A letter to my Mom.

Dear Mom,

I think you have forgotten this, but its me, your daughter. Yea, you have one of those, I promise. I know that to you I died 11 years ago when I chose not to follow the religious path you set out for me, but I am not dead. I am alive and kicking, and I am still your daughter. I am writing you this letter because I can't talk to you. Actually, its not because I can't, but its because you won't. I can't call you up to say hi and see how your day was, let alone have a serious heartfelt discussion. This will obviously be one sided with no chance for you to jump in and defend your actions, but that is by your choice. I wish I could talk to you in person. I wish I could hug you and tell you I love you. I wish you loved me.

Do you remember when you were in your car accident? You spent a week in the hospital, including 3 days in the ICU. Do you remember who never left your side, who slept in the hospital room with you so that you never had to wake up alone, who fed you ice chips when your mouth was dry, and who advocated for you when it was necessary? That was me. I knew that if the situation was reversed, you wouldn't do the same for me, but I could not let your actions define mine. You are my mother and you needed me, so I was there. It hurts me so much sometimes though to know that it changed nothing. That I am still dead to you.

How can you be that way? I just don't understand. As a mother now myself, I can not understand ever ignoring my child the way that you ignore me, no matter what they did.

You raised me in the religion for 18 years, and all of its teachings and beliefs were pounded into my head. I know how it works, you are controlled by fear. We were taught that we could not make any mistakes, and that if we did everyone we knew would abandon us. I am well aware of all that is taught, yet I still know I would not be able to do that to my children. Nor do I believe that God would want me to. And to be perfectly honest, if He did, then I don't want to worship Him anyway. Nothing is worth losing my children.

I know that you hope to convert my children to follow your faith. I will never try to control my children or force them to believe or not believe in a certain way as I was, but I will tell you that I hope you fail at your attempts. I love my children very deeply, and I would hate to see them in an organization that will turn their backs on throw them out at a moments notice.

Do you have any idea the pain and emotional trauma that abandonment like that can cause? I pray that you never have to find out. I still love you and I wouldn't want you to have to hurt the way that I have.

The saddest part is that I don't even think you realize just how fucked up it is. For my first three years as a mother, I lived in constant fear that Armageddon was going to come, and my beautiful innocent children would be killed because of the sins of me, their mother. That is what you taught me, that is what your religion pounded into my head. Every time a thunderstorm happened, I would cower in a corner of my house, holding my kids close and praying that this wasn't the day they would be taken. I was brainwashed with fear.

I am trying very hard to move forward with my life, but it isn't easy. You never did what parents are supposed to do, and never prepared me for life in the real world. I did not know how to pay bills, balance a check book, or save money. I was taught that furthering my education by going to college was an evil and selfish thing to do. I did not know that real evil existed in the world, and I wasn't taught how to protect myself from it. The only people I was ever exposed to were in the religion, and I was taught to implicitly trust every person I met. Believe me when I tell you, that particular lesson has been a very, very difficult one to break.

I wish I could say or do something that would open your eyes, make you understand... But I can't. I cannot free you from the hold of that organization, and I have to accept that. I have to accept that I do not have a mother. I have no one I can call for advice or wisdom. No one to turn to for the affection I so desperately crave. You couldn't even give me a hug at grandmas funeral.

I have so much more that I want to say to you, so much that I want to make you understand. I wish you would talk to me.

I love you mom, I always will.

Your loving, out casted daughter.

Nasty Little Thoughts in My Head

I don’t want to be strong anymore. I don’t want to go around pretending that everything is fine when it’s really not. I want to break down and cry, I want to drink excessively and take lots of pain killers and just be numb all the time.

Every time I turn around I am failing someone or hurting someone else, and it’s not because I want to. It’s because I never seem to know what the right thing to do is.

I know there are people who are going to judge me for feeling this way, who are going to tell me to shut the fuck up, be grateful I’m alive and just move forward in my life. But you know what? Fuck you. Walk a fucking mile in my shoes and stand under the weight I have on my shoulders. Live with the memories I have, and wake up every morning knowing about life what I know. Being alive and having your health mean jack shit when you just want to be dead.

