Me, Myself and the One I Forgot - copyrighted

Me, Myself and the One I Forgot- Copyrighted.

I started this blog to heal, to vent and to pray.

To Heal. 

To Vent.

To Pray - for others.

After enduring... surviving through years of sexual abuse, mental abuse and emotional abuse, I'm strong enough (at least I am today) to go public.  My joy would be that my story would help another woman, no matter her age, survive her circumstances of abuse.

Here's my story....

I was born with crooked hips. My hips weren't detected until I started walking - we were living in Germany at the time. The German Military doctors didn't know what to do with my condition, so they put me in leather splints to try and straighten my hips/legs. It sort of worked, but I've been clumsy all my life trying to walk with one leg longer than the other. I was also in pain often.

The first time I can remember being molested, was when I was when I was 4 or 5 years old, so 1973/1974.  I wasn't in school yet.  Friends of my parents had lots of kids. We'd go over there often.  It was alright, but after a while, their middle daughter started molesting me.  She said she wanted to be a boy and she would take me to her bed.  She'd pretend we were married and she'd do everything sexual she could without the correct plumbing.  Not much was left out - she did it all to me.  I remember after she was caught she was so mad at me.  She'd spit in my food and make me eat it. She'd pick her nose and have her older sister or friends pick their noses - stick it in my food and make me eat it.  They tell me I was ugly... kids were just mean.

Sometime around this time, my parents split up. Mom remarried. Don. This guy beat the hell outta her.  Almost killed her, my Gramma and me.  It was only 9 months and it was horrible - he was the meanest drunk I've ever met.  We had to live with his parents for a bit. I feel badly for the way I treated his mother.  She'd talk to my Gramma about me, saying I just was so unhappy and angry. I'd tell that poor woman every day that I was mad at her and didn't like her.  My Gramma told me to be nice.  Who can be nice when your step-daddy scares the hell outta ya'??  I couldn't even pee right!

The next incident of molesting came the summer of 1975. I was 5 years old and I was molested by 6 boys. Their ages ranged from age 6 to about 18 years.  I wasn't the only girl they hurt.  Two or three of the boys were related to Willee.  Willee was my age.  I remember her laying my head in her lap as she sat cross legged or Indian Style, as we used to say in the 70's.  She told me, "If you lay still they'll get done faster."  How awful was that. I know that Willee's Dad was an abusive alcoholic and her mother was a victim of some form of abuse also.  Willee's brothers, due to the view from their house into our first floor apartment, used to stand naked in front of their windows that faced into our apartment.  After that, my Dad built a tall fence around our patio area.  I've since used Google Earth to find those apartments.  They are still there, except now, every first floor apartment has a fenced in patio area. 

Another girl that was consistently hurt - and hurt worse than myself was Cindy.  There was a song that played in the 70's that those boys would taunt her with because her name was in the song.  I remember hiding any place we could to stay away from those boys, but Willee had to tell them where we were, or she'd get hurt herself.  Cindy had a little brother. My Mom watched us during the day.  I'm not sure what Cindy's mom did for a day job; Mom would tell me that I couldn't go over there because Cindy's Mom had lots of boyfriends.  My adult mind can only imagine!

In the apartment above us lived two lesbian women.  I loved going up there. I felt so safe.  Sometimes they'd let Cindy and I inside if we were hiding from the boys.  I know they spoked to Mom about it, but other than them liking my Mom, I don't know what came of it all.  Mom told me, "If you go up there, don't eat their brownies."  After awhile she told me they were lesbians and said I shouldn't go visit them anymore. They needed their privacy.  Yes, she told me what lesbians were.

One of the boys involved was named Benjamin. He was our age and in my Kindergarten class.  Benjamin was the little brother of one of the big boys.  His job was to act as look-out and to get us where the big boys could get to us.

