by Band Back Together | Sep 28, 2015 | Coping With Domestic Abuse, Divorce, Domestic Abuse |
I got married when I was 25. I was heavily involved in a church and was considering ministry. I made a decision to follow my hormones instead of the ministry. I was dating a lady who I knew was not the one. Then I found who I thought was the one. She was dating a good friend. He moved out of the area, and I was right there behind him. Note that this was 1982, not just a few years ago.
We were planning to get married in October of 1983. My family was there, and her family came in also. The wedding day came and her father told me, “Son if I were you, I would not go through with this.” I said, “Now now, my family is in town, you guys are here, we are doing this.”
Two days later I had a can of soup thrown at me.
The marriage did not improve much from there.
After a couple years of misery, I thought, “How about having a kid!” Wow, I must have fallen off the train or something. We had a child in 1986. I spent more time in a hotel than at home.
Divorce came in 1991, and the lies started in the courts. “He makes X dollars.” I proved I didn’t, but they did not believe me. They said I forged my paycheck and tax documents. I went along with it because I wanted my child to have a good life. That was nice.
She kept up and would not let me into his life at all. The courts sided with her. She tried to get me fired! Why? I was paying her exorbitant child support!
That is Part One of my crazy story!
by Band Back Together | Aug 28, 2015 | Anxiety, Blended Families, Breakups, Depression, Divorce, Help With Relationships, Infidelity, Stress |
Well, it’s been a long while since I’ve revisited this, and rather a lot has happened…
When last we met, dear readers, your hero was making it work, and getting by. So much change …so much upheaval.
When I left off, I mentioned that I was married, but we need to go back to the beginning of that relationship, as the background is important. I hope you’ll all bear with me again; getting these stories out is much like excising vital organs for me. It’s a painful process, and I’m very protective of them, and by extension, of myself.
My divorce from the wife in the first story was final in 2006. Around that time, I became reacquainted with an old friend, Becca. We caught up over the course of a couple of days, and later had dinner. At the end of the evening, she kissed me. This was confusing, as she had always been fairly …”butch,” for lack of a better term. We had a conversation about it, and she told me that her sexuality was uncertain; she was still figuring it out.
We continued to see one another for a few months, and anytime things would become more intense, she’d slow it down. This was fine with me, as I was still pretty vulnerable from my marriage. We had a good time, and I always had a sort of unspoken understanding that we were going to end up together.
Things changed.
Eventually, it came to the point that she was just using me for “stuff,” and I distanced myself from her. All well and good, but it was still hurtful.
In 2007, I met a woman who changed everything. Long distance again. (Yes, I know.) She was intelligent and well-educated and fun. We would visit one another around every other weekend. Lots of activities, and the intimacy was there, too.
Then, she started shopping for a home in my hometown. It meant so much to me that she was willing to uproot herself so that I could be near my family. We found a wonderful fixer-upper for a good price, and started working toward buying it.
Those of you who have bought a home know that it is a very stressful process, and the stress took its toll on her immensely. She wasn’t the fun-loving Jen I had gotten to know, anymore. Still, I stuck it out, but eventually, I wanted the “old Jen” back badly enough that I told her to let the house go. She did, and I hoped for things to go back to normal.
Shortly after that, her father became seriously ill, and she was heavily stressed over that. Still no good old Jen. I was right beside her through his surgery and recovery, still hoping for a return of what we used to have.
She bought a house in her hometown, which stressed her out even more.
I proposed to her in 2009, and she said yes. Surprise, surprise, planning a wedding is very stressful as well. I was at wits end by this point, but I was committed to giving this relationship the best possible chance.
We married in 2010, and my daughter and I moved into the house she had bought. Stress. I was in a new city, in a job I hated, with no friends, and nobody to talk to but the woman who was increasingly frustrated with me. She had never lived with anyone before, and had all her ducks firmly in a row, and suddenly she had a husband and a stepchild, in her space, all the time.