No, I did not say I am going to commit suicide, and no that is not what I mean. I am alive, and that will not change by my own hand. I am just saying that I am so damn tired of hurting every damn day and being so frustrated with everything I do being the wrong things, when all I keep trying to do is the right ones.

What is the point of always trying to do what’s right and always trying to make sure others are happy, when you always end up being the one that gets screwed because of it?

Now I truly understand the saying "Nice guys finish last." Society sends a very strong, clear message that says you have to be a bitch to get what you want out of life. Want your children's father to help you and actually pay his child support? Be nasty, be mean, let the state throw him in jail. Want to get ahead in your work place? Don't give a fuck about making sure things are done the right way, just do them halfassed and spend the rest of your time chit chatting with your supervisors so that they like you and promote you. Want help from the state to provide better health coverage for you kids? Lie to them and don't play by the rules. And apparently being nice and always putting the other person first doesn't get you very far in romantic relationships either. I haven't figured that one out yet, but maybe when I do I will finally find a man who will just love me and respect my children. Yea, right.

Rape

The title of this post should leave no doubt in your mind what it is about. This post by my friend The Ranting Monkey stirred up some very deep feelings and emotions in me, and I needed to write.
I agree completely with Monkey. How dare anyone suggest that a woman is asking to be raped by what she is wearing?!

I went out on New Years Eve and wore a low cut shirt and high heeled boots. Does that mean I was asking someone to put a drug in my drink, take me back to their house and have up to 5 different men have sex with me in my unconscious/unaware state? Fuck no! And they did not "have sex" with me. They RAPED me, and anyone who dares say anything different can go fuck themselves. Better yet, how about I put something in YOUR drink and take you somewhere and let 5 men do that to you and see if you feel any different?

It just makes me so angry for anyone to try and justify in any way any kind of rape. Using the logic that anyone asks for it to happen by what they are wearing is absolutely ludicrous! Every person in this world has their own idea of what is a turn on and what isn't, there are people with all kinds of fetishes in this world, and yes, there are even those who are turned on by "granny panties" which means, gasp! it does not matter WHAT you wear, someone out there will find it attractive, and believe it or not, just because someone likes something you are wearing, it does not mean they are going to rape you!  It angers me to no end for those who try to lay blame on anyone for rape because of what they wore or their sense of style!

And yes, I am using the term ANYONE, because rape can happen to men and women. In fact, people refer to rape as a crime that women don't report because they are to ashamed... Want to know the statistics on how many men don't report being raped?

But, back to my original point of this post. I am a survivor of rape. And as such I take a tremendous amount of offense to anyone, any "feminist" group, or any article that even remotely suggests that I was asking for it.

 I assure you that as I got dressed to go out that night my only thoughts were that I wanted to look good and feel good to bring in the New Year. I had lost over 40 pounds that year and I was proud of myself. I wanted to show it off, not to have someone man handle me, and I wasn't even looking to have consensual sex with anyone. I was proud of myself, felt comfortable in my own skin, and I wanted to celebrate.

Now someone is trying to say that because of that I asked to have things happen to me. I asked to have so much damage done to me that they couldn't even preform an entire rape exam at the hospital. I asked to have nightmares that wake me up with screams. I asked to now have a fear of anyone being behind me and always having to sit with my back to a wall. I asked to be afraid to go out to a bar with my girlfriends, or to never be able to drink something after I have lost sight of it for even a second even if I'm at home. I asked to now have New Years Eve associated with fear and terror instead of happiness and cheer.

Fuck you. I asked for none of that. It is not my fault that it happened, and let me tell you it took me a long time to get to a point where I could say that. And for ANYONE to say otherwise is the most idiotic thing that anyone can say or do to anyone who has survived the atrocity known as rape. It is because of people and articles like you that so many are afraid to come forward, because they are afraid of just that... They are afraid the police will blame them and instead of being seen as the victim that they truly are, they will be seen as a whore or a slut who asked for it.

