Social Isolation

I don't like writing.

I can fill in a form alright, even make out a cheque, but I'm not so good at thoughts and feelings. It's not for lack of ability. I’m told that I am quite intelligent, I.Q. tests put me at 155, yet I barely made it out of high school.

My parents separated when I was 2. Daddy moved in and out of the house depending on the availability of other women. He was a pilot and at the time I was convinced that he was busy flying around the world. He finally left the country when I was 8, sold the house, kept the money, and raped my mother on the way out the door.

I was an only child living in the house on the hill and going to private school. That changed, and we rented a room in a large house. The family there was nice; five kids and my new baby brother. We eventually got our own place but it was not very nice and to cover the cost we had boarders all the time. My new public school was quite a shock. The kids were really nice but the teachers hit us regularly, and with great creativity.

Daddy kept in contact, sent pictures of the new house, wife, kids, and all their travels. Depression had a pretty good hold on me by now. I had already been to therapy, but I didn't let them get too far with me. I was sure that I wouldn’t live that long anyway, not suicidal yet, just a short life expectancy.

High school was not as bad as it could have been.

I made it into the best public school. I was one of the smallest kids in my class and not one for fighting back, which meant that anyone else who wanted to hit someone without getting hit back could just come find me. My guidance counselor helped me survive, kept me in school, and got me through it.

The next ten years were filled with sporadic employment, failed relationships, and lots of liquor to dull the pain. I finally trusted a friend enough to tell them about my problems. Sharing didn't seem to help at the time; my perspective was probably skewed by the bottle of scotch. I lost my fight with depression that day, November 10th, 2001.

I woke up the next day in the emergency room with a decision to either live or die.

I chose to live.

Life definitely changed after that, though not a story book ending. I have some wonderful friends, some of my closest I made after that day. I found a job within a week and have only been unemployed for two days since then. Depression still pops up regularly, and I still pointlessly use scotch to try and stop it.

I’m comfortable with the friends I have, but we are all grown up and they have families and busy lives. Some live in other countries. Six months ago a seven year relationship ended. My personality and my job keep me fairly isolated, I now realize how connected she kept me. I have shut myself off for the past few months, and it's time to rejoin the world.

Women I am attracted to terrify me. I have never asked a woman out on a date, I’m too scared. I have always dated strong, aggressive women who have made the first move. I want to date again but I want to do the asking this time. When I see the beautiful redhead in the parking lot tomorrow morning I want to be able to get out more than a mumbled "hi."

But I’m scared, so I don’t, then I get depressed because I didn’t.

I just want to say "you're pretty."

Being married to a Narcissist can be one of the most devastating types of marriage.

This is her story of being married to a narcissist:

At seventeen, I had such low self-esteem that when I met my future husband,I truly believed he would be my only chance to become a wife and mother.

That's all I'd ever truly wanted to be. Sure, he had some horrendous character defects, but I was too immature, too inexperienced to recognize what that meant.

Since my narcissistic mother hadn't had a "real wedding," she wanted one for me. She got her way - I had to suffer through my own wedding, full of people I didn't know, and scheduled when it was most convenient for them.

He warned me before we married that he didn't believe in God. Of course, I didn't believe him. He also said he didn't ever want children; he went on to tell me exactly how he felt about kids. I knew he would change his mind once we had a beautiful baby of our own.

Boy oh boy, was I wrong.

Those only times in his life he ever told me the truth, and I didn't believe him.

My husband was a pathological liar, cheating on me at every opportunity. Of course, having been raised with a skewed family model, I never questioned him, never raised a fuss when he'd come home late. I was never allowed to ask where he'd been.

We got married on a Saturday afternoon.

We spent our "honeymoon" in a broken-down mobile home usually reserved for the ranch hands. The mobile home had no locks on the doors, no telephone. We had Saturday night to ourselves - I cried myself to sleep.

He was already disgusted. He had to work the graveyard shift the following night; I'd be alone in that dilapidated mobile home, two miles down a dirt road - no locks, no phone, no vehicle.

