I am unemployed. I have been unemployed since I was fired on February 10th. I worked at a pretty famous law firm, but it was in areas of law that I wasn’t familiar with. I also made dumb mistakes. Also, I felt that the other secretary (besides me) sabotaged my efforts to fit in at law firm. I was only hired in early November. I want to emphasize getting fired was my fault. I made too many mistakes; I’m not blaming anyone but myself.
I am taking being unemployed very hard. I feel like something has been ripped out of me. Part of my identity is my career, and it’s been taken from me, until I find a decent job. While I was growing up, my father owned a successful farm, and my siblings (I have six other siblings), parents, and whole family worked together on the farm. My parents farmed well and made a lot of money. They treated the farm like a 2nd religion. It was thought about, talked about, dealt with every single day! We had dairy cows and those dairy cows HAD TO BE milked every day (unless they were within a couple of months giving birth), twice a day. If they weren’t, they would suffer a disease called mastitis (which women can also suffer from). I didn’t like farming. I didn’t like working every single day from Sunday to Sunday. I hated getting up during the 5 o’clock hour, and still do to this day. I was the fourth son out of five, and the first son not to farm.
What I’m trying to say is that working has always been very, very important to me and growing up it was treated very, very seriously. So, when I see how my Dad and my siblings have flourished and I have been fired several times, it just hurts so bad. I’m just not as good as they are. I love working, and making money in my chosen legal profession means so much to me. Succeeding means a lot, possibly, too much.
The place I worked is somewhat famous. It was covered by major local newspapers, Crains, Reuters, and even once on Comedy Central this summer. I felt this was a golden opportunity. If I could succeed there, then it would be like a gold star on my resume. When I worked there, I had a sense of accomplishment. If I could even work there for a year or more, it would have helped immeasurably. But I didn’t. I came up short, my opportunity GONE.
My Mom, my brother, sister and I all have/had depression (Mom died). It’s part of my heredity, and mine has been made worse because I am now unemployed. I won’t commit suicide, because I owe it to my girlfriend and kids not to kill myself. I know how that would hurt them.
But, I wish I were dead. If if someone were to shoot me and kill me, and if I were allowed to speak just before I died, I would say, “Thank you!!” to my murderer. I wake up feeling bad. My depression is somewhat better because of my girlfriend. No one could ever ask for a better life partner. She’s so altruistic. I had a great mother, but even she was not as altruistic as my girlfriend.
I go to a psychiatrist. I take an anti-depressant. I have anxiety disorder and take medication for that as well. I go to a counselor. I go to Church every week, and that helps a lot. I know I should be happy that God loves me, Jesus died for my sins, and I am grateful for being saved, but I am suffering right here, right now.
I want/crave a legal job or something of comparable pay. I want it so bad. The very thing I want, is the very thing I’m being deprived of. It’s cut me down. I’m diminished as a result.
Hello The Band,
I am a 33 year old female from Florida. I have turned to this site for guidance, support, and hopefully, help. I’m hoping I can find other women who can relate to my situation, help me understand how to cope and deal with the problems at hand, and, if possible, guide me in the right direction.
I met my current boyfriend on an online dating site back in July of 2015. I was with my ex-husband for 13, years and we have one child together. That relationship was a disaster towards the end. I honestly didn’t think I could ever fall in love again – until I met my current boyfriend.
In September, we decided that because of the distance between where we both lived, moving in with him was a good option. Driving back and forth was killing me.
Everything was amazing for the first five months.
There were little spurts of anger here and there about silly things like the dog barking too much or the dishes not being clean enough, but I figured this was just the kinds of little idiosyncrasies that come from being in a new relationship.
In December, I lost my job. I have not been able to contribute a whole lot to the household since then, but every dime I do make, I give to him – including my government assistance.
Lately, he has started making comments that I do nothing, that I’m useless, that all I do is sit around, that I’m overweight and need to exercise. I would never say such horrible things to him.
I feel like the comments are getting worse. Now he’s mad about every single thing. If he doesn’t have enough socks, it’s somehow my fault. If he cant find a clean pair of shorts that he likes for work, that’s my fault, too. He screams at me, and if I cry or tear up, he calls me a baby, a princess, or weak.
He tells me that without him I would have nothing.
When I was younger, I was in a relationship where I dealt with minor physical abuse, but I have never dealt with emotional and verbal abuse before. I almost wish he would just smack me instead of saying these hurtful things. I feel like the sting would be less and not last as long as the hurtful words he has been saying.
