snow storm emergency. James drove from Fairfax to Woodbridge in his truck with horrible traction, in the snow, to be by my side. He was there with me for 9 hrs, and drove me to CVS after, got my prescriptions, drove me home, etc etc. He was there taking care of me and making sure I was ok the WHOLE time. The next day, I called my mom. I was upset because I did not have insurance, and the surgeons deposit was going to cost me 1500. I didnt have this; I wasnt using my credit cards and I didnt have any in savings. I didnt want to, but I asked my mother for help. Yes, she helped me out and for that I am very thankful, but it didnt come without cost. First, she told me that this was all my fault; that it was from the way I lived my life. Then, when I told her that I might need her to drive me to the hospital on the day of my surgery because James wasn't sure he would be able to get the day off, she insulted him and made me feel bad at the same time. She said, and I quote "What good is it to have a boyfriend who lives near you if he can't take care of you?". Im sorry, but what a horrible fucking thing to say to your daughter. My boyfriend had spent the last 9 hrs in the ER with me, by my side, holding my hand, etc. SHE didnt even come to the ER. (And by the way, James took off work and took me to the surgery, my mother never even came.) Jean, (the lady I live with) drove me to the pre-op appt. So yes, my mother gave me her money. I guess that meant she didnt have to give her time.
Like I said, this probably didn't sound like the most put together thing in the whole world, but I felt the need to get it out of me, to put it in writing so that I would be able to come back to it. There are people in my life that care about me; people who are GOOD for me. Its unfortunate that my mother isnt one of them, but at this point, it doesnt even matter. I just need to remember to call them first.
Ce La Vie
To Me, present and future...
I've been trying to figure out the best way to write this blog, but I can't figure it out, so if it sounds more like a rant and less like a well-composed intelligent thought, thats why.
In my life, I have always had a problem. What is that problem you ask? Well, to put it simply, I give people too many chances. I always lived my life believing that no matter what, people had GOOD somewhere in them, and that everyone deserved the opportunity to show that. So, when someone hurt me, I would let them go for a little while, only to let them back in the minute they came back around. I always thought that I was doing a good thing, but in reality, I was only hurting myself more. It was like I was telling myself that I didn't deserve to be treated right the first time, and that it was OK for me to accept only second best. In the last year, I have made alot of changes in that department. I have let go of alot of people who really just weren't good for me. It was hard, but I did it, knowing that the people that I still have care enough about me to make up for that absence. I have done this successfully with one exception: my mother. As (more than one person) pointed out to me, it's like I am a drug addict. No matter how crappy she makes me feel about myself, my life, and the people who love me, I keep going back for that "momentary high" that I get when she gives me even an ounce of praise. The problem I have come to realize is that its all an illusion. That praise is given with strings attached; with conditions. If I don't fulfill those conditions, it comes back ten-fold in the form of insults, hatred, and just plain meanness. No matter what, though, I always went back. Not only did this hurt me, this hurt the people around me who were finally starting to trust and care about me. This ONE relationship was tearing down all of my other ones. Not anymore.
The purpose of this blog is mostly for me. In the case that I couldnt get a hold of someone like J, M, or K in a weak moment, I can read this to remind myself why I left in the first place. Some of you might wonder "Is it really that bad?" The answer is yes, and so much worse. It would take a lifetime to detail the 22 years of hurt that has been laid upon me; for now, I will use this blog to remind myself of the ones that stick out the most.
When I was 8 years old, my mom took me and my brother to a 60s dance at the elementary school. Back then, I had a "boyfriend" named chris; he was my "boyfriend" because we were 8 and we sat next to each other in school for 3 years, LOL, and he invited me to his birthday party and told his mom I was his girlfriend. Anyway, at the dance, my mom was being a spoilsport, I remember, and I started dancing with Chris' mom. Apparently, this made my mother feel very jealous, and at the end of the night she told me that everyone probably thought that Chris' mom was really my mom because we were both so fat.
I have never been a skinny person. I have always been overweight. Don't worry though, because I never forgot that either. My mother made sure of that. She can say that it was "because she cared" all she wants to, but there is caring, and then there is purposely making someone feel bad about themselves. When I was 10 years old, I couldnt find an outfit to wear to church with my friend. I was upset about this, I remember, and instead of comforting me, my mother told me that "If I wasn't such a damn whale, I would be able to find something to wear". Thats hurtful at any age; imagine what it does when you are 10.
All throughout middle school and high school, I was terrified of getting bad grades. My mother actually thinks this is a good thing, like well at least you would never bring a bad grade home, but I on the other hand, know differently. Yes, I liked to get good grades, and yes I was a good student, but anytime I even brought home a bad progress report or report card (and when I say bad, I mean I got one C out of an entire semester), my mother would lay into me in her passive aggressive way. "Oh sure, a C is fine. A C means average, so as long as you are OK with being AVERAGE than thats great."
While I was living at home with my mother, after highschool and during college, I was working part time, sometimes full time, and going to school full time, commuting even, so my days were long and I never really had a break. I will admit it, when I got home, I was exhausted, completely, and all I really wanted to do was be able to enjoy what little time I did have open by spending it with my friends and, when the time came, my boyfriend. My mom got mad at me because I didnt help to clean up around the house enough. I wouldnt vacuum, I wouldnt do the dishes, trust me if u asked her the list would go on and on. I am not denying that I didnt do much housework, I didnt. It was not because I was lazy, however, it was because I was SO DAMN BUSY. At that point, my mother wasnt even working. SO basically, she stayed home all day and never did anything except play on her computer, yet when Kayla got home from school, I got home, or Marty got home, all from very long days, WE were supposed to do all of the work. Once in a while is fine, ALWAYS is just ridiculous. My mother had the nerve to tell me that having me in the house was like living with an extremely rude roommate. Why? Because I didn't clean up a mess that I didnt make? I barely ate at home, barely spent my time there, and when I was there she was also making me feel like crap. This went on for years and years and that feeling that she made me feel, that I was basically garbage, will never go away.
