Confession | Smartly Anonymous

When all you have is a hammer

April 25, 2011 By ANONYMOUS 3 Comments

Ever wonder why you turned out the way you did? As it’s not really my way to be too introspective, I didn’t spend too much time on it. Lately, though, I’ve begun wondering about what makes me, well, me. Here’s what got the whole ball rolling.

I’ve a friend who recently figured out that her mother is suffering from a Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD). Well, her mom doesn’t suffer, but everybody else around her sure does. I have found books, and support groups, and lots of help for my friend, and at last she seems to be finding some peace.

But now I’ve begun wondering about my own childhood. There’s an old saying about how when the only tool you have is a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail. And with over 1.5 million Americans diagnosed with NPD, there are a lot of nails wandering around loose. Example: imagine a seven-year-old child whose mom is trying to type a college term paper. The slightest noise would set off screaming and throwing, so everybody tip-toed until she was done. Even at seven, I knew better than to make noise, so I went into my room, closed the door, and played quietly. After a time, I began to sing quietly to myself, as seven-year-old children will. After a minute or two, the typewriter stopped. My first inkling something might be wrong was when the bedroom door slammed open. Through the portal stormed a demon I had trouble recognizing as my own mother, trailing a thin leather belt from one claw. She dragged me to my feet by my hair, and screaming something about how she needed silence for her work, she proceeded to lash me from ankles to shoulders with the belt. Everywhere it bit, I bled.

I cannot tell you how long it went on. The demon finally tossed me in a corner and left. I didn’t dare so much as whimper, lest the demon return and start in again. After a few moments, the typewriter again began its uneven beat, as if nothing at all had happened. After a few minutes, I managed to crawl to the bathroom to tend my wounds. My father came in about then, and helped me with the ones I couldn’t reach. He kept telling me to be quiet so my mother wouldn’t come in and “”finish the job.”"

To this day, people accuse me of a certain level of exaggeration about this incident. That’s when I lift my shirt and show them the marks. Some of them did not heal perfectly, and jokes about old girlfriends or the time I wrestled the tiger don’t erase the truth. Others say she was probably in a “”black rage,”" and didn’t know what she was doing. Sorry, but in one of those blind rages, you pick up and use any convenient object. That belt was chosen specifically because it would cut and bloody me. That damage was intentional as hell. In this day and age, she would have been thrown in jail, and her children removed to foster care. In that day and age, they gave her a teaching credential and allowed her to inhabit a classroom for 30 years.

Good Old Days? Perhaps not. Of course, helping my friend find answers to her personal demons has given me a new tool for my own “toolbox.” I’m beginning to think mom’s pathological behaviors, psychotic breaks, and screaming rages are proof of an undiagnosed NPD. Yep, Mom’s a nail. She’s why I defend the helpless, and fight for those who can’t. Thanks, Mom, for everything.

photo courtesy of Google Images

Filed Under: Childhood, Confession, Family Tagged With: abuse, child abuse, childhood memories, Narcissism, NPD, protection, smartly, TheSmartlyAnonymous

I let you…

April 14, 2011 By ANONYMOUS 3 Comments

The pieces of your broken heart are tearing me apart, shards of stolen words and empty sentiments.

I wish our lips had never met, I wish our tongues had never danced.

Your taste still lingers in my mouth; your hands still roam my flesh.

I thought I could use you and no one would get hurt.

I told you to protect your heart, but it was my heart that needed protecting.

It made me sad when you said you had to stop, but it felt worse to think of what I had done.

This played-out game of miserable desperate need, while we both belong to some one else.

I let you talk to me………I let you think of me…….I let you see me……I let you touch me…..I let you taste me……

How could you get me out of your mind?

Tell me so I can get you out of mine……………

Filed Under: Bedroom stories, Body, Confession, Regrets, Shh. Secrets.