Cindy and I would walk to school, but one day those boys drove up next to us and tried to get us into their car.  We didn't go, but we did run to the crossing guard.  We tried to not go to school the next day, but that didn't work out so well ;)  On our way to school was a hill - not very big to an adult, but as a 6 year old it was huge!  Cindy and I would run to the top of the hill and lay down in the tall grass until those boys would drive by.  One day we were peeking up and they yelled from the car that they could still see us.  Cindy was terrified.  I felt so badly for her.  When we were at school, Cindy, Willee, Benjamin and I were all in the same classroom.  Cindy would get so mad at me if I was kind to Benjamin.

All of this was wearing me down however.  One day the school called my Mom to say that they believed I was depressed and needed counseling.  I asked my Mom what counseling was and she told me it was for crazy people and then she started to cry.  She asked, "You're not crazy are you honey?"  I said, "No, Momma, I'm fine."  She smiled, wiped away her tears and said she was so glad.  But I was going nuts!  I was scared of everything.

Finally, it all came to a head.  Those boys got Cindy and I into the laundry area.  They had Cindy on top of the washers and they had our undies off.  Cindy was screaming, they were going at it with her.  I got away.  I now clearly remember a huge angel standing in the entry way of the laundry area. We wanted me to go towards him.  I wasn't afraid of him and I quickly went.  No one saw me leave - it was the angel protecting me.  I calmly walked back to our apartment and knocked on the door. Mom kept it locked and I couldn't get back in unless she opened the door.  I knocked and knocked and started kicking the door - I started screaming for her to come to the door.  When she finally got there to open the door she yelled at me for making so much noise. I said, but I lost my underwear.  She said, "How in the hell did you lose your underwear?"  I said, "Those boys took them.  They are taking Cindy's right now."  That did it.  She finally either believed me or clearly understood everything for the first time. She went running to the laundry area and saved Cindy.  That night my Dad was enraged.  My uncle came over and they went up to talk to the Dad of those boys.  The cops were there and said, "You're lucky this isn't my daughter."  He then turned to my Dad and said, "Just don't kill him. I don't want to have to take you in and make your daughter go through any more trauma."  It was California. It was the 70's - what can I say?!

After this we moved. My Mom said, "She can't grow up here, it will kill her."  So we moved to Berkeley.  We moved into an apartment below an auntie of mine.  It either wasn't a nice apartment or it wasn't a nice neighborhood because there were lots of break-ins in this building.  There was an older couple that took care of me alot, as well as my Auntie.  Also, my mom's best-friend, who happened to turn into my step-mom later!  It was at this complex that we were robbed. It was also here that I grew marijuana plants.  This wasn't the first time that we grew "flowers for Tyra". Me, a 6 year old who happened to  have a large crop of buckets in the kitchen where I watered the marijuana that my parents grew.  My 'flowers'.  Back to being robbed.  One night the guys were waiting outside our bedroom windows.  My parents hung wire hangers and empty beer bottles in the windows so if someone tried to come in through the windows, they would end up making lots of noise.  So, this one night when they guys were waiting for us to turn out the lights, I had to sleep in the closet in an inflatable raft.  I was told to not come out no matter what I heard, Mom or Dad would come and GET me.  I hear the break-in and I'm terrified. I'm crying. I wet myself and I stay put.  I hear my Dad yelling, Mom screaming and then someone finally comes to get me.  I never did get in trouble for wetting myself.  We got dog after dog, but we couldn't afford to keep feeding them, so they always had to be "let-go."  We lost lots of dogs.

It was after this that my Mom said, "We can't live here. She can't grow up here, it will kill her."  Little did she know... all of these memories remained repressed until I was 30 years old.  My son, turning 6 years old that year was my trigger.  Up until this time, I had a sense of impending doom.  I felt that I or someone very close to me would either die or be diagnosed with something terrible when I turned 30 years old.  Up until this time, I always thought that if we were burglarized that I'd be raped also.  The little girl in me could not separate the two incidences that happened so closely together.  For years, when my hubby worked the night shift, I'd sleep in jeans and tenney shoes. My thought was, if I had "hard" clothes on a burglar wouldn't be able to rape me as easily.  It wasn't until my memories came back, that I could finally understand that I wasn't crazy. I now knew WHY I had to sleep fully clothed.  I had been sleeping this way for as far back as I could remember!!!

