Sometimes the emotional traumas we live through come out in different ways.

This is her story:

I'm sick today.

Home from work with a throat that smothers my voice, making me useless on the phone.

Last night, I was rife with anxiety. My body was tense, my hands wouldn't stop shaking, I had to force myself to eat. I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know what specific fucked up thing in my life has crawled under my skin. Work is going so well, my relationship has never been better, my dog's ear infection is healing amazingly, and so on.

But I have a gaping maw in my chest screaming "panic!" and "failure!"

I've been to therapists and I've been prescribed anxiety medication - the bottle has lasted over a year and a half; after last night I have two left. Everyone agrees that I'm doing things right, that there is no (immediate) solution to the problem of my sisters safety. I don't want a refill of my medication, I want to stop needing it out of the blue after weeks of feeling fine.

I'm tired.

I'm so tired, sad, and angry that I'm not being able to enjoy my life. I have a good life but I can't muster up the energy to feel happy. I'm probably just sick - maybe this cloud will blow away as my body heals from whatever infection I have.

I hope so.

I just want to be okay; I'm so close to being okay. Yes, I was molested as a child and raped as an adult. Yes, my sisters are living with a pedophile, and even further yes, my mother has been a useless cog in the machine of my life. Yes, she's done nothing to stop the abuse and continuing to do bare minimum to keep my siblings safe. Yes, my father just lost his job and is going to be a high little hippy until he runs out of money and (hopefully) lands another job, one far inferior to the one he had.

Those are exterior factors.

MY life, the one I control, is going okay. I'm taking care of myself as best I can. I've even actually allowed myself this sick day without the usual rigamarole of guilt. I'm ill - hoping I feel better soon.

Thanks for listening, Bandmates.

I'm having a bit of a sulk, I guess. 

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State of the Band Address - Updated!

Dear The Band,

It's been so long since we spoke - it's Aunt Becky from Mommy Wants Vodka and miss you guys! Busily working behind the scenes here, and had a few things I wanted to share with you!

First, comments are currently broken. It's not you, your phone, or your computer that's fucking up - it's the site. We're working on a fix as I type this. And now? THEY'RE FIXED!

Second, I'm so happy to see new faces around here. I'd always seen our site as more of a library of posts and resource pages so the more posts, the better.

Third, we're in dire need of behind-the-scenes help. If you have some time to devote to us, we sure would love the help. We need help with social media, the resource page team, and other less-involved roles. Really, we'd be happy to have you! Email any time.

We ARE on social media, if you'd like to be our friend:




Google Plus



Fourthly, if you would like to see more posts about a given topic, do let me know once comments are fixed. Or, shoot me an email - or!

Last, but certainly not least, thank you for everything, The Band. Knowing you are here helps me every single day. Don't hesitate to refer others who are hurting, struggling, or have a story to share - the point of our site is to be a resource for all.

Much love,

Aunt Becky

P.S. Even the smallest bit of time you can devote to us, we're ready for you! I firmly believe that the more people we can touch, the better we can help others. I know it sounds corny, but I genuinely believe it.

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A Letter I Can't Send: To My Husband, I Know You Will Never Read This
We all have letters we'd like to send, but know that we can't. A letter to someone we no longer have a relationship with, a letter to a family member or friend who has died, a letter to reclaim our power or our voice from an abuser. Letters where actual contact is just not possible.
Do you have a letter you can't send?
While you may not be able to send it, there are tremendous power in your words and your stories. Send the letter to The Band, and we'll support you. 

6 years ago I met you.

5 Years ago I married you. I have loved you every day since.

When we met I was searching, for what - I don't know. I was coming out of a horrible marriage entangled with abuse and infidelity. You were my sunshine on a cloudy day, the reason I smiled. You made me feel wanted and loved and needed. You made me believe that I was capable of relationship.

I should've known by the way our relationship started, that it wasn't going to be an easy road: You engaged to someone else, me married to someone else. 

No strings - that's what we agreed to.

Both relationships failed and we ended up together. Attached at the hip.

That's when I should've run - I should've just left then, you see. I was a package deal - I had my two kids, and by the way you treated me, I thought you'd be a great father figure.

Boy was I wrong. Dead wrong.