This one is a sensitive topic, but one of the BEST ways to remind myself just why its best for me to stay away. When I FINALLY confessed to my mother that my brother had molested me for 9 years, she barely batted an eyelash. She gave the standard "oh really, im sorry" blah blah excuse, but she NEVER wanted to talk about it. Talking about it is what I really needed, and she just wouldnt. Even worse, after I told her this, she was still going out of her way to communicate with him, making sure he was ok wherever he was at, not making stupid decisions, worried when he started acting crazy, etc etc. And she would ask me about him and if I had heard from him, no matter how many times I told her I didnt want to hear about him at all. I remember crying on the phone with my friend while I was at work after my mom had called me and freaked out about Bobby. I was so upset that she just didnt seem to care about what I was feeling. I understand that Bobby is her kid and she will always worry. What I didn't understand was why she had to act like she was SO concerned with him, so worried about him, when she never acted that way towards me. I felt like no matter what, I would always just not be good enough for her.
And finally, the most recent BIG THING I guess, even though there are thousands of others. In February, I had to have emergency surgery to remove my gallbladder. And by emergency, I mean ambulanced out of work during a 3 foot snow storm emergency. James drove from Fairfax to Woodbridge in his truck with horrible traction, in the snow, to be by my side. He was there with me for 9 hrs, and drove me to CVS after, got my prescriptions, drove me home, etc etc. He was there taking care of me and making sure I was ok the WHOLE time. The next day, I called my mom. I was upset because I did not have insurance, and the surgeons deposit was going to cost me 1500. I didnt have this; I wasnt using my credit cards and I didnt have any in savings. I didnt want to, but I asked my mother for help. Yes, she helped me out and for that I am very thankful, but it didnt come without cost. First, she told me that this was all my fault; that it was from the way I lived my life. Then, when I told her that I might need her to drive me to the hospital on the day of my surgery because James wasn't sure he would be able to get the day off, she insulted him and made me feel bad at the same time. She said, and I quote "What good is it to have a boyfriend who lives near you if he can't take care of you?". Im sorry, but what a horrible fucking thing to say to your daughter. My boyfriend had spent the last 9 hrs in the ER with me, by my side, holding my hand, etc. SHE didnt even come to the ER. (And by the way, James took off work and took me to the surgery, my mother never even came.) Jean, (the lady I live with) drove me to the pre-op appt. So yes, my mother gave me her money. I guess that meant she didnt have to give her time.
Like I said, this probably didn't sound like the most put together thing in the whole world, but I felt the need to get it out of me, to put it in writing so that I would be able to come back to it. There are people in my life that care about me; people who are GOOD for me. Its unfortunate that my mother isnt one of them, but at this point, it doesnt even matter. I just need to remember to call them first.
Ce La Vie
Monday, July 05, 2010
To My Mother
Posted by Anonymous.
Mother’s Day was filled with Facebook statuses and blog posts about the joy of Motherhood. Most also included special sentiments about the author’s relationship with her own mother, and each time I read one, I scowled like a child.
Let’s face it- you were absent for most, if not all, of my childhood. Yes Mom, I realize
you were always there, in the house. Always commenting about laundry and about how
I will need to tell people about all you do when I get older. Always there, drinking out of glass bottles, because “drinking out of cans is low class.” Always there, locked in your room, smoking marijuana because it helped you to “be creative”. Always there, because you never left the house except for a short walk across the street to buy cigarettes.
The excuses I would make for you were varied and creative- you had seasonal affective
disorder or that you were bipolar (because these had come up on television, and that
seemed to fit at times). You couldn’t come to my concerts because you were afraid of
crowds. You couldn’t come to my younger brothers’ Open Houses at school because you
were sick (an excuse used so often that teachers barely blinked at a 14 year-old showing
up to collect her brother’s special projects). You missed soccer practices and baseball
games. But as I recall, you never missed a nap. Should we happen to wake you up from
one, we knew to run and hide.
As I got older, I was willing to blame the alcohol. It was alcohol that you brought with
you, practically kicking and screaming, to my little brother’s wedding that you tried so
hard to get out of. It was a six pack that you cracked open within 20 minutes of meeting
my daughter, you first grandchild, that you refused to hold as you cradled you can of
Natural Ice (now long past the need for elegant bottles). If you could just get sober, then you could be the mother I wanted, the mother I longed for, the fictional mother, who at the very least could teach me how to apply make-up and could give me advice as three months of colic with my second child wore on and on.
But Mom, you’ve been surprisingly sober for three years, and still that mother has yet to
make an appearance. In fact, in a fun twist of events, after 1 year of sobriety that we as a family had fought so hard for, you left my ever forgiving father for a woman you met on the internet (“Oh please, it’s not a big deal. It’s been on Oprah.”). Suddenly you can drive on I-95, where you were too scared to do it before, thus missing my graduation for my Master’s degree. Suddenly you can fly- but only to Arizona with your girlfriend… not to NY to see your third grandchild.
I go for weeks without hearing from you. It’s like a game. How many days will go
by before you realize you haven’t heard from me, and you can rush to the phone and
apologize? Only you never do, because I give up and call you around day 14. And
your conversations always revolve around how this world has done you wrong; how
much you actually hate your girlfriend; how much you hate having to take care of my
grandmother as she slips deeper into dementia. How much you wish my father would
take you back. How bitter you are that my brother doesn’t speak to you and how it is his fault because obviously it is a “lesbian thing.” (For the record, he wasn’t speaking to you for 6 months before your coming out, but you didn’t notice.) How you are going to call J.G. Wentworth and fight for the rest of your divorce settlement because you and your dogs can’t stand living with my grandparents one more day. And I let you talk, because I don’t know what else to do.
