My grandfather will die this weekend. His body has gone into total renal failure, and the doctors don’t expect him to live for more than a few more days, if not the end of this weekend, then by Monday or Tuesday. And I don’t feel anything.

See, he molested me for 6 years.

I always knew, even as it was happening, that it was his sickness not my fault. I knew it was something wrong with him, not with me. But that doesn’t change the fact that from the age of 6 until the age of about 12 every visit to my grandparents resulted in that violation. And I was the lucky one because we lived hours away, so it only happened on those visits that occurred a few times a year. My cousins who lived locally suffered much more, and for much longer. I think my youngest cousin put up with about 9 years of it, on an almost weekly basis. We all knew we should tell our parents, but who knows anymore why we didn’t. Hindsight is such a strange thing.

When I was about 18, it all came out. It was a big family drama, but I felt removed–it had been years since he had touched me and I had moved on. I didn’t so much forgive him as feel sorry for him. My cousins forgave him, but our family dynamics changed from that point forward. There were no more overnight visits, which broke my grandmothers heart.

When I say I’ve moved on, I mean it. I don’t think of myself as someone who survived abuse, or who was sexually assaulted. It was this random thing that happened to me, like it happens to lots of people, but it does not and has never defined me. Lots of other people have it way worse, and maybe it’s delusional, but I just consider it this thing that I endured, but I never wanted it to define who I am.

I still feel like I should feel something about his death. Relief that he’s gone, anger that he never apologized, fury that he was allowed to do this to us, guilt that I never forgave him personally. Shouldn’t I feel something? The only thing I feel is sad for my aunts and uncles that have to deal with this so suddenly.

Maybe my lack of any feeling is the true closure. He doesn’t have any emotional power over me, good or bad. But I feel like I should feel something.

{ 3 comments }

I can’t talk about this to anyone, so I’m coming here to vent. Last night a boyfriend from 10 years ago called, for vague reasons. He said he’s in California looking to get established job/apartment wise, wanted to meet for a drink, etc…I guess another girl I knew in high school gave him my number and told him to call me. (I haven’t communicated with her in 3 or 4 years since I moved away after college).

Its not uncommon for people to give out numbers of people they ‘know in LA’ when a friend is coming out here-I get calls like this from time to time, from people who know someone I used to know a long time ago (my current fiancé gets calls like these as well-I’m sure many transplants do).

However, this ex boyfriend from 10 years ago has once again gotten under my skin. I haven’t thought about him in about 6 years, but that means it took a few years to stop thinking of him. We were young teenagers at the time, but he really affected me negatively after our ‘break up’. He was careless toward me, cheated (He was my first BF, we were teenagers, etc…). It was a time when I had low self esteem, teenage emotional/identity problems and he was a loser, etc…though it took me about 2 years after to even figure out he was an asshole, and switch my pining to hate. (you know how it goes, when a young tart has low self esteem her dates are usually retarded, as mine were)

In other words, this is a blast from the past I would prefer to have forgotten forever. But now, I have a stomach ache from just thinking about my teen years since he called yesterday-and especially thinking of him specifically. The last time I knew him, I hated him-he hurt me so much at the time. (I am now indifferent, since a decade has passed and I don’t even know who he is, and really don’t care.)

I’m a grown adult now, free of whatever trauma or troubles I had as a teen. I wish this ex boyfriend had never called, but now I’m sort of curious. On the phone, I asked him a few questions about what he was doing out here, and it sounded like he was in a position of a person who didn’t plan very well (i.e. ‘drifting’ around, looking for work, etc…). It seemed to be a very desperate phone call-why else would anyone call a person they have not seen or spoken to in a decade, especially when that person is an ex-mate whose bridge they burned?

