by Band Back Together | Jul 8, 2014 | Anxiety, Coping With Domestic Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Fear, Guilt, Helping Someone In An Abusive Relationship, Stress, Trauma |
Hi, I’m 22. I’ve been looking for something that might help the healing. I just found this site, and am glad there is something like this. It’s hard writing what happened. So here it goes. I was mentally/emotionally abused.
I don’t feel like a victim. It’s nothing like you see on TV where someone is bawling their eyes out with sudden realization. I’m just numb. Okay, I’m numb with random fits of bawling my eyes out for no reason, but still numb. Reading the other stories on here, I feel like mine was barely anything.
I was in a relationship with an abuser for two and a half years. It started out like any good relationship does, laughing and smiling. Then, his family disowned him for dating a white girl. After that, he would throw that at me to shut me up, if he perceived the smallest slight. That I was the reason for everything going bad, the fact that his family would never accept me. But it never stopped there. Daily, he called me fat, and ugly, and useless. There came a point when I believed all of that. I tried to weigh as little as I could so that maybe he would give me a small compliment. I tried to do everything perfect, even though it wasn’t enough. He would insult me in front of our friends (his friends, since all of my friends liked him better). I could never tell him no or go against his word without incurring his explosive anger. He would never show his anger in public though. He would wait until we were alone to let loose. He took all but two my friends. He’s a charismatic guy, and everyone likes him. How can people stay friends with an abuser when they KNOW? There came a point when I felt so alone and unwanted that I thought about suicide. The thing that kept me from it, the only thing, was the thought of my mom.
I almost left probably five times. Why didn’t I just leave the first time?
My mom saved me from this “relationship.” She’s a psychiatric nurse and recognized the signs. In her words, she told me that I didn’t laugh or sing anymore. In August, after he threatened me more than usual, she told me her suspicions. I told him that she didn’t like our relationship. (When his family disowned him, he made me promise that if my mom ever didn’t like our relationship then we would break up.) I used my mom as a scapegoat to get out – I wasn’t the one who ended it. Not really.
Now, months later, I still feel lost. I’m still afraid to make decisions. I still close up and try to fix everything whenever someone’s moody. I laugh again, but that’s all I’ve gained back of myself. I’m going to start therapy in a week, and I hope that helps. Does it take this long to heal? I just want to be myself again.
One thing that one of those two friends told me has really stuck. “How can you prove that someone hurt you when they left no visible mark?”
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 | Mar 17, 2014 | Bullying, Cyberharassment, Cyberstalking, Depression, Emotional Abuse, Fear, Guilt, Insomnia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Psychological Manipulation, Sexual Harassment, Stalking, Stress, Trauma, Workplace Bullying |
I’m many things: a daughter, friend, a pet lover and a 4.0 student. I swim, volunteer, love the beach and enjoy music. I’m also a victim of a growing epidemic among teens and young adults entering the workplace: sexual harassment.
On Valentine’s Day 2007, I attended my first corporate event as a volunteer for a major media corporation. I dressed professionally in a long-sleeved pants suit and arrived early to Houston’s baseball stadium. Plastered on my face was the biggest, most secure smile I could find, in spite of the butterflies in my stomach.
This corporate event was a huge deal and I played a special role in it. Around sunrise, the radio station’s videographer arrived and began setting up his equipment. He spotted me and walked over to extend a handshake. Eager to make a good impression, I introduced myself.
“Hi, I’m Jill. I’m the poet,” I said, confidently.
“Hi, I’m Howard. I’m on-air each weekend and do video as a side-gig.”
“I know. I’ve heard you.”
“Well, I work at another station, too.”
Having varied musical tastes, I said I knew – I’d heard him there, too
When the brief, friendly banter had finished, we each continued our business, the discussion far from my mind… Until I arrived home that afternoon and discovered that within an hour of meeting me, he’d found my website and sent a highly personal email. It discussed his dating history, his taste in women, that he thought I was in my forties because “forty-something women are the hottest around;” because I was “hot.”
I wondered how he’d found my information, I told my instincts to “hush” – I was certainly overreacting. After all, the media must’ve given him my information. Pushing concern aside, I believed I needed to keep the peace for my new position and sent a simple, friendly reply.