This weekend, for Mother’s Day, we came out to the house to have Mother’s Day
with you and Nana. We ripped out weeds in the garden as you talked away on your
cell phone, upstairs away from your daughter and grandchildren. We planted flowers
while you puffed like a chimney on the back porch. We went out to lunch while you
drove to the Comcast building to replace your cable box, which apparently could
only be done right at that moment. We had a great time with Nana, who is more of a
grandmother to my daughters than you will ever be, but that doesn’t seem to bother you.
So yesterday I struggled with whether or not to call you on Mother’s Day. I had come to the firm resolution that I would not, since I seem to mean so little to you. But in the late afternoon, I wavered, holding out still for that mother who may just show up one of these days. And I called that cell phone that never leaves your side for a second. And it rang and rang. I left a message. You have yet to call back.
So thanks Mom, for the blank slate you have given me on this journey into motherhood. Thanks for the advice you never offer. Thanks for giving me a clear path to make my own mistakes and the resolve to never repeat yours. I may not know how to be a mom, but I know how not to be one. My life is dedicated to being the best mother to my daughters that I can be, if only because I know how hard it is to find a Mother’s Day card that does not include any “great mom!” or “loving” sentiments. They deserve more than that, and so do I.
Mother’s Day was filled with Facebook statuses and blog posts about the joy of Motherhood. Most also included special sentiments about the author’s relationship with her own mother, and each time I read one, I scowled like a child.
Let’s face it- you were absent for most, if not all, of my childhood. Yes Mom, I realize
you were always there, in the house. Always commenting about laundry and about how
I will need to tell people about all you do when I get older. Always there, drinking out of glass bottles, because “drinking out of cans is low class.” Always there, locked in your room, smoking marijuana because it helped you to “be creative”. Always there, because you never left the house except for a short walk across the street to buy cigarettes.
The excuses I would make for you were varied and creative- you had seasonal affective
disorder or that you were bipolar (because these had come up on television, and that
seemed to fit at times). You couldn’t come to my concerts because you were afraid of
crowds. You couldn’t come to my younger brothers’ Open Houses at school because you
were sick (an excuse used so often that teachers barely blinked at a 14 year-old showing
up to collect her brother’s special projects). You missed soccer practices and baseball
games. But as I recall, you never missed a nap. Should we happen to wake you up from
one, we knew to run and hide.
As I got older, I was willing to blame the alcohol. It was alcohol that you brought with
you, practically kicking and screaming, to my little brother’s wedding that you tried so
hard to get out of. It was a six pack that you cracked open within 20 minutes of meeting
my daughter, you first grandchild, that you refused to hold as you cradled you can of
Natural Ice (now long past the need for elegant bottles). If you could just get sober, then you could be the mother I wanted, the mother I longed for, the fictional mother, who at the very least could teach me how to apply make-up and could give me advice as three months of colic with my second child wore on and on.
But Mom, you’ve been surprisingly sober for three years, and still that mother has yet to
make an appearance. In fact, in a fun twist of events, after 1 year of sobriety that we as a family had fought so hard for, you left my ever forgiving father for a woman you met on the internet (“Oh please, it’s not a big deal. It’s been on Oprah.”). Suddenly you can drive on I-95, where you were too scared to do it before, thus missing my graduation for my Master’s degree. Suddenly you can fly- but only to Arizona with your girlfriend… not to NY to see your third grandchild.
I go for weeks without hearing from you. It’s like a game. How many days will go
by before you realize you haven’t heard from me, and you can rush to the phone and
apologize? Only you never do, because I give up and call you around day 14. And
your conversations always revolve around how this world has done you wrong; how
much you actually hate your girlfriend; how much you hate having to take care of my
grandmother as she slips deeper into dementia. How much you wish my father would
take you back. How bitter you are that my brother doesn’t speak to you and how it is his fault because obviously it is a “lesbian thing.” (For the record, he wasn’t speaking to you for 6 months before your coming out, but you didn’t notice.) How you are going to call J.G. Wentworth and fight for the rest of your divorce settlement because you and your dogs can’t stand living with my grandparents one more day. And I let you talk, because I don’t know what else to do.
This weekend, for Mother’s Day, we came out to the house to have Mother’s Day
with you and Nana. We ripped out weeds in the garden as you talked away on your
cell phone, upstairs away from your daughter and grandchildren. We planted flowers
while you puffed like a chimney on the back porch. We went out to lunch while you
drove to the Comcast building to replace your cable box, which apparently could
only be done right at that moment. We had a great time with Nana, who is more of a
grandmother to my daughters than you will ever be, but that doesn’t seem to bother you.
So yesterday I struggled with whether or not to call you on Mother’s Day. I had come to the firm resolution that I would not, since I seem to mean so little to you. But in the late afternoon, I wavered, holding out still for that mother who may just show up one of these days. And I called that cell phone that never leaves your side for a second. And it rang and rang. I left a message. You have yet to call back.
So thanks Mom, for the blank slate you have given me on this journey into motherhood. Thanks for the advice you never offer. Thanks for giving me a clear path to make my own mistakes and the resolve to never repeat yours. I may not know how to be a mom, but I know how not to be one. My life is dedicated to being the best mother to my daughters that I can be, if only because I know how hard it is to find a Mother’s Day card that does not include any “great mom!” or “loving” sentiments. They deserve more than that, and so do I.
Friday, July 02, 2010
So Mom Is Dying And You Are Not
Posted by Anonymous.
My mother is dying. Slowly, but perceptibly. Fading out, like a blurry xerox, her features sinking inward and melting toward one another. And for the 9 months this has been happening, I have wished it were you, Daddy.
