17 Upcoming Releases for Current Gen Game Consoles

Game title	Price	Suggested Release Date	Additional features or requirements
**Editted to include contributions by Cookie - 6/27/16
Attack on Titan	?	Aug 30, 2016	-
Batman Arkham VR	Varies by edition	October 2016	Playstation VR release title
Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare	Varies by edition	Nov 4, 2016	Early DLC to PS4
Destiny Rise of Iron expansion DLC	$30	Sept 20, 2016	Requires current console gen games
Final Fantasy VII remake	Varies by edition	2017 or 2018	-
Final Fantasy XII: The Zodiac Age (FFXII remake)	Varies by edition	2017	-
Final Fantasy XV	Varies by edition	Sept 30, 2016	Playstation VR compatible
Gran Turismo: Sport	Varies by edition	Nov 15, 2016	-
Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild	?	2017	-
Mass Effect Andromeda	?	March 2017	-
Persona 5	Varies by edition	Japan: 2016 US: Feb 14, 2017	-
Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - Spirit of Justice	?	September 2016	3DS only
Playstation VR (Virtual Reality headset)	$399	October 2016	Playstation Camera
Resident Evil 7	Varies by edition	Jan 24, 2017	-
South Park: The Fractured But Whole	Varies by edition	Dec 6, 2016
The Division: Survival DLC	?	Summer 2016	-
The Last Guardian	Varies by edition	Oct 25, 2016	-
Titanfall 2	?	Oct 28, 2016	-

The Fantasy Fiction Mumma Blog

Hey friends. I've started a specific blog regarding my pregnancy and parenthood journey. If you'd like to follow me, head over to fantasyfictionmumma.tumblr.com and follow away!

A little note about that blog, though. It has a distinct writer's humor, comparing baby to aliens and baby's actions to the tryouts for Quidditch. You should follow with caution.

But I would LOVE to see you there! Thanks

~~James

As Long As You Don't Answer - A Mental Health Story

Okay, self, let's get real for a moment here. We don't ever just sit down to talk to one another, do we? And whose fault is that? Well, I suppose that would be the fault of the critics of mental healthcare. I know, it seems like pointing the finger, doesn't it? But hear me out for a moment, because I really don't mind if you completely rip apart my wild theory. It's not even a theory as much as it is one of those random thoughts that I need to talk about to figure out the right or wrong of it.

Here goes.

We, as a society, have something of a saying in regards to talking to ourselves and being simultaneously overheard and questioned on it. We'll be standing there at the weight scale, measuring tea into a bulk tea bag for a customer, and we'll say, "Just a little more..." because we need to put a little more tea into the bag to get it to weigh two ounces.

Of course, just our luck, the customer would overhear just enough of our comment to know we'd been talking. But, no no, not enough to know exactly what we had said.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. What was that?" the customer will ask.

"Oh, I was just muttering to myself."

And the customer will respond, "Oh, as long as you don't answer yourself," with a little giggle, because how amusing of the store clerk.

That statement. That statement right there is the one that causes trouble for everyone. But not in a way that I feel like they even notice it. How could they be expected to notice it? They were conditioned to think it was a natural, normal, perfectly acceptable response.

What's wrong with it? You haven't figured it out, have you? But no one has ever asked you to look beyond the initial statement, I suppose. There's always the somewhat silly or snarky responses that we can throw out there.

"I wish someone would respond. At least I'd have someone to talk to when I got bored!"

"I respond frequently, but sadly, they're not always things I want to hear!"

"But who better to converse with than myself?"

Now that I've given myself time to sit and think about it, though, I wonder if by saying, "As long as you don't answer yourself," you're criticizing the reality of mental health? Perhaps I'm not really getting my thoughts out there the way I should. But we do all talk to ourselves, and what is wrong with that? We all have a logical and illogical side to ourselves. When our rational side takes over, we do smart things, and when we let our irrational side take over, things can get pretty crazy.

If we don't let our rational side work things out with our irrational side, though, would we come to the correct moral decision regardless of what we're doing? Regardless of the example of myself measuring tea into a bag, we wage a war mentally all the time.

My therapist told me when I'm feeling down, or confused, or even having random thoughts or anxiety attacks, I should continue to write down how I feel and how I'm thinking. I should continue to use my sketch pad to illustrate how I'm feeling in my drawings and comics. I'm not ashamed to admit I need help anymore.

I was terrified to need help. If I admitted I needed help coping with the spiraling depression and overwhelming anxiety I was dealing with, then something was wrong with me. That's how I felt. I felt like I would be considered broken, damaged goods that were useless and required a trip to the garbage can. I felt like the people in my life would soon replace me with a better, unbroken version.

