Shh. Secrets. | Smartly Anonymous

Letter to a Friend

March 25, 2011 By ANONYMOUS 6 Comments

Dear Little One,

I know that you are only 4, and it may be hard for you to understand this. But try to listen with your heart – it is a beautiful heart, full of love, intelligence, and wonderful mischief. It is a heart a bit wiser than your few years, and it will serve you well when you need it most – even when it is breaking. Listen to me, now:

What happened to you is not your fault.

Wait, let’s define this, instead of putting it delicately: You were MOLESTED. And it was scary. And it was painful. And it was very, very WRONG. Your young, vulnerable, INNOCENT body was violated by a person who was perfectly capable of knowing better.

And it wasn’t your fault.

It had nothing to do with the fact that you were out in the front yard, running through the sprinklers in your brand new bathing suit. A 4 year old body is not a sexual body, and no one has the right to see it as such.

You were NOT too trusting of him. He took advantage of the fact that you were, at 4 years old, conditioned to obeying those that were older than you.

You were scared when he touched you in your private parts. He hurt you, I know, when he told you to spread your legs as far as you could and tried to put himself inside you. But the fact that you didn’t leave is not your fault. The fact is, little one, that you could not leave. He wouldn’t let you, remember? He was bigger, heavier, stronger, older. And he was on top. And he had no right to be there. He had no right to hurt you. He had no right to touch you. He was (is) a sick – no, not just sick, a BAD individual that should have known better, and should have been punished.

Mom says that you are mis-remembering, that he was not as old as you say. That doesn’t matter. He was old enough to know better. He behaved in a reprehensible manner, and you were NOT, in ANY WAY, to blame.

You were not a bad girl, little one. You were a little girl in a bad situation. A 4 year old has very little control over her life. She has parents, teachers, and elders constantly telling her what to do. To you, (let’s say his name, it will be alright – hold my hand) Steve was one of those elders. But he was an elder who took advantage of a child’s innocence, and that makes him sick, corrupt, and evil. It does NOT make you "bad" or "stupid" or "too trusting." What it made you was a scared little girl that was taken advantage of, and that is never, EVER acceptable.

Little me, I know you hurt and feel shame. But I want you to be ashamed of HIM, not yourself. I want you to forgive yourself. I need you to heal.

Little me, your heart is so full of love and wonder, your spirit is sweet and strong. Please forgive me for being angry with you. I know now that I was wrong.

Little me, I love you. Please love yourself.

Love,
Big Me

From the Editor: So many Smartly Anonymous posts make me want to reach out and hug the writer. But as you know- these are all submitted truly anonymous, it is impossible to do so. So I want to leave a note here for this author. I am sorry this happened. And I appreciate you sharing this all with the world. Be well.

For anyone who might need it….the Childhood Abuse Hotline 1-800-4-A-CHILD.

Filed Under: Body, Childhood, 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 condoned it.

March 23, 2011 By ANONYMOUS 1 Comment

My friend is having an affair. She sprung it on me recently after I noticed some "anonymous" flowers on her counter. She can’t lie to me, and so I got the truth. We talked about it at length, and the fact that she has never ever done anything like this before. In fact, she has always been the moral compass of our friendship, the great advisor, the "snap-out-of-it" advice-giver when I went astray. But now it’s her turn to have a dilemma, and as much as I knew I should, I couldn’t tell her what I should have: that the affair is wrong, and that she should end it as quickly as humanly possible!

Why? Well, partly it’s because there are no children involved. And mostly, it’s because I like the fact that she finally has color in her face, a smile gracing her lips, and a spring in her step. The victim of a long-time lying, cheating, over-drinking husband who left her for an over-drinker with a 4th grade education (go figure) after 20 plus years of marriage, my friend has tried dating eligible men, only to get some real weirdos. One guy keeps calling a couple of times each year telling her he just needs to finish getting out of debt, then he can come sweep her off her feet. Really? We’re talking about nearly a decade of these odd "I love you, someday we’ll be together" calls. She would cut them off, except that they are so amazingly interesting to receive and muse over. Another guy wanted to take her out of the country because he was in love with her–after one date! And that’s just two of the many odd guys who have attempted to court her.

