ESSIG MAGAZINE

Essig August 2015

Relationships, Domestic Violence & Divorce

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Content

Articles Listed by Topic & Writer

Letter to the Editor, Sandy Treft Relationships, Kelsey Garcia Domestic Violence, Deborah P. Relationships, C.B. Infidelity, Topic Survey Results Life, Kathy G. Relationships, Brandon L. Frankly Speaking Depression, Martin Chittenden Insecurities, Abby M. Substance Abuse, Bryce Beeson

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Our greatest hesitation when developing the concept for Essig Magazine was whether anyone would share our values, have interest in our mission or see our vision for change. The amount of responses, words of kindness and encouragement has not only given us a great sense of self fulfillment, but has proven our concept. So we would like to thank those who were kind enough to share their stories and take part in our mission.

Together, we hope to shine light on the importance of human connection through real experiences, genuine compassion and the comforting realization that every struggle we each encounter will not separate us, but bring us together.

Editor in Chief

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Š 2015 Essig Inc.

By Sandy Treft

A Letter to the

Editor

Let me begin by saying, it must be divine intervention that I ran across your ad today. I absolutely love what this magazine stands for and the message you are trying to send. I have been interested in writing a book about my life, growing up with hardly any family here in the States and all of the challenges brought in to make me who I am today. Sort of an autobiography of faith, but I just don’t know where to start. I feel this magazine is the beginning! One of the biggest challenges in my past that I would love to share with the world in hopes of helping others is domestic violence. I would love to reach all of those men and women who are suffering and scream from the mountain tops, you don’t deserve the abuse!

I know it’s scary to leave and many fears are associated with it, but you can and you will survive! Just have faith! If we all can plant the seed, maybe our world will become a better place. That’s my hope.

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By Kelsey Garcia

“He knew he could do whatever he pleased, knowing I was so desperate for him to love me.”

Believe.

What a simple yet profound word. Believe whatever struggle or demon for which haunts you has a purpose.

Believe in your path and accept it is not an easy one. Believe there is a world free from the dark clouds and heavy weight that always seem to knock you down at the first glimmer of hope. Believe you will survive. It sounds so simple and for many it is.

But then there are the people like us. People who have been so beaten and broken down even four simple words; believe you will survive, offer no peace or hope. I get it, I am you.

My journey to discovery began 5 years ago. My husband and I had a new baby, two new cars, and a new mortgage. I worked hard to construct the perfect life and show the world how happy we were. I was on a mission to prove everyone wrong who criticized me for getting married. I believed, there’s that word again, if I made the fairy tale come true, things would magically work out as well. Isn’t that how our friends do it? The pictures on Face-

book and Instagram don’t depict the ugliness behind a bad relationship.

There are no tears or desperate pleas begging for love. Maybe I was doing something wrong. So I kept

adding bandaids in hope that one day we would wake up as happy as in the story I was continuing to paint. In hindsight this was

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without a doubt the worst possible thing I could have done.

I grew up without siblings until I was 10 when my mom remarried.

It was normal for me to keep things inside because who was I going to tell them too? My mother and I talk almost daily and have a relationship now but I think part of me terrifies her and for a long time, we struggled to find ways to relate. I’m loud and obnoxious. She is polite and soft spoken. I am impulsive and trust too easily while she analyzes and critiques. She was never my problem solver and I’m just as much to blame for that as she is because you can not expect someone to help you if they don’t know the struggle. But I never

wanted people to know I struggled. I was terrified to fail so instead I didn’t try. I lived a simple life and avoided getting too close to anyone for fear of rejection. But I was about to break that rule.

One day when I was 19 I met a boy. We sat next to each other on the first day of summer school and he

“that girl”. You know, the one who thinks she is different and will be such an amazing girlfriend he will suddenly change his ways. The amount of messages from girls saying he cheated on me and thought I should know was ridiculous. I would have friends call me from the bar to tell me he was there with someone

“I could not have been more wrong and that day marked the beginning of the end.” managed to capture my attention, which wasn’t hard. The second day of class he asked for my phone number and I was smitten. We instantly connected and I knew he was going to be different. I went to a party that night at his house where I learned he had a girlfriend, but truthfully I didn’t care.

He liked me, why was his girlfriend my problem? I was naive and rather than seeing the glaring red flag in front of me I figured he would just break up with her and we would continue on our happy way. I could not have been more wrong and that day marked the beginning of the end.

It turns out multiple girlfriends is his thing and he has a long history of being unfaithful. My friends warned me and eventually stopped talking to me because I had become

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else on a regular basis or assume we had broken up and offer their condolences. When most people would not have even let it get that far, I laughed it off on the outside and made it a game. None of those other girls had the girlfriend title and they all had to be kept the secret which made me feel strangely special in a twisted way. He knew he could do whatever he pleased, knowing I was so desperate for him to love me. I wouldn’t walk away.

The problem was he had become one of my best friends and we had so much fun together, I couldn’t give that up. I needed him. With no dignity left, I allowed things to go from bad to worse. He continued to cheat, lie, and play a game of emotional warfare that left me confused and

out of control. Drinking and drug use became more intense and were used in excess. The only way I could deal with what my life had become was to get as high as possible and drown my sorrows in a bottle. The few friends I had left were starting to distance themselves and I became increasingly more dependent on this boy who had zero regard for my life. To this day I look back bewildered that I did not end up in jail or dead. This degrading and demoralizing cycle lasted for two years until he decided it was over.

One February day I was laid off from my job and instinctively called him with the hope he would console me. Quite the opposite happened though, he dumped me. Instead of

being grateful it was finally over, I was beyond devastated. I begged him to change his mind. I could not understand what I did wrong. He had hurt me time and time again yet I was the one asking for forgiveness.

Desperation took over and I would not give up hope until I found out why. He told me he met someone else and I felt relieved. I had been through this before. I had battled other girls for years and still come out the winner, this was going to be no different. Too embarrassed to tell anyone he had left me, I pretended like it was nothing. My family did not know the extent of his wrongdoings and I certainly was not going to tell them he wanted to be with someone else. My pride wouldn’t allow it.

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Grasping wildly for anything that might make my nightmare end, I befriended the other woman. She was his client and

again. On June 6th, 2008 (two years exactly since we met) life forever changed.