It is time to stop saying such outlandish things, time to stop looking for places to lay the blame other then with the criminal who committed the crime. Stop making victims of this crime feel more ashamed of themselves then they already do. You imbeciles that write this crap obviously know jack shit about being raped, or you would know that there is enough feelings of shame and guilt wrapped up into it without you pouring acid on an already inflamed wound. And if you truly knew anything about rape, you would know that statistically speaking, rape is not a crime of sex, it is not a crime of "Oh my God, do you see what that person is wearing? I just cant control myself and must have them now!"....  Rape is a crime of control, a crime of power. It is a crime of someone who feels the need to prove something about themselves by showing someone else how much stronger they are then them.

So, how about you stop writing about subjects that you know absolutely shit about, and start writing about things you know, like how to be a small minded idiot?

I am a survivor of rape, and my low cut shirt was NOT the reason it happened. End of story.

Frustration!!!

I just had an entire post written about changes in my life.... And somehow I deleted the whole thing with one click... Highly irritated at the moment! It took me a half an hour to write that thing, and now it is all gone! Grrness! Just, GRRRRNESSS!!!

Title TBA

 I have been writing a book.... It has always been my dream to one day be a published author, and maybe one day I will make that happen. For now, here is the first chapter... I am posting this because, well honestly I would like some feedback or any suggestions anyone has. Please, dont be afraid to be harsh. I have always written for myself, never for others and the only way I will get better is if I find out what my mistakes are and improve them! Thank you in advance for your time! :)

                                    Chapter One

If you ever get the chance, I highly recommend taking a moment and truly looking at yourself in the mirror. I don’t mean the everyday glance as you go about your morning routine, brushing your hair, washing your face, or putting makeup on if that’s your sort of thing. I mean REALLY look at yourself. You will be amazed at what you find in your own eyes. I know I was.

I never thought I was the kind of girl who would be capable of murder, never thought there would be circumstances extreme enough that my own 2 hands would be capable of harming another. But that was before Bryce came into my world and shattered every illusion I had about myself. Hell, who am I kidding? He shattered every illusion I had about everybody.

Bryce was every girls dream. The flowers, the romantic dinners, the foot rubs…  Oh my God the foot rubs! Some days I still miss those… But that all changed the day I thought I would surprise him at work with a quickie on our lunch hour. Little did I know that I would be the one getting the surprise.

I will never forget the moment I opened the door to his office trying to be all sneaky like, excited to reveal the little black number I had on under my skirt… Only to find that he was already under his office assistant Beth Dupree’s skirt. Oh, I couldn’t really blame him; she was a very cute little thing. The kind of girl that all the men love and all the women hate but secretly want to be. Blonde hair, blue eyes, milky white soft skin and still young enough to have those perfect perky breasts. (Now, I know what you’re thinking. Sorry to disappoint, but Beth is still out there alive and well and still as cute as ever.)

“What the hell is going on in here?!” I screamed the words that I now know 95% of the women in the world have screamed at least once, even if it was only inside their heads.

He just gave me that dumbfounded look that men seem to be so good at, and before he even had a chance to answer I spun around and flew out the door, not being able to stand one more second in that scene.

It would be easy to say I killed Bryce in a rage of fury, that it was a crime of passion, but it all honesty that’s just not the truth. I ran home, and yes I do mean ran. I left my car in the parking lot and just started running. I’m not sure why I was running, why I thought that running might make things better, but at the time it just felt right. I ran and tried to put as much space between me and the awful thing I had just seen as possible.

When I got home I jumped in the shower and scrubbed my skin raw. For some reason I just felt so dirty, and it wasn’t from the sweat pouring down my face. It was deeper than that. I could feel him on my skin even though he hadn’t touched me that day. I could smell him, I could smell her. I scrubbed and scrubbed until every inch of my body was red and the water had long since run cold. Then I just collapsed right there in the bathtub shivering, and crying. Life as I knew it was over.

