This is one of those times. I thought by taking a part time job that I'd be so much more in charge. BS.

Why is it that every time I take a job I have 10,000 people who think they are my boss?

I've GOT to get out of non-profit.

I was such a burn out in high school. I hated school. I felt like such a dweeb. I skipped so much, I nearly didn't graduate. I never kept in touch with anyone from highschool except for three or four, and only one of them was in my graduating class. So, recently I guess nostalgia has gotten to me and I began contacting folks from my high school era.

There was this guy, Eric. He was in band, played the trumpet, was so flipping popular. He was two years ahead of me.

My boyfriend at the time, who ended up being my now husband, decided we should date other people. What he meant was HE should date other people and I should sit in the wings and wait for him. I didn't like this "let's date other people" but if that was what he wanted then okay.

So, I was standing in the hallway near the bandroom one day and Eric shows up. Remember I was always a dweeb? Well, somehow I came into my own in my senior year. The braces were gone, the acne was kind of under control. I had great boobs, fantastic hair.... what can I say.

All the sudden this popular guy was noticing me! He asked me on a date. I jumped on the opportunity. He jumped me.

He was the second guy I ever had sex with. What was different with him from the first guy, my now husband, is that I was not in love with Eric. I knew I wasn't in love with him, even at 17 years of age. I knew we were just screwing around. When I was with Eric, he always expected every meeting to end in sex. The one time I decided I was not going to have sex with him at the end of our date, he took me home and kicked me out of his car, and I never spoke to him again.

What is that saying, "time heals all wounds?"

I don't know why, but I decided to see how Eric is doing. Through the great grape vine, I heard he'd become a minister. THAT was kind of hard to believe, but interesting none-the-less.

I sent him a message through the on-line alumni board. I received a message back that he read it, but he never responded.

Soooooooooooooooo ... I've been wondering why. Seriously, there could be so many reasons: (a) he is ashamed of our past relationship, (b) he really didn't like me anyway, but I was a good piece of ass, (c) he doesn't want his wife to know about me, (d) he still has feelings for me, (e) he doesn't give a flying fuck.

Why do I care? Our "relationship", if you can call it that, ended 28 years ago.

Death is a funny, macabre thing. I'm not talking the grief part, I'm talking the "strange way people act" part.

Since 2002, hubby and I have lost two of his grandparents and his mother and my father, my father most recently. Everytime this happens I see people act differently than they normally would. Or maybe this death thing brings out the real person, and they actually act out the REAL them without the candy coating.

My Dad's death has been particularly hard. After he retired, he gradually starting hitting the gin, until he was drinking from morning to til bed time. In 2001, my mom and I had to have him court ordered to a psych ward in a local hospital because he was threatening suicide and threatening to harm my mom.

He was dried out in the hospital but from that point forward he never forgave my mom, and I think he never really forgave me. He blamed my uncle, who had at one time been a lawyer, and the reason he blamed him was he didn't think my mother and are were smart enough to figure out how to "Baker Act" him (have him court ordered to a pysch ward) The funny thing about the Baker Act in the state of Florida is that a person is only supposed to be incarcerated against their will for 72 hours. Dad was there for 17 days. He could never admit he had done anything wrong, or that his way of thinking was skewed.

During this time I was suffering my own depression, but I'd hidden it from everyone. I didn't want anyone to know that I constantly thought about suicide. During Dad's stay in the psych ward, I had to testify before doctors how he'd been behaving.

My dad called me afterward and told me I wouldn't get anymore Christmas presents. Now isn't that the stupidest thing you ever heard? I mean really, is that all the amunition he had? Big deal. I didn't need his Christmas presents. But it bugged me. The reason why is because Christmas was always sooooooo important to my dad. He loved Christmas, he loved family gatherings, he loved shopping, and suprising and singing carols and everything surrounding Christmas.

So it hurt when he said that to me.

On the other side of the coin was that I was horribly worried about my mother. She actually moved all her stuff out of the house and was going to get an apartment. When he got out of the hospital, I had to pick him up. My mom refused. But he talked her into meeting at the park, they talked for a couple of hours and he convinced her to come back home.

Since 2001 I've done nothing but worry about my mother. I am the only sibbling in the area, and the only one who could really see to her well being. I was already depressed. That sent me over the edge.

Keep in mind that in the middle of this my husband, the jerk he can often be, was upset that I wasn't tending the house, washing his clothes, I ate his cottage cheese with my mother one day at lunch. Despite the fact I was going through an incredibly emotional time, all he could think about was how it affected him - - - NO! - - - how it impositioned him!

His father died in 1994 and as his father was an only child, and he and his mother were divorced, we inherited his grandmother. She was a character, but she was also very demanding, and very critical. She often made my children cry. Still, I did my "Christian" duty and took care of her, taking her to the grocery store, driving her to doctors visits, physical therapy, and allowing her to live in my home on more than one occassion.