I had managed to get my boyfriend back, without the title, and things were going great. One night we went out to dinner and made I had met her before. She was easy small talk. He told me how he had to find and just as diluted as I was the strangest dream about his debecause she engaged with me. The ceased grandparents, whom he had saying of keep your friends close been very close with, were handand enemies closer could not have ing him a baby boy. I laughed it off been any more fitting. Being many years older, she had more to lose and and drank my margarita. I was 21 and the thought of a baby was luhe saw an opportunity for a better life. She began her plans to leave her dicrous. We left the restaurant and went next door for a beer. After two husband and child and start over with him. She had money but I had drinks something was wrong. I began to sweat and knew I had a small his friendship. I manipulated him window of time to get out of there. I into missing me and within a few made it to my car but left dinner in months, we were becoming closer

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the parking lot. I recovered and the you so.” Things were going along, following night we went out drink- not great but not as bad as they had ing to at our regular bar. The drugs been in the past when I got pregnant and drinks numbed any discomfort again. This time we found out on I was feeling and we closed the bar Christmas Eve and I will never fordown. On the way home we jokingly get sitting down next to him on the stopped at a 24 hour pharmacy for a couch, crying and wondering how pregnancy test. Never in my wildest we were going to manage two. Once dreams would I have imagined that again, when I needed to be consoled, I could go from falling over drunk to he was emotionally done. During stone sober in a matter of seconds the pregnancy we bought a home, but that is exactly what happened because that’s what happy families when those two lines appeared. do and continued to hide our broken The next few days were a blur marriage from the world. as I told my parents and friends the I was depressed and alone most news. I moved in to my boyfriends of the time which made the pounds house immediately. We made the seem to appear overnight. He contindecision to get married because ued to cheat and I continued to play that’s what we were “supposed” to house. At 8 months pregnant, I got do and nobody was telling us othmy break. We got into an argument erwise. Three weeks later we were over a client I was accusing him of standing in front of a judge putting sleeping with and rather than derings on our fingers. In my head, I fending the situation, he asked for a had won. Not only did I win back my divorce. boyfriend, I was having his baby and A few weeks later, our youngest he was my husband. Unsurprisingly son was born. Babies are supposed things did not get better. to bring hope and joy but instead, I Our son came and life was hard. was heartbroken. I knew when we We fought all the time and all roleft the hospital, it was over. It took mance was gone. I had gained 40 me five weeks before I broke down. pounds with the baby and was dis- I cried to my parents for the first gusted by what I saw in the mirror. time and knew I needed their help I pushed my husband away and in getting out. My best friend came wouldn’t let him touch me, it made to my rescue and became my rock. me cringe and I was overwhelmed She was going through a divorce too with shame. I was ashamed of where and I can say without a doubt, that my life had gone but I kept playing. neither one of us would have made it Family photos continued to flood through the next year without each Facebook and I was refusing to give other. There were a lot more tears anyone the opportunity to say “told and alcohol to be had but even on 8

the worst days I knew I had to pick myself up off the shower floor where I would cry and pray for it to end, so I could be there for someone else. The year we lived together did not cure the depression. I continued to put on weight and was even more ashamed of myself. How did I let myself get to this point? Where was the charismatic beautiful girl that had once been the object of much unwanted attention. I was lost and hated every day that I woke up and had to face the hell I was in.

The woman that my ex had left me for, wasted little time taking over my life. She quickly moved into my house and became part of my children’s lives. I wanted to believe it was over but had a hard time. Soon after she became pregnant and he was on the path to his second marriage, I decided enough was enough and I was going to make a change. I vowed to lose the weight and stop being sad.

Things started to get easier. Slowly, with the help of an amazing trainer, I developed a healthier lifestyle.

But that wasn’t enough. The pain of watching another woman live out what I had built was still hard for me to cope with. I didn’t know how I could possibly rebuild again. One day I was reading Eat, Pray, Love and came across a quote by Elizabeth Gilbert that would change my life, “Ruin is the road to transformation.”

It resounded with me in a way that nobody else’s words had. For the first time, I began to believe I would be ok.

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Survival was tough. I started a new job and went back to school. I was forced to face myself and discover who I really was. For so long I was living to make someone else happy. I started to see my philandering ex husband for what he was; an exceptional father to our children but not the kind of man who can be monogamous in a relationship. We started to become friends again and promised to make co-parenting as easy as possible for our boys. We have always put them first and refused to allow our bad decisions to affect their lives anymore than necessary.

Time taught me many things, believing being the most important. I eventually moved out on my own and lived independently. I owe the people in my life an apology for not listening to them when they tried to give me advice or berating them with harshness when they would try to console me. I do not have it all figured out yet but that is ok. My life is in a constant state of organized chaos but I know that rock bottom is not the end. I have come to find joy in the unknown and look forward to where my journey will take me next. Never would I have asked to go through what I did, nor would I wish it on anyone, but I’m thankful for the experience.

As painful as those years were, I came out stronger. I know what I want, what I deserve, and how to survive when it seems impossible.

By Deborah P.

“I knew he wanted my submission more than anything, my total obedience. And I was going to give it to him.”

I stood in the center of the small most precious and joyful baby of 11 dark house, hunched over, muscles months. All quiet in there. The nighttensed with fear. Was everything light cast a warm glow and in my okay? Did I leave anything on the mind I sent out peace and calm and counter in the kitchen? Did “The very fact he was I leave papers out? Anything out of order? The simplest home caused me to jump thing, I knew, would only fuel and then freeze.” his anger, would give him reason in his twisted mind to berate me. love to shelter him.

As I looked from one room to the Then, lights and the sound of my other, my eyes took in the view like husband’s car pulling into the oyssnapshots. I gaped into the kitchter shell driveway slammed me back en, fixing on the streetlamp shining into the present. The very fact he was through the windows over the sink. home caused me to jump and then Clear in there. To the left, the dark- freeze. The car door slammed and I ness of the guest room. Further left, heard the hard tread of his boots apthe door to the bathroom stood open, proaching the back door. Gripped in the tiles cold and forbidden -- but fear, I rushed the seven steps it took clean, the toilet paper hanging as to reach the guestroom and dove into he wanted. I remembered the scene the bed. I slipped into the cold sheets, from that past mistake of setting the drew the blanket up to my chin and paper under instead of over. “Do you immediately felt my heart slamming have any sense? I don’t want to see in my chest. Total silence inside as the paper under again, do you under- the door from the porch to the kitchstand?” Behind me was the master en was unlocked and opened. I could bedroom. I did not turn to look. I hat- feel his ominous presence. He was ed that room and all that transpired here. there. But, over my shoulder and into What would he do? What was in the nursery, I gazed. Within lay the his mind? What is going to happen 10

in the next few moments? I listened to his hard step across the tile floor.

