Blended Families

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 for whatever reason.

Do you have a letter you can't send?

If so, send it to The Band.

I struggle with how to open this letter.

"Dear" implies that there are nice warm words involved and I honestly have nothing nice to say to you. "To whom it may concern" is really too formal and I need you to know this letter is intended for you. So I am just going to write in hopes one day you will stumble across this and just know that this letter was meant for you. 

It seems I have known and loved you forever. We met when we were younger than our children are now. I always thought of you as my best friend, always the one I could come to with a problem. I thought the day we were married was the best day of my life.

Then life happened. You were always a dick to me and everyone saw it except me. I was blinded and stupid. 

We have been divorced for 6 years now, longer than we were together when we were married. And until last week I would have taken you back in a heartbeat.

You had me convinced I didn't deserve better than you, that I was worthless and a terrible person. For some reason I always believed you.

When you would tell me you hated our family, that my family would always side with you, I believed you. Some parts of me still do. But those parts are getting smaller and smaller and slowly I am realizing I do deserve better. And while I am not a perfect person I am a good one. I have my faults just like anyone else. But I will never intentionally make someone feel worthless like you do. 

Last week, you see, was the deal breaker.  

Once again you left me in care of your son, the one I didn't give birth to but have raised mostly alone since he was five. I am the one who has signed him up for school every year, gone to the conferences, signed permission slips, packed lunches and taken him to the doctor. But according to you people this is not what makes a mother. 

Even though you are facing jail time for being an idiot, you decided family is not the best place for your children to be with. You sent a stranger to my home to take my son in front of your other children who had just started getting their happy back after losing you for who knows how long. And THEN I was threatened with a restraining order if I ever contact him again. 

I don't know how either one of you who claim to be 'real' parents can do this. You especially, claiming DNA is what makes a family? You were adopted. Have you ever pulled that card with your parents? No, you haven't cause they are who raised you, which makes this even harder on me. Worse than that you broke all of my babies hearts that day. No warning, no anything, just gone. That makes you an asshole. 

I want to fight.

I want to call lawyers and get custody of this child that neither one of you seem to care about. I mean, his mother couldn't be bothered to care for him for whatever reason she has this week. You certainly can't in the position you are in. And I am not allowed because I didn't birth him.

But I can't afford a fight. I can barely afford to support MY little family as it is. I want him to know he is worth fighting for, that I want him, I love him, as my own. Even when I am told I cannot. 

I have high hopes that one day very soon, when he is all grown up, he will remember who did everything for him. He will know I tried my hardest even if it wasn't always the best. That I loved him. That I love him. And I hope that he sees you 'real' parents for what you really are: selfish and only out for yourselves. 

In the meantime I will be here again, picking up the shattered pieces of my other three babies' hearts off the floor, which happens when you are hurt by the ones you love most. This may be good for them, though. They will realize that you don't care about anyone but yourself and your...can't even say reputation cause you have ruined that all on your own. 

Until last week I loved you and would have done anything for you. And I have done a hell of a lot for you. But I am done. You hurt me for the last time.

Just as I struggled with an opening, I struggle more with a closing. I have always signed everything to you "love, Me" but there is no love anymore. You have killed it. I am assuming you have no love for any of us either. No real love anyway. Just a fake "I am going to pretend I love my children so I don't seem like a bad father." You have been gone two months and have not so much as asked about your children. That does in fact make you a terrible parent. 

So all I have left is "good luck to you."

And I am not even sure I really mean that. 

***

Band Back Together has been nominated for Best Group or Community Weblog in the 2013 Bloggies! Visit their site to vote and check out the other categories!

On August 20, 2001, my first son Benjamin rocketed into the world. As he drew his first breath at 2:50 PM and wailed at the indignity of being expelled from my uterus, I wonder if, hundreds of miles away, a college student named Dave felt something stirring within him. I can't be sure. School was just starting for him; parenthood was probably the last thing on his mind.

But on that day, Dave became a parent. He just didn't know it yet.

Two years later, in January of 2003, his first child, Benjamin, a nearly-mute 2-year old reached up his arms and allowed Dave to pick him up. It was a rarity for Ben to allow someone he'd just met minutes beforehand to hold him. Even more rare was that he bonded with him instantly. Two hours later, safely in my car, he spoke his fourth sentence. "Aw...bye, Dave." Over and over, he repeated that, sighing sadly after every repetition.

Like this:

"Aw, BYE DAVE....*sighs*"

(pause)

"Awwwww....BYE DAVE.....*sighs*"

(pause)

On September 10, 2005, my son Benjamin walked me down the aisle. At the alter, Dave spoke his vows first to our son, then to me. The child who is not related--by blood, at least--to my husband, he is the one who is most like The Daver. Always has been.

March 30, 2007, Benjamin Maxwell became a big brother to Alexander Joseph. Dave slumbered on through my labor thanks to a migraine, but was there by my side to watch as his second son came into the world. Angrier than a wet cat, Alex met his father by peeing on him. I found it apt, considering I would have dragged my numb ass over to kick DAVE'S sleeping ass, had I been able to.