Because that's what we do. We throw away broken things and buy something new. Why fix something that could still work, when you can simply get a better version for simply a little more? And hell, no one wants to buy already damaged goods for anything. That moment we say, "I need help," is like the moment we begin advertising how broken we are and no one wants you anymore.

And it hurt. Holy, ungodly, burning venom, this disease of the mind was physically painful. I couldn't breathe, but to cry. I couldn't stop the poison from spreading to every nerve in my body. I've dealt with the mental unwellness before. I always thought it was bad to ask for help, so last time I had a break down, I dealt with it all on my own and over time, the ship that carried me sailed into more stable waters. My world calmed, and that poison stopped hurting me.

It stopped hurting me. It didn't go away. These things that burden us, that bleed into our lives both good and bad, they remain there forever. They don't simply go away because we want them to.

But like all things that remain unprocessed and even some that are positively dealt with, that sickness in my mind returned. I was left plummeting down a deep hole of despair and it was all I could do to shove a pillow in my mouth to keep my sobs silent and not wake anyone else. I was curled up into the fetal position, suffocating myself on a pillow because it was a better idea than going to the most supportive person I've ever had in my life and saying, "Something is wrong inside me, and I can't understand it."

That, right there, is what is wrong with mental health. We allowed ourselves to slowly be conditioned to feel like we can't even talk to ourselves about things. So why the heck would we ever consider talking to friends, family, or professionals when a problem arises?

And in some cases, I really am the best person to talk to about things. That's not me being narcissistic, but who could know me better than me? And who could know you better than you? Do we follow the little devil on our shoulder or do we seek the angel's guidance? And at the same time, sometimes our little devil and our little angel need a little help to speak up in our lives, to rationalize or even make us take a chance on something that seems impossible.

So why can't I answer? Why can't you answer? The unspoken message is that there's something wrong with you if you do answer yourself. Sure, we laugh it off as just a joke, but some of us read into things a lot more than others and you don't know which of us can't just let that go.

You also don't know which of us need to know its okay to talk to ourselves, to need help when the going gets rough, to seek out other people's help. Society looks so far down on mental health, acting like it isn't real because it can't always be scientifically examined. Not every person who has a mental health issue is Ed Gein, but being completely healthy in mind doesn't exclude people from doing bad things either.

The first person we go to when determining complicated moral issues is typically ourselves, or the version of ourselves that has been trained to think by family, friends, and society. I would probably call that side of me my rational side. But if I can't talk to myself about something, I'm more likely to simply keep my mouth shut. Why bother anyone else with something I can't bother myself with?

That's how I got into trouble. That's how my anxiety managed to overwork itself into severe overdrive, and how my depression managed to sink me so low I was drowning in the feelings of complete despair. Barely grasping for a thread to pull myself up, I messaged my sister and showed her the final straw that had broken my camel's back.

Whatever she had been doing at the time, she stepped away from it, because I was worthy of her time especially at my lowest point. She called me on the phone and I can't even remember everything I said that day. Usually, as a writer, I can remember those pesky details. I was so wrapped up in my mind, all I remember were her words, and her words mattered so very much.

"It's not a shame to need help. It's not disgraceful to ask for it. Help is there for a good reason."

Shipwrecked Romance

**This story was inspired by Gina Brillon, a rather impressive young woman who is an actress, comedian, and writer. On top of those accomplishments, and having very fabulous hair, she also sings and does poetry and squeezes in a little time to interact with fans in spite of her social anxiety. Gina comes from the Bronx (pronounced BR-awhn-kzsu) which is in New York (or so her website states, but I'm geographically challenged so you could tell me she lived five houses away and I'd still get lost trying to find it). Her sense of humor is very realistic, down-to-earth humor with a grown-up feminine-styled twist. If you can't picture that, I highly recommend you head over to Amazon and pick up a copy of her one-hour show, "Pacifically Speaking". Check her out on her Facebook here.

I was inspired to write this little piece because she spent a few minutes chatting with me. Don't worry, I'm just as amazed as you. I got to talk to a celebrity, wooo! Do the famous person dance... So anyway... Awkwardness aside, I made a joke based on a joke of hers in the show, "Pacifically Speaking". One joke led to another, and I learned she met her current significantly different person of interest while she was working on a ship.

I geeked out at the romantic-ness of it (in spite of the fact that you'll never get me on a boat, stories of them are romantic... I mean, look at Titanic--erm..or...) and concocted a story in my head of how it obviously all went down.