I could visualize his movement until he reached the carpeting and his footfalls fell silent. At that point I could no longer tell where he was in the house. As best as my terror-filled mind allowed, I closed my eyes and feigned sleep.

Suddenly the mattress beneath me rose toward the ceiling and I tumbled, rolled, fell to the floor on the far side of the bed. I had barely looked up as I saw him climb up, over and toward me. He lifted me by my hair. “What are you doing slut? Why are you in here cunt?” I said nothing but concentrated on keeping upright as he dragged me around the room toward the door. He picked up what his free hand could reach, dumping whatever he found upon me -- a

unloading his pockets as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. I took the moment to throw a sweatshirt over my head and jeans on my legs. I had barely gotten my pants zipped when he came back, this time completely nude. This time I suffered his humiliation. I did not fight back. I did not strike or slap. He was very much more powerful than me. I only did my best to tuck and curl unto myself to avoid the worst of his wrath. When he finished, he once again left the room, slamming off the light and throwing me into darkness.

By now the baby was screaming.

I got up off the floor and could see his little form standing at the edge of his crib. I could also see my husband returning through the dark and the silhouette of the gun he carried in his right hand. “I want “The gun was pointed you out of here. You got that?”, at my face. I became a he said. The gun was pointed at my face. I became a statue. I statue.” willed my face to show no emobasket of decorative shells from the tion. “Yes.”, was all I replied. “You nightstand, my purse from the chair think I’m kidding?”, he asked. “No.”, I by the window, papers from my desk, said . I knew he wanted my submisa cup of pens to the side of my com- sion more than anything, my total puter. He then threw me to the floor, obedience. And I was going to give it stepped over me and strode out to to him. the master bedroom slamming off Inside I could not believe my the lights as he went. grace. I was relieved he was ask I got off the floor, tremors runing me to go. “Fucking know-it-all ning through my body, and sat on bitch”. He left the room again. I the edge of the half-on, half-off mat- moved as fast as I could to the nurstress. He had turned on the light in ery but he beat me there. He picked the master and I could see him there up our crying, screeching baby. “You 11

got a problem?”, he said to me. “I’m not leaving without steven”. And when he agreed to let me take him I knew God was in the room with me. There was more taunting and hitting. I realized the depths of his sickness as I scrambled to stuff into an overnight bag diapers, bottles and formula. During that time he would slap me in the face, then pat the baby on the rump and say, “it’s okay, baby”.

Then he would strike out and slap my face again and pat the baby again, cooing to him it was okay. Sick. It was anything but okay. I finally made it out and away.

I called the police and reported the incident but their lackluster, heard-it-all-before attitude was reprehensible. They went to my husband’s house, knocked on the door, and when he didn’t answer, they just left. The court’s were not much better. I faced the prosecutor the next day but was unhinged by what had happened and cried during the interview. Ignoring my anguish they kept

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asking, “you want to prosecute?”

I could see in their faces they just wanted me to get out of the office and take my problems elsewhere.

Unfortunately, because of my cowardice, my husband had once again done as he pleased, no matter who was hurt, and would not be expected to answer for it.

I set the divorce in motion, gained custody, and had to deal with the rapist, psycho for the next 18 years. He never let up--keeping our son longer than agreed, taking him out of town without notice, filling his gentle mind with venom and hatred of me. At first I reported his aggravations and meanness and deceit, but the police would all say, you need to get a lawyer. As a single mother, I could not afford a pricy suit and unless you can spend thousands of dollars, I found that an attorney just doesn’t care and you are shit out of luck. Excuse the French, but that was a hard one to learn.

This is a cautionary tale. I am col-

lege educated, from an upper middle class family. I had never in my life experienced violence among family or anyone. I was completely out of my element and it was all my fault. Why? Because I allowed the man to hurry me into a wedding. Because I ignored the warning signs -- moving me away from family and friends, jealousy, the lack of communication. I had doubts on my wedding day, but hey, it was too late then, right? No. It would not have been too late. People say, ‘oh but you have your son’. Yes, and I love him dearly, but I paid dearly for many years. I was not surprised by the attack, just by when it would happen. We had only been married just under two years but his meanness, pettiness, silences and cruelty escalated and I knew it would come to be physical soon. And it did. He is a textbook abuser in that they all want the same, to control. To blame someone for their own inadequacies.

So I say, be cautious of men who was to rush you to the altar. They do so in order that you do not learn of their bad behavior before they own you. And these types of men do believe they own you. Be cautious of men who only have male friends and those very few. It’s because they don’t like women and blame them for their own insecurities. Be cautious of who you chose to spend your life with. Don’t go to the altar thinking, ‘well, if it doesn’t work out we can just get divorced’. You may get divorced, but if you have children, they

you are forced to interact with this person you now may abhor for the next 18 years at least. I had to live two lives because I raised my son to understand it was his father’s behavior that was the source of my anger, not the man. But inside, for a very long time, I was totally disgusted with the man himself.

Now, I never see my ex-- and that’s a good thing. I’ve also forgiven him and that’s a good thing too because I spent many early years in misery blaming and hating and reliving the past. After awhile there was pity in my heart. But now I realize, he’s a bully. In his own mind he’s blameless. He once told a friend, when he finally admitted he did point a gun to my head that night, “it wasn’t loaded”, as if that cleared him of any wrongdoing. No, pity is not the word I would use in regards to my ex. Maybe sadness. Sad that he doesn’t know how to love and be loved. Sad that he lives in a hatefilled, racist, homophobic, dark and lonely world he created for himself.

Too bad, so sad. (Oh, I’m allowed a tiny bit of pettiness, right?)

These days I am happy and content. I smile a lot. I found strength I didn’t realize I had within. My faith is unshakable. My son is in college and we have a good relationship. He’s happy, too. But, when I go out on a date, while getting to know him, the phrase “fool me once..........” is never far from my mind.

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By C.B.

“I’m embarrassed to even admit it, but I was someone’s other woman.”

Relationships. There have

the night. I really thought it was because he wanted to take things slow. After several months, he finally came clean and told me that he was still living with the mother of his child, but that he wanted to take our relationship to the next level and be with me, and only me. I was sad, angry, but elated. He wanted to be with me. “I don’t want to move too fast. I’m going to move in with my brother. When the dust settles, and after me and Kat go to court and get a custody agreement ordered, then we can move in together.” It sounded perfect.