Did I manage to convey just how terrified I was?

I was the only girl in a family of six children and I thought I was marrying a man like my dad. Instead, I married a monster of a narcissist - just like dear old mom.

After our disastrous wedding night, he left the following afternoon, telling me he'd be home the next morning. I didn't sleep for the first month of my nightmare marriage.

That Monday morning, I waited for his return with the hope that I'd misunderstood something: he'd return, we'd have something in common and things would be, well, better.

Man, was I a target for his plan.

He finally arrived home, seven hours late. I was hysterical, weeping - weak with relief that he was alive. Just getting to our little "abode" was a hazard; I just knew he was dead in a ditch.

He merely looked at me and said coldly,"When you see the whites of my eyes, I'm home. Don't ask me where I've been or what I've been doing or who I've been with."

I was terrified.

I never asked again where he'd been or what he'd been doing or with whom.

After multiple failed attempts at birth control, I became pregnant after our first year of marriage. He was furious; he didn't want me to get "fat." I was slender after the initial horrible morning sickness, pregnancy agreed with me and I never gained an ounce of excess weight. Of course, it helped that I was nineteen years old and in excellent shape.

However, he found me repellent and disgusting. He had absolutely no interest in our baby and frequently left me without transportation. I frequently caught him "pleasuring himself" to avoid having sex with me. I was so confused, so hurt. I was relieved as well. I'd had no idea I was married to a man who hated women thanks to his overbearing monstrous mother; he made sure I toed the line.

I got pregnant again quickly; I only gave birth to daughters. My little girls gave me a reason to live. He ignored his daughters unless it was to receive the accolades they amassed, he continued to live his life apart from us unless it was to terrorize us. I'm grateful he never hit us, although he had a special gift for vicious verbal abuse that caused such damage, I sometimes wished he'd hit me.

My precious little girls were in constant terror of their father, yet one daughter was like him. It took every ounce of patience to break that child's vicious will without destroying her soul. She was sneaky; lied even if the truth was better. She stole money, hoarded candy, and tortured her sisters.

However, when I got down to the heart of her, she had a tender heart; this confused her when she indulged her evil behavior. I could see she was genuinely perplexed by what she did and frequently we would have talks, punishments. She even signed Behavioral Contracts. A three-year-old who could sign a "Behavior Contract" was a lot of work, but I refused to give up on her.

Her father recognized her as being just like him - he loathed her. She didn't have much use for him anyway, which I found funny. I always told her, you get what you give.

I finally left that monster when my daughters were fourteen, twelve, and eleven, when he became more verbally abusive, aggressive and had taken to abusing them when I was at work.

I didn't find out about the abuse until much later. It's baffling that a child will protect an abusive parent; abuse does not preclude the shame of the abusive parent. The child always finds a way to blame themselves for the horrible acts.

What I've learned from this man are universal truths: Men tell the truth. If they say they don't believe in God? Believe them. If they say they hate children and do not want any? Believe them. 

They cannot help but tell you the truth when put to the test. The lies come later, when the verbose, full-of-lies storytelling begins. These men never use three words when two will do, so when are caught red-handed, the stories are fantastical and wordy.

Now, I can laugh at him.

At the time, I was genuinely perplexed as to why he was going into such detail about going fishing. The truth was, he wasn't fishing at all; he was on his way to see some woman, the car broke down and he had to come up with a story.

What the idiot didn't realize is that I'd called the tow company for the bill to give to the insurance company. I knew his story was a lie. Of course, as I'd been trained early and hard, I NEVER brought it up. I just left the tow bill out where he could see it so he'd know that I KNEW.

I got away from him for my daughters sake; he'd done enough damage. They still haven't healed. They still blame me for staying as long as I did.

My advice for someone else in my shoes? Do the best you can, leave as soon as you can. The best way to avoid these extremely bad people, is to run, not walk, from them, no matter how desperately they pursue you.

Listen to your instincts - they're there for an excellent reason.

Here at The Band, we believe in kicking stigmas to the curb, flinging glitter, and shining a light into the dark. And now?