When she fell seriously ill and had to be moved into a nursing home, my husband said the most evil things to me - - - I never cared about his grandmother, I didn't have her best interests at heart, I was self serving. I know that grief causes a person to say those things, but there is this part of me that thinks this is my husband. Aren't spouses supposed to be nurturing during a time of crisis? For as mean and nasty as that woman could be, I still loved her and I still took care of her.

She would say the nastiest things to me when she thought no one was around. I'd tell my husband, and I guess he didn't believe me until one day she didn't know he was there, and he caught her.

So I was completely confused by his behavior, and I was still trying to come out of depression.

Gramma died that year. I was so filled with grief. As much as she was verbally abusive, she could also tell stories like no ones business. I loved her and ... hate isn't appropriate... I had issues with her.

It was during this time when my husband was so abusive toward me that I decided to have my affair. My head was in such a flipping weird place, and I was so mad at my husband because he is so self serving at times.

I have to say that my husband is a hard worker. So was my dad. But just because someone is a hard worker and provides for their family does not give them the right to verbally (and sometimes physically) abuse their family!

I had the affair --- some guy I met on line who in truth meant nothing to me. My husband found out and it became a national crisis. You see, my husband thinks he can treat me any way he wants and I'll never leave. He can be as emotionally abusive as he wants, but HE LOVES ME, dontcha know! When he found out about the affair, he wigged out. I mean he totally wigged. His entire self concept his whole adult life is built around what IIIIII think of him.

During my counseling in the deepest darkest part of my depression, I learned that I had to stop worrying about what he thought of me, and I needed to learn what IIII thought of me! Oddly enough I really came to love me, despite my flaws. I think I'm a pretty cool person!

So he kept trying to put me down, and I kept telling him to shut the fuck up. He doesn't like it when I say that, but it seems to be the only thing I can say to get his attention when he gets on a verbally abusive roll.

He started really weirding out on me at the beginning of 2003 and I begged him to go to counseling, but he refused. So I went alone. Eventually he went, too. Three times our counselor suggested he take SSIDs. He refused every time.

In May of the same year, my son and his girlfriend announced their engagement. My son's girlfriend was from Bolivia, and they decided it would be much easier for our family to go there for the wedding rather than their hug family come here. In hindsight, I disagree. Our family did not fly to Bolivia except for a small handful. Plane tickets were $1000 a piece, and the wedding was at Christmas. That's beside the point. From the moment in May when my husband learned we were going to Bolivia for my son's wedding until the day it happened in December, and actually for a couple months after, he complained every goddammed day! He actually had these moments of paranoia when he thought we'd be kidnapped while there because we were U.S. citizens. I mean, he was sure it was going to happen.

I told him he DID NOT have to go! But I damned well sure was going! And I figured once I got back from the wedding I'd start looking into divorce proceedings.

At this juncture, I seriously thought about divorce. Not that I hadn't thought about it before. That was the reason for the affair. I figured once my daughter graduated from high school, I was outta the marriage.

Just before the wedding, his mother started having issues with her balance. That was just before Christmas. While in Bolivia, we found out she had a brain tumor. When we got back we found out she had more than one tumor and also a spot in her lung. A month later we found out it was in her lymph nodes. From there it just went down hill.

Now here is the kicker. When hubby realized his mom was dying he decided it was time to start taking a seratonin inhibitor.

The difference in the man was night and day.

I actually could live with him! He was fun to be around. He was not longer paranoid (one paranoia incident was just too bizarre for words), he was no longer verbally abusive (for the most part), and I thought to myself, okay... I can live with this man if he is taking medications.

She died April 13, 2007. He continued to take meds until just a few weeks ago.

I saw an immediate change in him.

My father has been in and out of the hospital 7, 8, 9 times? I lost count since last October. He went in again about two weeks ago and died June 8.

I've had to spend a great deal of time with my mom, who although was also mentally abused by my father, is taking this very hard. She lived with the guy for 57 years. There is something to be said for being alone after that amount of time.

Again my husband is totally focused on himself and the fact that things aren't getting done around the house. I'm not catering to him and his needs, so therefore in his mind, something is wrong with me.

What causes a grown man to act this way?

I told him when he went off his meds I'd let him know if he was acting inappropriate. He is. I've told him he needs to go back on but he refuses.

I'm thinking divorce again. I don't like thinking it, but I am so weary of having lived this crap for the past 27 years, then watched him actually be a person I could live with, then he just goes off his meds and he is back to the mental abuser I have dealt with for so long.

I guess what bugs me the most is that whenever someone dies, he goes into this mode where he verbalizes how much he is so put upon. I want to tell him to put on his big boy panties and deal with it! Just fucking deal and stop complaining!!!!! That's what the rest of us do! That or take the happy pill!

Who do I tell this all to? I have one friend who knows the whole picture. I don't want to sound like a complainer, but I'm sick of living this fucking life. I didn't just fall out of love with this guy, I fell out of like! I don't like him!

Dad went back into the hospital this morning for the sixth time since October. Mom called me at 7:30 this morning telling me he was acting unresponsive (meaning he couldn't get his act together to get out of bed and get dress) and that he seemed confused.