Trapped like a rat

April 13, 2011 By ANONYMOUS 4 Comments

“Yes, that about sums it up. I’m trapped like a rat, more than once, and I’m not sure what to do about it. Pass the cheese, won’t you, and hear my sad tale.
It began well over 25 years ago, with a wonderful marriage to the woman of my dreams. Smart, funny, well traveled, well educated, vivacious — and so was she. A match made in Heaven, right here on Earth. Well, there was that little issue with her near-complete lack of libido, but hey, love conquers all. I can get by on once a month, right?
Well, once a month became every couple of months, and then once in a blue moon. Our son, born five years after our marriage, was rightly considered a ‘miracle child’ because it was a miracle he was ever conceived. Through all of this, I soldiered on. I’d given my word, and I take that sort of thing seriously.
But after 25 years of marriage, I was told that she was no longer interested in me as a man. I was merely a wallet with legs, a companion for cold nights, and nothing else. I did my best to talk her into something she’d regret later, but alas, the pleading and whimpering was mine alone. Finally, after three or four years of having to listen to my pained whimpers, she reached her breaking point, and told me to “”find some trixie who can put up with you.”"
Despite the fact I am homely enough to frequently scare small children, I finally did manage to find somebody crazy enough to put up with my needs and the fact that I have a family I cannot walk out on. I helped her work through her issues with her own openly hostile family, and she helped me with my complete lack of physical affection. For over four years, my friend and I would struggle with her depression and social anxiety issues, and share the kind of closeness usually reserved for married couples.
Unfortunately, I don’t think she’s winning her struggle with her mental health issues. As her doctors change her medications in an effort to help her cope with her demons, she has lost her interest in me as more than a companion. Once again, I find myself rubbing backs, and feet, and necks, and not much else. I now have two women in my life who cannot help me with my physical needs, and whom I will not abandon. There are days when I think that having my friend’s mental issues would be a blessed relief, but that wasn’t how I was raised. You give your word, you keep it. And bearing in mind that definition of love in which the happiness of another is more important than your own, I suspect I am content with being a good husband, and a good friend.
Pass the cheese, won’t you? This Havarti is especially good today….”

Filed Under: Confession, Marriage, Shh. Secrets., Uncategorized

Good Cheating?

March 28, 2011 By ANONYMOUS 3 Comments

I am a very bright person. My downfall? I’m a follower. She has to succeed for me to succeed. How do I help? In elementary school, my dad would be sitting at the kitchen table helping my sister with her homework. She never understood how to do it, but I did. I was 3 years younger than her, but these things just came to me. I was always just smarter. So I would do it for her. I thought I was helping, but I know she didn’t learn anything that way.

High school, I was kicked out of 2 my 10th grade year along with my older sister. I dropped out of high school the 2nd week into my senior year. Why? Because my sister (whom is my best friend) dropped out before me.

I recently got my life in order and registered for classes at a local community college, while my sister is still struggling. She is a single mother of my amazing nephew who has saved my life, and probably hers too. She hasn’t graduated high school yet but just wants to go to college. There is a way she can, by passing the GED test or scoring college level on the placement test. She failed the GED test and didn’t score high enough on the placement test. I on the other hand placed college level in 9th grade, I probably could of done it earlier if I had attempted. To take the test all they do it check your id and then you log onto a computer with your social security number, they don’t check anything else. The plan? Me and my sister are going to take the test the same time (as we had when I was in 9th grade) but I will log in as her and she will log in as me, since I am already enrolled into another college, it wont matter if she fails me. All I want is for my sister to succeed, do I feel bad? Of course. Cheating isn’t the best thing, I don’t want to set her up for failure, but I just wanna push her in the right direction. She is the type to get discouraged easily and just stop. I need her to succeed so I have the motivation to succeed myself in my own life. I live off other people, this is how I am, and I’m not sure how to change that.
I don’t wanna live her life for her, but I want to help her. This is how I help her. Will she ever learn on her own? I hope so, I’m just getting her foot in the door. Am I trying to justify what I will be doing? Of course.

Filed Under: Confession, Family, Shh. Secrets.

Cheating.

March 24, 2011 By ANONYMOUS 6 Comments

I am thinking about, and probably will be sleeping with a man other than my husband. And it feels perfectly okay. So how did I get to this point?