Jumping forward a bit.....

On Dec. 12, 1999 I received a letter in the mail from Dr. James Dobson. It was his regular Christmas letter.  In this letter he kept referring to "the gift" of Jesus Christ.  Now, alot happened to my parents since 1975.  Since that time bad things continued because of their lifestyle choices, but good things also happened.  They quit drinking. They stopped using drugs and we went to church.  My parents were one of the first live worship bands in the county!  It was wonderful.    I took friends to church;  I was baptized as a born-again Christian; I sang in the Children's choir; we played Christian music at home. It was great.  All this to say, I was NOT new to the Christian lingo of salvation and Holy Spirit and "Speaking in Tongues"  I knew my way around the Pentacostal movement, but I did not remember anyone telling me that salvation was a gift - I just knew it was mine.  The term 'gift' I didn't specifically remember.  So, I thought of the only friend I could I ask, without being embarassed.  I called her and said I had a quick question, "I know I"m just blanking out here, it's gotta be something easy."  I explained everything about Dr. Dobson's letter and asked, "What is this gift?"  She turned away from the phone and told her husband that they were going to be late to Christmas practice.  She explained it to me - I was grateful she didn't make me feel dumb and we went about our evening.

On December 16, 1999 I turned 30 years old.

On January 17, 2000 all of my memories of being molested (that I wrote about above) came flooding back.  I could feel them in my undies. I could feel my undies being ripped off of me. I could smell the eucalyptus trees. My voice changed as I cried to that of a 5 year old me. I called my mom hysterical, she confirmed everything.  My husband didn't know what to do with me. I didn't know what to do with me! 

Eventually I went to see a rape counselor.  We couldn't afford counseling so I went to a free clinic in the next city.  It was sponsored by ASTOP.  My counselor was wonderful. She help me tremendously.  I was whizzing through therapy and was sometimes a step-ahead of her.  Like the time I went in with a photo of me taken that summer.  She said that was a step towards healing - to see the child you were when you got hurt. 

I still have a long way to go, and then somedays I'm right there and healthy.  I survive by disassociating myself from her - the 5 year old me - the 6 year old me.  I still don't like to be alone. I still double and triple check the locks even after hubby does.  I don't consider my "girl parts" as PART of me.  They are their own entity.  I see photos of me and I say things like, "She was so sad."  or "That poor little girl."  I wrote a letter to her once telling her it was okay to be with me - the adult me, but she has never really emerged.

Jumping back again....

When we came back to Wisconsin, First grade (1976/1977) was traumatic for me - I couldn't leave my Mom. I cried all day. They got mad at me and kicked her out of the building. They didn't understand the trauma we had been through and Mom didn't say anything to make them understand. 


So, I started First grade late because of unknown reasons.  Sometime during First grade I got the chicken pox!  I missed alot of school, but not so much that they had to hold me back. However, I did miss so much that kids forgot who I was!  Since I started late to begin with, they didn't really have enough time to get to know me.  I remember going back to school with all my pox marks and scabs yet. The kids teased me pretty bad, so bad that I cried often and had to be sent to the Principal's office.


I was in the Principal's office often.  I had stomach aches, back aches and lots of tears.  One day the Principal was so mad at me for being back in his office that he told the secretaries, "Pull her pants down and give her something to cry about. Then we can see what's really going on."  Well, the secretaries yelled at him, saying "We can't do that!"  and he just mumbled some junk and walked away.  They called my Grandparents after that.  Little did they know back then - from First grade on - that I had very crooked hips pushing on my lower lumbar region causing me great pain.  They couldn't SEE anything wrong so they thought I was lying.  I don't know that I ever had x-rays taken as a child 0 it was the 70's afterall, but if they had, I'm sure they would have seen my crooked hips.