Now, he has stopped making love to me. He will never let me talk to him about how I am feeling. If i say “I am not okay with you talking to me like that,” he starts screaming that I am stupid for not knowing by now what pisses him off.
I feel so out of character lately. The old me would never have let anyone talk down to me like that. With him, I am quiet, timid, and I just stand there and take it.
Every time I build up the courage to speak up, I am shot down immediately. I feel so sad. I was sure this man was the one for me. I fell madly in love with him, and now I am scared I’m losing him. I don’t want this to happen. I want to make him happy, but the harder I try, the more things he finds wrong.
What should I do? Is what I’m feeling normal? Is this true verbal and emotional abuse?
Please, any words of advice, or help, or wisdom would be a blessing right now. I am so utterly distraught. I am scared of getting hurt anymore. I’m scared he will start cheating, which is my worst nightmare. I have a serious fear of being cheated on …I just need some friendly words.
Scared, Confused, and In Love.
This is my first visit to the Band. I looked for this site because, at 54, I am still struggling to understand why my father won’t acknowledge my professional successes. I sent him an email last week asking about his holiday plans and mentioning that I am having a book published (we live about 5 hours apart, driving). I’ve been working on this goal actively for nearly a decade, and dreaming about it since I was in grade school.
I’ve nearly raised two children (they’re teenagers), I have a good marriage, and I’ve supported my family financially through my husband’s 5 layoffs. Don’t I deserve a pat on the head (realize this is an infantalizing image) for also pursuing my own dream all these years, while still doing all that was “expected” of me? My mother died many years ago of cancer. In fact, she was 54, the age I am now.
I signed this book contract six months ago but never mentioned it directly to my Dad, even though we shared a rental house for a week in the interim at a family vacation. Last week, in an email, he praised my daughter for academic persistence in high school, and I felt as though I should point out that she was taking a page from her Mom (me). I’ve written 4 book proposals, each 50-60 pages of work, and finally I made a sale! But, this revelation was met with total silence from my Dad and step-mother. I’m pathetic to still care and need and want this acknowledgement. I shouldn’t even ever have tried!! I should just admit that I’m invisible and stay that way. Why do I keep trying for normal?
I have a lovely mother in-law who takes pride in my accomplishments, all around: wifely, motherly, writerly. My husband does, too, as do many friends. I should be grateful. I AM grateful. I still want to make my father normal! Oy. Hopeless. I am grateful that I woke up from this crazy relationship in time to raise my kids without a narcissistic or victim-mongering mother. But there are bits that won’t go away.
I want a baby.
I want one so bad that I can feel the aches and pains as if I’d been punched in the gut.
I turned 30 this year. I know intellectually that 30 does NOT mean all is lost. Emotionally? It feels like the beginning of the end.
I FINALLY got my husband on board with infertility testing. Seriously? Took freaking forever. He wants a baby just as badly as I do, but apparently he thinks they come from the brier patch or some shit. He did his testing, and he got the high five from my doc when everything on his end turned out fine (seriously, a high five. You can’t make this shit up).
Then I got laid off.
Sonofabitch, I seriously got laid off and half of our monthly income is gone. Unemployment in my state is a joke, but hey, it’s better than nothing, right?
But “nothing” is what it means for any future infertility testing, or treatment, or any of my hopes and dreams. Even once I find a job, the momentum is gone, and my husband isn’t on board anymore because there’s so many other things he wants to do with that income (i.e. shiny toys). Fuck this shit.
Yes, I’m pissed. I’m pissed because I gave up my dreams for a family and to be married to this man, who admittedly, is pretty darn perfect in every other way.
He’s supportive and loving and attentive, but he doesn’t have the ambition or attention span or whatever to actually TRY for a baby in the medical sense. So, I basically gave up my lifelong ambitions and dreams for something that may never happen.
Fuck you Universe.
How can this be happening?
I’d like to say that I know everything will work out fine in the end, but my overreaching anxiety keeps me from being that optimistic. Instead, I cry when he goes to work.
I cry and I hope that this month will be the magical band aid. “Maybe this month will be the month that defies all odds, right?” Yea, it hasn’t happened yet. 55 months since we started trying. 4 years, 7 months and we still don’t have a baby, and there’s no indication it will happen anytime soon.
A blocked Fallopian tube, fibroid tumor, hemorrhagic cyst, and God knows what else because I can’t afford further testing. Basically, I’m fucked.
My reproductive system has said “Fuck You” in a magnitude of epic proportions.
But all I want is a baby. I used to daydream about how I’d tell my family and what I’d name my child. I’d imagine life with several children and how sweetly chaotic it would be. I’d think about the best places to live in our area with access to the best schools, and how many children we’d have.
