He was my friend, my coworker that I trusted. I have a boyfriend and kids. Why was I at his house? Why did I let him pay attention to me at all? I shouldn't have been there. It was my fault. I led him on, and let him believe that I liked him. Maybe I did. Maybe I did enjoy the rush of having a man fawn over me like I was something special. I've never been treated that way before. My ex-husband cheated on me and replaced me without looking back. He filed for divorce on our 7th wedding anniversary, saying it didn't mean anything anymore. And I guess it didn't. Not to him. I was tossed aside like trash.
My current boyfriend of 4 years lets me in, and pushes me away. It's a constant cycle, a roller-coaster of emotions. Finally, on December 4, 2015, I gave up fighting for him. I accepted the offer from this man, my friend, my confidant at work. He was nearly 20 years older and told me repeatedly how beautiful I was. He fed my bruised ego. I let him. I went to his house, and I stood in his kitchen, crying about the man I loved who had pushed me away again.
He walked behind me and pushed himself against me, trapping me against the counter. He pushed his hand down my pants, and I said, "NO!" I went to get my shoes and purse. He pushed me down and pulled my pants and underwear down. He forced himself inside of me. I said, "NO!" I pushed him off of me and he grabbed my head and pushed his dick in my mouth. I nearly vomited and jerked myself away. I SAID NO! I ran to the bathroom and locked the door.
I got out of the house, and tried to block the memory out until I saw him at work the next week. He told me that he thought I would be more "accommodating." I didn't call it rape. I felt guilty and full of shame. I went there. I led him on. I "had sex" with him. Sometimes the logical side kicks in and says, no. You didn't do anything wrong. It's not your fault. You didn't "have sex." He raped you. He stole something from you.
Until that day, I had only had sex with two men, my husband and my boyfriend. I was a 35 year old woman who trusted someone. I hid my feelings and apologized for my actions. I didn't go to the police right away. It took over a month. The only thing that gave me the courage, was to look at my little girls. How can I teach them that no means no? I said no. It didn't matter. And now I have to learn to live with it. I'm scared all the time. I'm anxious, nauseous, angry.
I took into my mind the harsh words that were said to me in middle school. I acted like I didn't care, but I did.
Those false accusations of me changed my own perspective of myself, in my own mind, but only at school. This perspective stayed in my mind into Freshman year. I saw myself differently than I used to.
Then the other students started to see it, too. Another girl made the same accusation. She is best friends with the one who started it back in middle school.
I continued to feel different, and didn't question why I did.
Sophomore year, I started questioning myself. Why do I have a poor image of myself in school only? I realized it was because of those accusations.
I went into a depression for six months. Then, I realized the accusations were ABSOLUTELY FALSE:
The boys said I stared at them. False! I stared into space, out of boredom.
One girl said I was weird. False! I never associated with her. She hadn't been around me to even make that accusation. She most definitely got it from her best friend who had started all of it.
After a period of some rough times, here I am, in my Junior year. I've been amazingly amazing! No depression, no inner belief of feeling different. I have learned that you can't listen to what people - who don't matter - think of you.
I've been bullied and it affected me.
I'm good, and I won't let it ever happen again.
Most mothers struggle with the balance between taking care of their families and taking care of themselves. What do you do when your own issues start to take over your ability to care for others? This is one mother's story:
This is my first post. I found this site while doing a search for Mom's Mental Health; I am at a low point and need some perspective, some support, something.
I've had problems with depression and anxiety since my late teens/early 20's. Becoming a mom has at least given me a good, unavoidable reason to get out of bed every day. However, when a mother is struggling with her mental health, who can she turn to?
I feel like a woman with mental health issues fears the risk of losing her children if anyone were to really know how bad it is sometimes. How does one know when they've crossed the line into not being able to do enough to meet their child's needs? And to resolve it, do mothers normally turn to their support network to help pick up the slack, until she can get back on her feet, or do she and her kids just go without their needs being met for that time?
Hello The Band,
I am a 33 year old female from Florida. I have turned to this site for guidance, support, and hopefully, help. I'm hoping I can find other women who can relate to my situation, help me understand how to cope and deal with the problems at hand, and, if possible, guide me in the right direction.
I met my current boyfriend on an online dating site back in July of 2015. I was with my ex-husband for 13, years and we have one child together. That relationship was a disaster towards the end. I honestly didn't think I could ever fall in love again - until I met my current boyfriend.
In September, we decided that because of the distance between where we both lived, moving in with him was a good option. Driving back and forth was killing me.
Everything was amazing for the first five months.
There were little spurts of anger here and there about silly things like the dog barking too much or the dishes not being clean enough, but I figured this was just the kinds of little idiosyncrasies that come from being in a new relationship.
