by Band Back Together | Feb 14, 2014 | Coping With Losing A Partner, Fear, Help With Relationships, Infidelity, Loneliness, Marriage and Partnership, Partner/Spouse Loss, Romantic Relationships |
This is a very hard thing for me to admit.
I’m in love with two men.
I am a happily married woman. I love my husband completely and am fully committed to him. We have a great life together, three beautiful children, and a nice home. I have no complaints.
But my husband is sick. He has multiple health problems that could take him away from us at any time. He could live to be 90, or he could die next week. It’s hard to know. I know that his death will be heartbreaking. Every health scare brings me to tears.
There is a very dear friend of mine who I have known since childhood. He has been there for me through thick and thin. In our younger years, there was a time that he was in love with me. I didn’t feel the same then. He eventually moved on, got married, had children of his own. But every once in a while, I get a glimpse of the love he still holds for me.
I realized a few months ago that the feelings I have for him go deeper than just friendship. I am in love with him. I think the love for him has been there for a long time, I just didn’t see it.
I am very careful to make sure I don’t do or say anything inappropriate. I could never hurt my husband, or my friend’s wife. I don’t say things to him that I wouldn’t tell my husband, and I don’t spend time alone with him, so nothing could be construed as improper. This is not a case of physical or even emotional infidelity. I keep my feelings for him tightly locked inside my own heart.
The problem is each time my husband’s health sidetracks our lives again, I find myself daydreaming about a life with my friend – being married to him. My friend’s marriage has never been stable. I picture us in the future – my friend divorces his wife, then my husband dies. My friend and I get married and spend the rest of our lives traveling and enjoying each other’s company.
Maybe it stems from my fears of my husband’s death. Maybe I just don’t want to be alone. Maybe it’s just easier to imagine a life without that fear of death constantly looming over my head. Maybe I just need therapy.
It is what it is, and I can’t change it. I love my husband. I want him. But if I can’t have him, I want my friend.
by Band Back Together | Feb 12, 2014 | Fear, Grief, Happiness, Help For Grief And Grieving, Parent Loss, Sadness |
Some days I move forward. I think about you. But I’m able to smile and not get sucked in. I remember, but I don’t cry.
I see your face on my phone. It’s there always. All the time. And I smile.
“Hi, Daddy.” That’s what I say. I smile, say that, and I’m okay.
And then the other days. They suck.
I cry. Hard.
I remember the fear. The feeling I felt when I heard the words.
I replay the moments in between knowing something was wrong and knowing you were gone.
I hear my brother’s voice.
My heart hurts so very much.
I wish I had a way to rewind it all.
And bring you back.
It hurts so f*cking much.
You’re supposed to still be here.
I’m supposed to be singing with you until you’re in your 90’s. AT LEAST.
And you’re not here. You’re not coming back. You are missing. You took a piece of my heart with you.
A chunk. A large one. And that empty space? It aches like HELL.
When the good days come and I’m smiling? I feel like it’s a small betrayal, to you, myself, our family. It’s just not fair. I try to remember you with a smile through the tears. I try to think of the moments that make me laugh. And I do. I can do it. But in the end, you’re still not here. Not coming back.
And it sucks. My heart hurts. Because it sucks.
I love you, Daddy. I miss you. I carry you in my heart always. That part is full. Despite the chunk I lost when I lost you. You fill up the rest of my heart with memories and laughter and moments where you simply held my hand. That’s all I need, for you to hold my hand as I make my way through this.
Do you think that’s possible? Reach down and hold me. I know you’re watching. You should be able to do it. Right? How does it work, anyway? Ah. I’m surely asking too much. But sometimes I have to.
Because I love you, Pops. And I miss you. Always.
by Band Back Together | Feb 4, 2014 | Adoption, Adult Adoptees, Adult Children of Narcissistic Parents, Adult Survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorders, Cancer and Neoplasia, Child Sexual Abuse, Coping With Anxiety Disorders, Emotional Abuse, Fear, Generalized Anxiety Disorder Resources, Incest, Loss, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Parent Loss, Sadness, Therapy, Trauma |
The scars of a narcissistic mother last a lifetime.