Now all I want is one.
Just one healthy baby.
Is that really so much to ask?
I am starting to hate my husband.
I dread being around him.
I think part of it is that he’s home pretty much all the time now. He lost his job and he can’t find another one, so he’s gone back to acting, which isn’t happening for him either. He always talks about all this stuff he’s going to do or needs to do, but it never happens.
He’s home, and yet nothing more is getting done. I think I’m actually writing less. You would think he would shoulder more of the child care, cleaning, shopping, bill paying or any of the 100 other things that need to be done now that he’s home all the time, but you’d be wrong. Some of the stuff for the kids he will do, but not if it’s too complicated (and juggling 3 busy kids is complicated). If it involves too much time on the playground he has no interest. He does cook, but only when he can go to the store and make a fancy meal – if we don’t have the money for $30 of ingredients or $60 to go out, then he’s really bitter.
I’m so sick of having someone who’s supposed to be my partner act like a fourth child – a fourth problem child. He would like a medal for not punching a wall lately. Never mind that he still yells so loud that the neighbors can hear him.
It’s always my fault. I use a bitchy and/or impatient tone, but I don’t know what else to do.
I am a victim of domestic violence and almost every form of intimate partner abuse that you can name.
Through my therapy, I have heard of “White Knight Syndrome.” This is when a person has a naturally good nature and wants to protect people in danger and people in need. My ex knew that I was an instinctively good person and would help those that I could, the elderly lady that fell off a bus, the disabled man that asked for help to get up the stairs, someone being attacked on the street, a victim of domestic violence, a victim of rape.
She knew, and she took advantage of it. She claimed she was raped one night. She claimed that someone was bullying her because she was a woman. She said that she was unfairly sacked because her boss was racist. She would say anything she could to try and get a reaction out of me, anything to prove to herself that she had control over me by having me fix whatever problem she created.
If I didn’t beat up the rapist, she would say I was controlling.
If I didn’t side with her against her bullying friend, she would say I wasn’t letting her go out.
If I didn’t have a go at her boss for being racist, I was called the racist.
None of this added up to me. Her friends would call me and say I should let her go out, even though she was out with them every week. My friends started threatening to beat me up for something I apparantly did to her whilst I was at work. People started threatening me and attacking me all the time. When I’d ask her if she knew what was happening, she’d deny it.
This is where I knew she was lying.
Not once, not ever, in all times I was beaten did I get a hug, or a kiss, or any empathy, sympathy, or pity from her. When I walked in with my leg nearly broken, she shrugged it off. I went to the hospital alone. When I was threatened, she would just turn the other way and go back to watching something on TV. I gave up telling her. I would either be ignored, or worse, she would deliberately walk away and call me weak for being upset, depressed, down, low.
I was more scared of telling her that I was battered with a pole through fear that this would give her satisfaction. I was terrified of telling her that someone nearly broke my leg. Instead, I told her I fell over. I kept hiding the injuries caused by what she was doing to me. I was hiding the number of times she’d had me battered for something as simple as asking her to sweep up whilst I cooked and cleaned the dishes.
Now when someone tells me that they have been raped, I worry that they might be lying, and I’m going to be manipulated again. I worry I will find myself stuck in a place where I know my heart tells me to protect this person, but my mind is telling me to keep myself safe.
For a very long time, I was running from pillar to post trying to protect the person that I loved, without destroying my own life. I eventually started letting the police deal with it.
That’s when the truth came out.
She wasn’t raped. She arranged to meet up with him because I wasn’t dominant enough.
She wasn’t wrongfully sacked by a racist boss. She had her final disciplinary action because she refused to do her job countless times, and she damaged clients’ property.
She wasn’t being bullied. She wanted to hide the fact that she had stolen money.
The list goes on and on.
Anyone can be in danger of false accusations. The people like me who have suffered forced penetration (that’s what they call it when a man is drugged and raped by a woman) don’t come forward until it’s too late. None of us have the courage to face disbelief from others for what we have suffered.
To all the women out there who are victims of rape, I am sorry for you all.
To all the men who are victims of domestic violence, I am sorry for you all.
I know how hard it is to fear disbelief because I have faced disbelief.
I have had to relive my abuse over and over again with every time I tell someone what happened. Over and over again, I feel scared that the person I’m telling is going to point at me, laugh at me. I’m scared that they will disbelieve me even, when shown the evidence, even when hearing the truth from my abuser, even after becoming a victim of it themselves.