After this, my parents got a job at a restaurant.  This was about 1976.... There, the owners niece would take me upstairs and into her uncle's bedroom, she'd try to have sex with me.  She'd "get off" by dry acts, until one day, clothes off, she had her way.  My Mom caught her though and never let me go with her again.

The later half of 1976 to the later half of 1978 are still completely gone from my memory banks. My Mom tells me life was pure hell during that time and I probably don't want to know.

Jumping to today for a moment - I was visiting  Christian Coffee Shop tonight. It is now 2012.  While there, I watched a young father bring his daughter into the coffee shop with him. She looked to be about 7 years old - approx. late first grade of maybe second grade.  I had a flash back to about 1979.  It was of my Dad holding my hand while we walked somewhere.  He said something nasty and I replied with something like, "Daddy, you shouldn't say that, Mommy wouldn't like it." His reply to me was well, don't tell her.  To which I said, "I'm going to tell on you."  He then called me a butt-hole.  I told him that I knew what a butt-hole was and I was really going to tell on him now.  I couldn't help but compare the differences between the father and daughter I saw tonight to my own father and myself on that cold winter afternoon.  How different my life may have been if my parents had been able to hold on to their Christian practices and hold not only their liquor & drugs, but their tongues as well.  My heart rejoiced for the happy little girl I saw tonight and it broke for the little girl that I used to be, but is still in pain.


It was also maybe 1979 when my Grandfather walked me to a parade in town. He didn't hold my hand and his only words to me that I can remember were, "Tyra, I take big strides. If you come with me, you keep up and I don't want to hear any whining."  I said, "I can do it Grampa."  I don't remember him yelling at me to keep up and I don't really remember  whining to him about slowing down or that my legs were hurting, so I must have done alright.  Again though, no gentleness or holding my hand, but I do know he loved me.

Things happened with my parents and they split up for the final time in 1979/1980, it was the end of Fourth grade. They had alot of "parent guilt" they didn't know how to deal with such sexual devastation.  I was an embarassing textbook molestation case, crying out for help and they couldn't/wouldn't do anything to help me. I don't think they knew WHAT to do for me and just hoped for the best.

After Dad left, Mom joined a dating service. 1980-1981.  She dated Bruce - my gym teacher; Paul Yeager - the guy who put insulation into the house we lived in; Warren - the guy who bought her a car; some guy from India, but he was looking for a permanent way to stay in the USA; another guy that took us to the rodeo in Madison - he was kinda dorky and didn't like me around very often and a local attorney - he helped her file a civil suit against a drunk driver that almost killed us.  She finally did land a guy that stayed around....

Mom got a job. It's now 1981-1982 and Mom needed a sitter. She found one for me, her name was Mindy.  She was nice, but when we'd go to her house, I'd listen to her and her boyfriend having sex. I'd just wait by her bedroom door until they were done. I couldn't do anything else and since it was in the country there wasn't anything else I could do because I might get hurt. She could have at least turned on the TV for me!!

Mom's boyfriend... He came over one night with a bag of groceries. I was so hungry. He made us steaks and baked potatoes that night. They were worried about my eating too much because it had been so long since I had eaten meat.  He told me to eat slowly and that I didn't have to finish if I felt full.  However, he drank alot - she started up too.  One night, after a long drunk, a friend of theirs, passed out in the living room, tried to get me to go to bed with him. I was about 12/13 years old. This would have been sometime between 1981/1984.

In the Middle School I attended (1982-1984), some of the boys were very sexually aware.  During movies, in the darkened classroom, they'd talk 'dirty' to me. They tried to get my hands down their pants during class. They rubbed up against me when they were hard.  They make all sorts of obscene gestures to me when the teachers weren't looking.  They tried to get me into the dark hallways or an unused classroom.  They tried to fondle me, french kiss me or get my pants opened. I was also a cheerleader, so after home games they liked to try to get under my skirt.  I was completely unprotected and no one helped me.  Mom and her boyfriend were usually at the bar, gone until all hours of the night.  They come home, she'd yell at me for forgetting something on my chores list, I'd get up in the wee morning hours and finish my chore(s) and go back to bed.  Unfortunately, it was also during this time that my Mom taught me how to French kiss and dirty dance - this was before the movie "Dirty Dancing"!

