by Band Back Together | Mar 19, 2014 | Sadness, Seasonal Affective Disorder, Stress |
It’s starting again.
At first, I thought it was because I had several days where my sleep had been interrupted by kids or my puppy. Today, I had to acknowledge to myself what the problem is.
Seasonal depression. Again.
I’m moody. I’m pissy. I snap at my family over the littlest things. Last night, I even locked myself in the bedroom for a while, when the stress got to me. I’m wound so tight, I feel like I’m on the verge of freaking out at any moment.
There are things I absolutely adore about where I live. I love our little community. I love the family connections we have here. I love the rich soil in my yard for my garden. The pros far outweigh the cons. We’re not going anywhere, this is home.
However, we live in the frozen tundra. That’s a REALLY big con. Last year, our winter was unusually long – just under six months. It’s not just the snow that is a problem, it’s the cold. With regular sub-zero temperatures most of the winter, that means a lot of time spent inside.
Which means by the end of the winter, my body is starving for sunshine.
I first noticed the seasonal depression last year. Unfortunately, I do not have insurance, so getting help for it isn’t something we can afford. Fortunately, my husband does have insurance, and is already seeing a psychiatrist for his mental health. Last year, his doctor prescribed an artificial sun lamp for his depression issues. His insurance paid for it, and I can use it for free!
So today, I pulled out the sun lamp and set it up on my table. I added some mood-lifting vitamins to my morning routine. It also helps that both my geranium plant and my Christmas cactus are about to bloom. I may not have flowers outside to look at, but I’ll have flowers in my kitchen.
I’m just grateful that I recognized the problem before it got too out of control this year. I’m glad the changes I need to make for my mood are fairly small.
Still, I’ll be really glad when spring finally comes.
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 30, 2014 | Abortion, Abortion Recovery, Grief, Guilt, Help For Grief And Grieving, Loss, Sadness |
Upstate NY, 1985
It was taken away from them. Just a seed in the beginning of a life forming to join this world.
A decision. She wasn’t ready. Not in her plan. So scared, but no decision to be made. Outcome predetermined; not to start.
So it was ended. They had no chance to join this world. Left to find another possibility for the loss was cold.
She could feel it in her hips. The pain was held and rocked till the grief was pushed thru every pore, wrung out thru sorrow ’till she could find space to breathe.
Why is it so hard to let go?
Why does it wash over you decades in time?
They were crying out to be saved, but she didn’t hear.
I am so sorry to have left you. I wasn’t ready to carry a soul.
It’s all consuming, the process of growing up. Staying aware, but willing to feel the piercing joys and sorrows that you have endured. Sometimes it’s so cold. She was just learning how to share gold, black & pink.
Still stiff, I’ll learn how to relax and breathe.
–and I forgive you sweet melissa. U meant no harm
–then why does it hurt?
– because you feel deeply and that is a gift to cherish
I feel the blood in my body and hear the ink on the page. I’m still learning to see clearly and that is okay.
–thank you. I am grateful
– U are always welcome. my gifts are bountiful
–amen
– I forgive you. come fly with me
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!
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…