It is clear we have very different lives-I have a career, and live in Beverly Hills with the love of my life, a man I will spend my life with. He sounded like most people from ‘back home’, working shitty low pay jobs, still living with roommates, their parents or suffering single parenthood-Typical problems of being stuck in ’small town America’. (BTW, small town America for me is New England: ‘Everybody knows your name’ is not too far from the truth)

I realize the phone call was a desperate one, but what the hell did he expect me to do for him? I mean, I don’t know him! In the brief 5 minute conversation, he dropped hints of me helping him meet connections or help finding a job (though it was masked with ‘lets meet for a drink’). I mean, WTF? I barely even afford my own family time or exception. What the hell was he thinking? I have no idea who he is-He could have a criminal background, he could take drugs or drink heavily still (some of us move on, some don’t), I have no idea what his work ethics are, etc…

Why the hell would I wish to help a now stranger who demonstrated no integrity when I did know them? Why would I risk my name, my finance’s name, our jobs for a referral of some douche who shat on me 10 years ago? My fiancé’s sister came out here with the same blind Hollywood aspirations, and he didn’t give his sister the time of day (because he knew she was a flake, and wouldn’t hold a job, and so wouldn’t give her a referral in his name-he could risk himself for an idiot- In turn, I would not give my idiot brother a referral out here if he asked, unless I knew he could do the job). This isn’t schoolroom politics, but real world business. This point makes me extremely frustrated, and a little angry. WTF went through this kid’s mind when he 1. sought out my number and 2. actually called me?

I don’t know exactly he point of this rant other then the vent or maybe collect comments. Its really upsetting my stomach, and I had trouble getting to sleep last night. On top of all this, my fiancé is a very jealous man, and if he found out another man called me-never mind an ex boyfriend, even if it is one from high school- he’d be very upset. I almost feel like I’ve done something wrong even though I had nothing to do with this kid from the past calling me.

{ 1 comment }

I can’t use the word “hate” because I really don’t wish him dead. The few people I do hate I do wish dead, and not just “fall over” dead, but long, painful, lingering deaths dead. And I don’t feel that way about him. If I did, I would just leave, it would be easy, I wouldn’t care about him or what happens to him, so I don’t hate him. At least not much. I do really dislike a lot of things about him now. How he blames me for everything. He finds a way to make all of our problems my fault, like he has no part in any of them, and even when it’s just a case of bad shit happening, it MUST be my fault. I killed his dreams, I kept him away from his kids (which is such a load of bullshit, his ex is pretty much to blame on that front), I’m a disorganized spendthrift. He’s a fucking hyper-critical nag, nothing I do is correct or good enough and he rag, rag, rags constantly. He talks over me, and if I won’t be quiet, he shouts me down. He has the sincere belief that he knows the right way to do absolutely everything, and so if I don’t do it his way, then I’m doing it wrong. He’s a little older, so he lords it over me that he has more life experience and I’m gullible and naive.

It wasn’t always this way. We’ve been through a lot, we used to be really good together, had some amazing times. He’s taken some hard blows in recent years, devastating shit, and I know his self-esteem is damaged and he’s hurting. But that’s no excuse for using me as an emotional punching bag. I feel like I stay with him for the memory of the man he was, and because sometimes I get a glimpse of the funny, sweet, loving man that’s still in there. He knows what an asshole he’s turned in to, he says that no one deserves to be treated the way he treats me, but he doesn’t know what to do. If he can’t get over some stuff and move on, then maybe I’ll have to, as painful as it might be.

{ 1 comment }

I miscarried this week.

and I’m not sure how I should feel about it. I’m a little sad. and a little confused.

I don’t know why, ‘cause we were never trying to have another baby. yet.

in fact, we were trying to NOT have another baby.

and I assumed that we were protected … let’s back up, shall we? (since none of you know me anyways…)

my husband and I have 2 lovely beautiful amazing children that were born following an initial pregnancy that resulted in miscarriage. after my youngest was born, we decided that I would get an IUD. that was our solution … in order to give us a little bit of time adjusting to a family of four, while we were deciding if we would ever become a family of five.

well … all was good. I was having very few “those times of the month”. lovely! so excited to not have to experience that pain every month. I was loving this IUD thing!

but then, three weeks ago … I had some cramping that was combined with minimal bleeding. and at the time, a “silly” little thought went through my head, saying, “that feels kinda like when I assumed that I had implantation when getting pregnant…”

fast forward three weeks … CRAMPING. again. but this time … barely tolerable. (note … I had both children without pain meds. so this … was tolerable … but concerning.) it hurt. and the bleeding started. unlike any aunt flo that i had experienced before. the thought kept coming back to my previous miscarriage. this was like, THAT, bleeding. it continued. and continued.

then on Wednesday … after a shower in which I mindlessly saw a streak of blood across my towel and a smallish rice shaped article of flesh … thoughts started tumbling through my mind like dice.

smelling smells endlessly throughout my day, the taste of water from my faucet making me ill, wanting ice in all of my beverages, cravings for foods that aren’t quenched until devoured, hormonal night sweats, dizziness, feeling of being on edge and short fused and overall hormonally imbalanced.