So this is what Gina said, "I met him while we were both working on a ship."

And this is what 30-seconds of my brain looked like, "Once upon a time, Gina Brillon found herself shipwrecked and drifting off into the sea! And along came another ship, and she was pulled aboard and given a mop to earn her way back to shore. It sucked having to be a cleaning staff person, but..."

And she said, "Bravo!" and now I'm intent to prove that I can do better than that.

Considering I haven't actually started writing the story yet (that I was inspired to write), let me see if I can whip something up for you. In the meantime, kick back and pour yourself a drink. We might be here a while.

******NOTE: SWEAR WORDS IN STORY. This story should be considered age appropriate for people who lead moderately adult lives and pay their own internet and cellphone bills... All others should consider the ramifications of how clearly influential the media is (not) on their young lives before going forth with reading.... Um........

*****ALSO all similarities to real life are coincidental and the story is fictional?

SHIPWRECKED ROMANCE

You know the irony of life was not only making itself known to Gina, but it was practically driving a car straight into her metaphoric vehicle before getting out and smashing at any remaining decent portions with a damn tire-iron while laughing maniacally.

Could Gina identify why the hell she was on a giant bit of driftwood in the middle of a body of water large enough to have no idea which direction the shore was in? Not really... She gave up on the identification of reasoning hours prior. It probably had something to do with being character-jacked for a ridiculous short-story or something.

But on the positive side, Gina could work on getting a little in-story tanning time, so.. bonus!

Boring topics aside, there Gina was. Stranded. On driftwood. No sign of the shore in sight, and no crows-nest to climb up and call, "LAND HO!" when it did come into sight... Granted, this day and age, if a sailor called out "Land ho" of all things, they would probably be slapped upon arrival with a huffy personality in the most modern of fashions demanding, "Who you calling ho, asshole?"

Damn the politically correct.

Now, according to her website, Gina was a many-talented young woman. On top of her ability to not kill herself in stilettos (or, presumably lead a secret life identity as cat woman--I know who your secret identity is, no one is that talented in heels!) she could sing. So for the sake of the story Gina has found herself stranded on some moderately precarious driftwood wearing her favorite pair of stilettos and a white gown straight out of a Regency novel based in the 1800's. And she was singing to pass the time.

Sometimes it really sucked to be a damsel in distress. No one actually wanted to read a story from the damsel's perspective, because what would they read about?

And then the young girl paced back and forth in the high tower again, because, well, the damn dragon was guarding the tower's base door if she at least stayed in the high tower she could have someone to talk to--AKA the dragon--when said dragon wasn't dealing with severe indigestion. "I told you to remove the metal armor before you ate him," the princess yelled out the window finally after the dragon belched yet another stream of flames. At least the dragon had the decency to turn away from the tower before belching...

Actually, that wouldn't be too bad of a story to read either. Gina hummed to herself and kept imagining about the stories of a damsel in distress.

She was stuck on a piece of driftwood, mermaids circling around her. These weren't the pretty, Disney-style, sing a song for the King of Mermen every morning type of mermaids. No, these were hideous, vicious looking creatures. Each one had the obvious lower body of a sea creature, and where the torso of the merfolk of a more delightful fantasy would turn to the shape of a human with brilliant hair and fabulous shell covered boobs or washboard abs, these creatures were almost skeletal with long, spindly arms and webbed, clawed hands. Their faces were a grotesque combination of a hammer-head shark, an angler fish, and what she imagined Medusa must have looked like in Greek Mythology before Perseus beheaded her.

Well, that fantasy took a rather drastic turn. She went from imagining being a princess in a dragon-kept tower to a drifting survivor surrounded by insane death sea monkeys with a severe case of the munchies... Neither story really sounded like a good, happily ever after.

A sudden wave of water hit Gina squarely in the face.

Feeling disoriented, Gina sat up on her elbows, trying to keep her legs together in a form of modesty. Even in the middle of the ocean, she probably didn't need to be flailing her legs about and sitting like an overcompensating tomboy. Because, well, duh. Not every day could be "cute panties day". Today just so happened to be "Joe Boxer smilieface" day, because the only other pair not in the laundry had "Monday" on them and it was obviously not Monday...

Gina began to register the details of the world around her. Solid walls of a cruise ship's kitchen area, fast paced movements of kitchen staff, and oh look. A tray of water cups and a carafe were shattered on the floor. There were days when being a server were wonderful, but this was not it.