The conversation continued as he told me he had a daughter my age and found my information through an internet search. The third day, he asked to purchase signed copies of books I’d written. I gave him my home address – easy as that.
The subtle signs of trouble were there from the beginning. The wishy-washy words to keep my feelings off-balance. On my birthday he said, “The world is a better place because you’re in it.” Not two hours later, he said, “You’d look good in black lace … and I’m not talking shirts.”
It took nearly five years for me for me to find the courage to accept that the harassment was serious and not the jokes I’d thought the man was making.
“Nice to meet you” slowly became “You’d look great in an adult film” and “The world is a better place because you’re in it” became a blend of comments like “My girlfriend is an iceberg in the bedroom,” which played to my empathetic side. Feeling “sorry” for his “plight” he claimed would “improve” if he could buy me lingerie and sex toys.
I never thought he was serious, I’d thought he was joking. I know now to trust my gut; this kind of behavior is not normal for the workplace.
By the time a box of lingerie he purchased for me was delivered to my home and I pursued action against him in 2012, I’d endured a lengthy history of requests for dates, pressure to pose for pictures and/or provocative video, cyber-stalking, emotional abuse, and calls and texts at all hours. The toll on my life was apparent – sleepless nights, stomach upset, and stress. I lived in constant fear of what the next step in his obsession might be.
My innocent response happens far too often among teens and young adults unprepared for workplace sexual harassment. Today’s teens and young adults are not alone in dealing with job-related harassment. According to Adolescents at Work: Gender Issues and Sexual Harassment, thirty-five percent (35%) of high school students reported they experienced sexual harassment in their part-time work. Of the 35% who were sexually harassed, 63% were girls and 37% were boys. In 19% of cases, perpetrators were supervisors, and 61% of the time harassment came from coworkers.
Sometimes it can be difficult to tell the difference between flirting and harassment, but it’s never okay for an adult to flirt with a child. It’s not okay for someone in a position of power to flirt with or suggest improper behavior. Such behavior in the workplace is illegal and companies must have guidelines in place outlining zero tolerance for sexual harassment.
If you are going through something like what I experienced, I want you to know that this is not your fault. Nothing you did or didn’t do caused this to happen. This did not happen because of anything you said, your choice of friends, your appearance, or your personality. Anyone who harasses another is a bully. Bullies are cowards that pick on the strong and innocent, simply the person is there. No more, no less. You are not guilty of anything, even if you initially went along with the harassment. The blame is with the harasser; you are a survivor. You can heal.
You deserve respect.
From the minute that you feel awkward about a work-situation, tell someone you trust and begin documenting every comment, action, or event that’s left you feeling uncomfortable. If you’ve received e-mails, save screenshots. If you save the e-mails, don’t alter them in any way. If someone says that they don’t think what you’re going through is that bad,” remember – it’s not their place to judge. You own your truth. You own your boundaries. Only you know what you will or will not accept.
While someone else may tolerate behavior that bothers you, it’s your life and your decision. You’re allowed to end uncomfortable situations; no job is worth trauma, torment, or the health toll enduring daily abuse can cause, such as depression or post-traumatic stress disorder. You cannot always leave your job, but you can stop the cycle of harassment. The harasser wants your silence; don’t give them the satisfaction.
Some may believe you’re weak for choosing to address sexual harassment and strive for change, this is not true. You are not weak; you are courageous and brave, trying to make the world a better place for others; that is an admirable aspiration for anyone.
As the result of my journey, I reached out to a therapist to help me understand what had happened. My therapist put the harassment this way: “The harasser is an annoying gnat you can flick away until the pest becomes smaller and smaller on your horizon. By standing up, speaking out, and refusing to accept abuse – you are a big flyswatter with the power and will to end the cycle of harassment.”
If your boss, co-worker, or friend demands your undivided attention, calls you five or ten times per day, follows your every move on and offline, or starts mimicking your style or words, there could be a deeper problem.
Stand your ground; know your boundaries; always listen to your inner voice. Respect, trust yourself and you will get through this. I told my story and put the spotlight on my harasser; you have the power within you to do the same.