In December, I lost my job. I have not been able to contribute a whole lot to the household since then, but every dime I do make, I give to him - including my government assistance.
Lately, he has started making comments that I do nothing, that I'm useless, that all I do is sit around, that I'm overweight and need to exercise. I would never say such horrible things to him.
I feel like the comments are getting worse. Now he's mad about every single thing. If he doesn't have enough socks, it's somehow my fault. If he cant find a clean pair of shorts that he likes for work, that's my fault, too. He screams at me, and if I cry or tear up, he calls me a baby, a princess, or weak.
He tells me that without him I would have nothing.
When I was younger, I was in a relationship where I dealt with minor physical abuse, but I have never dealt with emotional and verbal abuse before. I almost wish he would just smack me instead of saying these hurtful things. I feel like the sting would be less and not last as long as the hurtful words he has been saying.
Now, he has stopped making love to me. He will never let me talk to him about how I am feeling. If i say "I am not okay with you talking to me like that," he starts screaming that I am stupid for not knowing by now what pisses him off.
I feel so out of character lately. The old me would never have let anyone talk down to me like that. With him, I am quiet, timid, and I just stand there and take it.
Every time I build up the courage to speak up, I am shot down immediately. I feel so sad. I was sure this man was the one for me. I fell madly in love with him, and now I am scared I'm losing him. I don't want this to happen. I want to make him happy, but the harder I try, the more things he finds wrong.
What should I do? Is what I'm feeling normal? Is this true verbal and emotional abuse?
Please, any words of advice, or help, or wisdom would be a blessing right now. I am so utterly distraught. I am scared of getting hurt anymore. I'm scared he will start cheating, which is my worst nightmare. I have a serious fear of being cheated on ...I just need some friendly words.
Scared, Confused, and In Love.
Mental Illnesses are prevalent in our world. They greatly affect not only the individual involved, but the people around them. In the month of April, we focus our spotlight on Mental Health, in order to heal together and break down stigmas.
We want your stories. How has your own, or someone else's mental illness affected your life? How are you rising above stigmas?
Please share your stories with us during the month of April.
I am supposed to be heartbroken.
...and I am, but not for the reasons other people think.
When you go - I will mourn the life that could have been - the life you could have had, the life WE could have had; not the car crash it was - leaving nothing but broken people and devastation in its wake.
I will be sad for the "what if" and the "what could have been," not the actuality. I'm not sad for the reality.
The reality is that your passing will set me free - to a certain extent - from my 'you' prison. I'll still have to continue contending with the prison I built for myself, I know that, but, the direct pain of you will be no more.
People try to share with me, which is sweet and kind but, it makes me squirm and knocks my very thin rope of sanity a little. They tell me about their own experiences of losing a parent or grandparent and how sad they were and how they are there for me. They share things with me which they think will make me feel better - and it would - in an alternate universe, where you weren't so horrible, and I wasn't so messed up.
I kind of lie, and say '"Thank you," and pretend that I'm cut up about it, like they are about their own relatives passing, and I lie, and I lie, and I lie. Once again, I'm the weird outsider watching the world be normal while I'm in my own little weirdness bubble. What else can I say to them?
"Thanks so much for your kind words and your thoughts and wishes but, please - don't waste them. She never loved me, and in turn, I've built a wall 7 feet tall. I spent my whole life trying to make her love me and it never worked, no matter what I did. This is not a normal 'daughter losing her mother' thing, so please - don't hurt yourself remembering something painful to you in order to help me. Please, please don't. "
Sometimes I think I should cry, to look normal.
I nearly did cry the other day. I couldn't bear to touch your skin with mine so I held your hand through the blanket, and you squeezed it. You squeezed my hand.
It was like throwing a starving person one sugar-free mint. Something wonderful and warm and meaningful but, at the same time empty - and too little - and far too late.
You hang on. Wasting away. I can almost identify every bone in your body. You rarely speak. You rarely wake now. Your body is breaking down, and even the nurses are praying you pass before the really ugly stuff starts happening.
But, you hang on ...and on ...and on...
I'm sorry you never got the life you wanted mum. I'm sorry it was so hard. I'm sorry you struggled with your own mind from childhood, and I'm sorry you made such awful, terrible, harmful choices. I'm sorry you experienced horrific things, and I'm sorry no one was ever there to protect you.
But, I'm angry you left me. You abandoned me whilst still being in front of me. I'm angry, sad, lost and hurt that you ignored me and chose others so much more favorably over me. The things you did to me, and said to me, and put me through were unforgivable. Some of the things still make me gasp a bit when I remember them because they were so cold and hard and callous; designed to hurt me and humiliate me and separate me. How could a mother treat their child like that?
I guess I don't want other people's sympathy because it's not right. I'm not grieving over the prospective loss of you because, I've already been grieving your loss.
Safe journey, Mum.
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