Your bandmate needs a sounding board.

It's time to Ask The Band!

We were together nearly three years.

I loved him. 

A few days after we got together, our sophomore year in high school, he professed his love. I told him I didn't feel the same. A couple of weeks later, he convinced me that I did. I still wasn't sure.

After we'd been together a month and a half, he pressured me into sex with him even though I wasn't ready. Somehow, he'd convinced me that I wanted sex as badly as he did.

Later my sophomore year, he convinced me that I might be pregnant - he thought the condom broke. I was terrified.

Finally, I told my mom, who went out to buy me a pregnancy test.

I wasn't pregnant.

He'd created this pregnancy scare so I'd feel I needed him. That's who he was: he'd do anything to make me feel like needed him to survive. 

On my sixteenth birthday, he raped me for the first time; no, that's not true, he'd raped me well before that. See, shortly after we began having sex, I realized that I hated sex and I didn't want to do it. He'd managed to con me into it by making me feel guilty.

He'd even cry.

Not because I wouldn't give in, but because he felt bad for wanting sex when I didn't. Or, at least, that's what he told me. Now I can see he was manipulating me.

Eventually when he wanted to have sex, I'd say "I don't know" or nothing. He'd end up having sex with me no matter what my response was.

Four times (including my sixteenth birthday) he forced me to have sex after I'd clearly said no. Other times, I told him I didn't want to have sex, and he'd reply that he wasn't going to make me but he wanted to "lay" with me. "Laying with me" meant he wanted to lay naked together. He'd say "trust me," but eventually, he'd "lose control" and force me to have sex. I still can't hear someone say "trust me" without crying.

He isolated me from my friends; manipulating me into ditching them because he didn't "trust them." If I wanted to hang with them, he'd make me feel guilty

That's how I lost my best friend. Twice. 

I didn't realize he was emotionally controlling; abusing me.

On the other hand, he was always saying things to make me feel special, "I will always love you and only you," and "If you ever break up with me, I'll be dead mentally and emotionally, but not physically because you asked me not to kill myself."

He claimed he'd been suicidal when we started dating; that I'd saved his life - he planned to kill himself the night he asked me to homecoming. When I said yes, and agreed to date him, he decided he wasn't suicidal. I still don't know if that was a lie.

After I broke up with him in June - I told him I didn't want to be in a long-term relationship for awhile - my mother informed me that he'd been abusive and controlling me. Looking back, she's right.

He'd "buy" my love after he'd abuse me so I'd stay. I'm ashamed that it worked. I dated him longer than I should've.

After our break-up, he stalked me.

He'd show up at my house at all hours. He'd visit my campground. He'd even show up at work. Eventually, I had to hide from him.

I thought I was over him.

I'd had a fling with a guy who broke my heart. Another guy used me. Stupidly, I made out with another guy.

I'm now a freshman in college, finally in a healthy romantic relationship. I still don't enjoy sex; I'm petrified of having another abusive relationship. But I know my new boyfriend would never abuse me.

Lately I've been thinking about the good parts of that relationship; I find myself missing him. I think about the good times; how he'd been practically family.

I learned he'd been planning to propose before we broke up. He'd been looked at engagement rings and was planning to ask my dad for his blessing.

I feel like I'm betraying my new boyfriend, even though I've already told him this - I don't want to keep secrets. He told me not to worry about it; he wasn't upset, he was glad I'd told him.

I want to get over that relationship - to stop missing it. That relationship damaged me. I know I did the right thing by ending it. When I'm home, I miss him.

He's in a new relationship with a friend of mine. He loves her, but I'm afraid he's abusing her. I'd love to warn her, but I know she won't believe me, and I don't want to ruin their relationship if it's healthy.

I feel stuck. I desperately want our relationship in the past, but I don't know how to get over it.

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The Band, do you have any advice for this young woman? Getting over a relationship - any relationship - is tough. She could use your love and wisdom.

Here at The Band, we believe in kicking stigmas to the curb, flinging glitter, and shining a light into the dark. And now?

