by Band Back Together | Jan 4, 2014 | Anxiety, Fear, Guilt, Romantic Relationships |
Oh my gosh, why?
Why do I feel like this when I shouldn’t?
Why do I feel like I need to be with him?
Why do I feel like he should be here with his arms around me, holding me tight, saying he loves me, while standing outside under an icicle tree, just looking at the sky, saying that one day I’ll be his forever?
Am I different then before?
Did I change?
Was he just using me?
Was I just one of his back-up plans?
Plan B?
2nd choice?
Do I deserve to be a back-up plan?
Am I not good enough?
Did he mean it?
Was it real?
Was it just a dream?
Is he doing this to me on purpose?
Why me?
Does it mean something?
Did it mean something?
Am I missing him, or the feelings I felt?
Was it a spark?
Is it just me?
Is there a reason I feel like this?
Did the kiss mean something to him?
Did he feel like I felt?
Did he feel the spark that I felt?
Does he remember?
Will it happen again?
Should he know how I feel?
Will we kiss again?
Does he want to?
Is he going to?
Will I let him?
Will Maddie find out?
Will she be mad?
Will I lose my best friend?
Will she forgive me?
by Band Back Together | Dec 5, 2013 | Anxiety, Gang Rape, Guilt, Healing From A Rape or Sexual Asault, Rape/Sexual Assault, Self Loathing, Uncategorized |
I want to feel better. I am hoping that writing about it will help.
I was raped by three fraternity brothers in college. Most of the frat guys are nice guys, and we are friends, but I didn’t know the men that did this. I was drunk, but not as drunk as my sorority sisters. While helping a sister I got dragged into a room, was tied up and abused for 2 hours. I thought it was my fault and that I was a slut. I have never spoken about it until now.
It happened during this time of year.
I should be over it by now. I just feel so guilty. I am sorry I let it happen. I should have fought harder or told someone sooner. Hopefully by saying something now I will feel better.
I received a friend request from one of them. Today, I heard one of them married a sorority sister recently. It’s put me in a bad place. I really hope I wasn’t at fault, but it feels like it.
by Band Back Together | Dec 4, 2013 | Adult Children of Mentally Ill Parents, Anger, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorders, Child Neglect, Gay Is Okay, How To Help A Friend Or Loved One With A Gambling Problem, Mental Health, Pathological Gambling, Therapy |
I am finally coming to accept that my mother has a variety of mental illness. I’ve known all my life something was wrong. Mostly I have ignored it, and even joked about it, trying to blow off steam.
Nothing was ever good enough for my mother. If I came home with B’s on my report card, she would want to know why they weren’t A’s. She would say that I could have done better. My father only talked to me about how to fix something. He never shared much about his life, other than stuff about his job. He would tell stories for hours that went on about nothing. In lieu of parenting us, my mother just bought stuff for my sister and me.
Mom was also a bulimic. Day after day when I was growing up, I would hear her in the bathroom throwing up after every meal. If we asked about it, she would deny it and change the subject. Dad defended her and said it was none of our business.
My grandmother knew they were incapable of parenting so we stayed over at her house as much as possible.My grandmother basically raised me from the time I was 12 years old. I moved in with her and took care of her after her first heart attack. Sadly, I was an adult from that day on. I cooked, cleaned and ran her house. We had a great relationship.
Then, my grandmother found out I was gay. She told me I was a sinner, an embarrassment, and told me I wasn’t her grandchild anymore unless I was “healed”. I moved out on my own for the first time. We didn’t speak for years.
After granny died, and later, my father, mom was on her own. For the first time in her life, she had control of the bills. It took less than two years until she had spent all of the money in the saving accounts my dad and granny had left. She then mortgaged her home in order to go shopping and go to the bingo halls. She recently moved in with me because she had no choice. She couldn’t manage her money and had gambled it away.
Mom has always been controlling, She gets mad if I go someplace or even leave the house without telling her where, when and why, even calling my friends to find out where I am. She argues with me over everything: the food and even the type of trash bags I buy. She says I owe her and refuses to chip in with the utilities. If she is driving in the car with my sister or me and she doesn’t like the music or the conversation, she will tell us she’s going to ram the car into a tree.
She is home all day alone while I go to work. When I get home, if she hasn’t already called me ten times, she has had the whole day to get worked up about something. She will unload on me as soon as I walk in the door.