Enter Mr. Anonymous. He’s kind, funny, thoughtful, and guilty. He’s never cheated before either (no, really), and I suspect he will make a move when he can. I get the feeling that there are complicated financial entanglements keeping him from making an immediate leap…that, and the fact that his wife, like him, is approaching the twilight years, and he doesn’t want to derail her life anymore than he already has. It’s not her fault she’s not interested in intimacy anymore, while he still is. It’s not her fault they no longer have common interests, and that he has found some with another.

And before you leap to the logical conclusion—that my friend is the "younger" woman…she is not, not by a long stretch. They are close in age, and seemingly kindred in spirit. Perhaps I wasn’t a good friend when we spoke–but I just didn’t have the heart to burst her happiness bubble.

Filed Under: Marriage, Shh. Secrets.

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.

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.

Quack

February 7, 2011 By ANONYMOUS 3 Comments

I remember an episode of Golden Girls wherein Blanche starts a story with her Mother calling her "Peacock." She asserts that her mother nicknamed her that because she was so beautiful. Rose points out, "Peacocks have long, skinny necks. And they shriek." Canned laughter ensues.

What kind of bird are you? A steely eyed, strong eagle? A fanciful, but pecking, banty rooster? A proud, beautiful, shrieking peacock?

Or are you a duck?

I had a boyfriend once that told me I was a duck. "A duck?" I asked, confused. Surely a boyfriend was supposed to compare you to a swan, or something equally beautiful. "Yeah, a duck" he said. "You’re cool and calm on the outside, but under the water’s surface your little feet are paddling like mad, just trying to stay afloat." Screw him. What did he know? I was no duck, hiding panic under a thin veneer of serenity.

And yet…..and yet….

Here I am, years down the road. Decades. Feels like centuries, sometimes. I’m a wife now. A mother. A semi-productive, responsible, sometimes even well-liked citizen. I have family. I have friends. Hell, I’d go so far as to say I might even have a couple of admirers. The general consensus seems to be that I am likable, funny, strong, and attractive.

The above the water’s surface part of me desperately wants to believe that. And FEEL that. Below the surface? Damn boyfriend was right. Paddling like hell, just trying to get by, to stay afloat. Trying constantly to calm my negative, racing thoughts.

"I don’t care if you’re a size 4. You’re still flabby. Get off your fat ass and DO something!" "Why are you bothering with the make-up this morning? Not like you’re going anywhere. Not like it does any good." "When did you become such a loser and stop caring about the things you were once so passionate about? When did you become pathetic?" "He leaves in 2 weeks. Been over there twice. Came home safe. What if this is the time our luck runs out? Your son would be so much better off with him. If anything were to happen, it should be to you. It should be to you."

Sigh. Quack.

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Filed Under: Body, Shh. Secrets.

The bitch

February 4, 2011 By ANONYMOUS 6 Comments

My husband had an affair.

I lost all sense of myself the day I found out, but I gained 40 pounds and a drinking problem in the subsequent months. He had an affair with an ex girlfriend that lives in another country. They actually re-consummated the relationship in 2007 during a business trip that he had me book for him.

I bet your wondering how I found out three years later. The bitch has twitter and a blog. I say "bitch" because this is anonymous and I’m changing her name to protect her, of course.

I made up a twitter account and befriended her. Trust me, I am about as proud of those actions as I am proud that I married a man that I knew lacked character and values. Eventually I told her who I really was and she told me everything. She confirmed dates and gave me information that let me know she was telling the truth.

Today, it’s 9 months later and I feel dead inside. I’m overweight and over medicated. I spend days crying in bed and I don’t reach out to my family or friends because I’m ashamed of how I look and who I’ve become.

Now I have my own Twitter and a Blog and guess who I found out is a regular reader?

The "bitch", of course.

Filed Under: Confession, Marriage, Shh. Secrets.

Staying for fear of leaving.

February 3, 2011 By ANONYMOUS 9 Comments

I daydream of divorce.

Like fantasizing about winning the lottery, it’s the kind of vision that feels so very unlikely it’s quite fun to map out in my mind. I’m uncertain exactly how long I’ve been feeling this way. I’m pretty sure now that more years of my marriage have been spent wishing I were single than those I can count where I was content.

