by Band Back Together | Oct 7, 2014 | Guilt, Happiness, How To Cope With A Suicide, Self Loathing, Suicide, Teen Suicide |
I’m trying so hard to not kill myself. It used to be the thing keeping me from suicide was my family, but lately, it seems like they don’t even care.
I wasn’t even supposed to be born. I hate that my mom didn’t get rid of me. I shouldn’t be alive, and I hate being alive.
I’m suffering everyday of my life. This isn’t how life should be. What makes it worse is I’m 16. I’m a junior in high school.
THIS ISN’T HOW IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE.
What happened to high school being the best years of our lives? These have been my worst. I just want to be happy. But I have serious doubts about that happening.
How all these amazing people survived, I don’t know. They’re lucky. They have a reason to live, I guess. I don’t. I’m literally worthless. I have ruined everyone’s lives around me. I just want to die…
by Band Back Together | Oct 6, 2014 | Bringing the Happy Back World Tour, Happiness |
I live in a swamp. Every spring, the turtles emerge from their hidey-holes near the water, cross the street, and lay their eggs. Sadly, other swamp critters often dig up and eat the eggs before they hatch. I see white eggshells scattered around holes dug in the ground throughout the summer, and it always makes me sad.
This year, turtles laid eggs right under some neighbors’ campers. Today, those eggs started hatching and turtles started crawling out, following their internal compass toward the water. My neighbors gently started digging up the hard ground and collecting the turtles so that they had a chance to survive without getting run over trying to cross the road. See, while folks around here slow down for turtles crossing the road in spring, those babies are much harder to see as they head toward the water.
At least two turtles’ babies have a chance this year, and that makes me happy. Life–be it turtle, dog, human, or whatever–is worth celebrating. Knowing that my neighbors gave some tiny baby turtles a chance to make it to the water without getting crushed or eaten is definitely something to be happy about.
by Band Back Together | Oct 3, 2014 | Abuse, Coping With Domestic Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Fear, Helping Someone In An Abusive Relationship, Loneliness, Trust |
Hey The Band!
I’ve only posted one thing on here thus far, and I wanted to first thank everyone for their kind words. It’s strange how much helpful it is just knowing you’re not alone in this.
It has been over a year now since I left. I’ve been slowly finding myself again. A day doesn’t go by, though, that I don’t remember something about the abuse. What gets to me the most is how many friends I lost because of him. No one ever wants to believe that they’re friends with a monster. So why would they believe the “crazy ex-girlfriend” when she shows them what’s behind the mask? Sometimes I wonder if I really am just crazy. I wonder if the amount of loss was really worth getting away. What scares me more is that I don’t know if it was. Are the people that I trusted that blind or am I just nuts?
Has anyone in The Band dealt with this kind of regret before or have any advice? While trying to move forward I can’t help but take stock of what is left and see how much that was lost because of one jackass. It’s hard to move forward when I keep looking back.
You all are amazing.
Thanks for reading.
by Band Back Together | Oct 1, 2014 | Livng Through A Miscarriage, Miscarriage |
I dreamed about you again last night.
Ever since the surgery to take you away from me, I have dreamed about holding you and kissing your sweet face and smelling your sweet smell.
I need you to stop meeting me in my dreams. It’s the only way I will ever heal from the pain of losing you at 10 weeks pregnant.
I will love you always, baby of mine. But I need to heal. 
by Band Back Together | Sep 30, 2014 | Anger, Emotional Abuse, Guilt, Infidelity, Poverty, Economic Struggles and Hardship, Psychological Manipulation |
Even seven years after he left me, I have come to realize that my ex-husband still takes up residence inside my head. In an attempt to clear him out of there, I’m going to start telling more of my stories. Maybe if I send my stories out into the world, they will get out of my brain.
He loved to pick fights with me. Easily, 75% of our fights were about food. Clearly, they were never REALLY about food, but that’s how he chose to express his anger with me.
There was an excuse for why food was such a hot point for him. For most of his childhood, he was raised by his grandmother. She didn’t have the financial means to support her children still living at home, as well as the grandchildren she was then responsible for. They were poor. Food was hard to come by. But she was also very frugal and knew how to make every last scrap of food last.
My family didn’t have a lot of money, but by comparison, we were definitely not poor. If a little bit of leftovers went to waste, it wasn’t the end of the world.
The day that some ground beef went to waste, he started a screaming match with me in the front yard. I’m sure the neighbors loved that!
But easily, the worst fight over food was Thanksgiving, 1999.
Thanksgiving was his favorite holiday, and I always went all out to make it special for my husband. I took charge of the entire meal – except for mashing the potatoes. He enjoyed doing that. We had had a lovely morning, we even took the dog for a long walk between basting times on the turkey. As I finished the cooking, he was downstairs, looking through family photos.
When the potatoes were done boiling, I called down to him that it was time to mash them. He said he would be right up, so I left the water in the pan for him to drain and set them aside.
I was busy. There were a lot of other things to do.
I didn’t notice that he didn’t come right back up.
When he finally did, the potatoes had gotten cold and a little slimy.
He was PISSED.
He screamed at me about how the potatoes were ruined and it was my fault and I should have drained them. I should have called him again when he didn’t come up. He stomped around the kitchen, swearing, yelling, and slamming pots and pans around.
He icily told me, “Thanks for ruining my favorite holiday,” and then he got in his truck and left.
I continued to cook as best I could through my tears. I cut up more potatoes and got them boiling. I finished the stuffing – just the way he liked it. I made the gravy. When the potatoes were done, I mashed them myself. They were lumpy, but at least they tasted good.
And then I waited.
He didn’t come home for about four hours.
I know now that when he was downstairs, he must have been talking quietly on the phone to his girlfriend, and she convinced him to have Thanksgiving with her instead. He picked a fight with me so he could justify leaving. If it hadn’t been the potatoes, it would have been something else.
When he got home, we ate in silence, and I held back tears.
