I lost my job in October. My job, you know, the one that I hated but worked my ass off for. The job where I worked 50+ hours, made me miss time with my kids, and was so stressful that I often cried myself to sleep. The job that I had to cling to when my husband decided that he wanted to sleep on his cousin’s couch and smoke pot all day and night. And when he wanted to come back, the job that paid for his plane ticket.
We lost our house… My gorgeous 2,100 square foot house that I spent hours painting and sanding and cleaning. Gone. Now we are living in an extended stay motel, which is a fancy term for crack house.
My kids are back with my mom because it’s all I can do to scrape together enough money to feed them right now, and my company is fighting me for unemployment. South Carolina is an at-will state after all. At least I know that they are fed and warm, and safe.
My husband does nothing but bitch about me not having a job.
‘Scuse me?! Aren’t I the same woman who worked two jobs for over a year, while trying to finish my degree and raise three kids, because every job you found “sucked” and you usually quit around the time you got your first check? Aren’t I the same woman who supported you, through EVERY shithead thing you decided to do to me? Didn’t I take you back; PAY for you to come back when you left me for her. Twice?
He doesn’t look at me or touch me or tell me he loves me. He comes “home” and plays on Facebook before passing out. And so I sit, in this single room, every day and every night.
I lost most of my friends when I took him back this last time. They were tired of watching me go through this. So alone I stay.
And every night, while I sit here awake I think about how much better it would be if it all just went away. I no longer look at myself and see the slightly chubby woman who is raising three amazing kids and kicking ass at everything.
I see nothing but this horrible beast of depression. If my husband doesn’t want me, who would? If I can’t raise my kids, what’s the point? If I can’t work, what can I do? I am nothing. A void. Useless.
There aren’t any words anymore, and all I want to do is go to sleep, and not wake up. It seems that I’ve stumbled into this place and I don’t know how to get out.
My husband is against antidepressants. He says that they are a crutch. That I have to get through this on my own, because that’s what people are supposed to do.
I have nothing and I can’t do anything.
And every night I dream that I don’t wake up.
(ed note: Prankster, you are not alone. And you are loved. I’m not going to presume to tell you what to do, but you do know that you are depressed and you do need help You don’t have to do it all alone.I hope that you are able to find the help that you need.
We are none of us alone. You are so, so loved. Please remember that.)
I never thought I would be one of THOSE GIRLS. The girl who keeps putting herself in harm’s way over and over again. It’s like stepping in front of a bus, every day, for the rest of your life. I mean, who does that? But it is like I am COMPELLED to do it.
I start each day by telling myself that this will be the day that I have no contact with him. And then he calls or texts or emails or messages until I just can’t stand it any longer and I finally respond. He is all nice and sweet to me, saying how everything is fine, it’s all good. That if only I would be nicer to him, if only I would not USE him all the time or disrespect him so much, then everything could be great. He tells me how abusive it is of me to hang up on him and how unfair it is that I don’t want any contact with him.
Why don’t I want contact with him? This is what I hear: “You must be screwing someone else. Is that it? You’re whoring around town like the fat fucking whore that you are? Right, you fat fucking bitch? You ungrateful, greedy, selfish, fat, fucking whoring bitch. All you care about is money, yourself and dick!“ (I would never have cheated on him. Ever.)
This is where I hang up. I usually try to hang up sooner, but it always gets thrown in, sooner or later. I refuse to take his calls.
Then the threats start. “I am going to ruin you, bitch. I will hit you where it hurts the most and you will have nothing left. Everyone knows you used me. Everyone knows you OWE me! They all hate you. Everyone hates you. They tell me I should get rid of you, but I keep telling them that I love you and I know there is a good person in there somewhere. Why do you have to be such a fucking fat whore bitch? You weren’t this fat when I met you…what the fuck happened? Suck too much cock?”
Over and over and over again. How much can one person take? How many times can a person be told how horrible she is before she believes it? AND IT MAKES SENSE TO ME when he says it! THAT is the sick part! I DO freaking believe him!
Then he goes just long enough to make me think that maybe THIS time it will be okay. He has been nicer, not cussing me out as much, telling me how much he loves me and that he can’t live without me. Maybe he IS the only one who will ever want me. Do I want to throw this all away just because he has a dirty mouth? What if he is RIGHT? What if it IS all my fault? God knows I am not easy to get along with. Ask my Mom, ask anyone! I have issues. So what if it IS me? It probably is me.
But do I deserve to be kicked out of the car on the side of the road or in the woods, because I asked politely that he refrain from smoking so much in my presence?
Do I deserve to be woken up from a sound sleep with him screaming in my face because I “disrespected” him somehow while I was sleeping?