Even on the darkest day in your fight against sexual harassment, always remember you’re worth so much more than workplace abuse. You will come through the experience with greater awareness and more compassion for others. You have a bright future ahead of you and you will survive this.
I believe in you!
by Band Back Together | Sep 9, 2013 | Guilt, Parenting, Single Parenting, Stress, Talking To Teens About Sex |
It has become abundantly clear in my seven years as a parent that guilt is part of the role. We, as parents, are forced to fight that little voice that screams your child’s name into your head every time you’re forced to make a decision. That voice keeps us wishing we could throw our kids into a backpack and carry them with us where ever we want to go.
That damn voice has kept me from applying to my dream job in Sydney… but it’s also kept me from becoming bar fly. Which may have also once been a dream of mine, before I had a kid.
I was about to turn 19 years old and in the fog of the partying days of my freshman year of college. My parents were so pleased because I was on scholarship to go to a Catholic University (HA!).
Little did they know that their daughter was engulfed in a crowd of kids who’d been so disciplined all their lives that this was their opportunity to break free. I, on the other hand, had two older brothers and a lot of freedom growing up, so the drinking and partying was nothing new to me. I was the beer-wench for my brothers’ parties when I was ten, and tapped my first keg when I was twelve.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t as smart as I thought I was.
January of 2003 brought with it a big surprise… a BABY in my tummy! It felt so great coming out of the fog of my partying days with a baby bump, only to hear semi-weary “congratulations” from passers by.
At 19, the only responsibility I’d ever had was to put clean underwear on and brush my teeth. I even failed at THAT sometimes! Please remind me of how this is a “congratulations” moment.
But alas, my child was born 9 months later after 20 grueling hours of labor. I wish I could say that it was the best day of my life, but I can’t. It was the weirdest day of my life. I’d just squeezed a child out of my fun-hole and it kept trying to suck on my nipples – wild. Needless to say, this day was certainly significant.
Here we are, seven years later. I’m stressed to the point that I’d love to disappear for a few months, but that green stuff that makes us happy and gets us places isn’t exactly abundant in my life.
No, not medical marijuana… I’m talking about money. Okay, medical marijuana isn’t exactly abundant, either, and it should be. I hear it takes the edge off (ahem).
I’ve made some sacrifices (read: rearranged my entire life) for my little guy. There are days I wish I could come and go as I please – and I’m not just talking about trips to the store. I’m talking about doing what my friends do, like deciding one day that they’re going to move to London to work for 6 months.
I can’t do that because I need my family to help me so I can go on to become the CEO of a major corporation one day, and flying 12 people to London sounds expensive.
I need my parents because they pick my son up from school. I need my brothers around because my kid is an only child and without my nephews, he’ll never learn the value of sharing or what it means to get into a fist fight and still be best friends 10 minutes later. He needs his family – I don’t, but I need him.
Soon he’ll be 18, my career will be well on it’s way, and I’ll regret ever wishing that things were different, so I try not to.
But I feel guilty because there’s so much time that needs to pass before I’m on my feet. Almost as though my son is going to have his career established before I do. Perhaps THIS is why people wait until they’re in their 30’s to have kids.
Excuse me. I have about 1000 Legos sitting in front of me that need to be pieced together to build an airport.
by Band Back Together | Sep 5, 2013 | Adult Survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse, Anger, Child Sexual Abuse, Fear, Marriage and Partnership, Marriage Problems, Mental Health, Self-Esteem, Stress |
The scars of childhood sexual abuse can last a lifetime.
This is his story:
With my wedding in few weeks time, I feel more vulnerable regarding my past.
I have been raped by three teachers, one neighbour’s servant for over three years. I have boyish looks which may have made me attractive to them.
My dad is an overpowering, angry man’s man and my mom is thick-headed with abusive tongue. None of my other siblings are anything attributed to normal.
Today, I keep a thick French-cut beard to hide my face. My body is shaped like a pear, which means my torso is fatty near my back and legs. This makes my confidence shatter while I’m walking.
However, I have a positive mind and never lost hope. Rather, I created a habit of forgetting everything bad, all behaviours and all piercing eyes.
Thanks to my habit of forgetting, I face many problems in this overly-competitive world. So often I feel if I’d have given a normal childhood, I’d have been much more of a achiever. I’ve finished university education and have a fantastic job. Unfortunately, the job is contractual which continues alarming and ruining the enjoyment of having a good paying job.