We married 28 days after my divorce was final.

I was on cloud nine - you brought structure, discipline, and strength to a shaky household.

Then, it happened. That day, that moment, that second I should've run.

I walked into you packing your things, my sobbing 7-year old daughter in the corner saying she'd defended herself after her 4-year old brother hit her. You claimed she "sassed back." She said that she'd never said a word to you as you'd never gave her a chance because quickly you spanked her and put her in the corner. My already-fragile self-esteem couldn't handle you leaving, so I talked you into staying while consoling my daughter. 

That is how we spent the next 5 years, I defended both you and the kids, no matter who was wrong. I should have taken the kids on the run and never looked back. 

Over those 5 years, I learned more about your past, the foster homes you lived in, the the child abuse you endured, being placed with your forever family; amazing people who raised you from the age of 5. The abuse you suffered in those foster homes was unspeakable, but it doesn't give you the right to be hateful and horrible.

When your adopted father died, you were devastated. We flew 2000 miles to pay our respects. While there, you exploded on me, cursed me out, and left me alone for two days. Then you returned and it was the honeymoon period all over again.

Why didn't I leave then? 

In October 2012, you died. You suffered a pulmonary embolism. You were revived in the ambulance by CPR and spent the next 10 days in ICU. You left the ICU a different person. You became easily agitated, more hateful, more angry, more abusive. On the 10th day in ICU, your mother died. You hoped on a plane and spent the next week with your family, no regard for your health, no regard for your family. 

Things deteriorated since.

We've moved into our dream home and it has been hell. You have become verbally abusive, emotionally abusive, and physically abusive. Most recently, you've begun destroying our house, bursting my eardrum by screaming into it, shoving me down, leaving bruises all over from me after throwing things at me. 

I'm leaving

This time I'm really doing it. I'm gonna pack up and leave it. Each time I resolve to leave, the man I fell in love with shows up.

But I'm gonna leave.

One day.


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On A Happy Note

I have written a few dark and heavy hearted posts on here so I figured it was about time I wrote something happy and uplifting!

My two year old had struggled with speech for a long time. He had a vocabulary of 4 words when he should have had over 50. We spoke to a few specialists and he has been in Speech Therapy for about a month. HE IS DOING AMAZING! Every week it is like he is learning something new, and he isn't as frustrated because he can't communicate with us. That is also a plus for us because it was getting really rough for a while trying to figure out what he needs and what was wrong when he didn't have the tools to express it to us in a way we would understand. 

I can see so much progress in him already and it shows because he is a much happier little man and gets really excited with each new word he learns. I absolutely love watching him learn and explore this new skill that many take for granted in a way. Imagine not being able to talk and express your needs and wants, it would be tough on anyone. 

So that is my happy note for today!

Sending happy vibes to everyone in the band! 

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I sound pathetic

I never confront my problems - with myself or anyone else. I really want to accept my life as it is, but I can't.

My family is dysfunctional - I have accepted that. My mother's been isolated from 90% of her family - my grandmother gave me a panic attack at my Nana's funeral.

Family issues and problems have clouded time the time I need for grief and grieving my Nana's death. I've only cried a handful of times over her death but countless times over the problems in my family. There are too many to list, but yea, every single one stings.

However, there have been no family issues since Christmas and I don't blame that for how I feel now.


I don't even blame my family for their problems. Everything is my fault. I feel like I'm the cause for everything that's wrong.

Don't get me wrong - I have things going well in my life. I have a nice boyfriend, lots of friends who support me, and parts of my family. But I feel alone. There are plenty of people around who are willing to listen, but I cant get the words out.

I guess I feel it's impossible for anyone else to understand something I can't even wrap my head around. They don't understand - they never will. Instead, I wear a smile and push them away when they come too close. I feel all I'll do is to hurt them in the end, anyway.

I'm just another girl no one cares about. No one will remember me when I'm gone. No one will know what eats me inside - because it's my fault. These are my problems and I need to clean up my own mess.

I understand I have a problem, but I don't know what it is or how to fix it. I want to talk to someone, but I'm alone in this. It's like I'm alone on an island, screaming for help, but no one can hear. Even if they could, I don't deserve their help because it's my fault I'm on the island anyway.

And I can't swim.

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