This is the brave story of an adult child of a narcissistic mother’s story.
My dear father fell ill the end of February 2013. He’d been in and out of the hospital for three months with various ailments and a discovery of an aggressive cancer. We lost my dear father on May 29th 2013.
My father cared for my 80-year old mother. He waited on her hand and foot; he’d been doing this my whole life. It was now my turn to care for my mother.
I thought I was doing what was right; I thought I was being a good daughter. I visited with her every day. Let her cry on my shoulder, took care of her needs, medication, doctor appointments, fed her, cleaned her home, took care of her pets. My brother occasionally would show up, with some type of take-out food, but scoot out quickly.
After a few weeks, I started to get the wrath of my mother. I couldn’t do anything right
…I was too slow. I forgot to do something. Then, it turned into criticism of my body and how I raise my children; she was sorry she ever adopted me. I left her home crying every day; going home to my own family filled with anxiety and stress. I felt every bit 12-years old, all over again.
I am just recently learning about Narcissism.
I was 2- 1/2 when I was adopted. My brother is 8 years older than me and my parent’s biological son. I could never remember much of my childhood before the age of 11 or 12, but do remember a few haunting memories that I tried to pass off as a nightmare. One of the reoccurring memories happened when I was 6 – my then 14-year old was brother tickling me. It progressed to him pulling up my nightie and trying to penetrate me with his penis.
I can’t remember much past that.
He was always inappropriate, showing me his penis and laughing, making a sick game of it. I can’t remember the length of time this went on. Sometimes he would be nice, then he would be plain cruel to me.
I stopped talking in 2nd grade. I was so terribly shy, so shy that I would cry if someone looked at me the wrong way. I started remembering everything when I was a preteen but I was too ashamed to tell anyone as my brother continued his cruelty. He didn’t call me by my name. He called me Moose – as in a “fat moose.” My mother allowed this. She allowed him to be cruel to me and never said anything. In fact, it was my fault he was being mean.
He left for college when I was 12. Then came the wrath of my mother. She would make me weigh myself in front of her. She was very thin, an ex-model; she was an alcoholic and a very mean drunk. My father would water down her vodka in hopes she would be less volatile. She would scream at me for various reasons, none of them made sense. I just felt unloved. In fact, she made me go to a therapist at 13 because she said I had a “detachment disorder” and “could not love anyone.” Something about “not being held when I was back in my home country.”
My father tried the best he could to assure me I was pretty, smart and lovable. I always felt that from him, but he never stood up to my mother and quietly observed the maniacal behavior. I could write so much more of what happened through my childhood. (ed note: please share with us)
I am now 44 years old, married 18 years with 2 teenagers. I know I have the ability to love. I know I was mistreated because I could never treat my own kids that way. I am now in therapy to reconcile my feelings of guilt and quell my anxieties that still exist. I have never felt good enough or have been able to express myself for fear I might upset someone.
I am learning that my brother was the “golden child” and I was the scapegoat. It is all starting to make sense to me now. My therapist also believes my parents or at least my mother had knowledge of my brother’s sexual abuse towards me. Ughhh, I can’t even imagine this could be true. I have no contact with either my mother or brother as of Thanksgiving. My children tell me I seem less stressed. My husband also has noticed a huge change. I believe I am healing. I believe my father’s passing brought me to a place where I could see all the indignities I had suffered at the hands of someone I called Mom.
by Band Back Together | Jan 31, 2014 | Bullying, Childhood Bullying, Coping With Bullying, Coping With Depression, Depression, Fear, Guilt, How To Heal From Being Bullied, Major Depressive Disorder, Psychological Manipulation, Rape/Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Teen Bullying |
When I was in about 4th grade my friend would tell me all these sexual things. One night this person was over my house and they fingered me. I didn’t know what it was. This person manipulated me into thinking it was okay. I touched this person back. And it went on and on. This person would touch me a lot. And I would do it back.
I didn’t know any better. All I knew was it felt good. This person told me to never tell my parents or anyone else.
