Therapy tent: things you'd really like to say to others.

The secret to any relationship is biting your tongue. This is necessary to keep the peace. You live and learn and learn to keep your mouth shut the next time around because it’s just not worth the time involved explaining why the person who is annoying you thru their own stupidity/ignorance is a total idiot over something and the situation they are blind on is crystal clear to Stevie Wonder, fer cryin’ out loud.

So, that in mind, I would like to open up the session of things I would like to say to someone but can’t because it would, well, suicide or take longer to explain why I’m right and they are wrong and be wholly more productive to shove a lit sparkler up my ass than to waste my breath on these idiots.

It goes out to: My Mom. I love her and she has a load on her shoulders that would crush a weaker person. She will never ever unload because she has a martyr complex. Brother #2 is 49, disabled by MD, he is bedridden most of the time due to severe depression.
When he is out of bed ( rarely) he is cranky and a know it all. He has no friends, no interests and no life. He might shower once a week, it’s really quite sick. (He is on anti depressants, but really, whats the point, he will not recover from MD.) He lives at home with her. The burden of living with such gloom and despair knowing that it will never get better is choking the life out of her.She’s 73.(She’s on antidepressants and finally started therapy about 2 years ago. It has helped, but not enough.)

She escapes from him every so often up to my Aunt’s house (her sister) for a few days.(When she does, he goes on mini hunger strikes and doesn’t eat for like two days. Not that missing a meal would hurt him. So, clearly he is mentally trying to black mail her, but she won’t bite.)

( She does volunteer work and does art classes,and doesn’t have to bath him or anything, but to go home to THAT atmosphere is a downer. He exists, a shell of a human, etc. I’ve lived there with him at the same time ( before depression really set in) and it’s like a bad smell that won’t go away.Eventually what happens is you start treating them like a peice of furniture.)

What she needs to do ( and I’ve been saying this for several years now and my aunt and uncle agree completely) is put #2 in a group home. There he will be forced to get out of bed and be social ( he is quite socialable when company is around, it’s just family that gets the crankiness.) and the group home can take care of him if he falls or soils himself, which has happened because he couldn’t get out of bed fast enough. He does volunteer work - four hours a week - and he loves it. But that is all he is alloted, apparently at the hospital. He is also in therapy only once a week ( because that is all my mom can handle to get him up, dressed and shuttle him about.)(FTR, I’ve tried to help out: giving him magazines, books, videos. Things to get him interested in, spark conversation. After a years worth of People Magazines were untouched for well over a year because he didn’t have time and the videos I’ve left went ignored, I threw in the towel.)

She won’t do it. Says it would kill her to put her boys in a home. I’ve always responded with, “It’s killing you either way, at least in a home you have freedom and they (the rest of my brothers when it comes time) would have a social life, meager as it is and be taken care of.” Since my son was born she shoots back with, " Could you put him in a home."

What I can never ever tell her. What would crush her and her spirit and everything she holds dear, is that one of the reasons I waited so long to have kids is because of the genetic grab bag that is inside this adopted body of mine. Then I realized, outside of colds, I’ve never had a sick day in my life.
BUT, I had all the testing done during pregnancy and had my son turned out to have a defect, termination would have been a huge consideration. This would kill my Mom. ( I am the only light in her life and this is an incredibly huge burden on me to be a perfect daughter, which I’m not, but I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut most of the time around her.) I have watched her ruin her life through this self-martyrization and I will never ever be so close minded about getting help when EVERYONE (family, doctors, her other-not-that-bad-yet sons tell her the same thing.)

All I ask, Lord is that when she goes, make it a massive heart attack while she sleeps. No lingering. After the funeral and settling of her estate, I’ll do what she should have done years ago. Be the bad cop.
(Christ, sorry to be so maudelin. I was going to start this out ranting ( hopefully) funnily about my dumb ass sister in law and make it a rip on the retards in your life thread. But I get like this every December. Today would have been my Dad’s 78th birthday. In nine days, it will be the 24th anniversary of his death.I have fleeting memories of him. I hate this time of year.When you have a family life like mine, is it any wonder there is no joy in Who-ville.Then the opposites are my inlaws who despite a terrible accident have sunshine glowing out of their asses. I’m caught between the Valley of Shit and the Perky People and I don’t fit in either world.) I’ll perk up for New Year’s I promise.