Because Daddy, she showed up. She was there for every lost tooth, every prom, every school play, every nightmare, every spilled juice, every outgrown shoe. It wasn't pretty. She yelled. She was so tired she fell into bed every night. She wasn't good at comforting me. But she was always there, like a rock, a tired, jagged, sometimes cold, but always firmly and absolutely present rock. And you? You missed it all. You were drinking, and then trying not to drink, and then piecing together the ravages of a self from what was left after you stopped drinking, and then you floated off into some kind of oblivion I still don't understand. I played the part you needed me to play: loving and uncomprehending little girl, forgiving adult. But when the diagnosis came in, when they told us what it was and we realized what it meant, all I could do was hate that it wasn't you. Because when she is gone, I will be an orphan. Only you won't know it, and I will have to go through the motions of comforting you about the fact that there's really nothing you can do for me anymore, make up things for you to do so you can feel like a dad after missing it all in the first place.
Mom and I, we had plans. She had bought a house. She was going to move near me, be a grandma, see my kid grow up, be there for her. For the lost teeth and the outgrown shoes and the school plays. That's all gone up in -- not a a puff of smoke, but a steady stream of twisted cells multiplying silently. So she'll go, and my kid won't remember her, and we'll have a photo or two of you, the grandpa she's hardly met, and at some point I will say to her, it's OK, honey, I hardly met him either. But your grandma? She loved you to pieces. She was there when you were born and she held you and rocked you and did your laundry and laughed with me about how stupid cloth diapers were, and she bought you your first clothes and your swim lessons and all your shoes till she died, and she put money away for college. She loved you. She was there for you. She hated not being able to see you grow up more than anything.
And Daddy, you'll never know any of us.
My mother is dying. Slowly, but perceptibly. Fading out, like a blurry xerox, her features sinking inward and melting toward one another. And for the 9 months this has been happening, I have wished it were you, Daddy.
Because Daddy, she showed up. She was there for every lost tooth, every prom, every school play, every nightmare, every spilled juice, every outgrown shoe. It wasn't pretty. She yelled. She was so tired she fell into bed every night. She wasn't good at comforting me. But she was always there, like a rock, a tired, jagged, sometimes cold, but always firmly and absolutely present rock. And you? You missed it all. You were drinking, and then trying not to drink, and then piecing together the ravages of a self from what was left after you stopped drinking, and then you floated off into some kind of oblivion I still don't understand. I played the part you needed me to play: loving and uncomprehending little girl, forgiving adult. But when the diagnosis came in, when they told us what it was and we realized what it meant, all I could do was hate that it wasn't you. Because when she is gone, I will be an orphan. Only you won't know it, and I will have to go through the motions of comforting you about the fact that there's really nothing you can do for me anymore, make up things for you to do so you can feel like a dad after missing it all in the first place.
Mom and I, we had plans. She had bought a house. She was going to move near me, be a grandma, see my kid grow up, be there for her. For the lost teeth and the outgrown shoes and the school plays. That's all gone up in -- not a a puff of smoke, but a steady stream of twisted cells multiplying silently. So she'll go, and my kid won't remember her, and we'll have a photo or two of you, the grandpa she's hardly met, and at some point I will say to her, it's OK, honey, I hardly met him either. But your grandma? She loved you to pieces. She was there when you were born and she held you and rocked you and did your laundry and laughed with me about how stupid cloth diapers were, and she bought you your first clothes and your swim lessons and all your shoes till she died, and she put money away for college. She loved you. She was there for you. She hated not being able to see you grow up more than anything.
And Daddy, you'll never know any of us.
Monday, June 21, 2010
I'm Blowing It
Posted by Anonymous.
I'm blowing it. My life. I'm blowing my life. At least that is how I feel today. I should be happy, I'm 28 and just bought my first house. I did it by myself. My boyfriend didn't help a bit, even though he makes double the money I do. That is the problem, my boyfriend is a nice guy and a good provider. The issue is he only provides for what he deems important. I, on the other hand, work hard, at a job that I greatly dislike most of the time, to provide for everything else.
I was raised with a slower pace of doing things. To me nothing has be to perfect right now, just so long as I am happy with what I have. I grew up with far less than I have now, but I think I was happier then. I've never cared about the newest this or that, or the most expensive. It's always was been about being comfortable in my life. Well, I'm not comfortable anymore. I am exhausted. He is exhausting. When I get home from a long day of work, he wants me to unpack or clean up or hang things. I want to lay down. When I tell him that I am exhausted he mocks me or makes a half joking comment that I am lazy. From there I tend to shut down. It's not fair. I work very hard, I deserve to be happy. I'm blowing it. I should be enjoying my freedom, not dreading going home to my new house because someone is going to nag me to death.
I know this is a very childish thing to complain about, I get it. There are many people in the world with much bigger problems. l am just exhausted and drained and tired of being tired. I want my chance to live happily ever after. I don't think I will get it.
I'm blowing it. My life. I'm blowing my life. At least that is how I feel today. I should be happy, I'm 28 and just bought my first house. I did it by myself. My boyfriend didn't help a bit, even though he makes double the money I do. That is the problem, my boyfriend is a nice guy and a good provider. The issue is he only provides for what he deems important. I, on the other hand, work hard, at a job that I greatly dislike most of the time, to provide for everything else.
I was raised with a slower pace of doing things. To me nothing has be to perfect right now, just so long as I am happy with what I have. I grew up with far less than I have now, but I think I was happier then. I've never cared about the newest this or that, or the most expensive. It's always was been about being comfortable in my life. Well, I'm not comfortable anymore. I am exhausted. He is exhausting. When I get home from a long day of work, he wants me to unpack or clean up or hang things. I want to lay down. When I tell him that I am exhausted he mocks me or makes a half joking comment that I am lazy. From there I tend to shut down. It's not fair. I work very hard, I deserve to be happy. I'm blowing it. I should be enjoying my freedom, not dreading going home to my new house because someone is going to nag me to death.
I know this is a very childish thing to complain about, I get it. There are many people in the world with much bigger problems. l am just exhausted and drained and tired of being tired. I want my chance to live happily ever after. I don't think I will get it.
Friday, June 18, 2010
A Life In Tatters
Posted by Anonymous.