Alex was, as he always is, on my side.

On January 28, 2009, our last child came into the world surrounded by chaos. The girl with curls like a halo (who kicks ass), Amelia Grace, she cast her big brown eyes upon us and nothing has been the same.

Today, April 15, 2010, at 1:45 PM we said goodbye to that part of our lives. No more will we welcome more children into the world, but we will help our children grow and learn about this crazy, mixed-up, wonderful world that we live in.

I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't a little heartbroken to see Dave's vas deferens sitting in those jars, sadly separated from his body. Not because I want any more children, or because I'm unhappy with the decision that we made. It was time to put that part of our lives to bed.

So I'm going to take a quote from my then-two-year old because I don't know how else to end this bittersweet day.

Aw, bye, vas deferens.

Narcissistic Personality Disorder is a family disease.

This is the story of an adult child of narcissistic parents:

To all my Band Members, HAPPY CHRISTMAS! 

With two narcissistic parents and two narcissistic stepparents, events that should be joyous family occasions have always been a source of distress to me.

This is the first Christmas that I've been knowingly recovering and it's going to be a tough one. My father died in 1997 (funny how he can still affect me from the grave) and my step-mother cut off contact with me after that, so I have to deal directly with my mother and stepfather.

I think that my mother/stepfather scene is so unique, that it's worth sharing. From one angle, it's quite funny!

When I was fourteen, my mother left my father for a rich American (I'm now 49 years old and writing from England), who we'll call Jim. She spent her entire life serving his needs, and therefore hers.

Of course, my brother and I were side-shows to her narcissism and suffered for it. Jim continued to be very successful, becoming a multimillionaire, assuming that my mother would continue to put him first in everything that she did. This she was happy to do.

Not content with a beautiful house in the country, a town house in London and a holiday home on an exclusive Caribbean island, Jim bought a castle!

Yup, a genuine castle in England, complete with turrets, a moat and drawbridge. Errol Flynn would look totally at home there. There are 48 acres of land, a tennis court and a swimming pool. It would be easy to say "how amazing!" but sadly, the place is hideous.

It's a shining symbol of his narcissism, not a place of fun or joy. Whenever my ex (or current) wife have visited with our children, the atmosphere is toxic, thanks to Jim's need for control; his need for us to play roles in his narcissistic fantasies.

I've always felt manipulated by my mother and Jim to pay homage every Christmas. I have complied, to the detriment of all of my loved ones. As a reflection of narcissistic madness, this castle really takes some beating!

This all sounds a bit petty, as I'm writing it. However, I have to remind myself that much - if not most - of my recovery has to do with the toxic parenting I received from my original parents, before my mother left. I am finally separating myself from a childhood of fear, physical abuse, verbal abuse, and emotional confusion.

I am connecting with reality at last.

Like everyone in The Band, I'm experiencing the courage to accept what happened to me, work through the pain, beginning to learn how to feel, and changing how I behave.

I am feeling for the first time, which is so scary, because the first feeling that I have experienced is profound emptiness. But I am beginning to fill that gap; I know that I will be okay, because no matter how hard some of the feelings are, it is far better than what has gone before. So now is not the time to be manipulated and undermined by some very disturbed castle-dwellers!

I am separated from my second wife but will spend most of Christmas Day with her and our kids. The threat to our marriage set me on the road of recovery. For the sake of my four children, I am devoting my life to stopping the cycle of pain that has blighted my family. If I can be reunited with my wife as a result of this work, I will be overjoyed.

I am learning to separate from and manage my narcissistic, toxic parent(s). Christmas is going to be a time when guilt and shame will challenge my resolve but I must remain strong, for the sake of myself, my marriage and above all, my children.

-------

Do any of you adult children of narcissistic parents have any advice for your Band Member?

5 in every 1000 people have Schizoaffective Disorder.

This is his story:

He never had a chance.

Our father left our mother when she was six months pregnant with their third child - my brother Daniel. My mother came home from work to discover that their closet was depleted of his clothing and promptly had a panic attack.

Earlier that year, my father had had a motorcycle accident. The only thing that saved him was his helmet, which cracked in half upon impact. He was hospitalized and the doctors said that it would take him at least ten years to get back to where he was mentally before the accident.

He was 21 years old.

I can't help but to think this brain damage resulted in many of his problems thereafter.

During this hospitalization, it was suggested that perhaps the baby wasn't his. It's a mystery as to why - perhaps it was a theory he came up with while on pain medication. Regardless, it put a damper on things. His parents hadn't exactly liked my mother in the first place.

Five years and three kids after their marriage, my parents got divorced.

Daniel was born on our father's birthday a few months before the divorce was final. He looked just like his big sisters and there should have been no doubt that he had the same father. Still, the idea lingered.