I can recall vividly distinct moments when I vowed to myself I would get out by a specific time. During a particularly ugly argument in our first home I remember my husband saying something about how things would be in our "next house." In my head I distinctly retorted, "There won’t be a next house."

But there was.

As I approached the age of 30, I held that landmark up as the date by which I fully expected to be out of this marriage.

But I wasn’t.

Other age-based milestones came and went with similarly unkempt promises to myself. One holiday, I wrote all his relatives sentimental notes letting them know how much I cherished my memories with them through the years. They were intended as farewell cards – as explanations. Instead they were just overly sappy greetings followed by standard fare on the next family occasion. I’m a people pleaser, always have been. I’m deathly afraid to disappoint. (Except my husband, apparently, whom I’ve become quite adept at letting down.)

For a spell I convinced myself that only after my grandparents passed away should I be allowed to leave. I was determined to hold it together while they were alive. To be honest, I simply wouldn’t have been able to withstand their judgment. Or more likely, the judgment I imagined they’d have.

Deep down, I LIKE being part of the esteemed group that has managed to defy the odds and stay married. Other characteristics of our courtship and ourselves (too personally identifiable to include here) made our chances of success even more slim; hence, our feat appears all the more remarkable from the outside looking in.

My husband is not a bad man by any stretch of the imagination. A good wife; however, I haven’t always been. In an unhappy, immature phase of my life I acted out with a love affair, both extended and emotional. He begged me to stay and pledged to never speak of it again. Predictably, I stayed and he spoke.

The leverage over me this misdeed has created in the half dozen years that since passed is overwhelming. Initially it took the form of guilt. Frankly, it has morphed into bitterness. And I still live in fear that if we part, the lurid details of my past will be told. To my in-laws, to my pastor, to my parents, and – in the absolute worst case scenario – to my children…

Once I was ready. REALLY ready. Then I happened to flick through the channels on late night t.v. and witness a young man confess that his life of crime and addiction was clearly attributable to his parents’ divorce during childhood. It terrified me.

And so I stay and play the part. It’s not that hard. Better that I manage in this ho-hum state than turn my kids’ worlds upside-down. Better their happiness be preserved than my own, which was already so selfishly sought after in the most inappropriate of ways years before.

Anyway, there’s no compelling reason to depart calling my name out from afar. The daydreams I entertain are of independence, not of another man. I have nothing to escape except the absence of bliss. So goes the status quo…

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

Horrible In-Laws

January 18, 2011 By ANONYMOUS 1 Comment

My husband is an only child of a single mother and his mother has a mental illness. Before we met, he was badly affected by her illness and there was no one to help him get her better. He was only 6 or 8 when he first remembers his mother thretening to kill herself because "nobody loved her and they wouldn't notice she was dead". Since then this has happened time and time again.

She almost ruined our relationship in the begining by calling me horrible names but it was all because she didn't want to loose her only support in life. He took care of her financialy and socially. When she didn't change even if I tried to be nice to her, I resorted to being mean. It didn't really make any difference.

When we had our first child, I told her she would never be allowed to babysit him because I didn't trust her. She tried to hit me and I had to throw her out, almost getting physical. She ended up calling her siblings and mother to tell them how horrible I was and that she was going to the local mental institution to talk to them about me and how insane I was! She was ofcourse only trying to get attention, not help, but the staff at the hospital realized she was a sick woman and she was committed for 2 weeks.

In those 2 weeks my husband finally felt like someone else could take care of his mother and togeather we drew a line she couldn't cross.

So instead of talking to her on the phone 3-7 times a day, sometimes as late as 11pm, he answers the phone 1-2 a day and never after 9pm. Instead of having to go to her to fix something she could well do herself (he used to go over to change lightbulbs for her), he only goes to help her when it's something hard she can not do by herself. Instead of giving her money to pay for her house and car, he just lets her deal with the bank herself.

She is still a disruptive force in our life, but we realize it and try to minimize the effect by not talking to her to much. She spends Christmas day with us, but no other holliday and she will never get to babysit my kids, I will rather leave my husband then let her poison their lives like she poisoned his for 30 years.

My biggest secret is that I look forward to her death since I feel like our lives will not be perfect until she is no longer any part of it.
I'm not proud of it, but it is the truth.

Filed Under: Confession, Family, Shh. Secrets.