telling(spoiler)
Question:
(scuse this, just one of those irresistable urges to tell on my mom.) I don’t have a middle name cause my mom said "Oh I couldn’t think of anything; they’re just trouble anyway." but my siblings have middle names. my siblings got cars when they turned sixteen; i had to work and buy my own, it took me two years. When I got accepted into grad school and was moving out of town, she invited me over to give me a "present" and I foolishly went and was given an insurance policy for my grave plot in a local cemetary. When I pointed out that I was in fact *leaving* town and not likely to be buried locally, she said loudly, "I’ll get your body back here if I have to drag it down here myself!" i don’t love you mom. Got no reason. what you call a sacrifice is just your manipulation, and i mean that word in a very direct sense, its your way of keeping your hands on me. So I could be a shy invisible quiet girl and disappear into your own psychotic fantasy world you need to sustain you. that’s my role, the family sponge, ignored but needed for your survival. your needs alone could kill me. I guess you wanted to kill me when I left town, thats why you bought a grave plot. Geez, what were you thinking? you think babies are love dolls? you think they’re toys? did it ever occur to you they’re human beings? i’m sick again, and my throat hurts, and it constantly reminds me that You wouldn’t take me to the doctor and You wouldn’t spend the money to get my tonsils out. Yeah, and you made "sacrifices" to put food on the table, yeah right, but you could always afford to take the other kids to the doctor, but my problems were in my "imagination." Okay then, if this is my imagination, then okay, I imagine you feel guilt that burns in your chest every day, that keeps you up at night (much like the panic attacks that kept me up at night as a kid and went undiagnosed and untreated thanks to you), and that in some psychic way you see visions of me getting raped and know what it feels like. After all you want to be closer, so come closer, come on in, look around. Its a filthy trailor and the air smells like deisel fuel and his cock tastes like deisel fuel, why don’t you have a taste? Too bad you like girls; this isn’t your cup of tea. Well then lets take a walk further back in the past, shh, don’t let them hear you, now look: there’s your darling good daughter, the one who is better than me, in the closet fucking our cousin. Had enough? I don’t care. I’ve had enough. I’m leaving now, you stay here and be the guardian of these memories. This is your fabrication, your perverse design for a life you carelessly created and misused, and you should keep these memories, not me. You stay here tonight. Not me.
Response:
(((((((((Salamander))))))))) You are very couragous, both to have dealt with those things in the first place, and to be able to let them out here. I hope you are able to lay these burdons on your mother, where they belong, and be free of them yourself. Kylie. — "Yoda of Borg are we: Futile is resistance. Assimilate you, we will".
– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – (scuse this, just one of those irresistable urges to tell on my mom.) I don’t have a middle name cause my mom said "Oh I couldn’t think of anything; they’re just trouble anyway." but my siblings have middle names. my siblings got cars when they turned sixteen; i had to work and buy my own, it took me two years. When I got accepted into grad school and was moving out of town, she invited me over to give me a "present" and I foolishly went and was given an insurance policy for my grave plot in a local cemetary. When I pointed out that I was in fact *leaving* town and not likely to be buried locally, she said loudly, "I’ll get your body back here if I have to drag it down here myself!" i don’t love you mom. Got no reason. what you call a sacrifice is just your manipulation, and i mean that word in a very direct sense, its your way of keeping your hands on me. So I could be a shy invisible quiet girl and disappear into your own psychotic fantasy world you need to sustain you. that’s my role, the family sponge, ignored but needed for your survival. your needs alone could kill me. I guess you wanted to kill me when I left town, thats why you bought a grave plot. Geez, what were you thinking? you think babies are love dolls? you think they’re toys? did it ever occur to you they’re human beings? i’m sick again, and my throat hurts, and it constantly reminds me that You wouldn’t take me to the doctor and You wouldn’t spend the money to get my tonsils out. Yeah, and you made "sacrifices" to put food on the table, yeah right, but you could always afford to take the other kids to the doctor, but my problems were in my "imagination." Okay then, if this is my imagination, then okay, I imagine you feel guilt that burns in your chest every day, that keeps you up at night (much like the panic attacks that kept me up at night as a kid and went undiagnosed and untreated thanks to you), and that in some psychic way you see visions of me getting raped and know what it feels like. After all you want to be closer, so come closer, come on in, look around. Its a filthy trailor and the air smells like deisel fuel and his cock tastes like deisel fuel, why don’t you have a taste? Too bad you like girls; this isn’t your cup of tea. Well then lets take a walk further back in the past, shh, don’t let them hear you, now look: there’s your darling good daughter, the one who is better than me, in the closet fucking our cousin. Had enough? I don’t care. I’ve had enough. I’m leaving now, you stay here and be the guardian of these memories. This is your fabrication, your perverse design for a life you carelessly created and misused, and you should keep these memories, not me. You stay here tonight. Not me.