I was proud of my brother. He was a good baby and later, a good kid. He was, however, different. He flapped his hands when he got too excited and his speech was odd - only I could understand him, so I had to translate for the rest of our family. I took my brother under my wing and cared for him as if he was my own child.

The problem was - I was only four years his elder.

When Danny started kindergarten, he got in trouble for smearing poop all over the bathroom within the first week. The teacher said she couldn't handle his energy level and he was referred for psychological testing. It was determined that he had "difficulty processing information." My mother recalls that when he asked the evaluator where she lived and she replied, "in a house," he got frustrated and the testing went downhill from there.

He'd wanted an address.

He was placed in a special needs class with children who were severely mentally disabled - much more so than he was. He was prescribed medication for Attention Deficit Disorder. Perhaps this was due to the fact that our grandmother (our babysitter) regularly gave him a combination of Benadryl and expectorant every day before school.

I'll never know for sure.

Meanwhile, at home, our abusive step-father accompanied Danny on his trips to the bathroom and controlled his every move. When he got frustrated with my brother, he picked him up by the throat and choked him. I clearly remember this, my mother stepping in to break it up, but she doesn't recall it at all.

My brother became afraid to be by himself and developed a paralyzing fear of the dark and aliens. At night, our step-father would shut him into his dark bedroom and hold the door closed until his wailing was quieted and he seemed to go to sleep.

Danny crawled into bed with me nearly every night after our parents had gone to bed.

My brother had never bonded with our father, and after our step-father was sent to prison for child molestation, he was devastated.

Danny attached himself to our grandmother's boyfriend, who was a was a military veteran who sat at the kitchen table chain-smoking, watching television, and occasionally speaking - usually to tell us to be quiet so that he could watch his shows. He was not a great man, but my mother was happy that my brother had a "male role model."

"Boys need a father-figure," she claimed.

When we visited our father on weekends, our brother got in trouble for doing things like falling asleep in the middle of the road. He stepped on frogs to learn what color their blood was.

He was "out of control."

Never mind that he was either abused or completely ignored by the majority of adults in his life.

Never mind that he was learning social skills from the mentally disabled.

Never mind that the person taking care of him was a sister only four years older.

Danny was doped with ADD medication whenever he presented any sort of behavior problem. He continued to attend special education classes until the fourth grade, when he was abruptly switched to a new school and a mainstream class. He made no friends; he was a complete outsider.

Big surprise.

He did manage to graduate high school, albeit late and after many academic problems. He learned to drive a car and got his license. He held down a job for a while, although I heard plenty of stories of him disturbing his co-workers with comments like "I worship Satan." He's always taken great joy in making others uncomfortable.

I'm not exactly sure when things completely fell apart for him, but I remember being pregnant, feeling frustrated by his situation and completely helpless. I'd been trying to get him to move in with me for years - to get him away from our dysfunctional family and hopefully on a better path. I still believed in him and knew he had skills and intelligence - they'd just been buried by an unfortunate childhood.

My brother never moved in with me.

I gave birth to my son, who became the center of my world. After I began dealing with my own mental illness and then a divorce, I realized I no longer had the capacity to be a surrogate mother to my brother. I had to focus on my son and myself.

I urged our mother to get help for Danny after he was arrested for breaking and entering - on my birthday, no less - and spent several weeks in jail. His behavior had been erratic for some time - he was severely depressed, had insomnia, talked about seeing odd things and communicating with our deceased father.

Finally he met with a psychiatrist and was diagnosed with Schizoaffective Disorder, which is like a combination of Schizophrenia and Depression.

His diagnosis came as a shock to no one. He'd always been a bit off and steadily declined in his twenties. The diagnosis made perfect sense.

Unfortunately, he refuses to take medication for his illness. He can no longer hold down a job and is on disability. His behavior has become so unpredictable that I can no longer allow him in my house or near my son. He threatens to kill various people on a regular basis and he harasses people (me included) on the internet.

He's not completely out of control, so he can't be involuntarily committed to a psychiatric hospital. He doesn't own any weapons and hasn't physically harmed anyone, so the police won't arrest him.

There is nothing I can do to get him the help he needs.

So I sit and wait for something bad to happen - for Danny to physically hurt someone and be arrested or committed. That's the only way he is going to get anyone's attention.

Once again, my brother has been set up to fail in life.

It breaks my heart that he never even had a chance.

Dear The Band,

I have some news for you. I'm getting married. At least I'm engaged and we have a date set.

It's crazy. They - whomever "they" are - say that you shouldn't make any big decisions within a year after a major trauma. So I, to be different, am getting married and moving my future husband and his two special needs boys into my house.

Have I mentioned I'm overwhelmed?

And that I'm possibly an idiot?

And that I truly do love this man with all of my heart and soul?

I "accidentally" quit taking my anti-depressants for a couple of weeks. I couldn't cope without them.

I'm not trying to be a whiner - really I'm not - but when the hell do I get to be happy?

P.S. Dress shopping fucking sucks and the whole "wedding" industry is in a big bed wanting my money.