All of a sudden, Joe never had time for me. He only had contact with me during work hours. Joe and I only saw each other maybe once a week. When I did see him, he looked haggard and strung out. He looked the way that I felt. Every single second away from him felt like torture.

Especially on the days when he would make promises; lighting me up like Venus. But then he’d vanish, not return my calls or text messages. I felt like a junkie. I was

been movies made about it, songs written about it, books too. I’m embarrassed to even admit it, but I was someone’s other woman. It started on a summer day, the sun was blaring hot in the northern Nevada sky. I was having lunch with a college intern when my phone went off. “Hi there.

I would like 2 get 2 know u.” I have to admit I was intrigued. After some txt banter, he finally revealed to me who he was. A co-worker of my dad’s and one of my cousin’s (I’m from a small community). I had grown up around him (let’s call him Joe), but he was 5 years older than me, so we never had much contact. From that day on, we texted each other throughout the day. He always asked me how I was doing and genuinely seemed to care what was going on in my life. He always complimented me, sent me gifts and flowers, and popped into my office when he had a spare minute. The first time he kissed me was a Saturday in front of my parent’s house. I was captivated. I had forgotten what it felt like to be completely and irrevocably in love….it consumed me. constantly chasing that I didn’t notice it at first. He would euphoria of a high I could take me on dates occasionally, but come over quite often. He never spent never have again.

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Then she showed up. In my office. “I’m sure you know who I am.”

Kat caught me completely off guard.

I didn’t know who she was, I had never seen her before. Before I knew, she was telling me her life story. The life that she shared with Joe. Deep inside I knew he was lying. I just didn’t want to believe it because I was so crazy in love with him. Surprisingly enough, Kat didn’t seem angry with me. She was sad. Sad not only for herself, but for her daughter. Their daughter. Kat shared with me her struggle between being a mother and woman. About how all her children’s (there were 6 total) fathers had left her in one form or another.

About how her last baby, Joe’s baby, missed him. Then the lies came. I knew they were lies mostly because they were so outlandish and she be-

came so dramatic. She spotted some roses on my desk and asked “Did Joe get those for you? Because he sent me the same ones this morning.”

I told her no, because in fact, they weren’t from Joe. They were from my mother. “You can have him. I don’t want him anymore. By the way, I’m three weeks pregnant. I’m going to have an abortion, I don’t want any more babies by him. He doesn’t even take care of the daughter we have. I just wanted you know where he’s been and what he’s been doing.

Making a fool of you and me out in the street.” At this point, I knew it was time for her to go, and for Joe to start explaining himself. ‘Out in the street?’ I was a professional woman who worked hard to be where I was in life; I don’t know anything about being ‘out in the street.’ But

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she had accomplished what she had set out to do. Embarrass me. Break my heart. Enrage me. Destroy me. I felt so guilty; I had betrayed another woman. I’m generally not a die-hard rider for sisterhood, however, I had been cheated on before, and those wounds were still there, no matter how scarred they appeared to be.

All of it made me feel cheap, dirty, and used. I couldn’t stop though. I couldn’t turn off all those emotions Joe had awakened in me.

It was like a tidal wave crashing through me, but now I was drowning out at sea. Of course when confronted, Joe lied. Said she was crazy, she was jealous and angry about him leaving her. And like a fool. I believed him. I needed to. I was in love.

Months passed, and the perpetual tug of war continued. Back and forth. Back and forth. With my hand over my heart I was praying that I was going to win someday. Praying our love would somehow survive, and Joe would stop hurting me and Kat. I know it sounds insane, but I prayed for her too.

While this storm was swirling around me, threatening to take me under, I noticed things about me were starting to change. I was losing weight at considerable speed. My skin was turning pale-yellow. I could no longer hold down food. I was getting tremors in my hands. My liver was failing, and I was dying. I held onto Joe, like he was a life preserver. I was scared. Not just of dying, of

leaving my family behind, but the die-hard romantic in me was asking “What if this is the last time I get to feel this way?” What if this is the last time I get to fall in love? And the storm raged on.

When snowed covered the ground, I was diagnosed with Liver Cancer. I was 40 lbs thinner by that point. I no longer recognized myself in the mirror. I was scheduled for surgery on January 13th. Joe called less and less. Why had he left me when I needed him the most? I felt despair like I had never known. I was the queen of fools; blind and stupid for falling in love. It’s still embarrassing to think that Joe was the kind of person I fell in love with. I really felt like I was going to die. If not from the cancer taking over my body, then from my broken heart. But something amazing happened, I didn’t die. I managed to survive with the help of my mom and my best friend.

They carried me when I could not walk. Both spiritually and physically.

As the days marched on, I got stronger. Inside and out. In February, I laughed for the first time in months.

My eyes dried up. Winter turned into spring and I got my strength back. I smiled again.

I met someone.

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“Infidelity is a topic of grave importance that has become more and more overlooked due to economic struggle and expansion of digital horizons.”

Infidelity Topic Survey Results

e r o sm

i r e d gen

n i e t a p i c i art

p o t likely

” ? y t i l e d fi n i

Male 38% Female 8% Equal 54%

o t y l e k i l e r o m s i ” p ? u y t o i r l e g d e fi g n a i h n c i i e h t a “W p i c i “How many relationships have part % 7 2 5 you been in where either you 19-2 % 5 2 or your partner committed 5 3 6 2 infidelity?” % 7

h c i h “W

1 0 5 6 3 None 18% % 1 3 l a u q E 1-2 57% 3-4 17% 5+ 8% 18

“Infidelity does not just “happen” over night. I see it resulting from a lack of communication in understanding the wants, needs and desires of your partner. Talking is a two way street requiring speaking and listening with an open heart.”

“I think this is a great topic to explore.

So many people are quick to point a finger at someone who is unfaithful and neglect to realize that infidelity is most often just a symptom of a much larger issue within their relationship.”

“I think that in today’s society, there is an increasing number of people who are unfaithful to their “Infidelity may supposed partners because sex has not be physical in become just something to do for all cases. You may fun. It holds no great meaning or also be indulging in significance to people anymore.” emotional infidelity when you find pleasure in merely spending immense amounts of time in harmless flirting with somebody of the opposite or same sex. Infidelity of any form usually happens when you are unsatisfied in your current relationship due to the lack of emotional or physical intimacy.”

Thoughts & Opinions 19

By Kathy G.

“Expectations... That’s a big word. The word itself holds so much promise, hope, depth and breadth.”