I have not had sex with my husband in years and he hasn’t kissed me, like French kissed me since the year we were married which was a very very long time ago. I have asked. Talked about it. Cried. Begged. And mentioned counseling only to be told firmly ‘no way in hell’. I try to look pretty, smell nice hug him, hold him hand, encourage him, tell him I find him sexy and all the other little things people do to let their partner know that they are ready, willing and able to make love. And still we have none. Well, maybe once a year he will get do his thing. But I haven’t had an orgasm in many years. And he doesn’t care. And I am aching to have someone make love to me. Someone to hold me and tell me I am beautiful. To tell me I matter. To SHOW me how strongly he cares about me. To make EYE contact with me. I need it. Badly.

Yes there are children. And therefore I must stay in my marriage. And the man I am going to be sleeping with? He is also married, but no children. We have been very clear that neither of us have intentions to leave our spouses and run away together. We are grown ups. We understand what this is about. We know that this is certain to end in some painful way- because there is no where to go with this sort of relationship.

And yet? I have never been happier in all my life. For the first time in my entire life, I feel completely and totally loved. Like wholly. Through and through. I can’t explain it, nor do I want too….but this pending affair has just about saved my life.

Filed Under: Bedroom stories, Confession, Marriage, Shh. Secrets., Uncategorized

I think I have a problem.

March 11, 2011 By ANONYMOUS 11 Comments

I am a good girl. I go to church. I don’t drink or smoke. I waited for sex until I was married. And I would never dream of doing drugs. Not illegal drugs anyway.

Addiction runs in my family. Alcoholism, smoking, drug addiction, shopping addiction. We’ve had more than our fair share of struggles in the addiction realm. I knew I was in danger, that I could get addicted more easily than most. That’s why I stayed away from everything. Almost everything.

A few years ago I got injured. In such a way that I am likely to have pain for the rest of my life. And when the doctors couldn’t make the source of the pain go away, they tried to treat the symptom. They tried to give me a few pain-free hours a day. They gave me Lortab.

And that was the first step on a very slippery slope. You see, I was also in a troubled marriage at the time and dealing with a lot of abuse from my past. Everything seemed to be coming to a head at once. I was in therapy trying to process things I’d buried for years. What they don’t tell you is that when you dig those things up the pain comes with them.

I was in so much emotional pain. All the pain I had refused to feel as a child and in my abusive marriage flooded me. I was suicidal. But I had the pain meds. They were for pain. I was in pain. They were prescribed to me. I took them. Not for physical pain but for emotional pain.

I never bought off the street. I never paid for pills that weren’t prescribed to me. But I did use meds that weren’t mine. I complained of severe pain and a friend offered me her pain pills, because I was out. I saved the codeine cough medicine prescribed to my children after they were healed. I used that on bad days. I stole pain meds from my husband. I weaned my children off pain meds as quickly as possible after a surgery, telling them it’s because I worried about addiction. Really it was because I wanted to keep them for myself. I even found ways to combine over-the-counter meds to create a similar sedative effect.

When I ran out, I was out. And I thought it was okay because I was responsible. I never took them if I would have to drive. I never took them if I had stuff going on the next day that my day-after-sedative fog would interfere with. I never asked the doctor for them. But I accepted the prescriptions when they were offered.

I thought I was doing better. I thought I was over it. And then I discovered something new.

I mentioned my childhood trauma to my doctor. I told him about the panic attacks I sometimes had when something triggered a Post Traumatic episode in me. He prescribed Xanax.

And here I am again. Using it much more than I should. Using it for more than anxiety or panic attacks. And wondering if I need to talk to someone.

But I don’t want to talk to someone. I don’t want anyone to tell me that what I am doing is wrong. I don’t want to give it up. My life is heavy and this crutch helps me stand and walk some days. I’m afraid I will crumble without it.

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Filed Under: Confession, Shh. Secrets.

He fascinates me.