I don’t even know what to say, I just knew that I had to respond. I have a similar experience with my family, but still have both my parents, still it kills me to keep being the perfect daughter while everyone else just takes advantage. I usually take the easy option and just get away, even to other countries
It has always been my resolve to fight all this crap and still come out, but sometimes it does get hard.
All I really wanted to say is that anytime you want to rant your head off to me, I’ll be listening.
take care

I love you, Shirley.
Yeah, I know. We’ve never even met. But you have just shown me your heart and I love you for it.

All right, lemme wipe these tears outta my eyes. I’m done with the mushy-ness.

I have to suck it up and keep my mouth shut around my father-in-law. I don’t have a secret, I just have to go against my nature around the guy. I’m an up-front person. If I perceive problem between myself and a friend, co-worker, or family member I talk to them about it. My husband’s family finds this to be a novel concept. If they perceive problems, they ignore them. I see their primary communication mode and have to respect it, lest I make things worse.

For a moment I’m going to pretend that my father-in-law reads this forum and I’m going to say what I really want to say, finally.

You hurt my feelings last Thanksgiving. Before then I thought that we had become friends and that maybe you loved me in your own way. I’m angry with you because you didn’t have the decency to come to me with the promissory note and just explain your reasons for wanting me to sign. I could have taken that. I would have been disappointed, but I would not have been angry and I would still feel like a part of the family. Your craziness over money makes no sense to me. You could afford to loan it to us but you can’t afford to lose it? Of course you can afford to lose it. You just don’t want your pride hurt. It would just kill you if I did divorce your son and tried to get that money. What’s sad is that you just don’t know me. I would never be angry enough at him to try to get your money. I’m sad that you have so little regard for my feelings and our relationship that you’d do this. You’ve made it clear that you value your pride above all else.

Ah, that actually feels better.

I have 3 questions I ask myself before I decide whether or not to say something in those kind of circumstances.

  1. Can I do it in a nice way?
  2. Does this person really need to know this?
  3. Will it make any difference?

If I don’t answer yes to all three, then I keep my mouth shut. I have this on a postit note on my puter screen and it has been almost a mantra I use in my time online. (BTW, I cover it up for the pit area tho… I have to be pretty pissed at someone to post over in that area.)


I really try to be good but it just isn’t in my nature!

I just needed to post this, not because I want people to see it but because sending it out feels oddly like I am sending it to the person it is meant for. Sorry it is a little soppy, but it just came out one day

I loved you enough to forgive you time and time again,
I loved you so much that hearing your voice made my breath stop,
And every day I didn’t see you was so long and every day I did was too short.

There were never enough hours, never enough moments to take you all in,
I could never have enough of you, no matter how close you were,
In the end you had so much of me that I lost myself
It’s been so hard to find again

You are still with me, with my thoughts, mr dreams,
but they tire me

Oh God, the things you said I hope to never hear again,
And the things you did I hope to never endure again,
But the way I felt, i can only dream of
it won’t happen again, I won’t let it
You have taken all my faith, all my trust
You have changed me
I can never forgive you for that
Even though I forgive everything
And hearing your voice on the line
destoyed me
and made me happy
but it isn’t enough anymore

Sorry isn’t always enough

{{{{{Gumby}}}}}

I’m there – I understand.

Find some joy someplace, though. It might not be the same, but there’s still joy out there for you.

-Melin

Yes there is, Melin and people who hurt us sometimes forget that we are human beings with feelings because they are only concerned about themselves…but in time hopefully they all learn


I opened the door, and look who I found. Damn I’m good

Being the good daughter, strong person is a pain.

I am scared, I’m afraid that the virus will come back. And I will die from it, I don’t want to be feeling bad all the time again. I don’t want to have to keep it all locked up inside.

I can never share this stuff with my family or friends IRL. I’m supposed to always be there for them, no matter what is happening in my life I’m always supposed to be upbeat . I can’t keep being on all the time, I need to unload somes too. So thank you Shirley, for starting this thread.

Oh and to my brothers and sisters, stop expecting me to listen to you and tell you how to fix your marriage, your kids, your life, and your relationship with which ever mom you belong to.