Expectations

It covers a lot of ground. It’s a word that can fill the universe or just a small, insignificant moment in your little day. A lot can happen with an expectation. It can mean something as simple as expecting dinner to be served at generally the same time every day, snow in the month of January, bed at 11 and awake with the rising sun at 7. You come to expect that each day will most likely resemble the day before, and next week won’t deviate much from the previous week or the week before that, or even the week you had last month. Most expectations steady us, keep the keel of life even; life is mostly predictable.

We invest a lot of ourselves into expectations, whether it be the unspoken; yet understood, or the ones more boldly accepted on the play grounds of youth. We are a culture raised on fairy tales

and fables. From our earliest beginnings we are taught the happily ever after story. We come to expect that life is fair in the end, the underdog wins, good prevails, and prince charming is just a kiss away.

I expected all this and more. I expected to breeze through adolescents; making my parents proud. I expected to graduate university with highest honors and set out on a career path of staggering success, marry a hardworking, young man who adored me more each passing day. My little girls would dance their way into the hearts of everyone, pink ribbons and pig tails trailing behind. My boys would became scouts, play sports, and deliver an unforgettable valedictorian message. I expected I would do it all, experience it all…be it all. Well, I’m not young and naive today. Life has happened… is happening and it’s not exactly what I had come to expect and none of my experiences were woven in the pages of bedtime stories.

I didn’t exactly breeze through adolescents. I got to experience the fine art of being bullied and shamed by mighty girls who had less self-esteem than me. I got to know what it feels like to be assaulted by an older boy; he

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was 17, I was barely 16. I realized that it’s each man or young woman, for herself. At the ripe old age of 17, I was halted by grief at the passing of my one and only friend to the horrifying disease of Cystic Fibrosis. Young Adult life brought only a meager degree, passing grades in a profession with less than impressive success yet fed my creative mind. I married a young man; maybe not exactly out of passionate love but a love none the less. A desperate love to be…well…loved! That’s all I wanted…Love.

He seemed a likely candidate. I doted on him, pleased him and we were blessed with three children, a girl and two boys. My daughter hated pink and pig tails not to mention she would rather wear blue jeans than tutus.

She loved science and T-ball but not enough to do either for very long. My sons fidgeted in right field, sat down and day dreamed as short stop. “If you can’t get an ‘A,’ a ‘C’ will work too.” Became our daily mantra. From there it was nothing more than “Just show up.”

There was a moment of monumental realization as I rode in the back of a Life Flight jet to a distant Children’s Hospital when I realized…This is not at all what I expected.

In that moment of disproportionate feelings, you are big and awkward, stark and naked in the middle of your world, embarrassed that you somehow missed the mark of what was expected of you. What you expected of yourself; of life. In that moment, you are struck with the reality that you are out of words, even the looping reel of convincing commentaries in your head

that life is good, ceases. You are dumbfounded as you stare, disconnected at your son laying in a drug induced coma. I didn’t expect to give birth to children who came with the extra baggage of a fatal genetic disease. “It’s rare.” They said. “An Orphan Disease.”

They said. My life is so far from anything I had hoped to expect. My life was never planned to happen in a hospital room or doctor’s office 5 out of 7 days in a week or unfold in a condo as a single mom for the past decade or so. My dreams didn’t consist of holding their hands and whispering “I love you” as they fell asleep for the 15th bone marrow biopsy. I didn’t think I would be cobbling together a living on odd jobs and a prayer. I never planned to hold on to my children for dear life; to suck out as much living and loving as I could from every possible moment.

These are the very moments that have become my greatest expectations in life. I expect that life is hard but life is holy. I expect that life will be perfectly imperfect. I expect that the greatest lessons can only be learned in the most harrowing of struggles. I expect that I will be heartbroken but those pieces will hold more love than I could ever imagine. I expect that I will feel burdened and broken and grief will pass through me and I through it but the light will come and set a joy upon me that can never be measured with the yardstick of the world. I expect that things are just as they should be…The great expectations of life.

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By Brandon L.

“The internet has changed my entire perception on relationships.”

As a child, one of the most important lessons my parents ever taught me was to respect a person’s privacy. Whether it were my own sister or a complete stranger, I was to judge nobody on their appearance, actions or attitudes, for I knew nothing of their private struggles. It was a lesson that I keep in mind to this very day; unless a person is to directly address me on their issues, it is not my business to interfere. But I was never taught how to deal with the same issues on the internet.

The dynamic of relationships has changed. A person dealing with personal struggle is now able to address these issues to any arbitrary audience, some cases in less than 140 characters. It seems as if privacy has been pushed aside, forcing almost everyone to be an open book, even if one prefers to be kept unread. This is because anyone, at any time, may now defile another person’s character simply because they can. This concept has been tattooed into my being, and recent experiences has caused me to look back to the lesson my parents taught my childhood self

all those years ago. I was in a relationship for three years. Those three years in particular were led by the skyrocketing of internet applications such as Twitter, Instagram and Tumblr. These apps are massively popular, and are recognized almost entirely by our world’s younger demographics because of their ease of use, and act as perfect venues for venting and emotional release.

Oddly enough, despite being of this younger demographic, I did not find myself involved in any of these apps until 2014, and for good reason.

Excluding Instagram, I find myself purposely using these sites less and less, all due to my three year relationship. In this relation-

“A person dealing with personal struggle is now able to address these issues to any arbitrary audience, some cases in less than 140 characters.”

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ship, I was being abused, and until well after the relationship ended, I didn’t even know it.

I met my longtime girlfriend by chance at the birthday party of a mutual friend. In fairy-tale fashion, we began talking at a trash can where we both happened to throw away

salvaged, and what I was at fault for.

For while this person provided me years of conversation, I suddenly knew nothing of them but their apology for why our relationship had to end. Yes, we had our disagreements, but I did not realize our collective differences were irreconcilable. My

the remnants of half-eaten birthday cake. I was attracted to her quick wit, quirkiness and strong sense of selflessness within seconds of meeting her. Within a month, we considered ourselves exclusive and it remained that way from 2011 until late 2014.

For some time afterward, I found myself a lost man. It continues to be the longest relationship I had ever been a part of, filled with memories that kept me awake with the cold sweat of regret for over half a year. Here I was, a person comforted by continuity, plagued by the questions of what went wrong , how it could have been

recounting of the relationship may raise the question of how I realized this ‘ideal’ relationship was actually one of unknown abuse, but in the booming digital age, it should actually come as less of a surprise. This woman, one I found comfort in for some time for a caring demeanor, was actually one of quiet anger with decreasing remorse and no respect for privacy, for what I can only assume continues to this day. And for years, I knew nothing of it.