Response:
damn, salamander, I don’t know what to say… except i’m sorry.
– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – (scuse this, just one of those irresistable urges to tell on my mom.) I don’t have a middle name cause my mom said "Oh I couldn’t think of anything; they’re just trouble anyway." but my siblings have middle names. my siblings got cars when they turned sixteen; i had to work and buy my own, it took me two years. When I got accepted into grad school and was moving out of town, she invited me over to give me a "present" and I foolishly went and was given an insurance policy for my grave plot in a local cemetary. When I pointed out that I was in fact *leaving* town and not likely to be buried locally, she said loudly, "I’ll get your body back here if I have to drag it down here myself!" i don’t love you mom. Got no reason. what you call a sacrifice is just your manipulation, and i mean that word in a very direct sense, its your way of keeping your hands on me. So I could be a shy invisible quiet girl and disappear into your own psychotic fantasy world you need to sustain you. that’s my role, the family sponge, ignored but needed for your survival. your needs alone could kill me. I guess you wanted to kill me when I left town, thats why you bought a grave plot. Geez, what were you thinking? you think babies are love dolls? you think they’re toys? did it ever occur to you they’re human beings? i’m sick again, and my throat hurts, and it constantly reminds me that You wouldn’t take me to the doctor and You wouldn’t spend the money to get my tonsils out. Yeah, and you made "sacrifices" to put food on the table, yeah right, but you could always afford to take the other kids to the doctor, but my problems were in my "imagination." Okay then, if this is my imagination, then okay, I imagine you feel guilt that burns in your chest every day, that keeps you up at night (much like the panic attacks that kept me up at night as a kid and went undiagnosed and untreated thanks to you), and that in some psychic way you see visions of me getting raped and know what it feels like. After all you want to be closer, so come closer, come on in, look around. Its a filthy trailor and the air smells like deisel fuel and his cock tastes like deisel fuel, why don’t you have a taste? Too bad you like girls; this isn’t your cup of tea. Well then lets take a walk further back in the past, shh, don’t let them hear you, now look: there’s your darling good daughter, the one who is better than me, in the closet fucking our cousin. Had enough? I don’t care. I’ve had enough. I’m leaving now, you stay here and be the guardian of these memories. This is your fabrication, your perverse design for a life you carelessly created and misused, and you should keep these memories, not me. You stay here tonight. Not me.
Response:
Thank you for fighting, surviving. Thank you for demonstrating that we can move beyond our parent’s sickness. We carry scars but in time they fade. You have great strenght inside you. It takes great strenght to face the darkness of one’s past. Today the sun is bright here in Athens and I can face the sunlight for today. I hope the sun is shining were you have made your home. I hope the darkness fades. {{{{{[[[[[Salamander]]]]]}}}}}} G
Response:
(scuse this, just one of those irresistable urges to tell on my mom.) I don’t have a middle name cause my mom said "Oh I couldn’t think of anything; they’re just trouble anyway." but my siblings have middle names. my siblings got cars when they turned sixteen; i had to work and buy my own, it took me two years. When I got accepted into grad school and was moving out of town, she invited me over to give me a "present" and I foolishly went and was given an insurance policy for my grave plot in a local cemetary. When I pointed out that I was in fact *leaving* town and not likely to be buried locally, she said loudly, "I’ll get your body back here if I have to drag it down here myself!"
Go Salamander Go. Sincerely Stewart — The Metaphor Man *and* The Great Defender of the Self (remove the SPAMBLOCK) Please send me an e-mail copy of your posted response.
Response:
(scuse this, just one of those irresistable urges to tell on my mom.)
Children have a right to be raised by people who love them, and not people who use them. I am sorry that this was your childhood. Maggie
Response:
+ + (scuse this, just one of those irresistable urges to tell on my mom.) + Children have a right to be raised by people who love + them, and not people who use them. I am sorry that this + was your childhood. + Maggie Children have no rights. That is the problem.