Do I deserve to be ridiculed in public to the point of all out bawling and then be told to shut the fuck up or I will get the shit beat out of me?
No, I did not think so either.
I found the courage to sever the ties. I left. And just when I found my own footing again, when I knew that I could stay away from him, he started coming at me sideways. He started emailing my family and friends. Telling them embarrassing things that I told him in confidence – my deepest, darkest secrets. The things that you are supposed to be able to share with your husband in the dark when you need comfort. Things you never wanted anyone to know you lived through or that you made a bad decision about. And then it is all laid out for everyone to see. He says he will continue unless I open those lines of communication back up. Let him back into my life. Then it will stop. It is such a vicious cycle.
Oh god. Most days I just stare straight ahead and wonder how the fuck am I supposed to get through this. I have burned so many bridges just trying to scramble to the surface and I am so tired of fighting. I know there is a problem but I don’t know how to deal with it. He promises that he will ruin me. Financially, emotionally, my reputation and so on. And I can’t stop him.
But I want to. I want to know the answer. I crave it. But just saying “stay away” – that is not the answer. It only gets worse. So what is the answer?
You tell me.
I GOT out. I AM staying away. So how does it stop? When will the abuse stop?
(author’s note: I have been separated from my husband for 6 months now. My divorce was final on October 4th. I finally have my life back. I wrote this when I was newly separated and could never show it to anyone. No one knew the entire extent of what I was going through, but I am learning to open up and get it out and am getting past it. Thank you for letting me share.)
Dear Gay/Bi/Curious Teenage Prankster Who Is Being Bullied By Bullshit Bullies,
Chances are, you don’t know me from a hole in the ground. In fact, a hole in the ground may look more familiar than I do, but I am Your Aunt Becky, and while we may not actually be related by blood, I have adopted you along with the rest of the Internet. It’s okay. Don’t worry. When I show up to your house for some family gathering and get rowdy and drunk and sing God Save The Queen, I’ll distract your parents so you can sneak some rum into your eggnog, okay?
Anyway, I hate to bother you with a boring letter since you kids like your text messages but what I have to say is important and I hope that you listen to it. Or parts of it. Tune out what doesn’t matter to you, but please, listen to at least a little bit of it. I may not be particularly smart, but I have lived about twenty different lives, so I’ve picked up some insight along the way.
Your teenage years are not the best years of your life.
What seems like a permanent and dire situation now, the things that make you hurt and ache inside, those things will stay with you, but the hurts and the aches, those subside over time. These are the things that will fortify you. They will strengthen you and they will make you a better person. Eventually.
I know that it seems like there is no other way out, believe me, I’ve felt that way before too. I’m willing to bet that most of the people who are reading this column right now have felt this way at some point as well. Maybe it’s not the same. Maybe we cannot understand precisely how you feel because we are not you. But even when things seem so bleak and so empty, even when all that you feel is a deep chasm of pain, it will pass. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week, but it will pass.
Things will get better.
Physically, my heart hurts when I see statistics like sexual minority youth are bullied two to three times more than heterosexual youths. In our lifetime, (yes, I am using the royal “our” because I am rightly assuming that you will be around to make fun of my obsession with bacon for a good long while) I would be willing to bet that this number will drop as bullying is taken more seriously by schools and parents alike. Certainly, that does not help you right at this very moment, as you are hurting from the devastating effects of verbal, emotional and even perhaps physical abuse, I know that. Let every unkind word, every insult, every horrible slur thrown at you strengthen your resolve to help the next generation.
You know that you must be part of the change the next generation of children who will grow up to be in your shoes some day. You can and you will.
These are not the best years of your life.
The best years of your life are yet to come. The years ahead of you will be long and they will be beautiful and they will be brimming with love. The suffering that you have withstood at the hands of cruel bullies and those who do not understand you will leave the sorts of scars that may never be visible to anyone but those who know you best. Those silent scars will only serve to help you as you can turn all of your pain and channel it into something greater, something positive. There is a whole world out there beyond your high school, beyond your small-minded town who will welcome you with wide arms, who will love you as you are, and who will accept you simply for being you.
It’s hard to remember all of this, I know, because even now, at age thirty, my high school years winking merrily in my rear view mirror, I struggle to remind myself that it’s not the end of things when I have a bad day. I have to take a breath and remind myself that it’s not going to break me when I’m bullied by someone. The days when I get harassed simply for being me aren’t bad days at all; because they make me stronger. Sometimes, I have to take a step back from the situation, let all of that hatred flung in my face wash over me and and allow it to strengthen my resolve to do more good.
These horrible bleak days are going to make the rest of your life that much better.