I don’t know how long I lay there; I don’t know how I had enough water in my body to fuel the tears for as long as I cried. What I do know, is that when the tears finally stopped I made a decision. I could let this ruin me, or I could let it define me. I knew there was anger in my pain, and I knew there was strength in that anger. At that moment I realized I could do something about this. I could make him suffer, and I would. I had heard too many times from to many of my girlfriends about this boyfriend or that one cheating. Since the beginning of time men had been unfaithful to their women, they had even created a way to justify it in some cultures by allowing the men to have more than 1 wife. All the while women had been forced to stand by and just take it, put up with whatever men wanted to dish out, anything from cheating to beating. It was time we started fighting back, and I had decided that was my calling. I was going to start teaching the entire male gender a lesson, and I was going to start with Bryce.

          

That night there was a knock at my door. There was no doubt in my mind as to who it was… I had taken my phone off the hook and knew Bryce would come knocking when he couldn’t get thru by calling.

I quickly scrubbed at my eyes with my fingers to make sure they were freshly red and swollen, I loosened the belt around my robe that I was intentionally wearing, and glanced to be sure the half empty ice cream carton and spoon were visible on the coffee table. The contents had actually been dumped down the garbage disposal, but Bryce didn’t need to know that. After all, what heartbroken girl doesn’t lie around in her pajamas eating ice cream?

I slowly cracked open the door and answered with a little sniffle to my voice “What do you want?”

“Come on baby, please let me in! Can we please talk about this? Give me a chance to explain!”

“Why should I? I know what I saw; I can’t believe you would do that to me, to us! You can’t even blame it on being drunk, you were at work!”

I wanted to see him grovel and beg before I brought him to his demise.

“I know I made a mistake, I know what I did was wrong, please Megan, let me in, please let’s talk about this.”

I slowly stepped back from the door and let the slimy snake in. The hopeful look in his bright green eyes as I did almost made me have second thoughts about my plans… Almost. I replayed the images from that afternoon in my head and strengthened my resolve.

“What is there to talk about? You cheated, you lied, and you broke my heart… end of story.” I said.

“No Megs, don’t let it be that way!” I cringed at his use of that nickname.

“Please hear me out, I know I don’t deserve it, but please just give me one more chance, please Megan.”

I decided at this point it was time to throw him a little bit of a bone.  I needed to carefully reel him in without seeming to eager or he would realize something was up. Even though his actions hadn’t shown it, Bryce really was a smart guy.

“I’m listening” I said.

The relief on his face was very visible. His forehead smoothed out, his perfectly shaped mouth relaxed a little and the crinkles around his eyes started to even out. Was that a tear I saw shimmering?

“Megan, I swear it has only been that once. She came into my office to discuss her raise. I had refused to give her the amount she wanted, and the next thing I know she was on top of me. I know it was wrong, I know I hurt you and I’m so sorry! I just, I wasn’t thinking and I couldn’t seem to make my body react the way my brain was telling it to! Please, please let’s try to work this out. I don’t want to lose you, I love you!”

I stared at him for a long time. Just stared at the face and listened to the lies as they poured out of his mouth. Then I spun around in a quick motion that I knew would make my brown curls bounce in a way he always seemed to enjoy and with practiced emotion allowed my breath to hitch just a little with a careful half choked sob, “Oh Bryce, I don’t know what to do!” He came up behind me and put his arms around me, and with that; I knew I had him; he could never resist my tears.

See, there are several things that all men have in common. All men want sex, they fall asleep after sex, and when they wake up they are starving. With that being said, I probably didn’t have to put up such an elaborate front, but I wanted to. This was a role, an act, a scene in my life and I wanted to fully play the part. 

The end.

My heart has broken. My relationship with T is over. I didn't want to do it, but it was the right thing to do at this point. We were fighting everyday and just hurting each other more and more. Nothing was getting better, only worse. I don't know what I'm going to do without him, I feel so lost and alone right now... For all of his faults, he is still a good man with a wonderful heart. We just weren't meant to be.