March 10, 2011 By ANONYMOUS 3 Comments

He fascinates me, and yet I never want to talk to him again. He’s absolutely beautiful. Like an angel: perfectly sculptured, perfect smile, perfect blue eyes, perfect hair, perfect smell, and yes, he’s well-endowed. All that’s missing is the halo and wings. I met him when I was 16, he was just a year or two older than me, and I fell in love. Hard. I was instantly addicted to him. He’d just come out of a long relationship, with a very public breakup. I was supposed to be his rebound. I knew it. I took one look at him and didn’t care. He was gorgeous and way out of my league. The rebound turned into two years. We saw each other 3 or 4 nights a week for those two years. He kept odd hours, so I snuck out to see him. We texted or IM’d almost every day, and on days when he’d had too much of me, he would ignore me. Those days were the worst. I would send a quick “hi” and get no response. Checking my phone or my computer every 2 minutes to make sure I hadn’t missed a response. I was sure he was mad at me for something I said or did. I was always eager to apologize, please, beg for forgiveness for something I wasn’t sure I had even done. Two years of 3 or 4 nights a week and I wasn’t considered a “significant other”. Neither of us dated or slept with anyone else. Every three months or so, I begged to be more than just… what we were. (One time, I wrote a 7-page letter! Angry, hurt, disappointed, ashamed, neglected, and loving – all in the same letter.) All it did was push him away for a week or so. He’d come back saying “stop being so dramatic”. The relationship (if you could call it that) wasn’t purely sexual. We had deep theological discussions, watched movies, discussed the movie, listened to intense rock or classical music and explained what we each saw when listening to each song. It was a routine that we each fell into, both expecting everything and each expecting nothing.

We stopped seeing each other for two years before we talked again.

The intensity of what was missing was… intense. We both confessed that we had missed each other, but weren’t able and willing to make the relationship public. We started seeing each other again, once a week. The first time we got together after the lapse was passionate. Like we were teenagers all over again. We went back to texting and IM’ing almost every day, but the same problem arose: on days when he’d had too much of me, he would ignore me, except it lasted for 3 or 4 days. Since everything had been heightened, those days seemed to last forever. I completely withdrew. From family, from work, from friends, and from Facebook. It was like I fell off the face of the earth. I would send a quick “hi” and get no response. I would check my phone or my computer every 2 minutes to make sure I hadn’t missed a reply. Then he would come back, say a quick “sorry, was busy” and life would pick up again. Four or five months later, I stopped the relationship, but kept partial contact with him.

I was recently told that this relationship was technically an abusive relationship. I’ve attempted to cut him out of my life, but a huge gaping hole remains when I do. A part of “this is who I really am” is missing. I know that he attempts to “control” me, whether subconsciously or not.
Part of me doesn’t care, because he is so beautiful and his words are so amazing.
Part of me knows it’s not healthy or fair to either party to continue to speak with him.
Part of me just wants to give in and feel good when I’m with him.
Part of me wishes I could stop obsessing over him.
Part of me wants the will to never speak to him again.

So, like I said: He fascinates me and yet I never want to talk to him again.

Filed Under: Confession, Dating

I’m fine. Until I’m not.

March 9, 2011 By ANONYMOUS 5 Comments

I am just fine until I’m not….

Having a bipolar disorder is an insidious dis-ease. From days of feeling relative high and happy, suddenly without warning I find myself in a cavernous pit. Lost in utter darkness. The outside world disappears and I crawl into a fetal position shielding myself in fear. "Leave me alone", I say. "Please help me," I say. I don’t want to live. I don’t want to die. I hurt myself in an effort to punish myself for being in the pit again. I feel guilty. I blame myself for not measuring up to others standards of happiness. It appears that there is no light; I will never feel better again. I move, I act, I try to show a happy face but I am not really there. I am stranded in this place of darkness. I see no hope.

My doctor tries to find the right combination of medication to stabilize my mood swings. It seems to take so long! My therapist reaches out to me and calls me from the deep. I begin the long journey out of the depths of despair and finally see a little light; a little hope begins to grow. Weeks go by and slowly I realize that, yes, I can overcome the deep depression and live again. I begin to see life in a new color. I feel my creativity flowing through me. I feel comfortable again. This time, I say, this time I won’t go back into the pit. I am well.