It is funny in a macabre sense that when they were trying to put the catheter into Dad he kept saying things like, "Will you cut it out!" The tone of voice was exactly what I remember as a kid when we would get a little too loud around the house. He threatened to punch out the nurses who were putting in the catheter, but I don't think he even knew what he was saying.

As I looked down at him on the emergency room bed, I saw my eyes staring back up at me. He didn't know where he was, he didn't know what was happening. Everyone has always said I look most like my Dad. Of my three siblings, I'm the only one who inherited his brown eyes. I'm thinking to myself as I'm trying to sooth him, God, I'm so much like him, and so far different.

Later, after they decided the catheter wasn't going to work (what an ordeal) and let poor Dad be, Mom and I settled down. She was knitting. Honest to God, I can't tell you when my mother took up knitting. It like sprung up overnight. She never knitted when I was a kid. It must have been some inherent thing that happened when she became a grandmother.

~Note to self~ BUY KNITTING NEEDLES. MAYBE YOU'LL GET GRANDKIDS.

Anyway, so Mom and I are shooting the breeze while Dad is snoring in his emergency room bed. We start talking politics. Every time I have talked politics with my mother in the past, I ended up angry with her because she expected that because she thought a specific way, then I must of course think that way, too. GAH!

But, this time suddenly we are on the same page. Okay, what kind of crazy God turned my world upside down. My dad is looking at me through my own eyes, not recognizing me, and my mom is agreeing on politics.

This stuff is exhausting.

In 2001 my mother and I had to have my Dad court ordered to a psych ward because he was threatening my mother, and threatening to commit suicide.

The 17 days he spent in the hospital were so emotionally filled that after it was all over I ened up plummeting into depression myself. My reasons for depression had little to do with the episode, but it was that match that lit the powder keg.

Dad is an alcoholic. Since retirement he started drinking 24/7. This is basically what brought on that episode, but I think there is much deeper hidden issues inside of him.

Four weeks ago, Dad colapsed at the dining room table at dinner time. My mother called 911 and he has spent the last four weeks in the hospital. I do not understand what occured, but his mind snapped. He was delusional and hallucinating. He had no balance, had to have help getting to and from the toilet, and generally just urinated on himself rather than ask for help. According to his physicians he was suffering from alcohol related dementia.

At one point he was admitted to the geriatric psych ward for three days.

This has been another emotional rollercoaster. Mom is a basket case during times like these, making her own odd statements and acting strangely at times. I am the only sibling in the area, so have spent a great deal of time trying to help her sort through this.

Dad was transfered to the physical rehab center of the hospital a few weeks ago, but has still continued to suffer hallucinations even as late as this past Tuesday. These hallucinations include things like seeing a pig on the hospital lawn, seeing little children sleeping on the floor next to his bed at 2:00 AM, believing the nurses painted all the walls orange then had them white again by the morning, seeing my mom sitting across from him then seeing a whisp of wind make her disappear. To Dad this all seemed rational.

The Rehab social worker indicated that Dad's insurance was running out and although he was going to be released she didn't feel he was ready to go home. Mom and I scrambled to find an assisted living facility that could handle dementia, and even though Mom is his medical surregate, he had to be declared incompetent by a psychiatrist for Mom to MAKE him go there. I need to stress that we asked Dad to go voluntarily, which was a total farce. He swears he is fine, and he was never sick to begin with, and has been "incarcerated" the past four weeks.

I wrote a two page letter to the psych doctor, because guess what... no one can tell us when the psych doctor might arrive to evaluate Dad. If I had a clue when he would show his face, I would have been there. In the letter I spelled out my Dad's odd behavior, including his many episodes of hallucination, and his delusional state of mind.

Guess what. Because my Dad knows his name and his date of birth, he has been deemed competent. Oh, and the doctor shared my letter with my Dad. Thanks for putting a strain on our relationship, asshole psychiatrist.

Here is the thing. The last time my mom and I sought a court order for the psych ward, I stuck my neck out big time and in the end basically got it chopped in half.

I stuck my neck out this time and again got my head chopped off. I spent an enormous amount of time away from work, not to mention emotional energy to make sure that Dad does not endanger himself or anyone else, and has more time to recuperate. I seriously am concerned about my mom, her own mental and physical well being. But my hands are tied.

There is a part of me that wants to complain to the hospital administrator and risk management. If my father comes home on Sunday, as planned, is he going to jump in his van or my mom's car, drive off for a bottle of gin, and become lost, or run over a hapless soul? Who is responsible? I tried to keep him in a place that was safe for everyone.

My mom flip flops from anxiety to resolve. I don't know whether to keep pursuing this assisted living thing, or just cave and let the two of them live in their dysfunctional world and not care.

It is the caring that has me teary eyed now. I feel so helpless and I DON'T WANT TO CARE ANYMORE! What does a person do to turn off the emotion when they were brought up to care about family?