As my world turns, these are the days of my life...

Why is it that just when you think things are getting better and you are on the right track, something always comes along to knock you flat on your ass? 

Things have been slowly but steadily improving with T and I... we still have a long ways to go, but we have been moving forward.

 I have also been making progress financially, getting old medical bills and things paid off, setting up payment plans for others, I had a budget plan in place that would have had me completely debt free by July of next year which is a major accomplishment for me as I have been in debt for 10 years... not with credit cards, just  with unpaid medical expenses and one really stupid mistake when I was 18 involving me getting a cell phone and allowing my brother and a friend to get lines under my plan... Believe me, hard lesson learned there! 

Anyway, things were really starting to look up... Then BAM!

It started when I got a phone call at work from my sons school about 2 1/2 weeks ago telling me that my 8yr old son had brought 3 pocket knives to school and given them to another 3rd grader.... I almost had a heart attack right there. A long story short, it wasnt true. Another student had accused my son to try and keep himself out of trouble. That situation got taken care of, but thanks to my company's retarded attendance policy, me leaving work that day to talk with my sons principal and the police put me in a bad situation and according to them I am not allowed to miss anymore time at all til after Christmas... Yea, right.. thats gonna happen...

Almost as if to prove my point, exactly one week later on Tues I received another phone call from my sons school telling me that I needed to come pick up my son right away. I arrive to find E shaking from head to toe and a fever of 103. Now what do I do? I cant stay home with my sick child for fear of losing my job, I cant take my sick child to daycare... My only other option is to leave my son with T which means that T will not get sleep because he works 3rd shift... (My kids are a touchy subject with us as Im sure they are for anyone in a relationship where there are children that are not biologically their own. T and I are still trying to work out roles and responsibilities when it comes to them, and its a hard road... This situation of course did not help, but we both knew there was  no other option.) So, I leave E with T, and head back to work for my final 3 hours then rush home to pick up my son and make his doctors appt..

Whew! Made it with about 2 minutes to spare, and I have to carry my son in my arms up the elevator because he cant walk. At the appt. I am told E just has a virus and to let it run its course...hmm, ok... 

I have to work the next day, and we have already covered how my employer will handle that... so once again I have to leave E with T. 

When I return home, my son is still running 103 temp, and is now crying in pain and tells me his knee hurts. I try to take a look at it, but as soon as I go to move his leg he screams in pain. To the ER we go! At the ER they x-ray his knee, draw his blood for regular lab work and blood cultures... they tell me his wbc is very low, that he has arthritis in his knee, and that the rest is a virus and to let it run its course, but to follow up with family doctor the next day about his knee. Sigh. 

That brings us to Thursday, and for the 3rd day in a row I have to drag my poor son to a doctors office of one sort or another... But at least I am on my first day of vacation now, so I dont have to worry about displeasing my employer by taking care of my sick child....

At the doctors office I am informed that there is nothing wrong with E's knee, that what the ER doc saw was simply a growth plate.. BUT, the rest of E's blood work has come back and his monocyte levels are extremely high and doctor is fairly certain my son has Mono... WTF? How does an 8yr old get  Mono? So, we are sent to the lab again to do one more blood test just to confirm the mono diagnosis...  On the plus side, E is cleared for vaca travel the next day as he is now past the contagious stage, which makes him VERY happy as it is all he has talked about for the past month and he was sure he wasn't going to get to go because he was sick.

 Late that afternoon I get a phone call from the office... The lab work has confirmed that it is NOT mono... Its just a virus, let it run its course, have a great vacation, the fever should break anytime... 

That night his temp hit 104.4

Friday morning, 1 hour before we are supposed to hit the road... E's temp is down to 99.9, so T and I discuss it and we decided to go after all. The doctor told us his fever should break in 2-3 days and we are at the beginning of day 4... We are sure that the high spike the night before was just the fever peaking before the break.

 The first leg of our vacation is to travel to a car ferry then take the ferry across Lake Michigan over to Wisconsin where we are going to stay with T's family. 

