For everything you need to know about wedding planning, order "How to Have a Lovely Wedding." Send a business-size, self-addressed envelope, plus check or money order for $3.95 ($4.50 in Canada) to: Dear Abby, Wedding Booklet, P.O. Box 447, Mount Morris, IL 61054-0447. (Postage is included.)
Loss of Self Esteem Is No Game for Victims of Domestic Abuse
DEAR ABBY: I was appalled by the letter written by the retired therapist, "Dr. Howard Bott," who said that a victim of domestic abuse who confides in her friends is somehow responsible for the abuse. His suggestion that somehow the woman named "Sara" was playing a "game" for dramatic effect was unbelievable.
Women who are abused by spouses and significant others believe that they are powerless to stop the cycle of abuse. Friends and family need to show the victim that their love is unconditional, gather information about a "safe plan" from their local victim/witness or women's shelter, and assist her when she's ready to leave the relationship. They also need to be patient with the victim.
Ask any member of my family and they'll tell you it takes a long time for the victim to rebuild that self-esteem and to know she's capable of changing the situation. Our daughter was in a similar relationship for more than seven years. When she finally found the courage to leave, it was too late. He stalked and murdered her.
Please tell your readers that they should NEVER, EVER consider domestic abuse to be a "game." It's not. It has deadly consequences. -– BEEN THERE, SUPERIOR, WIS.
DEAR BEEN THERE: Please accept my sympathy for the tragic loss of your beloved daughter. In recent years, law enforcement and behavioral therapists have become more knowledgeable about the cycle of domestic violence -– and all agree that it is not to be taken lightly. Read on:
DEAR ABBY: I was shocked and angered at how much blame "Dr. Bott" placed on "Sara," the victim of domestic abuse.
I dated a young man for more than five years before we finally married. "Mike" had never laid a hand on me. Three weeks into our marriage, he started shoving me into walls, slapping me, dragging me around the house and throwing me down stairs. I believed it was my fault. "If only I had not made him so mad," "maybe if I had a second job so we had more money," "if only I had cleaned the house better," etc. I was convinced that I was a horrible, ugly, stupid human being, and I was too embarrassed to tell family and friends.
The people at work saw through my lies and made me admit what Mike was doing. I cannot describe the relief I felt. These wonderful people never failed to tell me every day that it wasn't my fault, that I needed to leave Mike.
One day I had a terrible bruise on my arm. "Jake" walked over to me, took my hand and told me that of all the people in the world this happens to, it shouldn't be happening to me because I was smart and beautiful. He talked for 10 minutes about what a wonderful person I was. I couldn't stop crying. Abby, no one had ever said anything like that to me.
That night, I went home and suddenly saw Mike for who he really was -– a sorry excuse for a man without a job, who couldn't get his life together, who drank and smoked pot –- and when he became disillusioned with a world he couldn't control, he took it out on me with insults and violence. I left him that night.
This September, Jake and I will celebrate four happy years of marriage with our beautiful 3-year-old son. It took counseling, prayer and love, but I realize that Mike had problems, and what he did to me was inexcusable.
Today, I am the beautiful, smart, confident woman I had always wanted to be. I thank God daily for the angels he sent to help me. Blaming the victims of domestic violence only perpetuates the cycle. Only when we become outraged at the abuser, when we make hitting your partner and your kids inexcusable, will we have a chance to stop this horrible epidemic. -– TRULY BLESSED IN NORTH CAROLINA
DEAR TRULY BLESSED: Amen!
WIFE SAYS HUSBAND IS WRONG TO CLAIM HE'S ALWAYS RIGHT
DEAR ABBY: Like most of your readers, I never thought I'd be writing to you, but I'm at my wit's end.
I am a 38-year-old married woman. My husband doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, doesn't fool around, is physically fit, great in bed and not afraid to shower. He works at a full-time job, as well as a part-time job, and he's an equal partner in the area of child care. So, what's my problem?
This man has never admitted he was wrong about ANYTHING in the 13 years we've been married! He has never apologized for any thoughtless thing he's done, has never acknowledged that anything he's ever said has caused me pain or embarrassment, and refuses to admit that this isn't normal.
When I let him know this really bothers me, he'll joke and say, "Someday, if I'm ever wrong, I'll apologize." I'll admit that my response is usually a smart-aleck insult, but I think that after all these years of being married to Mr. Perfect, I'm entitled.
I love this guy, I really do. But I don't think I can bear to spend the rest of my life with a man who thinks that my feelings are unimportant. I'm not usually one to hold a grudge, but since he won't apologize about anything, I stay angry at him much longer than I should about inconsequential things. Short of divorce, what do I do? -– FRUSTRATED
DEAR FRUSTRATED: Your husband is a 9 on a scale of 10 –- and that's a pretty terrific score. When he says something hurtful or embarrassing, perhaps you should be slower to make a "smart-aleck" comment, and instead let him see an honest reaction. It would make it more difficult for him to joke his way out of an apology.