I am the eldest that is true, but the last time I checked I was/am not responsible for your problems. Grow up already the youngest of you is 23 years old for crying out loud, you aren’t babies that big sister has to protect/take care of anymore.


Ayesha - Lioness


There are two solutions to every problem : the wrong one, and mine
(Thomas A. Edison)

Well, I actually DID say what I wanted to say to my mother. I made a special trip to Vegas for that specific and singular purpose after she asked me a loaded question and I asked her back if she really wanted the answer. She said yes, and I went up there to tell her to her face, knowing FULL WELL that it would make ZERO difference in our relationship or for her, but it would (and did!) do me a WORLD of good.

And what I said was essentially this:

You were a truly lousy mother, really bad. Especially to me over all your other children. You were cruel, insensitive, selfish, thoughtless and narcissistic. Thanks to your incredibly bad parenting, I was thrust into the world with virtually no tools for coping with life. You blew it on almost every level, with the single exception of affecton. You were very affectionate, for which I’m grateful, but apart from that you get a “fail” across the board.

You always felt like I was closer to my father and you resented it. Welll, I have news for you: I was and am, and it’s not my fault. When I was growing up, the only person who loved me unconditionally WAS my father, and while he may have been a deeply flawed husband and human being in other respects, he made me feel like I was truly loved and valuable. You made me feel like a piece of shit.

I am not angry anymore, truly. I was, but I got over it. thank you very much Therapy. I don’t need or want anything from you at this point. The only reason I am telling you this is because I’m tired of pretending that we have or EVER had this great relationship and that you were the mother of the century. You weren’t, and I’m not going to perpetuate that myth any longer. In order for us to have any kind of relationship now, we have to start from the truth, and this is the truth. What happens from here is up to both of us, but no more bullshit.

And more along those lines, but that is the gist. She didn’t say much, and she didn’t defend herself, not really. She did poop in the chair she was sitting in, which was comment in itself I guess. (This is a disgusting and weird thing she started doing a couple of years ago, very freaky. And no, she’s not mental.)

She told one of my sisters afterwards: “Well, I didn’t give her what she wanted: an apology!” Which I didn’t want, knew I wouldn’t get. I guess that made her feel really speshul.

But hey…it was GREAT for me! I’m clean as a whistle with my relationship with my mom!

Things I Wish I Could Say to Certain Cretinous Unwanted Freelance Clients I Am Too Wimpy to Boot to the Curb:

  1. I can perform spellcheck on what you do, but that won’t fix the instances where you’ve picked the wrong word. And if you want your layout yesterday, I might not have time to fix all your errors before I get it to you!

  2. If you provide me with copy that’s rife with errors, and then find an error in what I’ve laid out, don’t tell me, “You have such and such misspelled.”

  3. Do not call me to tell me the file prints wrong/looks funny/is missing something if you open it in an old version of a piece of software I’ve already told you you can’t use.

  4. Don’t fax me black oblongs with no explanation. Don’t fax me photos you want me to use in your layout. I need the real thing.

  5. Just once, take the responsibility for your errors. Just once, don’t blame me, your office staff, the printer, your defective laptop, your old version of this or that software, AOL, or sunspot activity.

  6. Do not call me at midnight to discuss your project.

  7. Do not expect that I will be able to complete a six-hour task in twenty minutes. Do not cast aspersions on my speediness or skill level when I tell you it can’t be done in twenty minutes.

  8. Don’t tell me that you will miss your deadline with the printer or post office or whatever if I can’t complete your job in whatever ridiculous timeframe you pulled out of your ass. Don’t leave every blessed thing for the absolute last minute.

  9. Just don’t call me at all! Don’t guilt me into doing work for you! Don’t fire your other help two days before something’s due!

  10. AAIEEEEEE!!!

Thank you, that was quite cathartic.