We enrolled my daughter in the private school that Jen had gone to as a child. The people there were horrible and elitist, and my daughter acted out. The intimacy Jen and I had went away. First, Jen started sleeping on a mattress on the floor in the bedroom, because she said it was better for her back. Later, she started sleeping in the guest bedroom, because she couldn’t stand the sight of me. She worked nights, and I worked days, so we managed to barely see one another. I would come home from work and do my best to drink myself into a stupor, and she would constantly berate me about the things she needed help with.
I am not a smart man. If you want me to dust the dining room, just say, “medic77, dust the dining room for me,” and I will do it. If you want me to clean the guest bathroom, just say so, and it will be done. Jen, however, believed that I should be able to see what needed done and take the initiative. It wasn’t an easy concept for me, but I won’t make excuses.
She would catch me in the middle of a project she had given me, and ask me to, for instance, mow the lawn. Ten minutes later, once I had gotten to a stopping place in project one, I would go outside to find her mowing the lawn herself, and mad about it. It made me crazy. She was a therapist, so she KNEW it made me crazy. I turned into a “yeller.” I’m not proud, but we would have epic screaming matches while my daughter cowered in her bedroom and wished for it to be over. Jen threatened to have me committed.
In February of 2011, after living under the same roof for less than nine months, we separated, and I came back to Ohio. Jen later told me she was mad about that, too. She thought I should have gotten an apartment where she was. It just wasn’t possible. I didn’t have any savings, and I had only worked my current job or a few months. It just wasn’t possible.
Back in Ohio, I went back to work, and got a second job with state benefits, which eventually became my only job. Jen and I weren’t interested in communication at that point, so I was very low.
We went through cycles of talking and silence. I had friends, but Jen always suspected me of being in secret relationships with the female ones. It was just another lack of faith. A couple of years ago, after we had been separated almost longer then we were together, I met a girl at work, Lorrie, and we started a relationship. I was happy.
One night, Lorrie and I were laying in bed talking, and I heard a noise. Suddenly, Jen was standing in the bedroom. It was as bad as it sounds, but it could have been worse. At least we were clothed and only talking. Still, not long after that, our divorce moved forward and was final.
I am still with Lorrie, but our intimacy is gone. We haven’t had sex in months. She says she loves me, but she just isn’t interested in sex. I feel as though I did something to cause it. She doesn’t touch me. She doesn’t kiss me unless I initiate it. She SAYS that if I want sex, I should just say so and do it, but it doesn’t feel right to me. I feel like sex should be a union; a collaboration. Not just, “Hey, hold still a minute.”
I know I’ve got depression and anxiety, but I can’t help wondering just what it is that makes me so forgettable. Why I can’t seem to find anyone who just WANTS me.
So, yeah. I’m surviving, but just.
by Band Back Together | Apr 23, 2015 | Coping With Divorce, Divorce, Loss, Major Depressive Disorder |
Just a few thoughts on age. I still get together with my friends, some of whom I knew in high school. We’re all thirtysomething (yeah like that TV show when I was a kid), but I could almost swear, at the core, we’re all still those kids. Surely, life experience causes us to collect memories, which good or bad, filter the way we interact with the world. And certainly, we all bear the marks of physical aging, whether it be gray hair, losing hair, wrinkles, or yes, even dental work. But still, these sparks we carry remain the same. Even the same as when we were little children. Way deep down for some, to be sure.
I feel like an old man when I look at my thirteen, eleven, and eight year old children. Wow! Were any of us really that energetic and bendy? It’s when I watch them play and run that I really feel what the years of labor have done to my back and knees. They fall down and bounce back up, just as if they had springy legs of some kind. They laugh the whole time, slipping and sliding in the dirt, grass or snow. Most of us would be in traction from an afternoon of tossing ourselves on the ground, victims of a horrible zombie attack.