I was an ugly duckling when I was in middle school. I totally looked like I was under construction.  I tried a couple of times to throw Mom a surprise birthday party. There was one time, while I was decorating for the party that she had called from work. Her boyfriend answered the phone and she asked what I was doing. He didn't want to tell her so he said, "She's been in her room all day."  To which she replied, "She just needs a swift kick in the ass."  After he hung up, I was all excited. "Did she know?" Did she suspect anything, I wondered?  He told me what she said and I was crushed. I went ahead and continued decorating and even baked a cake for her. She never knew that I knew what she said and I don't know what she thought once she got home and saw what I did for her.


The summer between my 8th grade year and my Freshman year (1984) I didn't eat hardly anything. I ate lots of yogurt and exercised constantly.

During my freshman year of high school I was not sleeping right, not eating right, had major self-esteem issues, my Mom was usually drunk, her boyfriend was nice if he was sober, but nasty if he was drunk.  Most of the sexual jokes I know - I learned from him.  Any racist comments I heard - I heard from him.  X-rated movies, magazines and photos of him and my mother... I got from him.  I was lonely and way too sexually aware. No one told me that I could tell a boy 'No!' I certainly didn't learn it from my Mom!  During this year I dated a guy that totally took advantage of me.  Although I didn't tell him, "No", he KNEW better.  To get me away from him, my Mom sent me back to California.  I only stayed for that summer and part of the school year. Then I went back.  He tried to see me again - I let him and then it finally ended when my Dad asked me to end it.  I said, "Alright Dad. I'm sorry." and that was it.  However, my self-esteem was so low. I had a bag of pills to take to end it all. I had the letter written - which I still have, by-the-way.

During this time of my Mom being drunk, we obviously were not close.  She was drunk. She still blames me. Says I ruined her life.  She said she couldn't wait for me to turn 18 so she would be done being a mother and could just finally live again. She blamed me for all of her unhappiness.  She even left me one night.  I started to drink straight out of the bottles. I didn't care if I had sex with a boy or not. I started hanging out with the wrong crowd. I ran away as often as I could. Never very far, just to the neighbors. They'd call her to tell where I was, she'd say she didn't even notice.... She was the drunk adult - I was the 14 year old child.  Hmmm... Suicide note at the ready, pills all set to go. If it wasn't for my Lola Mom trying to convince me that my Mom was evil and to not let her kill my spirit, I would have gone through with it. However, I figured that she would twist it all around and not really care anyway. The way I saw it - staying alive would piss her off more than my dying would.

When I was a sophomore in High School I dated a guy that I knew from grade school in Horicon.  He was a big time druggie and I didn't know it.  He'd do deals and my Mom's boyfriend (the heavy drinker mentioned above) - (who was THE narcotics investigator for the county) kept me out of arrests way. I had NO IDEA what my boyfriend did when I wasn't with him!  I also had no idea that he had lots of girlfriends.  When I broke it off with him, he beat the crap outta me, made me bleed, yelled at me and then hurt me the only way a guy could. Bastard.  I still can't stand that guy!


You may not be a Bible believer, but most of us believe in a God - well, God protected me from self destruction.  God allows everything to happen for reasons that we cannot comprehend, but I also believe he protects us; and He protected me from hitting that self-destruct button.