<ot>
Aye, there’s the rub, Stoidela - unconditional love. Blessed are we who had/have it.
</ot>

I’ve never been at a loss for words except for this one truly strange situation with my cousin Lydia. The last time I saw or spoke to her was three years ago this holiday season because what took place at her house was so bizarre and disturbing that I don’t think either of us can come up with a way to ever speak to each other without it being terribly strange and embarassing. I guess it would go something like…

Lyd, you’ve always been one of my favorite cousins and I was so looking forward to seeing you and your family for a short time because it’s so seldom I get back to that part of the country and I enjoy seeing as many people as I can. It was really nice of you to invite us to stay the night at your house and include us in your holiday party. However, I don’t know if you remember how you spent nearly 8 hours drinking fine Indiana wine (about a whole case) and trashing your parents for having drinking problems; or how you were dancing drunkenly on the coffee table with the city’s district attorney while your husband danced drunkenly with the DA’s date; or how you played the same song approximately 1,000 times at a level that was too freakin’ loud, even by rural “we’re the only house for miles” standards; or that I put away all the food, did the dishes, and cleaned your entire kitchen while you and your husband were groping the WRONG PEOPLE because I knew that you would be incabable of doing it before you went to bed (with whoever you ended up in bed with) and you certainly weren’t going to be capable of doing it in the morning/afternoon because you’d be needing that time to be ferociously ill and pray to God that he be merciful and kill you as you sobbed into the toilet bowl; or that my husband and I sat in the kitchen until 3 in the morning waiting for your party (of 2 people that showed up) to show the slightest signs of winding down (never did) before we couldn’t wait any longer and took the suitcase back to the car and drove as long as I could stay awake and checked into a hotel at 4:30 in the morning, where we were awakened by a blaring clock radio in the next room at 8:00 blasting THE EXACT SAME SONG WE’D JUST LISTENED TO 1,000 TIMES AT YOUR HOUSE.

I feel like we can’t just say “so, what’s new” and pick up where we left off because, gee whiz, once you see darkness like that you can’t quite ever forget it. I’m sure we’re both so very embarassed we may never speak to each other again. What could we say?

My sister and I have muscular dystrophy. I’m already having to deal with adjusting to life in a wheelchair. When I talked to my sister this weekend, she told me that her doctor says she has ruined her back and should have been in a wheelchair a year ago. He says that if she doesn’t get into a wheelchair, she’ll be bedridden within the next 2 or 3 years. But she holds down a job. She was cloning fruit trees, but her doctor said she can’t do that anymore. She can’t spend hours bent over under the hood with a scapul anymore. But her boss isn’t going to let her go; instead he made her his assistant and gave her her own office with a desk and computer. Right now he’s overseas on business so she is the boss. Not bad for a 24 year old disabled high school drop out.

My point isn’t about Shirley’s brothers, though–the fact that we all have MD is coincidental. I really need to rant about my MIL.

This is what I wish I could tell her:

Grow up!! Get a job!! You can’t tell me you can’t work. You won’t work!! My sister and I both work and you CANNOT tell me you are more disabled than us. You say you have fibromyalgia but you never act like you’re in discomfort. My mom has arthritis and bone spurs in her shoulders and knees, and often limps and exhibits pain behavior, yet she drags herself out of bed to be at work by 7:30 every morning, 5 days a week. Are you even sick or is this a nice, non-specific excuse for not working? At least have the decency to limp, for God’s sake!

Why do you want to be disabled? Is it really better living like this? Is it more rewarding to beg the government for SSD money? Is it more satisfying to live in a women’s shelter? Is it really easier than getting off your ass and signing up with a temp agency or getting assistance from Voc. Rehab.?

And stop trying to lay guilt trips on Joel! He’s half your age and so far he’s more successful than you’ve ever been. He’s got a loving spouse, a full time job, a new house, and a garage with two cars in it. That alone means he’s achieved more than you ever have, and yet you constantly rag on him for his supposed shortcomings. He only remembers to visit his grandmother once a month? That’s 12 times more often than any of his cousins visit her. He hasn’t gone to church in 6 months? He lives a more pious life than anyone else in his freaking family. Going to church once a week doesn’t automatically make you a good person. You go to church every freaking day and I don’t see that it’s made such a difference in you!

Quit your whining and bitching. Yes, I agree, you have a shitty life, but you’ve brought it all upon yourself! Go ahead, marry Joel’s father, but don’t bring him to Oregon because I don’t want him around any more than I want you around. Go to California to marry him and stay there!

I got along with you a lot better when you lived in Alaska.


“I hope life isn’t a big joke, because I don’t get it,” Jack Handy

The Kat House
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