We've been together for over 14 years, we own our own flat, we have two beautiful, wonderful little girls and the world's best cat. We've had our ups and downs, and yes, 2009 will certainly go down as one of the all time crap years - you got almost no work all year and we had two huge, unexpected purchases to make (over 18,000 € in total). Money is tight, so tight it's suffocating us, and you're still looking for work but having a really hard time finding it. I know all that.
But I don't know what to do when you start laying all the blame on me, when you start accusing me of a million vile, untrue things (you've been having headaches and ringing in your ears, and somehow this is a sign that I've been "doing something" to harm you, poison you, drive you mad; you've accused me of taking drugs, of being a tyrant, a hypocrit, a compulsive and pathological liar, of sleeping with our computer maintenance guy, of picking up men from internet dating sites, of sleeping with any number of men (of being a prostitute, in a way, but an unpaid one apparently), of being a compulsive internet gamer, of being insane...). It's all untrue, but you refuse to believe me. You insist that I be frank and honest and sincere, but when I am, you refuse to believe me. You've become Dr Jekyll - kind, considerate, affectionate, just like you used to be way back in the beginning - and Mr Hyde, accusing me of horrible, horrible things, saying (as you did this afternoon, in front of our friends, our children) that "I can't be with her right now, it's physical", saying you have to move out, even though financially that's just not a possibility while you have no income and I only have debts. You are destroying me, slowly, painfully.
Our younger daughter turned 6 last Tuesday and is having her birthday party tomorrow afternoon. I've been trying so goddam hard to hold things together to make her special day, her special party day, happy for her. But it's so hard. You give me hope, you talk sensibly and positively and then, the next day, BANG, you destroy it all again.
Right now, I hate you but I know, deep down, I love you like I always have. I'll never find it easy to forgive and forget all the hateful things you've said and done these last few weeks (the bitch slap in front of our elder daughter "I'm not saying why you deserve it because you know perfectly well" when of course I don't know (I should point out, to be fair, that you have never, ever hurt me before, this really was the first time) will be particularly hard to forgive and forget, as will the accusation that I'm trying to harm you physically), but I'll try. Just like I forgave (though didn't forget, I admit) your infidelities at the start of our relationship.
Ever since we've been together, I've been honest, faithful and supportive. I've worked like a slave to keep our heads above water (you did the lion's share of the household stuff, and I could never have worked as hard as I have without your help, I'm not denying that, or denigrating it, I appreciate it, but assumed it was just your role in the team I thought - wrongly, apparently - we were), I've done nothing but my best for us as a couple, a family.
You are now throwing it all away, on the basis of "facts" that you refuse to admit are false. I'm worried for your mental health, I'm worried about where this will all end. We live a long way away from the small amount of family I have, and almost as far from my two closest friends, so I feel horribly alone and totally unsure of what to do next.
I have to keep it together for tomorrow, I have cakes to make and goodie bags to prepare, I want our little girl to have a fun party, without you ruining everything by accusing me of something untrue in front of everyone. But I'm so scared, so very scared.
You're now talking about alternating custody, and that breaks my heart too. You refuse to go and see a counselor ("what for? You'd tell him your side, I'd tell him mine, it wouldn't get us anywhere"), you refuse to see a psychiatrist ("why? You're the one who needs psychiatric help!"), we just go round in circles.
I'm scared, I'm in pain, I'm alone and I'm more miserable than I've been in years.
I wish I knew what to do.
We've been together for over 14 years, we own our own flat, we have two beautiful, wonderful little girls and the world's best cat. We've had our ups and downs, and yes, 2009 will certainly go down as one of the all time crap years - you got almost no work all year and we had two huge, unexpected purchases to make (over 18,000 € in total). Money is tight, so tight it's suffocating us, and you're still looking for work but having a really hard time finding it. I know all that.
But I don't know what to do when you start laying all the blame on me, when you start accusing me of a million vile, untrue things (you've been having headaches and ringing in your ears, and somehow this is a sign that I've been "doing something" to harm you, poison you, drive you mad; you've accused me of taking drugs, of being a tyrant, a hypocrit, a compulsive and pathological liar, of sleeping with our computer maintenance guy, of picking up men from internet dating sites, of sleeping with any number of men (of being a prostitute, in a way, but an unpaid one apparently), of being a compulsive internet gamer, of being insane...). It's all untrue, but you refuse to believe me. You insist that I be frank and honest and sincere, but when I am, you refuse to believe me. You've become Dr Jekyll - kind, considerate, affectionate, just like you used to be way back in the beginning - and Mr Hyde, accusing me of horrible, horrible things, saying (as you did this afternoon, in front of our friends, our children) that "I can't be with her right now, it's physical", saying you have to move out, even though financially that's just not a possibility while you have no income and I only have debts. You are destroying me, slowly, painfully.
Our younger daughter turned 6 last Tuesday and is having her birthday party tomorrow afternoon. I've been trying so goddam hard to hold things together to make her special day, her special party day, happy for her. But it's so hard. You give me hope, you talk sensibly and positively and then, the next day, BANG, you destroy it all again.
Right now, I hate you but I know, deep down, I love you like I always have. I'll never find it easy to forgive and forget all the hateful things you've said and done these last few weeks (the bitch slap in front of our elder daughter "I'm not saying why you deserve it because you know perfectly well" when of course I don't know (I should point out, to be fair, that you have never, ever hurt me before, this really was the first time) will be particularly hard to forgive and forget, as will the accusation that I'm trying to harm you physically), but I'll try. Just like I forgave (though didn't forget, I admit) your infidelities at the start of our relationship.
Ever since we've been together, I've been honest, faithful and supportive. I've worked like a slave to keep our heads above water (you did the lion's share of the household stuff, and I could never have worked as hard as I have without your help, I'm not denying that, or denigrating it, I appreciate it, but assumed it was just your role in the team I thought - wrongly, apparently - we were), I've done nothing but my best for us as a couple, a family.