I raced to dr. google to look at a “baby” at 5-6 weeks gestation. that is exactly what the grain of rice resembled.

I’m pretty sure that I miscarried this week.

although it wasn’t something that I thought I wanted (right now), or even knew I had … it still kinda hurts knowing that it happened …

and that I caused it … by “protecting” myself.

and I don’t know what to do now … I don’t know if I should remove the IUD to protect myself against these emotions.

i feel lost … ‘cause I can’t share this feeling with anyone I know.

they might not understand this emotion of missing something … that you never knew you had in the first place.

{ 4 comments }

My husband and I met a little less than 4 years ago. We dated for about 7 months before we got married and I should have paid closer to the warning signs, but I was stupid and I didn’t!!

My husband is a Chriatian and I’m not. I’m not much of a believer, to be totally honest. I believe in God as far as He is out there but I also believe in evolution. I’m sorry but I can’t believe in Adam and Eve. Please! One man and one woman populated the entire planet? Let’s not even address the fact that they were white but after Cain and Able, where did the rest of the worlds population come from? An incestuous relationship? Gross!

We now have a son and I want him to be raised with an open mind. I want him to question things and not just accept them because someone told him it was true. I want him to see the possibility of evolution and learn about early man, Australopithecus. I DON”T WANT HIM TO HAVE TUNNEL VISION LIKE MY HUSBAND!!!! My husband refuses to see that there could be another explanation!

Now, he’s talking about sending our son to a private school…a Christian private school. I’ve told him how I feel but it doesn’t seem like he cares! And this isn’t something that will go away! When our son was just born my husband wanted to get him “dedicated”. It’s similar to a baptism except that, as parents, you’re dedicating him to God and promising to raise him in a good, loving, Christian home. I could care less but he really wanted to do it so I said ok. We go to the “church” and talk to the “pastor” and he flat out refuses to do it because I haven’t dedicated MY life to God! What the hell??? He’s going to shut the door in my son’s face because of what I believe? Doesn’t the fact that I’m there mean anything? Apparently not!

This really upset me and I told my husband that I didn’t want our son going back to that church. I felt like they were really judgmental and they were in essence punishing my son because they didn’t like me. At first he agreed…until he told his mom. He’s such an unbelievable momma’s boy that she had him defending the ass-hole pastor. SO now he’s upset at me for “not allowing” him to take our son to “his church”. Do my feelings mean nothing? Is it just me or is he on the wrong side of this? Shouldn’t he be more understanding to how his wife feels and than what his mother thinks?

I know, I know…this is a losing battle. So, I think it might be time for a lawyer! I know this is something that will always be a problem in our marriage and I feel like I’ve compromised on so much that, for once, he should bend a little. I’ve offered to go to a Methodist church but “they don’t believe the same thing”…and I know that’s his fucking mother talking. Two months ago he looked up the church I was talking about and was surprised to see that they believe the same thing and now all of the sudden they don’t? BULL SHIT!!! I want to tell her to butt the fuck out but, of course, I can’t. And I don’t think I can live with it anymore!!!

{ 4 comments }

Scene: My in-law’s home this past weekend

Nelson to his mother: Is there anything I can do to help?

My MIL to Nelson: Why don’t you have a glass of wine?

Sound benign right? Polite, even. Generous. Well it’s not. It’s fucking bullshit.

Why, you ask? Because my husband is a recovering alcoholic. And his mother knows this, yet still offers, no, ENCOURAGES him to drink alcohol regularly.

And, just so you know, his recovery is not a new thing. He’s been in recovery for more than eight years. EIGHT FUCKING YEARS and they are still trying to get him to start drinking again.

He did fall off the wagon, about two years ago. He began drinking in secret, hiding alcohol in our home. I became suspicious and went looking for it one evening when he went out of town. I found it. Empty beer cans, malt liquor cans, rum bottles, whiskey bottles. It was fucking awful.