I want you to know that somewhere, Your anonymous Aunt Becky is rooting for you, kid, and she loves you dearly. You’ll learn that the world is a good place. High school may not always be, but the world is. I’m sorry that things have to be so hard for you and trust me, if I could take on those bullies, I would do it in a second (don’t doubt me on this). I have a loyal Prankster Army who’d back me up. Bullies are bullshit. No, let me rephrase that: bullies are FUCKING bullshit, and you don’t deserve the suffering they’re causing you.
There’s a big world out here, kid, and we can’t wait to meet you. Please remember that high school is temporary and the rest of your life, well, it’s wide open. We can’t wait to see what you’re going to do with it.
Please, do not give up hope. There is always hope.
If you’d like to talk to someone from the Trevor Project, here is the Phone Number: 866-4-U-TREVOR
Welcome to The Band Back Together Project, a nonprofit group blog that aims to shine a light in the darkness. We try to reduce the stigma associated with mental illness, trauma, loss, grief, and tragedy through the power of the written words.
You’ll notice that stories are grouped by category and searchable from the sidebar box and along the top. Or, if you’d prefer, you may read them all. We even have an RSS Feed.
What’s more, we’d love to hear your stories, too. All of them. Everyone is welcome, nay encouraged to share their story with us. Everybody has a story, of course, and we’ve made sure that you’re in a safe place to share it. No story is too small, no problem too insignificant. These are your words, your problems, and they matter to you – and they matter to us, too.
All are, as always, welcome.
You’ll notice that most stories have several resource pages associated with them. We’re proud to share that we have over 500 resource pages to help you grow, learn, and heal. This is the library, after all, and all libraries have a glossy set of encyclopedias. I’m the head librarian, if we haven’t met before, and I make sure our library runs smoothly.
We welcome you with open arms and hope you’ll find our cozy little library comfortable. The lights are dim and soothing, which should help you relax a little. They’re the kind that make everyone look Soap Opera amazing, even if your face is tear-stained and puffy right now. It doesn’t matter if you’re wearing ancient, frayed sweatpants and a stained t-shirt, because in here, you look like a beautiful soap opera star. Besides, even if you look like you got run over with a steamroller, we’d love you anyway.
It really is like old library in here, isn’t it? The decor is so charming; all old polished mahogany wood and rich burgundies and tapestries and overstuffed chairs. The candlelit wall sconces make me feel like I’m in some old Agatha Christie novel or stepped back in time, don’t you agree?
I’m getting ahead of myself. I apologize. I do that a lot.
Let me formally introduce myself. My name is Becky and with my group of volunteers, we run this library. Your library – it really belongs to you, The Band. We don’t make any claims that the content is all ours and we are not liable for anything you say or do.
So here’s the How To Contribute To Band Back Together guide. It’s really worth a read, but the quick and dirty is this: don’t be a judgmental asshole, we’re not liable for your actions, don’t steal from us, and we’re moderating and editing everything – including comments – here. Why? Because this is a safe place for everyone.
We also have several special places to note in this library. We’ve got The Twitter wing at @bandback2gether, and our Facebook page is nestled in the back, by the gramophone.
By the stereo, there’s our Guidelines for Submissions and How To Contribute for those of you unfamiliar. If you look over there, you’ll see the Operational Committee. Cynthia is making drinks for us – Manhattan’s I believe. Or maybe just a cup of chamomile tea. It’s hard to tell in this light. If I squint, I see Christine organizing the encyclopedia collection while Anne puts something special on the stereo for you.
We all work together behind the scenes to keep this place running smoothly for you.
Kathy and Nathan have fixed the place up and will be down shortly to sit with us too. We can’t wait to hear your stories. We’re all here for each other. You may be wondering where you are. This is a place for you to share your stories, slay your dragons, celebrate your victories, and support those who need your help.
This is the place where we have gotten the Band Back Together. We can’t fix your new world order or make things go back to the way they were before, but we can remind you that we are none of us alone.
So please, take a look around. As one small blog in a sea of millions, we are small, but together, we can do amazing things, if we can Band Back Together.
We are all of us connected.
We are none of us alone.
*Due to the sensitive nature of the site, all comments and submissions are subject to moderation and/or editing.
People who know me refer to me as a single parent.
I don’t really like that distinction because while I AM single and I AM a parent, the stigma attached to “single parent” is not a good one.
My Gigi is 5. She and I left her dad almost exactly five years ago when she was seven months old. He was mean and emotionally abusive. He seems to have changed a bit – or at least he loves his little girl more than he ever loved me.
He is involved. He sees her one evening a week, every other weekend and every other week he gets another shorter evening. It tears my heart out every single time she goes. Sometimes she cries and sometimes she runs away. Sometimes I tell her if she does either of those things she won’t be able to play with her friends in the neighborhood the next day because those things “hurt her daddy’s feelings.”