You are now throwing it all away, on the basis of "facts" that you refuse to admit are false. I'm worried for your mental health, I'm worried about where this will all end. We live a long way away from the small amount of family I have, and almost as far from my two closest friends, so I feel horribly alone and totally unsure of what to do next.
I have to keep it together for tomorrow, I have cakes to make and goodie bags to prepare, I want our little girl to have a fun party, without you ruining everything by accusing me of something untrue in front of everyone. But I'm so scared, so very scared.
You're now talking about alternating custody, and that breaks my heart too. You refuse to go and see a counselor ("what for? You'd tell him your side, I'd tell him mine, it wouldn't get us anywhere"), you refuse to see a psychiatrist ("why? You're the one who needs psychiatric help!"), we just go round in circles.
I'm scared, I'm in pain, I'm alone and I'm more miserable than I've been in years.
I wish I knew what to do.
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
How Did I Get Here?
Posted by Anonymous.
Growing up, success came fairly easily. Mostly 'A' report cards, co-Captain of the Pom Squad, Scholarship to college. Even college continued mostly along that line -- even the bumps in the road could be overcome with a little extra work.
Ever since then it's been downhill. First job after college I left after 2 years because I bombed. The next jobs were ok, so I thought things were getting back on track. Got married, had a child. Started on anti-anxiety meds for stress. Started to get more depressed and anxious. It started to effect my job. Marriage hit a major rough patch. Upped the meds. More struggles at work. Baby number 2 arrived and my depression ballooned into a hideous monster. Started therapy and what became the long process of more and more medication. That was 6 years ago. My job is in trouble, my marriage is in trouble, and my life is a mess.
My dad was a high functioning alcoholic. My mom is the classic "enabler" - sweeping everything under the rug. I'm the classic "Adult Child of an Alcoholic," constantly "people pleasing." I almost wish I were an alcoholic because then I would have a problem that can be solved --You can stop drinking (or taking drugs, or stealing). It's within your control --at least to a point.
With depression like this, there is no control. One minute things are going along Ok --then for the next 10 days you have no energy, stare into space and have no concentration.
I used to have a phenomenal memory. I could keep all sorts of appointments and scheduling in my head. Now I can barely remember things long enough to write them down. I have a pile of "reminders" to go through --many of which have passed the deadline by the time I get to them.
I used to be happy and bouncy. I used to have tons of self confidence. I feel like a shell of what I was.
People say, just focus on being happy. Just focus on getting things done. They don't realize I can't focus -- my brain is set on a loop of negative feedback.
So, how did I get here? How did I go from over-achieving to "holding onto my job by my fingertips?" And is there any way back up out of this pit?
Growing up, success came fairly easily. Mostly 'A' report cards, co-Captain of the Pom Squad, Scholarship to college. Even college continued mostly along that line -- even the bumps in the road could be overcome with a little extra work.
Ever since then it's been downhill. First job after college I left after 2 years because I bombed. The next jobs were ok, so I thought things were getting back on track. Got married, had a child. Started on anti-anxiety meds for stress. Started to get more depressed and anxious. It started to effect my job. Marriage hit a major rough patch. Upped the meds. More struggles at work. Baby number 2 arrived and my depression ballooned into a hideous monster. Started therapy and what became the long process of more and more medication. That was 6 years ago. My job is in trouble, my marriage is in trouble, and my life is a mess.
My dad was a high functioning alcoholic. My mom is the classic "enabler" - sweeping everything under the rug. I'm the classic "Adult Child of an Alcoholic," constantly "people pleasing." I almost wish I were an alcoholic because then I would have a problem that can be solved --You can stop drinking (or taking drugs, or stealing). It's within your control --at least to a point.
With depression like this, there is no control. One minute things are going along Ok --then for the next 10 days you have no energy, stare into space and have no concentration.
I used to have a phenomenal memory. I could keep all sorts of appointments and scheduling in my head. Now I can barely remember things long enough to write them down. I have a pile of "reminders" to go through --many of which have passed the deadline by the time I get to them.
I used to be happy and bouncy. I used to have tons of self confidence. I feel like a shell of what I was.
People say, just focus on being happy. Just focus on getting things done. They don't realize I can't focus -- my brain is set on a loop of negative feedback.
So, how did I get here? How did I go from over-achieving to "holding onto my job by my fingertips?" And is there any way back up out of this pit?
Monday, May 31, 2010
A Good Mother
Posted by Anonymous.
I thought I was a good mother, I recently found out that the very thing I did to protect my child put her in harms way.
I thought I was a good mother, I recently found out that the very thing I did to protect my child put her in harms way.
Princess Petunia is the much wanted, long awaited, only child of parents who endured several pregnancy losses, were told they would never have a biological child, went through IVF, and against all odds, were blessed with this tiny, perfect proof that miracles happen on an ordinary day.
When we finally learned we were to be parents we were thrilled, our families were thrilled. We spent our days protecting her. I worked nights and her Dad worked days so we didn't have to put her in daycare until she went to school, then only before and after school. She was safe, she was loved, she was the sun we revolved around.
In the past three years this beautiful, sweet princess became bitter, moody, even mean at times. I chalked it up to teenage angst, only child syndrome, her parents were divorced, after all, she wasn't really a bad kid, just moody. About three months ago she asked to go to a counselor. I got her the first available appointment, what my baby needs, my baby gets.
Yesterday she confided to me something that she had already told her counselor and her dad: when she was six the driver for the daycare bus molested her.
My mind flashed back to the time she came home from daycare with a toy we hadn't bought for her, when I asked her where she had gotten it, she told me the bus driver gave it to her because she was such a good girl on the bus, never cried or screamed.
I marched right into the daycare director's office and demanded to know what was going on, making it clear this was not acceptable. The daycare informed me that "he" was a great guy, a dad himself, coached all the kids sports teams, everyone just loved him, besides, if would make me feel better he was going to be coaching full time and would not be driving the bus anymore, and "you know, Mrs. X, Petunia is a wonderful, well behaved child, I'm sure he was just rewarding her."