I’m still scarred by it. It distorted my childhood. It changed me. It made me do things I didn’t want to do. I can’t help but feel guilty. I mean 4th grade? It makes me feel so gross. I’ve never even kissed anyone.
In middle school, since I felt ugly, I jumped at any chance to show off my boobs to get some sort of positive attention from boys, and of course, I did. Sometimes it went too far. It made me cry, but it was better than being called ugly.
One time a boy touched my front-side in the hallway. He said if I told anyone he would get his sister to beat me up, so I kept quiet. Another time a boy shoved me against a locker and had his hands around my neck. He threatened me, but I don’t remember why.
Riding the bus was the worst because while they were calling me ugly, they were touching me or pushing me on the floor of the bus.
One time I was the park with my best friend and a few boys who bullied me. (Why did they bully me? I don’t know.) We were playing soccer. My old friend Melinda was there. They respected her, so they left her alone. But they would circle me and smack my butt, poke me with sticks in the front area, my boobs, and my butt. I liked the attention, but I also hated it. I told them to stop, but they wouldn’t. Two of the boys walked me home (not sure why) and one of them smacked my butt. A 30 or 40 year old man saw him do it. He yelled, “Oh yeah, smack that!” It scared me so much! I was furious! I yelled, “Fuck you!”
They told me if he came back to rape me they would leave.
I’ve had multiple experiences with grown men making me very uncomfortable. I get looked up and down. I see the lust in their eyes, and it really frightens me.
I have a friend who I love very dearly. But he can be very abusive. He’s very “hands on.” He touches my butt and my boobs every so often. But when he’s mad, he literally hurts me. He pulls wresting moves on me or chokes me for a few seconds. To him it’s a joke. To me, it’s scary, and it hurts.
One time I was locked in a room with him and he pushed me down, and he was standing over me. It sounds ridiculous but I was still scared. We are best friends, I just wish he wouldn’t take things so far sometimes.
All these events make me fear men a lot. I have a lot of anxiety and guilt from these events and I’m still not over them. I honesty think I have depression from all the bullying and harassment.
by Band Back Together | Jan 29, 2014 | Bullying, Child Neglect, Coping With Bullying, Fear, Guilt, How To Heal From Being Bullied, Teen Bullying |
I love my mum. But sometimes and somehow, she just makes my day even worse by neglecting me, a teenage daughter who’s going though puberty and not being understood enough. Instead of asking me what happened if I was in a bad mood, my mum would just say, “Stop making that face.”
How the hell would you feel if that was said to you?
When I was being bullied, my mum told me to be strong and fight back. But how the hell do I fight back when it’s twelve or more people? I tried, and ended up hurting myself even more. She said that I was not strong enough. I cried secretly every night.
I got my braces a few days ago. It was painful, but I didn’t rant and scowl about the pain. I withstand the pain and try to chew, although it hurts like hell. She just scoffs and tells me to suck it up. She said my sister suffers greater pain. Did she use a pain thermometer to measure the pain?
All she cares about are my grades, so I can get a scholarship that I would make her life easier. I am so stressed. I improved so much this examination, but she just said I can do better than that. Is an 8 grade not good enough? What the hell does she want from me?
She’s been calling me spoiled to my father and my sister. She even said bad things about me in front of her friends. It was so hurtful. She doesn’t know the pain of being bullied, didn’t want to understand what exactly I experienced. She just took it lightly.
Sometimes, I want to jump off the roof, making the world a better place without me. Maybe she’ll be happier that way. I always keep my own emotions locked up, because of her. I’m far more independent then my peers and yet she said I’m a spoiled brat and can’t control my moods. Does she even know I blamed myself every night for being bullied? That I was traumatized by it? No. I don’t expect her to know what was going on my mind.
Maybe I need to stand up for myself from all this pain, without her. Maybe I’m too fragile. I know I need help, but I really thought that she would be the one to lend me a hand. Sadly, she wasn’t.
by Band Back Together | Jan 28, 2014 | Anxiety, Date/Acquaintance Rape, Depression, Fear, Healing From A Rape or Sexual Asault, How To Help With Low Self-Esteem, Loneliness, Rape/Sexual Assault, Sadness, Self-Esteem, Sexual Coercion |
I think I’m depressed. That’s the thing that worries me the most. I had this kind of shitty thing happen to me about a year ago, and I fear it has changed me. I used to be really happy, and could see beauty basically everywhere. I was outgoing, loved hanging out with my friends, and generally just doing stuff. But now I have absolutely no motivation to do anything. I sit at home watching tv, or playing games; anything to keep me from having to go outside and face life.