As anyone can understand, my threshold for patience is very low; therefore I have lowered my choices in the past. I feel angry, sad and pathetic for very small reasons; I’m known by my friends and family for having one black day in every other week.
All this explained, my wedding is up and I feel too stressed and feel like breaking down. I want to go forward but I feel this is going to be too much of a burden; like I should quit. Getting married and having children seems to be hell of a job – maybe I’m not ready.
I just wanted to share my story and could use some of your comments, The Band.
by Band Back Together | Jun 24, 2011 | Anger, Breast Cancer, Cancer and Neoplasia, Caregiver, Coping With Cancer, Family, Feelings, Guilt, Stress, Trauma, Trust |
i’ve written before about my love hate relationship with the pump… well, mostly about the hate portion. its rhythmic sucking makes me sing little songs to its always irritating tempo. then they mix around with the gymboree songs already stuck in my head. then i realize how badly i really do need the prozac and ativan.
i don’t know for sure how long it’s going to last. i’m trying to be realistic about the prospect of having cancer, undergoing chemo and pumping for (hopefully only) six months. it’s kind of like starting out nursing. i tried to limit my expectations of myself. i said i’d aim for six months and then see if i could go for a year. that seemed ridiculously long to me at the time, much like pumping for six months does now. but a year came and went and well, here we are.
my husband, nugget daddy, stayed down at my parents’ last night so nugget and i have been left to fend for ourselves for the majority of the past two days, save for a playdate and lasagna drop off yesterday afternoon.
i didn’t get to pump at all yesterday. i can’t pump in front of my daughter, nugget. that would be like asking your pregnant best friend to take you to happy hour. i meant to pump last night once she went to sleep, but i fell asleep, too. my boobs had been angry ever since.
nugget likes to have her naps with me, but this limits my options for the duration of naptime as to what i can actually accomplish with twenty pounds of sleeping toddler strapped to my chest, lovely though as she feels snuggled against me. her grandmamie puts her to sleep in the stroller and i bribed her into it with chocolate chips this afternoon so i could pump, finally, and subsequently blog about it. lucky you!
i was so angry the first few times i pumped after starting chemo. it was like rubbing salt in the wounds. i couldn’t nurse nugget and i had to stand uncomfortably in the bathroom watching my milk fill up plastic bottles instead of a happy baby. and then as i would dump the ounces of heartache down the sink a new wound would appear like a gaping mouth to catch my salty tears and sting my aching soul. what a waste.
you won’t find much if you google “cancer” and “breastfeeding” except for articles about nursing after breast cancer. “chemo” and “breastfeeding” yields the same contraindication tagline over and over, and “cancer” and “breastmilk” mostly just points you to article after article about this guy who drank breastmilk to fight his prostate cancer. those, mostly sensational and local news, articles mention milk banks selling milk to cancer patients when they have excess available to sell. it costs $3 an ounce.
i’ve had plenty of time to think about that guy and those $3 ounces while making up songs to the pump’s rhythm and calculating how much i’d just poured down the drain. warning! here comes the crunchy freaky part. squee! maybe you want to stop reading, uptight next door neighbor guy or old school grandpa, maybe there’s a golf game you’d rather be watching. okay, so seriously, why the fuck would i want to keep dumping my milk down the drain when other cancer patients are paying good money to get their hands on it? i don’t know what exactly it might do for me, but it sure won’t be doing anything at the bottom of the sink that’s for sure. so i sucked it up and sucked it down.
it was sort of gross at first, though why exactly i’m not sure. i think it was the temperature. i can’t think of any beverage i regularly consume at body temperature. but now i’m used to it and pleased by thought that i might actually be doing something to help save my own life.
so, now i have a new goal. i want to pump twice a day for the whole six months, or however long it might be. i know i might get sick. i know i might have to stop if i do. but if i approach it the way i did breastfeeding, then maybe i can make it through. maybe if i tell all of you about my plan then i’ll be hell-bent on reaching my goal. maybe some mother out there trolling the interwebs for a glimmer of hope will find my blog now, instead of all the other useless crap i found.