I left feeling like I had taken care of this, and besides, the Princess really is a great kid. Little did I know, the damage had already been done. You see, about a month or so earlier the day care had sent a letter home to all the parents explaining that due to the shortage of buses and drivers, sometimes it would be necessary for them to drop the children off up to an hour before school started, with no adult supervision. It was basically a permission slip asking me if they could not do what I was paying them to do. I told the director that they could not drop my six year old off at school to be unsupervised for an hour, if I did that it would be child neglect, I wasn't going to let them do it either. Princess Petunia was to stay on the bus until she could be supervised.
The conversation with my baby, who is now almost 17, started yesterday with: "Mommy, remember when I had to stay on the bus...?"
Now I feel like not only did I fail to protect her but I basically handed her to the pedophile that hurt her. I don't know what to think, what to feel. I think I'm still in denial. How did someone hurt my baby and I was completely unaware? How do I sleep at night knowing that I gave this... I can't call him a man... access to my daughter so her he could hurt her?
And how do I ever begin to make the world a safe place for her again. The saddest part is that she tried to protect me. She told her counselor and her father but she didn't want to tell me because, in her words " Mommy, I knew you would think it was your fault, and there was nothing you could do to stop it."
I used to think I was a good mother, now I think I have no clue what a good mother does to protect her babies.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Hook, Line, And Sinker
Posted by Anonymous.
Preamble: I met someone, fell hard for him, and then found out he had lied about being married. They hadn't been divorced for 5 years - they had actually just celebrated their 10-year anniversary.
Here is the email I sent him after I found out...
Subject: WOW
Dear Russell:
Wow – that’s still the word to use. However, it certainly is meant in a totally different context than it did last week.
Congratulations – you fooled me. I fell for it all – hook, line, and sinker. You are good at what you do. Or maybe I am just the perfect victim. It seems like you have had plenty of practice. You know exactly what to say, exactly what to do. You certainly know how to pick them, I’ll give you that.
The thing that pisses me off the most is that my son was involved. Maybe in the future, you should leave the kids out of the picture.
I don’t necessarily have a problem with you being married. It’s the fact that you lied about it. You lied about a lot. I’ll never know which things you said were true and which weren’t. It doesn’t even matter. I’ll never know where you were coming from or what you were thinking. Or if you were even thinking.
I don’t have an issue with casual encounters, as long as both parties are aware of the situation. Honesty will get you a lot further in life. Unless of course this is exactly what you were after. The game, the lie, the idea to completely fool them, the conquest. Did you go home and laugh? Does it make you feel more like a man to dupe someone? Do you even care about how your actions affect other people? Maybe this is exactly what you are after. If so, time to move on to the next conquest.
I will take some positive things from this experience. Not quite sure what all that will be yet. But one thing’s for sure, I know now to trust my gut over my heart. I still believe in myself and what I have to offer.
Looking back, there were a lot of red flags.
Congrats to you and your (3rd?) wife on 10 wonderful years of marriage. I’m sure your whole family is proud of you.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
A Haunting
Posted by Anonymous.
The past week really has been a hell of sorts.
It hasn't been terrible, but once again I feel - I have no better word - haunted.
It's not anything supernatural or spiritual in the sense of the undead hanging out with me at random times. It's more of a heart-haunt and a mind-haunt. Thoughts and feelings that I thought were gone have suddenly returned and refuse to leave me as it did once before regarding this same situation. It's the very strong remnants of a past relationship - a relationship into which I invested too much, received next to nothing, but cannot seem to shake. I fell in love with someone who misled me into believing that she was actually available - that we could actually have a future. My greatest fears were realized only a few short weeks later when she was able to patch things up with her "ex" (who wasn't really ever her ex, I now understand), and she dropped me without a word.
I have had one conversation with her since then - ONE - 2 months later, and in it she again tried to lead me to believe that months down the line, there could be something for us. My mind knew better. My heart didn't, but at least it didn't become fully invested as it did before.
Now it's been a year since the line between friendship and anything more really began to blur for me, and suddenly she's back in my thoughts, especially my dreams, and in my heart. I'm not "in love" with her again, or anything of that nature. That, while it took months, finally subsided. But I do really and truly miss her. Part of me wonders whether this will get worse in July when it will have been a year from when we actually had a real relationship. What makes more complicated is that we have so many mutual friends that I get accidental updates on her, and her current relationship, often. (If you're curious: She's fine. Their relationship is better than ever. They're moving away together to Xxx, XX this summer for her girlfriend's job.)
My few friends in whom I can really confide about the situation (without fear of further publicizing what ended up being her affair to minimize drama for each of us) are as supportive as they know how to be while being confused as to how I could possible have any amiable feelings toward this individual who treated me so poorly and rendered my heart so completely asunder. I appreciate them, but their support, comments, advice, etc. isn't solving this problem of being haunted by these remnants of my past relationship. I'm at a complete and utter loss as far as how to deal with this.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Best Friends Without Benefits
Posted by Anonymous.
In July, I will be married to my husband for ten years. My husband is a stay-at-home dad while I work full time as a teacher. I used to work 7 days a week because I would wait tables on the weekends as well. We have two children, a 7 year old boy and a 4 year old girl. The girl stays home with her dad all day.
We have a tiring life--doesn't everyone who has two little kids? Teaching takes a lot out of me. I love it, but it does drain me. My husband is dabbling in the movie making business (hopefully moving into that full force once Keira goes to school next year).
About a month ago, my husband told me that he felt like I had emotionally pulled away from him. He felt like I didn't try to connect with him anymore, and that I spent most of my time just trying to sleep. The fact that I would never initiate sex with him made him feel like I didn't want him. (In reality, I was just tired! The kids stayed up later than me most nights, so the sex we did have was at 3:00 in the morning when my husband would wake me up.) He said that he has been depressed, and that he was just realizing the extent of it. He felt like my caretaker rather than my husband.