I then dated my hubby; got close to my high school counselors (who really didn't do anything for me except listen, which can be big!); I joined AODA, SADD, Pep Club, the yearbook, the school newspaper and I was a Teacher's Assistant - anything to keep busy.  I tried to join choir, but in a drunken rage one night, my Mom made me promise to quit. She didn't want me to sing, if she could no longer sing (I'm assuming like when she was with Dad on the Worship Team).  It was during this time that I stopped eating... everything but canned corn, saltine crackers and Mountain Dew.  I got down to 116# - a 10# weight gain over 5 years.  I dated my hubby for awhile during those last two years of high school and into college.  It was nice being with him. He never asked me to do anything, not even hold his hand.  However, in college, I broke up with him.  I still wasn't happy with myself, I was living in a dysfunctional relationship with my Mom and I couldn't make anyone else happy either.  A couple guys later, I went back to him.  He is now my hubby.

When I was 18, she told me to 'Get the fuck out or join the Air Force.". I asked my boyfriend where he thought I should go. He asked his parents, but they wisely said they would try to help me find someplace nice.  I talked to my Dad, but he didn't have room or else we didn't have the money to do it. I couldn't live with Gramma and Grampa, that would cause too much family turmoil and they didn't really want to deal with pissing off my Mom.  So, I went to live with my best friend and her family. However, when Mom's guy died in 1989, she called me - Gramma called me - everyone called me! "You should be living at home." "You shouldn't have left your Mom." "You shouldn't be living with those people, you're needed at home." So, she kicks me out; no one wants me and I'm in the wrong by living with someone who took me in when I was homeless. She kicks me out - her guy dies - she brings HIS kids into the house to live with her and then when they try to literally take the house away from her, she calls me in for help. Help.... after I went to her and asked for my clothes... groveling in front of her and his kids. Crying because she still had me locked out of the house. I'm now supposed to go and help her. Finally, his kids leave. I'm flat broke. She needs help. I go home. She dated Brian - he was married and needed a place to store his speed boat; she dated Glenn - the married neighbor; I was called by the county Detectives to control my Mother because she was hitting on the Sheriff; his old partner; a fellow detective; she was with Andy - he fixed her garage doors; she married Dave - he needed a place to stay with rooms for his kids, she needed someone to mow the lawn. Eventually, she married again. His name is Terry. She told me he was a rich farmer that she met online. She also told me that she originally was supposed to meet his brother, but Terry really liked her, so she went home with him instead.  She told me to never tell Terry how many times she was married. She didn't want to tell him that she was also married to Don. Don beat the shit out of her for 9 months or so and then almost killed me, my Gramma and her. If it wasn't for me screaming like crazy - in the middle of the country - the neighbors heard and called the cops and saved our lives.

Anyway, now I'm 19 years old. ... Maybe, MAYBE.... one year later, I'm ready to get outta there again. It's not a healthy relationship.  Anytime your Mother 'hits' on your boyfriend-turned-fiance-turned-husband... it isn't healthy.  However, here I am - pretty much healthy and happy after 20+ years of being with him. 

I know it sounds like life with Mom was always bad and dysfunctional.  However, up until 1999 - I couldn't remember her sober.  Finally, after all those years of horrible dysfunction, I could remember my Mom as a sweet loving Mom.  I was not being a good Mother to my own little ones. I didn't have a role model. I didn't know what to do.  I was in the middle of post-partum depression. I tried to commit suicide, again.  However, in my deepest cries, God heard me and showed me what I needed to know, when I needed to know it.  If it wasn't for regaining my memories at that precise time - I would not have known how to be a mother, because I didn't remember my mother!  She was awesome when I was younger!  She was kind, compassionate, caring, gentle. She didn't raise her voice - she didn't yell at me.  She was firm and I had slight boundaries. It was the 60's mindset.  I am my own person, she was there to guide me along. Not too many rules, because I was a separate creature; this was my path and I had to make my own decisions.  She baked me raisin bread, with icing, that we'd eat for breakfast. She'd make me coffee with lots of cream and sugar and called it coo.  We'd warm up home-made tortillas, spread them with butter, cinnamon and sugar, roll them up and eat them.  She made cookies, doll clothes, my clothes and love.  When I was really small, about 3-4 years old I remember daisy chains in my hair; learning to dance in San Francisco; parties that my parents went to with lots of snacks (marijuana makes you hungry!); living with other people with lots of children around.  It was a great time to grow up, if you were kept safe.