Age is a funny thing. I used to think that my problems with self-esteem and depression would somehow evaporate with age alone. But, like physical injuries, psychological ones leave their scars. Scars that sometimes become quite raw from the newer and different events of adulthood. I remember thinking about those scars when my wife left me. I was more hurt than you could imagine. She was sick and tired of me and my depression. I’d withdrawn from nearly everyone in my life, unhealthily leaning on my woman as my only friend. It was a burden to her, I know. I still harbor some resentment from her leaving me. In some ways, that is rooted in the thought that I was left on a sickbed. But, damnit, I wouldn’t open up to anyone in those days. The things that bothered me didn’t fall away as I aged. Indeed, they seemed to have grown in strength from the darkness that I kept them in. As I have really thought about the whole thing, I realize that my many secret pains and worries destroyed my attitude and therefore my marriage. My ex knew that I struggled with depression and low self esteem. But my stubborn refusal to let my demons out into the light just made those things worse. In the end, thought, the pain really caused me to begin the healing of wounds that I’ve carried nearly my whole life.
One thing that I can say about aging is that to me, truly becoming old means letting the shit the world dishes out smother your spark. I am pagan and I think that the best way to honor the gods and our ancestors is to be grateful for the chance to live, to be hopeful about the future, no matter how dark the past and to count the many blessings we no doubt have accumulated over our lives.
I think that there are times of life that prompt very real and intense introspection in humankind. Times of loss are a perfect example. Over a long enough timeline, we all lose at least one thing that is very dear to us. At such a time, it’s easy to become stuck in a ‘woe-is-me’ attitude. Flipping that over, we see that such a time is great for taking stock of what we still have: not money or status, but the truly unique gifts within – music, art, compassion, humor, kindness. All of these and more are gifts that each of us have in some measure. Pain is often a very instructive teacher.
What I hoped time would heal was only first poulticed when I lost the woman I loved. Surely it was a painfully hard knock, and there have been many dark days, but I think that the pain off loss has facilitated my healing where age and time could not.
by Band Back Together | Oct 29, 2014 | Anger, Divorce, Domestic Abuse, Fear, Infidelity, Love, Violence |
He had asked me for a divorce, and I had fought for months to keep that from happening. I loved him, and I didn’t want our family to fall apart. I knew there was another woman, even though he wouldn’t admit it. He had never admitted to any of the others, why would he tell the truth this time?
I was annoyed by the irony of how he wanted to sign the divorce papers. He had dropped off the papers at the house for me to read them, but he didn’t want either of us to sign them until we were together. It was like he wanted it to be some kind of sick date! How romantic of him, right? Let’s get together as a couple and sign the divorce papers. Be still my heart!
I had been avoiding reading them until that day, trying to delay the inevitable. I knew there was nothing I could do. He’d made up his mind. But when I sat down to read them, I couldn’t believe my eyes! Here was my way out of this! The papers said that I was agreeing that our marriage was irreconcilable. The thing was, I didn’t belive our marriage WAS irreconcilable. I thought it could be saved. This was a legal document. I could not put my signature on a legal document that I didn’t agree with! So if I told him that I believed our marriage was worth saving, and I couldn’t sign the papers, maybe he would agree to work on it!
He came over that night, cheerful as could be, ready to have our special little night of writing off our marriage. I took a deep breath and told him I couldn’t sign the papers, explaining my reasons.
His rage was immediate. I saw his eyes go red and his lips swell up like they always did when he was ready to start punching things. I knew he’d had an anger management problem before we met. I’d read his homework from the court-appointed class that he’d had to take. I knew he’d lied on the homework, making things look less than they were. But he seemed to have learned from the class because he’d only ever thrown things before when he was mad at me. It had only happened a handful of times, but he would grab whatever was closest to him, throw it, and then stomp out of the house.
I had never worried about him actually hitting me.