It’s sad, because I just moved to this new town, for school. An education I should be really excited about, but I’m not. I should try and make some friends here. I have one good friend left. The rest I have neglected to the point where we don’t speak anymore. Several have tried numerous times to call me, but I just don’t pick up. Before I moved, I would make plans to meet them, but then make up some lame excuse and not show up. They must think I don’t like them anymore. I’m so sad. I don’t want to cause other people pain just because I’m not feeling well, but I just can’t get myself to contact them.
My self-esteem is so unbearably low, it’s a pain to even go shopping for groceries. I only do when I absolutely have to. Unless I’m having a really good day, I can only buy certain items, so I’m not embarrassed. I over-eat, drink alone and don’t exercise. And as my weight goes up, my self-esteem drops even more. I’m a bit of a mess.
While I was volunteering in Africa, I was raped by a guy I worked with. I’ve had some trouble with guys in the past, so I went to Africa because I wanted a change and to clear my head for a while. He was so sweet and funny, everybody loved him. We started flirting a bit, and then it evolved into something more. He acted like he was really falling for me, and to this day I still think he was. (Unless he was just an extremely good actor, and I have no idea how to read people.)
There was a party. It was a great evening, and there was a lot to drink. I really liked him, and was going to have sex with him. My friends left for bed, but I stayed behind with him, with his friends close by, thinking I was totally safe. Like an idiot.
As soon as my friends had turned their back, he started kissing me and trying to undress me. I laughed and told him to wait, but he continued. That’s when I got scared, and told him to stop. So he raped me.
He was so much stronger than me, there was no way I could fight back, so I just shut down. I was in complete shock. Never once did it occur to me to scream for help. I’m ashamed of that now, and the fact that I was really into him. At the time, all I could think was “What? Is this really happening?”
After he was finished, I was lying on the grass, half naked, with him and his friends looking down at me. I will never forget that image. It was the most humiliating experience of my life. He started pulling me up by the arm, saying we would go to his cabin. I said no, and got away from his grip, but then he grabbed me by the hair.
That is when it finally occurred to me to scream.
There was a bit of mayhem in camp after that, and I had to report the incident. If the people I worked for hadn’t made me, I probably wouldn’t have. For that I am grateful, I suppose. It became quite clear who believed me and who didn’t. The guy who found me that night did. The rest of them, not so much. I had been working closely with these people for months, and I truly believed they were my friends. But they still thought it was my fault. He was such a sweet, likable guy, and if anything happened, it must have been my fault.
He told people that we were already in a sexual relationship, and he didn’t know he was forcing me into anything. His friends backed him up, of course, but he still went to jail for a while …about 4 months, if I’m not mistaken.
I stayed over there for a while after that, confused, broken and alone, not wanting to go home and deal with reality here. Obviously it didn’t work out in the long run, and I left a few months after the incident. About two days before going home I saw him again in the city. I completely panicked and ended up hiding behind a car.
So now I am left with the painful memories that pop up every now and then, a general distrust in all people, and absolutely no motivation to do anything. I am ashamed, sad, constantly tired, and I feel so incredibly lonely. I went to talk to a therapist a few times, but she went on vacation for a few weeks, and I never tried to schedule a new appointment.
She did tell me however, that I can get some kind of compensation for this. I just need documentation stating that the rape happened, documents from the police, or basically anything. But the people I worked for refuse to help me. I know the documents are (or were) in their office, I saw them, I touched them, but now, all of a sudden, they don’t exist.
This was extremely painful to write, but it turned out really long! Thanks to anyone who bothered to read through it, and thank you to whomever started this incredible Band. It is very nice to be able to vent like this. I normally have serious problems talking about my own emotions and problems.
Lots of love to everyone here!