Her social media involvement was rampant. Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr and Instagram were

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high-traffic sites for her, and many of our mutual friends. During this time, I only ever found myself frequenting Facebook; a site I still use for both business and personal ventures. Because of my dismal involvement in social media, I was not involved in her varying digital life; a life that grew a lot more bitter as the relationship crumbled.

Our first legitimate fight occurred in 2014, a couple of months after celebrating our second anniversary. It was an argument that had been boiling for quite some time; I was a semester into college, and she was a senior in high school searching where she would call home for her secondary education. There were talks of venturing to Maine, a far drive from where we called home.

I did not interfere in this decision; instead, the argument arose from the indecisiveness of choosing between a university in Maine and a University in our home state. WIth every decision, one that was vocalized and altered over a dozen times, was not finalized until February 2014, when she tweeted the picture of a car window sticker, signifying her choice in venturing to Maine for her studies. The decision did not upset me. What upset me was a text from my best friend, who knew of her decision days before I was personally informed by her, simply because he saw it on Twitter. Why did she do it?

This is something I thought to myself days before a face to face argu-

ment arose. I knew her as an honest person, yet almost everyone but me knew of her college decision before I was ever informed. Here we were, two lovers, and yet I felt like an important secret had been kept from me, and saved for the nameless faces of the internet. That was my first run in with her separate internet life.

In the months between her decision to leave and the actual departure, our relationship grew stressful and tiresome. Small disagreements became arguments. Practicality was overlooked for her ideals, and equality was demeaned. Three disagreements became blown out of proportion, each varying in their childishness. The first involved a broken condom, which lowered my desire for sex without proper safety measures. She assured me of her lack of desire to take birth control because of the possibility of weight gain, something I have since learned only happens to some women. Alas, this was a case of it being her body and therefore her decision, but there was no effort in assuring me that our sex life was safe, therefore deferring me from a more consistent, satisfying sex life.

The second was the result of my lack of desire in attending a concert to the band ‘Say Anything,’ a band I had little interest in. It was not unusual for us to have varying artistic tastes; in fact, a year prior to the concert date she had hoped to attend, she admitted her lack of desire in

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attending an ‘Everclear’ concert with me, for she was not a fan of the lead singer’s voice. Ironically, I felt the same way about ‘Say Anything.’ She passively took out her aggression in this argument with a typical ‘I would have done the same thing for you,’ but history showed that she, in fact, would not have done the same.

Instead, she attended a concert for the band two days after the day she wanted to attend, at a different venue in Boston. Much like her college decision, she took to the internet to discuss the issue rather than addressing me. Despite our argument, she attended with an unnamed person, acting as if the argument and the values within it did not matter.

The final argument came from a camping trip, one hosted by her and her friends within weeks of her leaving for college. The trip was, for all intents and purposes, a disaster. The friends all agreed it would be fun to fit five people into a three person tent. The cramped space, and their desire to talk rather than go to sleep until nearly four in the morning, caused me to seek solace in my car, where I slept until morning. She took no attempt in searching for where I was that night.

She left for college soon after that. Both of us knew we had troubles, and she was as sorry as I was that she had to go before we could reconcile. Alas, she left, with the promise that we would stay in contact, whether through phone calls,

video chats or simple texting. These efforts were successful for two weeks, before contact dwindled. She returned in October, for what became the worst day of my life. We sat together in the back of my car, where she told me she could not be the girl I needed, then exited the car, returning all but the promise ring I had presented her on our first anniversary. Her words continue to make no sense to me. Maybe it was the fact it was done at nearly midnight, or maybe it is a lack of desire to find substance in her words, if substance even existed.

In ending our relationship she provided two promises: She would read my book (Shrink by BL Roberts, one I had self published on Amazon just days before the relationship ended). She would do all in her power to find me someone else.

Those two promises made me lose all understanding of who she was.

Here she was, a woman I had spent over a thousand days with, lost my virginity to, and went of a handful of vacations with, promising to read my book and find me a new lover as if those were viable promises to a person whose life was inadvertently ruined by the words ‘it’s over.’ This was the last time I have seen her in person, but not the last time I have had to deal with her.

When the relationship ended, I was approached by two types of people: the ones who nearly sobbed at the loss of what was considered a

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perfect relationship by an unexpectedly high amount of people, and the ones who were disgusted by me, for what I believed to be no reason. This is where social media comes into play. Her social media presence on websites she knew I had no involvement in consisted of years of aggression posted by her, with topics ranging from consistent arguments with her mother, the desire to be thinner, and rambled apologies to me about how she was never good enough, mixed with passive anger that was never fully discussed between us, and most of which I had no idea of.

Not wanting to personally observe these tweets and Tumblr posts, I approached a mutual friend who remained neutral for the sake of maintaining friendships with both parties. What she exposed to me were dozens of different posts about her sadness, her desire to be thinner, and a long list of reasons why I was an unsupportive, unhelpful, and disdainful human being, mixed with polar opposite posts of love, bliss, fear, and the belief that despite the terrible person I was to her, that I somehow deserved better. The posts were as shocking as they were sickening and terrifying. We had only three

verbal arguments with each other, but these posts ranged throughout many months of our time together.

I believed her to be a person beautiful of mind, body and soul.

Yet these posts, hidden from all but her followers, painted an abusive relationship blown out of realistic proportions. And with her hundreds of followers from a tenure as high school class president, this left me with little support, and almost no defense for myself. Who was this girl? Despite her thin physique, she wanted to be thinner. Despite her gleaming smile, the internet was her release for dark and often appalling words of self-hate. And as the relationship crumbled, her aggressions turned to me. And even with our relationship over, the aggression continued.

I returned to many of the social media outlets after our relationship ended because I found myself want27

ing to expand professional horizons and post about ideas I had never personally posted.

I did not expect a massive following and it was better that way. I never looked at any of her postings nor did I want to, in fear of seeing further discussion of how I was ruining her life. This was my decision; to be ignorant to her being.

This ignorance, unfortunately, was not two sided.

I was pumping gas at a local gas station when a person approached me, asking if I was this girl’s ex boyfriend. I said yes, and while I was expecting a simple questioning of what happened in the relationship, I was treated to a loud, demeaning attack of my person and their disgust of me, followed by the assurance that I was terrible to an otherwise nice person. I was stunned. This aggression came from a complete stranger; their words were a mystery to me. What had I done that was so terrible?