Your bandmate needs a sounding board.

It's time to Ask The Band!

What a needy title, I know, but the truth is that I really do need help.

It's a long story.

I've been depressed all of my life, but I didn't realize it. I didn't know why I was depressed, so I thought that there was something deeply wrong with me.

After a painful break-up with an ex-boyfriend, it all came out. I did therapy for a while, lived alone - I was actually happy sometimes. I was lonely but okay. 

Then I made a mistake: I chose my current boyfriend as partner. I moved half-way across the world (I'm from Germany, he's living in Mexico) for him. 

He has many secrets that he doesn't share with me. I thought that if I gave him time, he'd eventually trust me. It's been two years... and nothing. 

He's a very cold person. He does not seek out any kind of contact with me. He never talks about anything with me. I'm ignored.. a lot. I know he has lots of work to do, so I don't want to nag at him, causing him more stress. I'm okay with this, because he normally does show some kind of intimacy, interest in me. 

Until two weeks ago... when something happened. I hugged him, and he refused to hug me back. I even asked for a hug, but his response was a cold, "why?" before leaving. He slept on the couch or at work and refused to speak to me.

I had to get to the bottom of this.

Finally, I insisted that he tell me me what was wrong - he accused me of flirting with a teacher at work! (Side note: we work together, he works in a language school and I work in the administration).

I hadn't been flirting with the guy - I was only being nice, like I am to everybody! Still, he continued to accuse me of flirting with the guy. Only... he didn't accuse me like a boyfriend would, he accused me by saying it could cause trouble for him at work.

Of course I am very hurt. 

Yesterday, I didn't go into work as I didn't want to see him. Today at work, a colleague told me me about a phone call she'd overheard. In this phone call, he said these things,

"It's your decision."

"You know about my girlfriend." 

"Can you accept that?"

Call me paranoid but that sounds like he's cheating on me. 

I confronted him about my suspicions (leaving out the bit about the phone call so my colleague - who doesn't know he's my boyfriend - didn't get into trouble), but he denied it. 

There are a lot of other problems with us, but the bottom line is that we never talk. There is no communication between us and it's frustrating. Hell, he hasn't even told me how old he is!

Yes, seriously!

I am highly depressive and I cannot be alone. I know that I need treatment. I have no money whatsoever, which means that I'm stuck in Mexico.

I have no contact to my family as they were abusive and caused my PTSD - among other things. I have no friends that would take me in and take care of me. 

I know that breaking up with my boyfriend would make me even more depressed and suicidal. I know that I don't want to die! I just can't handle the emotional pain; I need somebody to be there for me. I'm currently taking anti-depressants and anti-anxiety agents to sleep. I guess may start needing those anti-anxiety medications during the day, too.

I need help so badly... but have no means of getting it.

The Band, how can I ask anybody to take care of me until I am okay again?

And thank you for The Band Back Together Project; I'm so glad I can share my story with you.

Thanks for reading my story - I hope you are okay!

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So, The Band, how can we get this woman the help she so desperately needs?

Here at The Band, we believe in kicking stigmas to the curb, flinging glitter, and shining a light into the dark. And now?

Your bandmate needs a sounding board.

It's time to Ask The Band!

I came from an abusive home when I was a young Dreamer - abuse both emotional and physical. As I grew, I was determined never ever fucking ever to be in a relationship in which I was made to feel worthless. 

I haven't.

The one boy who ever dared to hit me ended up with a broken nose. He swung once, made contact, then I did.

As an adult, I cannot fathom how people who are just as strong-willed as I am get into that kind of relationship. 

One of my three best friends was "engaged" to this guy (we'll call her Dawn, which is not her real name; and he'll be Douche). I say "engaged" because they really didn't have any plans to get married any time soon. They've been together for almost two years.

She fell pregnant in February, and they found out in May. He's never been one to pick up after himself...nor to hold a job for any length of time. See, his grandparents have handed him everything he's ever wanted, and he's a Douche because of it.

