The Stories You Cannot Tell

A little background… my mom married my dad when she was sixteen, he was nineteen. Well, twelve years of marriage and 4 kids later, she had an affair and ended up leaving my dad and her kids for the other man. My dad took the four of us and moved to Vegas. I was 6 at the time. I have a few memories from before they were separated, but don’t really have memories between the time I was six until was twelve. I subconsciously blocked out all the crappy stuff and all I know that went on during that time frame is what my family and close family friends have told me. Both my mom and my dad got remarried. My dad married a beautiful, smart woman who was a wonderful mom to her 2 kids and an amazing step mom and role model for us. My mom, on the other hand, married the man with whom she had the affair on my dad. He was an alcoholic. He was a druggie. He was always mad. He was never happy; nothing was ever good enough. He was abusive. He didn’t care about his own 4 children, let alone my mom’s kids. She never said a word when he would abuse her. She never said a word when he would abuse us.

So when I was 16, she finally decided to leave the asshole behind. He and his four kids moved out. It was just her and I in our humble abode. For the first time ever my mother was actually standing on her own two feet. She went from her parents to my dad to her second husband, but now she was starting to do this thing called life on her own. Things were actually starting to get better. Then Alex came along. The divorce was not even finalized before my mom was “in love”. He moved in. He was an alcoholic. He was a druggie. He didn’t care about his own two kids, let alone me. My mom started spending all of her time with him or doing things for him. She didn’t care where I was, when I was coming home, or if I was coming home. I would stay out some nights with friends just waiting for her to call me. I wanted to know if she cared. She didn’t. I never got the call. After about a month, I was practically living at my boyfriend’s house and called my mom about once a week to let her know I was alive. The phone conversation never lasted longer than five minutes.

Not long after he moved in, he was arrested and expedited to California for violating probation. Where did that leave my mom? Where did that leave me? I moved in with my grandma, she quit her job, and she was off to California to live with his mom while he sat in jail for an unknown amount of time. I remember the exact thought that went through my head when she left: I can’t believe she is abandoning me again.

She slipped right back into the drugs, alcohol, and abuse. After living with my grandma for about 3 months I moved back to Vegas with my dad. She never cared to call. She never cared to visit. Not even for holidays or birthdays. After a few years, they moved back to Arizona. That was just last year. I was 19. She landed a few trips to the hospital from “accidents” and “clumsiness” before she pressed charges and he spent a few months back in jail. She is still married to him to this day. She calls from time to time. It’s my turn to not want to call. It’s my turn to not want to visit.

I’m happy that I don’t have the memories from when I was younger. I wish that I could forget the memories from the past few years. For me it was easier to forget than it has been to forgive. I still haven’t forgiven her. I don’t think I ever really will. But when she was here for my brother’s graduation, when she randomly shows up at my house, at my grandpa’s 80th birthday, at my grandparents 50th anniversary – when I am forced to be where she is, I pretend that I forgave her. My family is very religious. They used to always tell me how wrong I am to hold it against her. I’m wrong to hold a grudge. Two rights don’t make a wrong. Everything that is so easy to say when it wasn’t you that sat on the porch and watched your mom leave you for a man that treated her like shit. I got sick of it, so I let everyone believe that I have forgiven her. The truth is I haven’t.

The problem is that I don’t know if I can’t, or if I won’t. Is there a difference?

Signed,

The Daughter you don’t know hates you

Las Vegas

I raped and beat my wife. Now she is divorcing me. She is giving me everything, but taking my children. I fucking hate her!

I was living with my best friend, his cousin and his cousin’s girlfriend in a shitty little basement apartment. None of us were really working, just doing some crimes here and there to pay the rent. We all had been living together since I was released from jail.

Everything was fine for a few months until one day shit changed. I came out of the shower and was getting dressed when the girlfriend decides to confess to me how she thought I was hot and that she wanted to do me since she first saw me.
She’s almost like a pet, except she’s hot and does what I say.
I was flattered at first but then I thought,”Hey, you are my buddy’s girlfriend” I smiled at her and listened to her tell me that she wanted to fuck me, then I went out.

…He believed his girlfriend. The arguement got louder and angrier. Suddenly he took a knife that was on the coffee table and stabbed it into the table…

I called my best friend and asked him what I should do. I thought I should tell his cousin what his girlfriend told me. My best friend told me that I certainly should but that I should wait and do it face to face.

So I made 1 wrong move. I called the girlfriend on her pager and left a message that I was on my way to tell her boyfriend. This early warning was my downfall. She quickly drove home and started laying on the sob story to her boyfriend, making it sound like it was me that came on to her, not the other way around.

I show up a few hours later with my best friend to find the two of them sitting in the living room. She was crying her eyes out, he looked very angry. He starts yelling at me that I tried to fuck his girlfriend, I quickly defended myself, saying that it was all her. He believed his girlfriend. The arguement got louder and angrier. Suddenly he took a knife that was on the coffee table and stabbed it into the table. It stuck in and quivered when he let go. Then he looks at me and says,”You better not sleep here tonight, bad shit will happen!”