But now he was on a rampage. His fury was terrifying. He punched his fist through a tv tray that was in the living room, completely destroying it. He took the little table that my dad had built when I was a child, that our daughter used to do puzzles and color, and smashed it into the floor. The corner of the little table was crushed, it dented the hardwood floor, then it bounced and hit the edge of our brand new tv. Thankfully, it didn’t hit the screen. But it left a permanent mark on the tv’s frame that I could never clean off, no matter how hard I scrubbed.
Then he crashed his way through the house and into our bedroom. I was even more terrified because our daughter and our foster daughter were asleep in the next room and I was so afraid he would wake them. I didn’t want them to see this side of him.
Once in our bedroom, my terror turned to horror as he grabbed the golf club he always kept next to the bed – for protection from intruders – and started swinging it around the room. He smashed the glass on the pictures hanging just a few feet away from my head. For the first time in our ten-year marriage, I was truly afraid that he might actually hit me. I stood there sobbing, pleading with him to calm down.
And that’s when I knew.
Our marriage could no longer be saved.
He had crossed a line that I was not willing to deal with.
Our marriage really was irreconcilable.
I told him I would sign the papers. As quickly as the rage had entered him, it was gone. We went into the kitchen where we sat down at the table and signed the papers. He hugged me, then left. I cleaned up the mess he had made, so the girls wouldn’t see it in the morning. Then I went to bed, where I cried myself to sleep.
It took me a few days to recover from the impact of seeing him so angry. I deeply mourned the end of the marriage we could have had.
But one day, about a week after signing the papers, I realized I was done. I no longer wanted anything to do with him. I was ready to move on and make a new life for myself.
by Band Back Together | Jul 15, 2014 | Divorce, Single Parenting, Single Parenting by Choice, Teen My Parents Are Divorcing |
Life after divorce is never easy. Yes, to you it might turn out as a pleasant change for a while, due to the release you got from all of your pain and misery, but it would be a difficult change for your children to deal with. The protection the children felt from having both parents at home is no longer there.
Once the couple has been separated, the children find themselves clueless and directionless in the whole wide world. The guardian parent has to understand this situation and act accordingly to save the lives of children from getting ruined. If you are a single parent who recently got divorced and is now in between of a parent juggling act, here are 3 tips on how to make the transition a little easier for your children:
1. How to Get Respect from Your Children.
A parent stopping his/her child from doing something and the kid yelling back or screaming isn’t a very rare situation in lives of single parents. If your child has told you several times that he hates you and you are the worst father or mother in the world, trust me, you aren’t the only one experiencing this. Now, most parents lose their mind in such situations and either begin heated arguments or start shouting or hitting the children.
There is absolutely no doubt about the fact that you deserve utmost respect from your children. However, you will have to earn that respect, not by being bossy but by being reasonable, mature and friendly. You must be friendly with your children so that they can open up to you. When a child feels free to be open with a parent, if they want something, they will want to express their reasons why they want it. In turn, you will be able to make a more informed decision. No matter what your answer is, by building up a better relation with the child, you will avoid him/her feeling disrespected or being neglected.
2. Spend Uninterrupted Time with Your Kids
The last thing your kids want is you ignoring them. When a couple separates, the children have to live with either parent. They can never be with both parents at the same time. Depending on the agreement between the parents, children may spend particular times of the year with father or mother but in very rare cases they can be with both the father and mother. Keeping this factor in mind, you have to give your children adequate amount of attention. You should try spending uninterrupted time with the kids so that they don’t feel the fact that either of their parent is missing in their life.
3. Try To Maintain A Mature Relationship With Your Ex
Just because you have separated from your partner doesn’t mean that you cannot see your ex again. Being a parent, it should be your highest priority to do anything and everything to make your children’s lives and future better. You shouldn’t tell your children that their other parent was the one at fault or wasn’t worth being a parent. You should instead let your kids decide what kind of relationship they want to keep with your ex. Your children would most likely resent you for separating them from the father or mother, if you tell them to stay away or be at a distance.