Three months into the pregnancy, Dawn had enough of him lazing around the house, taking her extra money, going fishing with his drinking buddies, leaving her to clean the house he's ransacked all damned day long.

So she kicks him out.

He lives with his grandparents for a while, then moves down to the town where her dad lives to shack up with this other girl - telling her he loves her; they've waited three years to be together.

'Scuse me?

Up until a month ago, he didn't want anything to do with the pregnancy, the baby or Dawn. Then, he contacted her, saying he wanted to make amends. She believed him. However, he didn't apologize to anyone like he promised her he would.

Two weeks ago, I got texts from him stating that I would never see the baby, that I wasn't allowed into the room during birth because that's a special moment (even though I'd been with her the entire pregnancy, classes, moodswings, cravings, everything).

He went on to say that if complications meant Dawn wasn't going to make it, since he was the biological father, my husband and I would never see baby.

I tried showing her this and she said that she'd confronted him, but there was no taking it back. I was still was planning on being in the delivery room.

Then, she began to avoid my husband and I - started lying to us.

Saturday night, at 8:30, I got a Facebook message from her dad: "Are you with Dawn at the hospital?"

DAFUQ?

I changed into real clothes and headed to the hospital.

I was not allowed in the room. I was glared at from the hallway while he stomps his Douche ass outside for a ciggy.

As he leaves, the desk nurse put a note up on Dawn's door: No Visitors - Check at Desk.

So we wait ("we" being Dawn's best friend since they were seven). People show up and leave. We're still there. Catch a few zzz's here and there in the waiting room.

Can't take it anymore.

We're pacing.

We go get breakfast.

We came back to see that the recliner and rocker are both out in the hall, and we can hear the doctor doing push counts.

Around 9:30, Douche came out with a water glass, glaring. As he goes back in, he makes the comment: "you'll never see her." Douche's Granny and sister show up.

9:52, Baby makes her entrance. First people to see her go in at 11:00 - his Granny and sister.

In between, I'm texting my husband, who's getting madder and madder, realizing that Douche is an even bigger Douche than we realized. He's had enough, and we're taking the car back that Douche wasn't supposed to be driving - yet all his fishing shit is in the trunk.

Nope - insurance and car are still in our name, and I'm not letting him fuck up our lives because he's a Douche. We'd been selling Dawn a car, and she'd quit paying, didn't get insurance, and he tore up the contract that we'd given her. So we took it back.

I actually do get to see her, but I drop the bomb that the car's coming home with us.

I was called a "fat, nasty, white-trash, hateful cunt" (I'm okay with that); that I'll never see her again, and my husband is a fat piece of trash. I left the room, feeling strangely... elated.

Granny's pissed, wondering how they're going to get home. But wait? Douche has a truck with an extended cab. Not my fucking problem how they get home (which does hurt - leaving baby semi-stranded).

We talked on the phone at length with her dad, who planned to visit that night. He plead with us not to do anything drastic, so we didn't. We've hidden the car at a cop friend's house (let's see you try to do anything there, Douche!).

In the two days since baby was born, we've heard lots of new, interesting tidbits of information: "people can change" (Dawn), "you try to break us up, I'll fucking kill you" (Douche to Dawn's dad - no one else actually heard it, so there's no real proof; Papa has never been a liar), "I still love you guys, but it was bad timing" (Dawn - I'll give her that. It would have been bad timing at ANY time we did it. The key capture just happened to work out).

Now, she's starting to tell people on her Facebook wall that they "don't know what they're talking about," and "everyone needs a second chance." That doesn't sound like her because she's given a second chance... and a third, and it still hasn't changed.

Should I wait for the ball to drop when he actually hits her instead of just emotionally manipulating and controlling her? I'm scared for her, but even more so for baby.

How do I help her since I've been banned from her presence as long as he's around - since he doesn't have a job, he's always around - and can't have friends showing her what he's doing to her?

This is breaking my heart.

How? Why? What can I do?

(head in hands in despair and disgust)

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Do you, The Band, have any advice for this Band Member who is in a terrible situation?