She gets “nervous” about some story on the local news, or something she heard on the police scanner she listens to all day, or something horrible a friend told her about, and has to tell me it could happen to me so I must be careful.
Almost every night is a war and a screaming fit complete with her shaking her fists and slamming my door. The next day, she says “Good Morning,” like it never happened. Tonight she screamed at me, told me to go to hell and stay there and slammed my bedroom door. I cant stand it anymore, she refuses to go to a doctor. Tonight I told her if she didn’t get help, I would call an ambulance and force her to see a doctor. I have no support, no family to help. She badmouths me to her friends, and they always act like I’m such a jerk.
Despite how it sounds, I love my mother. I know there is help for her, but she will not go. She says therapy is stupid, and she just bites her nails when she gets upset.
Is anyone else going through something similar? Does anyone have advice for me?
by Band Back Together | Dec 3, 2013 | Breakups, Date/Acquaintance Rape, Fear, Guilt, Psychological Manipulation, Psychological Manipulation, Romantic Relationships, Suicide, Teen Heartbreak, Teen Sexuality |
I was fifteen, and I thought I had met the love of my life.
Of course, when you’re fifteen, everything is the end-all, be-all of your life. You think that the day you fail your history exam is the worst day of your life; that your first job will kick-start your career as a successful businessperson; and the boy sitting at the outdoor table by the bus ramp with a cute smile and big arms is your future husband. At fifteen years old, I was sure I would love no one else but him for as long as I lived.
Because I was not raised a Christian, abstinence to me was always more of a personal preference than a spiritual promise. At fifteen I was not ready to have sex. I’d had only two boyfriends before, and only one of them ever got close enough to kiss me.
And then it all changed.
He was 6’3″, Hispanic, and had no plans for the rest of his life. He had a beautiful smile, was the ultimate smooth talker, and he loved to hold my hand. In short, I was doomed to fall for this guy. I met him at lunch one day; he offered me his seat. I guess that was the first time I ever liked a guy at first sight. Four days later he asked me out. Within two months of dating, I knew I loved him.
He was not a virgin, while I was as virgin as it got. I told myself I was okay with that, but honestly, it kind of bothered me. It made me feel like I had some sort of unknown standard to live up to. Within three months of dating, sex naturally came up as a topic of discussion. It made sense, of course; I was a girl, he was a boy, and we were in high school.
Still, I was really not ready to have sex.
We had been dating about six months when he started to complain about not having sex. I made it very clear to him I wasn’t ready. He’d tell me he understood, and that would end the conversation for the day. By the second or third time we’d argued about it, he told me he was tired of doing it for himself. He wanted his girlfriend, the woman he loved to make love to him.
It made me feel guilty.
When we had been dating about seven months, he sent me a text message saying that I was the best thing in his life and if I left him, he’d probably kill himself. I was in class when I got the text and had to ask to be excused so I could figure out what was going on.
That was the last time he mentioned it, but it stayed on my mind always.
By nine months, I would catch his hand traveling a little too far for my comfort and I’d stop him. One night, after the homecoming dance, he asked me to take off my dress, but swore he wasn’t trying to sleep with me.
Later, his family moved and he had to change schools. I promised him we’d find a way to see each other. I’d visit him at his new home every weekend. We would lay on the couch and he would hold me all day. Our relationship was more innocent than it had ever been.
For a while, we were just content to spend time together. For our first anniversary, he took me to a nice dinner and asked me to prom. We had a relationship based on honesty, and I told him he was the one I wanted to marry.
After that, he began to bring up sex in conversation again.
We would argue about it, and then not talk for days. But no matter how I fought or said no, I could feel my defenses slipping. He knew what to say to make me feel like maybe I was wrong:
“But you love me, and I love you, and I want to show you that.”
“It wouldn’t be a terrible thing, it would be you and me becoming one.”
“It’s meant for two people who love each other. You do love me right?”
We would argue and then he would stop speaking to me. He would start to say something about sex and then stop, making me feel like he felt he couldn’t talk to me about it. I thought I was losing him.
Finally, I compromised: we would do it on prom night. Not long after saying that, his hands began to wander again. When I’d stop him, we’d fight and he’d pull away from me.
I fought with myself on a daily basis, telling myself that if I didn’t do it, he’d leave me. I thought I couldn’t live without him. And so one day, I didn’t say no. He convinced me that I’d enjoy it, so I gave him my virginity.