I bet you can't guess what happened right in the middle of the Lake... Yep,... 102.3. 

I give E some Tylenol and T takes him to a quiet room on the boat while I try to keep my 6yr old daughter entertained... Thankfully we had left the baby at home for this trip! 

By the time we dock then take the 20 min car ride from there to T's uncles house E is doing much better and I start to relax a little... Silly me! 

Once we had arrived I made E lay down in the bed turned on some cartoons for him, gave him a dose of Motrin and just kept an eye on him. He was doing well one minute, then about 10 minutes later he is calling for me. I go to him and once again he is burning up, he is crying and screaming that his knee hurts, he is begging me to take him to the hospital and when I look at his knee I can see that it is now swollen. For the 4th day in a row, guess where we now go? We are of course out of state and have no doctors we are familiar with, but we take him to a nearby hospital which just so happens to be one of the top 100 in the nation. The process there was very similar to the one 2 nights previous, x-rays, blood work, blood cultures... and the verdict comes back the same. Its a virus, go home, let it run its course and its probably just an unknown injury to the knee. The only difference was that his wbc count was even lower then it had been before.

We go back to T's uncles house and for the rest of the night and all day Saturday E stays in bed and I alternate the Tylenol and Motrin to keep his fever down and the pain in his knee under control. I let up a little Sat night just to see where the fever stood, but it shot right back up to 103, so I continued to keep him medicated the rest of the night and into Sun morning. 

Early Sunday afternoon I receive a phone call from the ER in Wis... They proceed to tell me that I need to bring E back in right away so they can put him on IV antibiotics. One of his blood cultures came back positive and he has a Staph infection in his blood.

Wait! What happened to the virus that I was letting run its course?! I want that diagnosis back! 

So on Sunday back to the ER we go where they hook my son up to an IV and draw more blood work. Then we are told they wont admit him, but we have to go see their pediatrician the next day before we do anymore travelling. Our original plans had been to head back on the boat Monday afternoon, but we cancelled those reservations and made ones for Tuesday instead. 

On Monday we go to this new doctor who proceeds to tell us that he thinks the Staph diagnosis was wrong, but in all honesty they have no idea what is wrong with my son because his range of symptoms and blood work are all over the place pointing to everything and nothing all at the same time. He decides the safest thing to do is put E-man on an antibiotic that coincides with the IV treatment he got and follow up with our family doctor as soon as we get home. 

By Tuesday morning E is doing much, much better and seems to be himself again as we get on the boat and head home. I make an appt for him for his follow up on Wens which also happens to be my last day of vacation. I figure, this will work out perfectly! E is obviously doing better, the antibiotics are doing their job,  he will get the all clear and be able to go back to school, and I will be able to go back to work right on time! Heh... 

Wens morning I get a phone call... The doctor is sick and they have to reschedule for Thurs. 

That phone call sent T over the edge. The stress of the last week just built up in him and that phone call was the final straw. He threw his phone across the room, yelled about nothing ever going right, threw a few other things then left the house... I have never in all my time with him seen him come even close to any type of violent behavior, and it scared me. I was glad he had left because he obviously needed to cool down... but 7 hours later when he still wasnt home.... He did finally come home, but I got the silent treatment all night. 

That brings us to today... I was able to schedule E's appointment around my lunch hour so there was no missed work time, and as expected he was given the all clear, I just have to take him in next week for one final blood draw just to make sure his system is clear.... 

I am so thankful that after everything he went thru my poor little guy is going to be ok... Its just been a very long stressful couple of weeks, and quite frankly I am terrified of all the medical bills that will start pouring in... 2 out of state ER visits, an out of state doctors office visit, 1 ER visit at home, 3 doctors visits...and all within 1 week.... not to mention the lab work next week. I do have health insurance thru my employer, but they dont exactly have the greatest of  plans, the deductibles are very high, and I have no state aide because I am considering non compliant for protecting my youngest daughter....(but thats a whole other story)

 I just really have no idea what I'm going to do... 

I think I need a vacation.....