Sounds like my husband has a case of the housewife blues. I get it. I didn't want to stay home with the kids full time. In a way, I think it would've been better if I would have--I would have gone to play dates and activities and LEFT THE HOUSE during the day. It seems like my husband has lost his sense of self.
Horrible. The next week, I quit my weekend job so that I wouldn't be so exhausted. I started trying to show him that I really do love him and that he is more than just a maid, nanny, and cook (terrible maid, by the way). I tried being more affectionate and emotionally available. (We've always talked all the time, so it wasn't that)
I think I missed my window, though. My husband has lost his attraction for me. He loves me. He is my best friend and I am his. He wants to cuddle and hold hands, but he doesn't feel the warm fuzzies or tingly feelings for me when he sees me. We took a long hard route in finding out this information. He didn't want to admit it to himself or me. It is a horrible feeling.
It feels better than what I had THOUGHT he felt. When he described it to me, I thought he didn't really like me or want to be around me. I thought he had completely fallen out of love with me. I thought he hated me, even though he told me that there was nothing about me that he didn't like. I thought we were through, even though I didn't really do anything bad--the feeling of rejection were mostly in his head. BUT, they were real FEELINGS, so he feels numb toward me.
How are we going to work through this? We are going to continue to be best friends. We can hold each other and cuddle. We won't be having sex, though. We haven't really been having much of that anyway, so in reality nothing much has changed. Is this forever? No way. We are going to do this until he either realizes that I am the hottest woman (for him) around or he realizes that I'm definitely not and we will drift apart. I'm fairly certain it'll be the first one. I'm fairly certain it'll be soon.
It is a weird arrangement, but it'll work. Here's the problem. How do I handle MY self-esteem? How do I handle that my husband has admitted that he thinks I am beautiful and a wonderful person, but he doesn't want to have sex with me? (He is kind of girly in his view of sex--there is no such thing as casual sex. He can't get turned on unless the FEELINGS are there.) How do I not act weird around him? How do I not focus on how the ACTUAL rejection is making me feel?
It is all a mind game. We were only doing it once every month or so anyway. Nothing has changed other than his recognizing his feelings and telling me what they are.
I kind of wonder if everyone goes through this--they don't have the warm fuzzies all the time. It is just really painful for me because my girly husband talks about his feelings and TELLS me about them!
I guess we will both be separately spending some time making ourselves physically feel better for awhile, and then (hopefully) sometime soon we can do it together.
In July, I will be married to my husband for ten years. My husband is a stay-at-home dad while I work full time as a teacher. I used to work 7 days a week because I would wait tables on the weekends as well. We have two children, a 7 year old boy and a 4 year old girl. The girl stays home with her dad all day.
We have a tiring life--doesn't everyone who has two little kids? Teaching takes a lot out of me. I love it, but it does drain me. My husband is dabbling in the movie making business (hopefully moving into that full force once Keira goes to school next year).
About a month ago, my husband told me that he felt like I had emotionally pulled away from him. He felt like I didn't try to connect with him anymore, and that I spent most of my time just trying to sleep. The fact that I would never initiate sex with him made him feel like I didn't want him. (In reality, I was just tired! The kids stayed up later than me most nights, so the sex we did have was at 3:00 in the morning when my husband would wake me up.) He said that he has been depressed, and that he was just realizing the extent of it. He felt like my caretaker rather than my husband.
Sounds like my husband has a case of the housewife blues. I get it. I didn't want to stay home with the kids full time. In a way, I think it would've been better if I would have--I would have gone to play dates and activities and LEFT THE HOUSE during the day. It seems like my husband has lost his sense of self.
Horrible. The next week, I quit my weekend job so that I wouldn't be so exhausted. I started trying to show him that I really do love him and that he is more than just a maid, nanny, and cook (terrible maid, by the way). I tried being more affectionate and emotionally available. (We've always talked all the time, so it wasn't that)
I think I missed my window, though. My husband has lost his attraction for me. He loves me. He is my best friend and I am his. He wants to cuddle and hold hands, but he doesn't feel the warm fuzzies or tingly feelings for me when he sees me. We took a long hard route in finding out this information. He didn't want to admit it to himself or me. It is a horrible feeling.
It feels better than what I had THOUGHT he felt. When he described it to me, I thought he didn't really like me or want to be around me. I thought he had completely fallen out of love with me. I thought he hated me, even though he told me that there was nothing about me that he didn't like. I thought we were through, even though I didn't really do anything bad--the feeling of rejection were mostly in his head. BUT, they were real FEELINGS, so he feels numb toward me.
How are we going to work through this? We are going to continue to be best friends. We can hold each other and cuddle. We won't be having sex, though. We haven't really been having much of that anyway, so in reality nothing much has changed. Is this forever? No way. We are going to do this until he either realizes that I am the hottest woman (for him) around or he realizes that I'm definitely not and we will drift apart. I'm fairly certain it'll be the first one. I'm fairly certain it'll be soon.
It is a weird arrangement, but it'll work. Here's the problem. How do I handle MY self-esteem? How do I handle that my husband has admitted that he thinks I am beautiful and a wonderful person, but he doesn't want to have sex with me? (He is kind of girly in his view of sex--there is no such thing as casual sex. He can't get turned on unless the FEELINGS are there.) How do I not act weird around him? How do I not focus on how the ACTUAL rejection is making me feel?
It is all a mind game. We were only doing it once every month or so anyway. Nothing has changed other than his recognizing his feelings and telling me what they are.
I kind of wonder if everyone goes through this--they don't have the warm fuzzies all the time. It is just really painful for me because my girly husband talks about his feelings and TELLS me about them!
I guess we will both be separately spending some time making ourselves physically feel better for awhile, and then (hopefully) sometime soon we can do it together.
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