P.S. Believe it or not, the inability to admit one is wrong is a sign of insecurity.
DEAR ABBY: The poem you printed, "Cocaine," really hit home because I have a daughter who got hooked on it, and she has destroyed the lives of everyone around her.
Enclosed is a letter from her 11-year-old daughter. I wish you would print it; maybe my daughter or some other parent will see it and realize how their drug use is affecting the families they leave behind. -– CAROLYN IN ALABAMA
DEAR CAROLYN: Your grandchild's poignant letter is well worth space in this column. Read on:
"Hello, my name is Candi. I'm going to tell you what drugs did to my mother. She left me, my dad and my brother who is only 2 years old. He cries at night for her. Sometimes I cry, too. My dad is really hurt. Me and my brother will grow up without a mother.
"Well, you heard what drugs will do to people. So, please -– don't do drugs."
DEAR ABBY: Since Sen. Gramm's letter appeared in your column, congressional offices across America have been bombarded with requests for flags flown over the Capitol. This is great! It's wonderful to see so many patriotic citizens wishing to display Old Glory.
Unfortunately, the prices Sen. Gramm quoted were out of date. Those who wish to obtain a flag should contact the local office of their congressional representative or senators for a list of the correct prices so delivery will not be delayed.
Thanks, Abby. Once again, you've provided a great service for your readers. –- A CAPITOL HILL READER
DEAR CAPITOL HILL READER: Thank you for setting the record straight. Readers, your telephone directory lists the telephone numbers for the local offices of your representatives and senators in the section titled "U.S. Government."
To order "How to Write Letters for All Occasions," send a business-size, self-addressed envelope, plus check or money order for $3.95 ($4.50 in Canada) to: Dear Abby, Letter Booklet, P.O. Box 447, Mount Morris, IL 61054-0447. (Postage is included.)
WARNING TO TEEN DRIVERS STILL PACKS POWERFUL PUNCH
DEAR ABBY: I am writing to request a piece you printed some time ago. It was called "Please God, I'm Only 17." My nephew, 17, was just killed in a car accident. Would you please run it again? Thank you, Abby. -– KATHY KNUTTER, INDEPENDENCE, MO.
DEAR KATHY: That piece is one of the most powerful I have ever run in my column, and it's one of my most frequently requested. Young people confirm that it has made them think twice about their driving habits and encouraged them to be careful. You are right; it should run again. Read on:
PLEASE GOD, I'M ONLY 17
The day I died was an ordinary school day. How I wish I had taken the bus. But I was too cool for the bus. I remember how I wheedled the car out of Mom. "Special favor," I pleaded. "All the kids drive."
When the 2:50 bell rang, I threw all my books in the locker. I was free until 8:40 tomorrow morning! I ran to the parking lot, excited at the thought of driving a car and being my own boss. Free!
It doesn't matter how the accident happened. I was goofing off -- going too fast. Taking crazy chances. But I was enjoying my freedom and having fun. The last thing I remember was passing an old lady who seemed to be going awfully slow. I heard the deafening crash and felt a terrible jolt. Glass and steel flew everywhere. My whole body seemed to be turning inside out. I heard myself scream.
Suddenly I awakened; it was very quiet. A police officer was standing over me. Then I saw a doctor. My body was mangled. I was saturated with blood. Pieces of jagged glass were sticking out all over. Strange that I couldn't feel anything.
Hey, don't pull that sheet over my head! I can't be dead. I'm only 17. I've got a date tonight. I'm supposed to grow up and have a wonderful life. I haven't lived yet. I can't be dead!
Later I was placed in a drawer. My folks had to identify me. Why did they have to see me like this? Why did I have to look at Mom's eyes when she faced the most terrible ordeal of her life? Dad suddenly looked like an old man. He told the man in charge, "Yes, he is my son."
The funeral was a weird experience. I saw all my relatives and friends walk toward the casket. They passed by, one by one, and looked at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen. Some of my buddies ware crying. A few of the girls touched my hand and sobbed as they walked away.
Please -- somebody -- wake me up! Get me out of here! I can't bear to see my mom and dad so broken up. My grandparents are so racked with grief they can hardly walk. My brothers and sisters are like zombies. They move like robots. In a daze, everybody. No one can believe this. And I can't believe it, either.
Please don't bury me! I'm not dead! I have a lot of living to do! I want to laugh and run again. I want to sing and dance. Please don't put me in the ground. I promise if you give me one more chance, God, I'll be the most careful driver in the whole world. All I want is one more chance!
Please, God, I'm only 17!
What teens need to know about sex, drugs, AIDS, and getting along with peers and parents is in 'What Every Teen Should Know.' To order, send a business-size, self-addressed envelope, plus check or money order for $3.95 ($4.50 in Canada) to: Dear Abby, Teen Booklet, P.O. Box 447, Mount Morris, IL. 61054-0447. (Postage is included.)