I am just fine until I’m not….

It begins again. The depression slowly drags the life out of me. I do not understand what is going on. The guilt piles on top of me. This is all my fault. I should be able to control this. Am I making myself sick? Am I doing this on purpose? I spin into the darkness again. I am consumed with the idea of killing myself. My family would be better off without me. But I can’t do that. I already lived through the suicides of both of my parents. I wasn’t going to repeat that legacy. This is the insidious part of the disorder. Once again my doctor tries other medication. I get more help from my therapist.

I battle with having to use medication to keep me on level ground. I hate to think that this is the only way I can live a "normal" life. I am angry. I resent having to take pills and more pills every day. I can’t accept that, indeed I have a disorder. The chemicals in my brain are not balanced. I have no control over this. I reluctantly face the fact that it is okay to live with this and use the medication in order to keep me out of the pit.

Still there are times when I feel guilty for "being on medication." I think that perhaps if I did this or that; if I were closer to God; if I tried a little harder I wouldn’t have to live this way. Why is this happening to me? I don’t ask this in a "pity me" sort of way. I just don’t understand. There are few people that do understand and are there for me and support me. They accept me, all of me the good the bad and the ugly. They don’t run away from me.

There really is no cure for bipolar disorder. The chemical imbalance has to be controlled with medication and therapy. I don’t like it, but I have finally accepted it without blaming myself any longer. My hope is that someone

Filed Under: Confession, Shh. Secrets.

Longing

March 8, 2011 By ANONYMOUS 2 Comments

I long for a time when we are no longer prejudiced against gays and lesbians. I long for a time when "coming out" is a milestone, rather than a horrendous experience in which one risks everything simply to be honest about themselves, and then loses a few "friends" in the process. I long for a time when we realize that child molesters are in a league all by themselves, and that a gay or lesbian teacher is no more likely to seduce our children than a heterosexual teacher. I long for a time when men can hold hands with men, and women can entwine fingers–in public–without getting any attention, other than admiring eyes who enjoy others who enjoy each other. I long for a time when Christians realize that being homosexual is not a lifestyle choice, nor is it an aberration to be cast out with the demons.

I long for a time when a mother does not need to worry about how the world will treat her homosexual child when they finally realize the truth, because I am that mother, and it is killing me to see my child struggling with something they are afraid to admit.

Filed Under: Confession, Marriage, Rant, Shh. Secrets.

Religion? Check one.

March 7, 2011 By ANONYMOUS 3 Comments

I laid in the hospital bed with a nurse on my right and a nurse on my left. The woman to my right was starting an IV and drawing blood, the woman on the left was asking a slew of questions and entering them into the computer. After multiple questions about my family’s medical history she asks, "Religion?"

I was a bit taken aback. How did we go from cancer and heart disease to religion? I squeaked out "No religion," and waited for a judgmental look to cross her face. (There was no judgmental look, thankfully, she was the ultimate professional).

But, such is the life of a closet atheist in the Deep South.

Sometimes, I wish I was a person that proudly stated my non-religious status and calmly and rationally debated anyone that proselytized to me, but I’m not. I admire and respect people like that, but I can’t do that for myself. Honestly, I do not respect myself. I wonder if I told people at work "I’m an atheist" if they would be more disgusted by lack of belief, or the fact that I’ve led them to believe I was a believer for years.

Other times I wish that I could find a church that I enjoyed so I could be part of a community. Atheism is lonely, and even groups of like-minded people don’t have the rich traditions that religion has. You might find a group that gets a wild hair to celebrate a pagan holiday, but there are sure to be a few crotchety naysayers that don’t want to participate in anything based on fantasy. No Yule Log to celebrate the solstice, people used to believe that would protect them for a year! And I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about joining a church just so my daughter fits in and isn’t an outcast at school.

How weak is that? How will I ever teach my daughter to be confident in her beliefs, when I can’t exhibit that confidence myself?

Filed Under: Confession, Rant