This led to the first and only time I ever looked at her Tumblr page. The page was riddled with hyperlinks titled ‘Don’t Read This,’ which were definitely undermined by followers who reblogged and responded to the posts. The posts ranged from her break up with me to a rant

“The digital age is a polarizing time, and for good reason. We are granted an infinite opportunity to gain knowledge, expand careers and even share thought provoking ideas.

And yet, the ability to express one’s self online remains the internet’s biggest strength and greatest flaw.”

“The internet has changed my entire perception on relationships. I realize now that my parent’s lesson of privacy is nearly impossible.

The everpowerful internet demeans privacy and can alter a person’s perspective on other people simply by clicking ‘Post.’”

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about her first time drunk at college (leading to her crying about me to a complete stranger), and finally a long, angry post regarding me and a high school senior I had been acquainted with through the school’s drama club almost two years prior.

Without any proper proof, she ranted on how I was attempting to develop a romantic relationship with her, followed by a series of expletives and heartbrokenness. I reviewed this in fear. Why did I give in and look at the social media of a person so clearly troubled? Her rants were a mystery to me; despite no longer being in a relationship, why did I have to fear my public life being tarnished by a person who now resided hundreds of miles away? I knew that her words were false, but her followers did not, thus leading to the public confrontation that keeps me nervous to return to my hometown, even if only to pump gas. Was this her way of venting some sort of self-remorse or regret of ending our long-lasting relationship? Or was this the build-up

of months of anger towards me that she was never truthful about?

I am a victim of digital abuse, and it took me far too long to realize it. It is everyone’s responsibility to be aware of how they act in the real world and the digital world. Relationships have become a part of our digital footprint. Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and other social networks act as the collage that molds the opinions of followers a lot more efficiently than the spoken word. It comes no surprise that, now more than ever, everyone knows everything about everyone, and while in some cases this can be a good thing, it can also put anyone in grave danger. And if you’re like me, you don’t want to be approached in public for something you weren’t responsible.

For the safety of you, your lover, and even your family and friends, always be wary of what you post online.

Venting is one thing, but to publicize venting can turn into an abusive and equally fearful result.

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Frankly

S p e a k i n g

By Frank DiNicola

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Frankly Speaking is an editorial section connecting the writers of entry submissions with an outside perspective and a perceptive point of view.

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By Martin Chittenden

“My depression has taken everything away from me.”

I have been battling depression all of my life. As a child I felt different than other kids, was not very social, and spent a lot of time alone. When I hit puberty, it got worse. My feelings and chronic insomnia were written off as “normal” adolescent problems. I could not fight the sadness and anger inside, I felt alone all the time. Most people do not know what that kind of alone feels like. People say, “I’m here with you, you are not alone!” They don’t get it, the alone feeling is being trapped in the prison of your mind.

When you go to bed, shower, or do anything, you are looking through the darkened glass of the illness. You are trapped in a constant vice of negative feelings, there is no key, and there is no escape. Through drugs, legal and illegal, you get moments of reprieve, but it comes back. It always comes back and it grows stronger. My depression is chronic, it is a continuation of a chemical imbalance in my brain. Medications do help, but the thing they do not tell you about medicines is that it is an educated guess which combination works. It is a rolling of the dice to figure out what works. Sometimes there is an immediate effect, sometimes it takes weeks, sometimes it does the opposite. You never know.

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I started on 1 medication 20 years ago, today I’m on 7. My disease has progressed from Clinical Depression, Chronic Depression, Chronic Major Depression, and Schizoaffective Disorder: Depressive Sub-type, and now Chronic Severe Depression. All this while I’ve also had Chronic Insomnia, in my teens I slept maybe 90 minutes a day. I was awake the rest of it. About 12 years, from the age of 13 till 25, was one long day for me.

Everything was repetitive, nothing was more important than getting a nap after school, that was the only time I got relief, and to this very day, when I wake up, I am not happy because I’m still alive.

My depression has taken everything away from me. Most of my friends don’t talk to me anymore, my wife left me and hates me because she thought I could just “Snap out of it” and since I didn’t, she left because it was too hard for her to deal with. Funny thing was, when we got together I was happy, but as I said earlier, it comes back.

She gave up even after the word of a dozen doctors explained to her exactly what my depression was. My medications help me numb myself from the pain that is my life, just enough to make it hurt just a little to get by. But, it will come back and then it is another roll of the dice to see what would help.

Why do I continue to survive? Why have I not killed myself? One tiny, minuscule, shred of hope that one day it might get better. A small ray of light that comes through the walls of my prison, my own private room reserved for me in Hell. The clock ticks slowly for me, and the fear of living like this for 50-60 years more sometimes darkens that small ray of hope, yet I stay alive because the one little thought of being better one day keeps me going. On the other hand, I will eventually die, everyone does, so I will get my wish and be done with depression sooner or later. A disturbingly comfortable thought that with my last breath, it will finally go away.

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Dear Martin,

Man, they must have known I’d be perfect for this job. I’m almost in tears after reading what you’ve written, and I wish there was something I could do to make everything better. The reality, as you know, is that there’s nothing that can be done to solve your situation. The drugs and the doctors can only change the way you feel. They will never be able to change the way you see the world.

I’ve always lived with a depression in me. I believe it has something to do with having a particularly curious mind, or perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I see things other people can easily ignore.

That being said, I never write someone’s depression off as something they can just “Get over.” Depression

is something that you live with, and you will live with it until you’re done with this life and you head off into whatever happens next.

Here’s my advice: to me, it seems that you gain a catharsis in writing.

I know that it’s tough to find motivation when you’re feeling down, but perhaps you can channel that energy into something productive. Maybe you can write a book, or start drawing a picture each day. Find something that allows you to convert the depression into something you can look back on and feel a sense of connection with. Something that allows you to express the way you feel so that the world can attempt to understand.

It’s a sad place to be, in a world where no one understands you.

Where you can’t find solace in any-

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thing other than the dark thoughts you’re so used to hearing. But if you take those thoughts and draft them into something, perhaps you can help someone else suffering from the same issues as you.

The only other piece of advice that I can give you is to try to get off the meds. I know that you’ve been on the meds for a long time, and that this is all based on a pre-disposed chemical imbalance, but it’s been 20 years since you just let your brain function the way it was made to function. Quitting cold turkey won’t be an option for you, but talk to your doctor about maybe cutting down on the number of pills you have to take.

Most psychological drugs have negative side-effects; many that aren’t known about until well after clinical trials have been completed.

If it’s possible, perhaps try changing your diet and getting away from some of the pills. Work out more, learn something new. Find a hobby and start going to social events that allow you to meet people with that same hobby.