Response:
as i read this i couldn’t help feel a welling of extreme sorrow how can people treat wonderful innocent children this way? why? i can’t understand . sorry you went through this nightmare – happy it hasn’t stopped you. all my life i’ve wanted to use the following excuse: "sorry i can’t do that today, i’m working on my dissertation". you get to say it for real. that is pretty awesome, considering. jean – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – (scuse this, just one of those irresistable urges to tell on my mom.) I don’t have a middle name cause my mom said "Oh I couldn’t think of anything; they’re just trouble anyway." but my siblings have middle names. my siblings got cars when they turned sixteen; i had to work and buy my own, it took me two years. When I got accepted into grad school and was moving out of town, she invited me over to give me a "present" and I foolishly went and was given an insurance policy for my grave plot in a local cemetary. When I pointed out that I was in fact *leaving* town and not likely to be buried locally, she said loudly, "I’ll get your body back here if I have to drag it down here myself!" i don’t love you mom. Got no reason. what you call a sacrifice is just your manipulation, and i mean that word in a very direct sense, its your way of keeping your hands on me. So I could be a shy invisible quiet girl and disappear into your own psychotic fantasy world you need to sustain you. that’s my role, the family sponge, ignored but needed for your survival. your needs alone could kill me. I guess you wanted to kill me when I left town, thats why you bought a grave plot. Geez, what were you thinking? you think babies are love dolls? you think they’re toys? did it ever occur to you they’re human beings? i’m sick again, and my throat hurts, and it constantly reminds me that You wouldn’t take me to the doctor and You wouldn’t spend the money to get my tonsils out. Yeah, and you made "sacrifices" to put food on the table, yeah right, but you could always afford to take the other kids to the doctor, but my problems were in my "imagination." Okay then, if this is my imagination, then okay, I imagine you feel guilt that burns in your chest every day, that keeps you up at night (much like the panic attacks that kept me up at night as a kid and went undiagnosed and untreated thanks to you), and that in some psychic way you see visions of me getting raped and know what it feels like. After all you want to be closer, so come closer, come on in, look around. Its a filthy trailor and the air smells like deisel fuel and his cock tastes like deisel fuel, why don’t you have a taste? Too bad you like girls; this isn’t your cup of tea. Well then lets take a walk further back in the past, shh, don’t let them hear you, now look: there’s your darling good daughter, the one who is better than me, in the closet fucking our cousin. Had enough? I don’t care. I’ve had enough. I’m leaving now, you stay here and be the guardian of these memories. This is your fabrication, your perverse design for a life you carelessly created and misused, and you should keep these memories, not me. You stay here tonight. Not me.
Response:
I’m not sure what to say, but (((Salamander)))) ((((Salamander)))) – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – (scuse this, just one of those irresistable urges to tell on my mom.) I don’t have a middle name cause my mom said "Oh I couldn’t think of anything; they’re just trouble anyway." but my siblings have middle names. my siblings got cars when they turned sixteen; i had to work and buy my own, it took me two years. When I got accepted into grad school and was moving out of town, she invited me over to give me a "present" and I foolishly went and was given an insurance policy for my grave plot in a local cemetary. When I pointed out that I was in fact *leaving* town and not likely to be buried locally, she said loudly, "I’ll get your body back here if I have to drag it down here myself!" i don’t love you mom. Got no reason. what you call a sacrifice is just your manipulation, and i mean that word in a very direct sense, its your way of keeping your hands on me. So I could be a shy invisible quiet girl and disappear into your own psychotic fantasy world you need to sustain you. that’s my role, the family sponge, ignored but needed for your survival. your needs alone could kill me. I guess you wanted to kill me when I left town, thats why you bought a grave plot. Geez, what were you thinking? you think babies are love dolls? you think they’re toys? did it ever occur to you they’re human beings? i’m sick again, and my throat hurts, and it constantly reminds me that You wouldn’t take me to the doctor and You wouldn’t spend the money to get my tonsils out. Yeah, and you made "sacrifices" to put food on the table, yeah right, but you could always afford to take the other kids to the doctor, but my problems were in my "imagination." Okay then, if this is my imagination, then okay, I imagine you feel guilt that burns in your chest every day, that keeps you up at night (much like the panic attacks that kept me up at night as a kid and went undiagnosed and untreated thanks to you), and that in some psychic way you see visions of me getting raped and know what it feels like. After all you want to be closer, so come closer, come on in, look around. Its a filthy trailor and the air smells like deisel fuel and his cock tastes like deisel fuel, why don’t you have a taste? Too bad you like girls; this isn’t your cup of tea. Well then lets take a walk further back in the past, shh, don’t let them hear you, now look: there’s your darling good daughter, the one who is better than me, in the closet fucking our cousin. Had enough? I don’t care. I’ve had enough. I’m leaving now, you stay here and be the guardian of these memories. This is your fabrication, your perverse design for a life you carelessly created and misused, and you should keep these memories, not me. You stay here tonight. Not me.
Before you buy.