I HAD to know the bad so I could remember the good. I had to know the good so I could be a better Mom.  I had to be a better Mom because I was turning into my drunk Mom.

Backwards a bit.... I wouldn't trade my life during those turbulent times for anything.  During the time when Mom was at her worst, we lived on a game farm.  I had: geese, ring-necked pheasants, Chinese pheasants, peacocks, wood ducks, mallard ducks, mountain sheep, sheep sheep, cows, chickens, pigs, a horse, buffalo and a raccoon named Honey.  I had a dog named Sarge.  It wasn't all great, but I loved those animals.  We were in the country for 7 1/2 years and I'm glad we were.  She was drinking all the time and she was just as nasty sober as she was when she was drunk. 

I used to think that she was nasty only when she was sober, but as life went on, I saw her through discerning adult eyes and realized that it didn't matter if she was drunk or not.  Her treatment towards me was determined by my being completely dependent upon her for everything to survive; her jealousy of any other woman in my life; whether or not anyone was looking on to see her being "nice" and later, after I was married and had children, her treatment changed if my husband was around. She used to be nice if the kids were around, but eventually, even they weren't immune to her abuse. She verbally attacked my sweet 9 year old and his physical appearance. It took my Mother-in-Love and I YEARS to get him to smile in public.


Currently, I am re-reading a book suggested to me by my sexual assualt therapist.  When she told me about it, her disclaimer was, "If you can get past the fact that the two authors are lesbians, it is a very helpful book."  I laughed, she asked what was funny. I said, "It's funny that you tell me that, since I could have 'swung' either way.  No, the fact that they are lesbians doesn't bother me in the least."  I write this to break down barriers. I write this to heal.

Today (2012) I'm still struggling with my relationship with my Mother. My husband's family is dealing with a cancer diagnosis of a loved one and a lengthy hospital stay.  My beloved Auntie is also in the hospital, albeit, one clear across the county from the one my husband needs to currently visit.  I'm struggling with Fibromyalgia, Endometriosis, PTSD, Anxiety attacks and life in general - it's all hitting a once time.  So, when my Mother called me recently and, very sweetly, asked, "How are YOU doing honey?" I fell for it. I fell hard - hook-line-and-sinker... I told her I was thinking of going to the doc for some anti-anxiety meds.  Once again, she lashed out in a jealous fit and said, "Tell him you just need a swift kick in the ass and he should just push you out the door."  She thinks I'm always needing attention - that I'm the Drama Queen. (Ironically enough, She's the Drama Queen and I have always gone to extreme lengths to avoid ANY attention!)  It threw me for an emotional spin once again. I sank down deep. I couldn't believe I fell for it. I couldn't believe that her old self was STILL in there!!! For cripes sake already!! How old are we now??!! However, when thoughts of another suicide LETTER popped into my head, this time, I had an even better reason to live than because living will piss her off. This time, I realize how unhealthy our relationship is.  I can now realize that I need to be in a healthy frame of mind for my children and for my future Niece/Nephew.  So, I wrote a different letter.  This is the first time EVER in my life that I have set boundaries with her. I have "called her to the carpet" and laid out, word-for-word, what she did that was wrong. For the first time EVER I told her that she has crossed a line and that I was unwilling to let our relationship continue until she acknowledged and made amends for the things that she recently said. I didn't bring up the past (although I would LOVE to do that!!), I was calm, rational, coherent and I didn't swear.  I told her that I don't have to pick her as a friend and with her current behavior, I didn't even want her as a friend.  Then I MAILED IT!!!  For the first time EVER, I don't really care what she does with that letter. I don't care if she responds in a kind manner or with hostility.  I need to be healthy for my family and this is the first and final step needed for me to be healthy all the way around.