Above all else, take this one day at a time. Your condition makes things hard as it is. The last thing you need is to stress yourself out. This is not something that you’re ever going to be able to leave behind, but it is something that you may be able to twist into a gift to someone suffering.

I hope that you can find something that helps you, brother. And if nothing else, know that I’m rooting for you!

Frank

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By Abby M.

“ I have the constant fear that I will be lied to, cheated on or left for someone better.”

Growing up witnessing the poor example of my parent’s marriage, I have come to realize the effect it’s had on me.

My dad spent the first 14 years of my life cheating on my mom and not showing any interest in his role as a father until finally he left our family for another woman. When he had to choose between his children and his mistress, he chose her every time.

Now that I’m older, I know the trust issues and insecurities I possess are a result of my dad’s actions. In result of this fear, I have never fully trusted anyone I’ve been with. I have the constant fear that I will be lied to, cheated on or left for someone better. My defense mechanism is to end a relationship at the first sign of trouble to avoid the chance of being hurt. I am aware of my issues and I have tried to explain this to the guys I’ve dated but it’s difficult for them to understand the severity of my fears, especially when their parents have a strong marriage.

I feel guilty because it’s not their fault I don’t trust them and I don’t want to ruin every relationship I have over my irrational fears. I don’t know if I’m making excuses for the way I act or my father has really affected me this seriously, please help me.

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Dear Abby,

People need people. That’s just the way the world is. It’s good that you recognize your issues and where they stem from, but don’t think that these issues are too powerful for you to overcome. The first stage in growing beyond your problems is recognition, so congratulations, you’re getting somewhere! What’s left now is for you to realize that you do have worth, and also that it won’t be recognized by everyone.

Great relationships are based on trust and understanding. But before any of that happens, you need to actively work through your insecurities and learn to value yourself. You should not be ashamed of the way that you feel, but it is something you should always be aware of. Don’t let those negative emotions stay inside of your head or in your heart where they can turn into fear. Vocalize what you’re feeling and work through it with the people involved. If you don’t have someone willing to work with you, then you haven’t found the right one yet. But running away is not the answer you’re looking for. Face your fears, and learn to support yourself by trusting those around you. You are worth the struggle, and you will get out of this stronger than you ever imagined.

Your situation has really hit close to home for me, so I apologize if it takes a minute to get to any real point here.

I also come from a broken household.

In my case, my parents split up when I was 10 due to my father’s abusive nature toward my mother and me. My dad was very hard on me, and often found the physical route the best way to correct my perceived misbehavior. I understand now that his disciplinary techniques were a product of his upbringing and that, despite his actions, he was genuinely doing what he thought was the right thing. Still, it left me feeling like I was worthless and that, no matter what I managed to achieve, or how hard I tried, it would never be good enough. I felt like my parent’s separation was my fault, and that their split was another clear sign of my failure as a person.

For many years this stopped me from developing meaningful relationships, and also stifled my ability to trust anyone. I lived as a loner, and tried as hard as I could to survive on my own.

“At least,” I thought, “I can depend on myself. And as long as it’s just me, I don’t have to worry about hurting or being hurt by anyone.” The problem with this train of thought is that it’s completely bogus, and it eventually all falls in on itself.

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Frank

By Bryce Beeson

“ I couldn’t wish for a better provider, but perhaps a better companion.”

Through a first person view, substance abuse can seem like a victimless crime. That is to say, an abuser may not identify themselves as an abuser, or they might simply accept their problem but take no action to cease or prevent their abuse.

Only through the view of others, perhaps their loved ones, might they be seen as a victim.

I’ve experienced a case of this denial first hand. I would not hesitate to say I have the greatest mother on the earth, though she has a drinking problem. She’s been a victim of alcohol abuse for many years and has made little effort to suppress her addiction. Her abuse has no effect on her motherly duties; she works hard and has straight priorities. I couldn’t wish for a better provider, but perhaps a better companion.

The bothersome part for me is the struggle for communication. With the booze running through her, she cannot stop rambling; when the booze is absent, she becomes stuck in a standoffish mood. During the latter times, I wish she would speak and inform me about what seems to be her frustration. During the former times, I often struggle to get a word in between her senseless drunken jabbering, and when I do, it often goes in vain. In the end it should come down to her well-being, but what of that? If confrontation ensues from ideas of temperance then should ideas of temperance be avoided?

How can any abstention occur if a victim blinds themselves from what they truly depend on?

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Dear Bryce,

had their fair share of drinks) that if I were intoxicated and someone came up I wonder, as I read your entry, if to me telling me that I was wrong for you’re not just suffering from a lack of engaging in a legal activity, I would be understanding between yourself and pretty pissed off about it, too. I mean, your mother. You view her drinking as think about this from her perspective. a detriment, though the only negative Your mother’s generation is a group you can state is that fact that, whethwho has always had drinking and partyer your mother has been drinking or ing, has always used their freedom as a not, she’s hard to talk to. You attribute way to tolerate the hard work they have this to the fact that she’s a drunkto endure in their professional lives. If ard, though you clearly state that she your mother were hurting you, throwkeeps a job and does all of her mothing things, getting into car accidents or erly duties, which I assume are things accumulating DWIs, I would be worried. like grocery shopping, cooking dinner, But it seems to me that you’re just woretc. You even go to the extent of callrying about a full-grown woman, and ing her the best mother in the world, that you really need to take a step back which is really quite adverse to your and realize that she can handle herself: line of questioning. show some respect.

If you’re worried about your moth- It’s nice that you love your mother, er’s well-being, you should be mindful and I hope you can come up with ways of her: make sure that she’s not hurtto communicate with her. At your age, ing herself or others with her hobby. it’s very hard to bridge the gap between Why not try to mix it up a little bit: go child and adult, and it probably feels buy groceries, cook dinner, watch a like she’s always babying you, or that movie, do something different to conyou’re always trying to show her the nect you with your mother and get wrong in her ways. To put it simply, you the line of communication flowing. If just don’t have enough experience to you ask me, it’s not the drinking that’s be instructing your mother on how she the problem. It’s a block that’s being should live her life. Instead of judging wedged between yourself and someher, why don’t you try to understand her one you love more than anything, and so that you can grow closer rather than you’re not quite sure why it’s happenfurther apart? I think that, if you can ing. find some common ground, you’ll find I know you’re not of age to drink, that your mother is still the wonderful but I can tell you (as someone who has woman you know she is.

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Frank