Response:
(((((((((((((((((((Salamander))))))))))))))))))))
Response:
- Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Children have no rights. That is the problem. Not legally maybe and that should be changed. Sadly we let anyone who is capable have children. Why are there no tests to pass when it comes to having and raising children? Perhaps there should be a test for living. I mean, it seems like we let anyone who is capable of living remain alive. I think there should be some kind of test to pass when it comes to who will be allowed to live. Sincerely The solution is the problem. Stewart
I totally agree with the idea of a test to live! Now who should write the test? I would certainly like to help. I know a few questions that would stump some of my least favorite people 
Actually, I forgot to put the 
at the end of the sentence about passing a test to raise children 
Although, I do like the idea of testing, I realize that it isn’t an option. We would suffer a shortage of young people working to pay taxes, and those taxes are supposed to support me in my old age. We can’t have that ;-P Maggie p’d and e’d just being goofy
Response:
+ + (scuse this, just one of those irresistable urges to tell on my mom.) + Children have a right to be raised by people who love + them, and not people who use them. I am sorry that this + was your childhood. + Maggie Children have no rights. That is the problem.
Not legally maybe and that should be changed. Sadly we let anyone who is capable have children. Why are there no tests to pass when it comes to having and raising children? Maggie
Response:
Children have no rights. That is the problem. Not legally maybe and that should be changed. Sadly we let anyone who is capable have children. Why are there no tests to pass when it comes to having and raising children?
Perhaps there should be a test for living. I mean, it seems like we let anyone who is capable of living remain alive. I think there should be some kind of test to pass when it comes to who will be allowed to live. Sincerely The solution is the problem. Stewart — The Metaphor Man *and* The Great Defender of the Self (remove the SPAMBLOCK) Please send me an e-mail copy of your posted response.
Response:
– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – x-no-archive: yes I don’t have a middle name cause my mom said "Oh I couldn’t think of anything; they’re just trouble anyway." I don’t have a middle name either, middle names are quite uncommon in Germany. but my siblings have middle names. my siblings got cars when they turned sixteen; i had to work and buy my own, it took me two years. Are your siblings older or younger than you? When I got accepted into grad school and was moving out of town, she invited me over to give me a "present" and I foolishly went and was given an insurance policy for my grave plot in a local cemetary. This sucks completely, there is no excuse for your moms cruelty. i don’t love you mom. Got no reason. what you call a sacrifice is just your manipulation, and i mean that word in a very direct sense, its your way of keeping your hands on me. So I could be a shy invisible quiet girl and disappear into your own psychotic fantasy world you need to sustain you. that’s my role, the family sponge, ignored but needed for your survival. your needs alone could kill me. I guess you wanted to kill me when I left town, thats why you bought a grave plot. Yep, sounds like she wished you were dead 
((((((((( {{{{{{Salamander}}}}}} Geez, what were you thinking? you think babies are love dolls? you think they’re toys? did it ever occur to you they’re human beings? i’m sick again, and my throat hurts, and it constantly reminds me that You wouldn’t take me to the doctor and You wouldn’t spend the money to get my tonsils out. I had a tonsillectomy when I was five. I guarantee you missed nothing.
Except being free from throat infections! I’m glad your abusive mom is not a part of your life anymore.
Me too. Thomas
To answer your questions, I’m not answering ANY of your questions until you answer this: What is that stuff you were eating for breakfast?!
Response:
I’m so moved every time i look at this thread, that so many people really *heard* me. Do you know how many times I’ve felt like i was screaming for help and yet no one noticed? I really don’t know how to thank each of you. I mean i’m really moved. Thank you.
Response:
She was wrong. You shouldn’t have had to have a mother like that. you should have had a mother that gave you tons of unconditional love. you should have had a mother that took you to the doctor. everyone should have these things in a mother. i’m sorry you didn’t. i’m sorry that she leaked her poison onto you.
– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – (scuse this, just one of those irresistable urges to tell on my mom.) I don’t have a middle name cause my mom said "Oh I couldn’t think of anything; they’re just trouble anyway." but my siblings have middle names. my siblings got cars when they turned sixteen; i had to work and buy my own, it took me two years. When I got accepted into grad school and was moving out of town, she invited me over to give me a "present" and I foolishly went and was given an insurance policy for my grave plot in a local cemetary. When I pointed out that I was in fact *leaving* town and not likely to be buried locally, she said loudly, "I’ll get your body back here if I have to drag it down here myself!" i don’t love you mom. Got no reason. what you call a sacrifice is just your manipulation, and i mean that word in a very direct sense, its your way of keeping your hands on me. So I could be a shy invisible quiet girl and disappear into your own psychotic fantasy world you need to sustain you. that’s my role, the family sponge, ignored but needed for your survival. your needs alone could kill me. I guess you wanted to kill me when I left town, thats why you bought a grave plot. Geez, what were you thinking? you think babies are love dolls? you think they’re toys? did it ever occur to you they’re human beings? i’m sick again, and my throat hurts, and it constantly reminds me that You wouldn’t take me to the doctor and You wouldn’t spend the money to get my tonsils out. Yeah, and you made "sacrifices" to put food on the table, yeah right, but you could always afford to take the other kids to the doctor, but my problems were in my "imagination." Okay then, if this is my imagination, then okay, I imagine you feel guilt that burns in your chest every day, that keeps you up at night (much like the panic attacks that kept me up at night as a kid and went undiagnosed and untreated thanks to you), and that in some psychic way you see visions of me getting raped and know what it feels like. After all you want to be closer, so come closer, come on in, look around. Its a filthy trailor and the air smells like deisel fuel and his cock tastes like deisel fuel, why don’t you have a taste? Too bad you like girls; this isn’t your cup of tea. Well then lets take a walk further back in the past, shh, don’t let them hear you, now look: there’s your darling good daughter, the one who is better than me, in the closet fucking our cousin. Had enough? I don’t care. I’ve had enough. I’m leaving now, you stay here and be the guardian of these memories. This is your fabrication, your perverse design for a life you carelessly created and misused, and you should keep these memories, not me. You stay here tonight. Not me.
Response:
It is so hard to know what to say when one reads a story like this. It makes me feel terriobly sad for you to have had such a life. It makes me feel very angry- furious, in fact- that parents can be so cruel to their kids, so damned self-centered that they use their kids to satisfy themselves instead of being responsible parents. It makes me feel thankful that you can express all of this for yourself. And it makes me thankful that we have ASD and people who understand. Keep up the good work in getting better. Hugs and caring Stan – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – (scuse this, just one of those irresistable urges to tell on my mom.) I don’t have a middle name cause my mom said "Oh I couldn’t think of anything; they’re just trouble anyway." but my siblings have middle names. my siblings got cars when they turned sixteen; i had to work and buy my own, it took me two years. When I got accepted into grad school and was moving out of town, she invited me over to give me a "present" and I foolishly went and was given an insurance policy for my grave plot in a local cemetary. When I pointed out that I was in fact *leaving* town and not likely to be buried locally, she said loudly, "I’ll get your body back here if I have to drag it down here myself!" i don’t love you mom. Got no reason. what you call a sacrifice is just your manipulation, and i mean that word in a very direct sense, its your way of keeping your hands on me. So I could be a shy invisible quiet girl and disappear into your own psychotic fantasy world you need to sustain you. that’s my role, the family sponge, ignored but needed for your survival. your needs alone could kill me. I guess you wanted to kill me when I left town, thats why you bought a grave plot. Geez, what were you thinking? you think babies are love dolls? you think they’re toys? did it ever occur to you they’re human beings? i’m sick again, and my throat hurts, and it constantly reminds me that You wouldn’t take me to the doctor and You wouldn’t spend the money to get my tonsils out. Yeah, and you made "sacrifices" to put food on the table, yeah right, but you could always afford to take the other kids to the doctor, but my problems were in my "imagination." Okay then, if this is my imagination, then okay, I imagine you feel guilt that burns in your chest every day, that keeps you up at night (much like the panic attacks that kept me up at night as a kid and went undiagnosed and untreated thanks to you), and that in some psychic way you see visions of me getting raped and know what it feels like. After all you want to be closer, so come closer, come on in, look around. Its a filthy trailor and the air smells like deisel fuel and his cock tastes like deisel fuel, why don’t you have a taste? Too bad you like girls; this isn’t your cup of tea. Well then lets take a walk further back in the past, shh, don’t let them hear you, now look: there’s your darling good daughter, the one who is better than me, in the closet fucking our cousin. Had enough? I don’t care. I’ve had enough. I’m leaving now, you stay here and be the guardian of these memories. This is your fabrication, your perverse design for a life you carelessly created and misused, and you should keep these memories, not me. You stay here tonight. Not me.
Response:
can’t find the original posting now, but thought it was very brave as well as moving. sorry you went through so much undeserved. ben
Response:
maggie Not legally maybe and that should be changed. Sadly we let anyone who is capable have children. Why are there no tests to pass when it comes to having and raising children? Stewart Perhaps there should be a test for living. I mean, it seems like we let anyone who is capable of living remain alive. I think there should be some kind of test to pass when it comes to who will be allowed
to live. stewart you are such a sarcastic butthead. but you can be so funny. k