He stopped when I confronted him. He began attending meetings. Things improved. AA does not work for everyone, but it works for him and I am eternally grateful.

The thing is, his family has no idea about AA. Yes, they know he quit drinking eight years ago, but they refuse to accept that he has a problem. And he won’t tell them about AA becasue they mock it.

Last Christmas, things came to a head. My brother-in-law told my husband that I control him, that he and my FIL believe that my husband does not drink because I will not allow him. My husband told him he had no idea what he was talking about and to mind his own fucking business. That he was an alcoholic and that is why he did not drink. And his brother did not believe him.

I control him, and that is why he does not drink. HA! Anyone who is an alcoholic or intimately familiar with an alcoholic knows that this could not be further from the truth. I WISH I could control him. I wish I could make sure he never drank another drop ever again.

But I can’t control him, certainly not his drinking. If only I could, my life would be so much easier. I wouldn’t have to listen so carefully when he calls while out of town on business, trying to hear the telltale slur. I could stop trying to smell his breath after every dinner meeting, trying to catch a whiff of yeasty beer.

And it’s not that I don’t trust him. I just know that not drinking is a daily battle for him. He has to try not to drink every day, and social situations are the most difficult for him. I will not leave him if he takes another drink. It’s not like that. I married an alcoholic; I knew what I was getting into. He may drink again. I’ll be devastated, but I will support him as he struggles to get hold of his problem again. We are a family and that is part of the deal.

His family can kiss my goddamn ass. I wish he would be more direct, that he would say, “You know mom, I’m an alcoholic and I would appreciate if you would stop offering me drinks.” It is not like we are in a social setting and our host does not know he’s in recovery. It’s his parents, his family. They fucking KNOW. They WANT him to drink, so bad. To justify their own problems, I think.

Well, fuck them. You hear that, you selfish assholes? FUCK YOU.

–
“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” - Martin Luther King, Jr.

{ 4 comments }

If this is your first visit to the bathroom wall, you should note that this is an anonymous blog, written by anonymous contributors. If you are offended by the contents, please feel free to express yourselves at length in the comment section; however, please note that the contents of the posts do not reflect the viewpoints of the website owner.

Has anyone noticed that The Redneck Mommy is always all over the comment section of any new dad blogger. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her comment on a woman’s site, but if the blogger has a penis, then she’s all over it.

Dooce doesn’t ever comment on anybody’s blog, ever, ever, ever. Except her husband’s. That doesn’t even usually happen.

and all Bejewell ever does is whine about people not noticing her.

and when is The Pioneer Woman going to shut up about the stupid Dominican Republic trip already. Nobody cares!

{ 38 comments }

“Where are you going?” he asked, carrying the little one in one of his arms, his dinner in the other.
“I’m going to take care of Peanut,” I said, starting to make my way upstairs.
“No, you’re not.”
“Why not?”
“Where are you going? Up or down? Because I’m going the opposite,” he told me, angry, again, always, and always already because of me.
“Well, then, I guess I’m going down,” I said, and watched him carry my son up the stairs without me.
“That’s it, you have a mommy, and a daddy, and that’s just the way it is,” he told him, punishing me, for misbehaving, again, the details of the transgression remaining vague, but certainly my fault.

I paused in front of a dirty kitchen, unsure what to do. I could clean it up, that would give me time. For what? To decide. The tears fell as they usually did, uncontrollably and in spite of a desire to keep them at bay. He would consider them manipulative, and although I realized this was unreasonable, in the delicate ecosystem that had developed in this home, objectivity didn’t matter. I wanted to leave. But my child is here, and I cannot leave him, whatever the other circumstances. This is where I ended up every time.
The baby screamed, and I soothed him. Because nobody could, other than me. And then I quietly went back down the stairs, trying to figure out what to do. And as usual, seeing how well I could soothe the baby, his attitude toward me softened, and he came down to get me.

“You come upstairs, now,” he said, in the annoying voice of a supplicating child.
“I don’t want to come upstairs,” I said.
And he walked back up the stairs, deflated. And I went to the world to tell about it.

{ 0 comments }

If I could, I would slice off pieces from my hips. I can’t stand to go into stores or any other place where there might be mirrors, because I might catch a glimpse of myself and I get a knot in my stomach because it is so painful.

{ 0 comments }