That night, I cried myself to sleep. I wasn’t ready, and it sucked. He said he felt closer to me, and I said the same. But I never told him how I really felt. He started to ask more often, even demanding it once. I’d give some lame excuse, he’d see right through it, and I’d sleep with him. This happened for another six months.
Just before our second anniversary, he had gone a short while without asking for sex. I found out he had been sleeping with his ex-girlfriend. She confronted me at school one day, revealing it to me publicly.
I was mortified.
I left him eight months ago. I recognize that even though I loved him, I was not ready to lose my virginity at such a young age. For a long time, I blamed myself for it, saying I’m the one who should have said no, I should have stayed strong. But then again, I was afraid he would leave me.
Now I know I am not at fault. I learned that what he did is called sexual coercion. I was nothing more than another conquest. I have trouble getting close to men, and not trusting many people. I am clinically depressed and in college, still in love with a guy I wrongfully had sex with. I am seeking help. In sharing my story, I have found myself again.
by Band Back Together | Sep 12, 2013 | Grief, Loss, Pet Loss, Sadness, Talking to Children About Death |
Losing a pet can be as hard as losing a family member.
This is Gracie’s story:
We’re putting our dog down today, later, hopefully after I take a nap. Her cancer spread so fast… we had just weeks from finding out she was dying to having to make that final, awful decision.
Our kids are heartbroken. Our three-year old completely broke down when she figured out what we were trying to tell her. Gracie won’t ever be coming home again. No more Gracie. Just gone. Our daughter has grown up with this dog; she doesn’t have a memory in which Gracie wasn’t around. Then just suddenly she won’t be coming home.
It isn’t fair.
I bond better with animals than humans. I loved Gracie before I loved her owner, my partner. I had an instant connection with this dog, this wonderful personality in a big, furry, cuddle butt body. Now my furry buddy is going to be missing from my life. I don’t think I’ve cried this hard since my mom died.
We made her a headstone with her paw print, and another stone with her tags for us. Another for the kids to decorate in honor of their first dog. But it isn’t the same. I think I understand now why some people put away all the pictures of someone who died – it’s too painful to be reminded.
I don’t know if I can bear to see her leash hanging up when I come in the door from taking her to that awful last vet visit. She’ll never use it again.
It just isn’t fair.
I just want her to be there when I walk in the door. Lay next to the couch while I watch TV. Get excited at dinner time. But life just isn’t fair, and now my whole family is sad.
So fucking sad…
by Band Back Together | Sep 11, 2013 | Grief, Sadness, September 11, 2001 |
September 11th is approaching.
It sneaks up on me every year. A quick glance at the calendar, an appointment, some kind of plans crop up. And there it is.
I worked in New York City on 9/11.
I was close enough to see it, to smell it, to sense it. For days after the attacks, it hung in the air. My heart hurt.
On the first anniversary of September 11, 2001, I went to work several hours late as I just couldn’t do it. I spent that evening creating a painted tile in memory of the terrorist attacks, thinking of those we had lost.
I didn’t know anyone personally who died on September 11, 2001. I knew of people. I hadknown people. I knew people who had lost people. It still hurt like hell.
The next year, I watched the coverage of that day. The reading of the names. The bells tolling. So horribly sad.
Each year, a little less painful, a little further away. Still stinging, less raw. I’ve been down there since That Day. I’ve held my breath. The air shifts around you when you’re there. The way it all makes you feel. Made me feel.
I haven’t gone since the rebuild. I’m still not ready.
And every year, I remember. We all do. So many thoughts, sentiments, emotions. But we move on. We go about our day. What choice do we have?
We turn off the television. How many times can we watch the towers fall?
We stop listening to the news.
We go outside and breathe fresh air.
We remember the blue sky of that day, and we feel lucky to see it again. We listen to the voices of those around us.
We remember, but we have to live. We exchange memories with those we know, those we don’t. Every year I write something. I can’t allow September 11 to go by without writing about that day. I need to remind everyone, remember myself. To think back for a few moments to That Day.
That Day, we banded together – more than most would expect. I hope we continue to do so. Every year. In honor and memory. With respect for those gone and those who remain. Lost without their loved ones. We try to remember, with the trace of time that cushions us. Let us forget just a little bit as we hold our loved ones closer, if only for the day.
Remembering as history changed forever.
And still, we go on.
*******