…went to another friend’s house where I promptly got drunk and asked for his piece. Now I was drunk, angry and holding a loaded 9mm…

I was pissed off. I didn’t do shit. It was all her.

I stormed out, angry that Iw as being forced out of my house where I paid rent, just because his dumb cunt of a girlfriend lied her ass off to save it. I quickly went to another friend’s house where I promptly got drunk and asked for his piece. Now I was drunk, angry and holding a loaded 9mm. I call my best friend and tell him my plans. He tries to talk me out of going home and then hangs up on me.

10 minutes later he’s at the door. We talk and talk and eventually he convinces me that shooting his cousin is NOT the answer, although at the time I wanted to SO bad. I didn’t like being disrespected in my own house and didn’t appricate the fact the he took his bitch’s word over mine. I calmed down, got more drunk and passed out.

That was the last time I talked to the cousin for over 4 years. He ended up marrying the bitch and had a kid. A couple year later they divorced. A couple years after that, we started talking again thanks to my best friend and Christmas.

After that, we became best friends ourselves. Inseperable.

He was my best man 2 years ago when I got married. Good thing I didn’t shoot him.

Name kept secret
Location kept secret

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A  fter reading the majority of the stories on the site, I have to come share as well. I am filled with school-boy excitement. I have two stories, the first is only relevant because people have no idea what I was like when I was younger. (The second, you’ll see). I would love to tell these stories at coctail parties, but these ninnys will relate a story of taking mom’s car to the beach without permission, and then get poo-poos from everyone else. So, I was a bad seed. We went on so many beer runs (walk in-snatch beer-run out-why hassle with that money thing) that we were contemplating keeping a log of who went where and what clerk was working ( so as to avoid the uncomfortable 7-11 experience. You know things are ill when you walk in and the clerk greets you with, “Hey mother fucker”).

…Vandalism, fights, sex, and, of course, drugs. I was wrong…

I  worked at a store as a bagger, and while I was stocking the coolers at night I would throw two cases of beer in the dumpster with the trash, only to retrieve them later (this isn’t so bad, except I did it 2-4 times a week). Vandalism, fights, sex, and, of course, drugs. I was wrong. Anyway, one night we go to the movies (myself, and two friends). Working the ticket booth is a girl that was a year older than us, Betty (not her real name). After we pay our way in, we mosey on back to the game section of the theater with roughly an hour to kill.

…S1 is likewise a respectable citizen these days, and S2 was beat to death (literally) a couple of years ago…

Well, Betty was epileptic. She was the butt of many jokes at school, due to the inability of anyone/thing (doctors/meds) to keep her seizures in check. So, there we are playing video games (Rampage to be exact), when all of a sudden Betty falls down in the ticket booth and starts siezing. We all ran over being saints, knights in armor and all of that. She was already finishing up with the worst of it, S1 and S2 we’re already over the counter counseling. Nobody was around, so we shared our best “I dunno” looks, then out of the blue S2 pops the cash register and jacks the money. We ran out of there and headed down the back streets to another hangout. I didn’t have anything to do with the money, and neither did S1. It was a huge scandal though. I am sure that folks in my home town still remember, and would love to see the unsavory bastards that did it hanged. S1 is likewise a respectable citizen these days, and S2 was beat to death (literally) a couple of years ago.

…One night, fairly close to the end of our marriage, Lucif-her decides to blow a gasket on her sister and I as we shared a couple of drinks at the house…

S o story next involves my ex-wife. I would love to tell her this story just to hurt her, but the other person involved would suffer as well. My ex was very good looking and I was the stupid schlub that found himself fortunate to have such a thing. Undeserving and all of that. After six months of marriage my ex started turning into Satan’s Sister, and not just to me. To sum this up I caught her cheating. She cried and begged, and I tried to forgive. Wouldn’t happen again and what not. I never got over it, and began the experiental sleeping around, but revenge fornication isn’t all that. One night, fairly close to the end of our marriage, Lucif-her decides to blow a gasket on her sister and I as we shared a couple of drinks at the house. She then proceeds to go into the bedroom, puke on my side of the bed, then pass out.
So what happened next was at least three years in the making. I decided I wasn’t going to clean anything, play ambulance to the toilet, hold any hair etc. I went back out in the living room where her sister was, and after lamenting my ex’s evilness, we started kissing (we had been hot for each other, but it remained unspoken).

…here’s the double punch dear, when we went to the canyon and “broke” your car in, well it had already been done…

S o this is for you, my love. Your sister and I went out into the garage, pushed the back seats of the Subaru down, and did the deed all over your new car (here’s the double punch dear, when we went to the canyon and “broke” your car in, well it had already been done). I must have slept with your sister at least six or ten times, and in ways that you were too boring. The sun had long been up when we went in and passed out on the couch. Yeah, that night. We didn’t fall asleep there, we went to sleep there after romping all night. Piss off.

Name kept secret
Location kept secret

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