It is important that you maintain a mature relationship with your ex so that you both can meet up occasionally in order to make sure your children’s lives aren’t falling apart. There are occasions when you and your former spouse have to meet up to celebrate the happy moments of your children or to provide support in their sad ones. It is not rare for divorced people to gather up on the birthdays of their children. You should do it too if it helps your children’s healthy growth, physically and mentally.
Handling life and children after divorce is certainly difficult. However, if you follow the above mentioned instructions and take wise decisions throughout the years, you can stop your children from fighting with you day in and day out, and feel incomplete without both the parents.
by Band Back Together | Feb 13, 2014 | Coping With Divorce, Date/Acquaintance Rape, Divorce, How To Help A Loved One Who Self-Injures, Marriage Problems, Self Injury, Self-Destructive Behavior, Uncategorized |
I have been dating my boyfriend for almost two years, but I am unable to tell him things from before we met. The minor things are okay, things like “I was married for about a year” “my ex-husband used to drink”. Those things are fairly minor.
I tried to tell him about the other stuff, but my heart starts pounding and I find I can’t breathe very well, my fingers get pins and needles. Then I just can’t say it. I get so cross with myself, I feel like such a failure. How hard is it to open my mouth and speak? I was going to tell him, I had a few drinks to get the courage, but then I had too much, and I still couldn’t tell him.
I am shy, I don’t ever want to be the centre of attention, and I feel too exposed to say it in words. None of my friends who know, I did tell my husband, that wasn’t difficult, but that was a lot of years ago now. Why is it difficult now?
It all started so long ago. I was 14. I went for a walk on my own in the woods. I was going to start smoking, so I wanted to be away! I walked through the trees to a clearing and there was a jogger. He only had his trainers on. I guess most people who have any sense would turn right around and leave, back the way they came. But I didn’t have much sense. I carried on walking, straight past him. Close enough to touch, but he didn’t. I wasn’t going to let that put me off, I had a destination in mind, and that’s where I wanted to go.
Anyway, if it wasn’t for a man walking his dog the whole story would have a very different ending. I didn’t tell my parents when I got home, but I told my best friend at school. She persuaded me to tell a teacher, then my parents, then the police.
Its not a bad story, after all nothing happened. But why can’t I tell him? Why does it play on my mind? Why does it matter?
I had my first boyfriend when I was 15, he was 18 and he raped me.
But I didn’t understand what it was, I just thought, “this is how its supposed to be.” I didn’t know I had a choice. It did mess my head up. When he dumped me, I started self harming. I didn’t understand what it was at the time, why cutting myself made me feel better, but it did. I never told anyone about the cutting, I had long sleeves, so no one saw.
I told my next boyfriend “I don’t want to” and he didn’t, but it still went down-hill from there. Sometimes it was okay, but other times he wanted the me I was before, the happy me. That girl was gone.
I wasn’t happy for a long time. I cut myself and burned myself, but never told anyone. I overdosed twice and went to hospital once. I had sex with a lot of people. I didn’t love myself so why should anyone else?
I did find someone to love. He loved me too, in his own way, after all we did get married. He left me. I had a young daughter, and it was so hard on my own. I had to have a job, which was good because it was probably the only thing that kept me sane. I went out for a rare evening with work. I met a man who I knew from my sleeping around days, and we went to my house. I didn’t want to have sex, but he did. It wasn’t rape, I could have screamed or pushed him off. I asked him to leave, then I had a bath, at 2 am.
Then I meet my fella. He’s nice. He doesn’t want me to send him pictures of myself with no clothes on. He doesn’t want sex all the time. He comes to visit me and he give me a cuddle. That’s what I’ve been looking for all this time, cuddles.
We won’t ever live together, or get married, or have children together. But I know one day, that is what I will want. I’m 22 years younger than him. Sometimes I think of what I’m missing out on – a family. But then I think of what/how I used to be. I was unhappy. I was sad. But now most of the time, I’m okay.
I still can’t tell him anything though. I can’t tell anyone.