I’m sick of him and hisfeelings. My little girl wants to stay HOME. My house. Not his.
The other day a friend was talking about public schools in our area. She mentioned a school that is not particularly good and said, “well you know, all those poor kids have single moms and their test scores are horrendous.” Now, are there test scores horrendous because they have a single mom? Or what? The demographics of the school are not desirable due to the number of one parent homes.
Hmmmm…I’m a one-parent home. Does that mean my child will not be as smart? Or not do well on tests? Or will be a behavior issue or somehow not succeed because she lives in a single parent home? I choose not to believe that. You see, my daughter is MUCH better off with living in a single parent home. Her Mama may be messy and scatterbrained but she does not cry every day anymore or do things like look at her little girl and make the promise every single day that no one will ever hurt her.
I am a single parent. I did not choose this path, but I live this path. Would I like to have someone around to help pay the bills, cook the meals, clean up the kitchen and do a load of laundry? Yes. But I also would want to be in love with this person. And have that person love me back.
Another friend on Facebook had a status that said, “K is happy she doesn’t have to be a single parent anymore. Hubby will be home in three hours.”
You are not a single parent. You have a husband. Who works and makes money. He may be traveling for work or away from home but you are not a single parent. You don’t understand how much coordination it takes to figure out when and who will go to school conferences. Or what your child will be for Halloween or give her the choice of just having two Halloween costumes. You do not have to put a screaming, fighting, kicking child to bed when she has been up too late so she can have quality time with daddy. You don’t have to worry about your little girl looking at you and saying, “Mama, I love you the best. So much more than my daddy.”
I choose to not let the stigma of being a “single parent” define me. I try to wear the badge proudly and let my daughter know that we can do it ourselves. We are strong…Mama and Gigi against the world. I am raising her to be a strong woman who knows that her Mama can fix the sink or mount the shower head without the help of a man.
Don’t get me wrong…I’m not a man hater. I would love for Prince Charming to come in and sweep me off my feet. But at this point it would be a distraction from my most important job. My daughter. I can’t imagine having to share her with anyone else. I miss her when she’s gone. We have been apart so much I should be used to it. But sometimes I still cry because I miss her when she is gone for a weekend.
I wish I could write like our favorite Aunt Becky, but I can’t. My words will be misspelled, my commas will be out of place, and there will definitely be run on sentences, but I swear like a trucker so somehow I think I will fit right in.
So back story: BAD shit happened to me when I was a kid.
You know, my dad was an alcoholic, show me on the doll where the bad man touched you, which I never told my parents. My sister got pregnant when she was 14 and eventually my Mom could no longer deal with it all so I had to pick up the slack. That kind of bad shit.
There were days when I didn’t know if I would make it. Days that I wasn’t able to deal. I would burn myself or punch a wall just to feel… something. I made it through bruised but not broken.
I just wish I could tell the young girl that dealt with all of that what I know now.
I’ve been talking to a young friend who is going through so much in her life right now. She reminds me so much of my younger self. She, like me, puts up a strong front, but just beneath the surface you can see the hurt and self-doubt. When asked we will both say we are “fine.”
Every time she says it to me, my heart cracks just a little. See I know that when she says, “I’m fine” what she really means is “This hurts like hell! My heart is breaking. Somebody please just take away the pain.” I just want to give her hug and tell her it will all be okay. I won’t, mind you, because that would make me seem weak or soft or whatever my fucked-up mind thinks.
Still, through talking to her, I’ve been thinking, what would I tell my younger self?
So I wrote myself a letter today. Maybe it will help her or some other young girl who needs to know it WILL BE OK.
Dear Tonya,
I know it’s hard right now, but experience brings knowledge, adversity brings strength. None of that makes a damn bit of difference when you’re hurting but faith, faith gives you hope. The hope that there is something greater out there brings a small amount of peace even in the darkest times.
When you find love, it calms. Love doesn’t hurt; it heals, it comforts, it expands. Love gives. It should not take away.
If life seems to be spiraling out of control, find solace in the small things. Family, friends, music, words. These are your armor against all that will stand against you.
Remember that the lessons learned from the mistakes we make and the paths we choose make us who we are. Never regret them. To do so would mean you doubt yourself. Nothing and no one should make you doubt your worth.
Though it’s sometimes easier to forgive others than yourself, YOU ARE ONLY HUMAN.
Be as kind and love yourself as much as you do those others.
Stand tall without being cocky and be proud of who you become.
I know I am.
Tonya
PS. If none of that shit works there is always vodka.
We all experience 