She was embarrassed and this moment felt like it would never pass. Her face was already feeling far too warm in spite of managing to splash water all over it. No need to worry about her mascara. She paid more on a bottle of mascara than on six pairs of stockings, because good mascara that was waterproof was worth the extra hour of hard, grueling labor. And to top off the whole cake of a freakish moment caught daydreaming (daydreaming horribly, but still daydreaming), it had to be an adorable guy who was attempting to speak to her and help her clean up the mess, and she was staring with a gaping jaw.

Oh no. No no no... "H-hi."

He stopped talking and looked at her with a quizzical expression on his face before grinning. "Hi. What's up?"

"Did you hear the one about the clumsy girl?" Horrible joke. Just awful. For a comedian, come on, Gina.

Still, who knew a guy could smile so brilliantly and look so cute? "No, what's up?"

"Not her!" Awful. Simply wretched.

He began laughing. "Well, let me get her up." Gina took his hand, feeling sheepish but unable to keep the smile from her face.

Take a chance, Gina, she told herself boldly. "Can I get you a drink later?"

"Do I have to drink it off the floor?" He teased but he was nodding. "I'd like one."

Across the room, the cruise ship chef yelled, "Oi, love birds! This isn't the Bachelorette. Get back to work!!"

Gina wanted to tell the guy her name and get his phone number, but when she turned back to look at him he was already disappearing out of the kitchen with fresh glasses and carafes of water. By the time she got to the hall, he was gone. Still... it wasn't like they were in the big city! They were on a ship. How big could it be? Surely they'd run into each other again.

the end

copyright 2016 jagross

Weddings, Receptions, and Baby Announcements

The weekend was long, but good for us. We had our reception for our wedding. Some people were unable to attend, however. Distance and adult life can get in the way of things all the time. For those unable to attend, I'll recap the day for you.

So my wedding planner had tried for a couple months to get it in my thick skull that I would want to decorate the wedding reception. I insisted for the same amount of time that, "Nah, I'm good. We'll be fine."  There's only so much a wedding planner can do before having to give up on the crazy bridezilla and let her figure things out. And I totally was okay with no decoration plans!

Completely okay with it.

...Until 7 AM the day of the reception...

So when your wedding planner goes, "You should consider the options for decorating, because you're going to want it." Your best course of action is to shut your pie hole and listen. Because she or he knows what the heck they're talking about and you're going to want decorations.

At 530 AM, I was awake and already began making iced tea for our big day. At 7, I showered and then woke Jarred up to say, "Puhleeeez can we go to Party City?" Needless to say we got on the road with him probably heaving a drastic sigh over my bridezilla buttface behavior.

The day just had to be perfect! PERFECT. DON'T MESS WITH MAH DAY, PERFECTIONISM RAWR!!!

Yup. I was having all the anxiety for the big day, getting bossy and panicky and overthinking everything. I got a few last minute cancelation notices of attendance (not everyone with children can have reliable schedules) and of course suddenly my brain was freakish. "OMG Jarred, no one is even going to come, we have too much food, we'll be the only ones there, and it won't be perfect, waaaah!!"

So I was turning into anxiety/panicky bridezilla.

My dutiful spouse-creature was intelligent of course. He spoke completely sensical things like, "Amanda drove 10 hours for this. She's not going to miss it." And when that wasn't enough, "My parents will be there. Your grama and papa will be there. XYZ said they're coming."

Okay, so, that was calming. I was able to calm down for like 5 minutes and think logically. For 5 minutes.

Return of the bridezilla.

It must be PERFECTION. "Jarred, have an opinion on this. Jarred, which one?"

"I kinda like this one."

"No, this one is better. It has tiny shiny gems on it." Side note, no one would even SEE the cover of the guest book.

"Jarred, which hanging decorative do you like better?"

"This is cool..."

And then bridezilla decides to not get the orb paper packet and go with the multiple hanging paper styles packet. Because it must be PERFECT.

Blue tablecloth. Some hanging things with wedding danglies. Paper balls.

And we need balloons. The perfect balloon. But we're going to be late to our own event if we dawdle much longer--TODAY WILL BE PERFECT!!!!!

3 balloons. One says LOVE always and forever, and one in each of our favorite colors. Orange for me, green for him. And the big balloon has a blue floral design that matches my color theme, our outfits, yes! Perfection.

Buy stuff. Get home. Finish iced tea prep. Oh, omg, we didn't get party favors!!! But we can do this!! Jarred sat with me, assuring me not to panick over things, people were coming, and I'm overthinking (as usual). He helped me make the party favors. Tea stuffed in tiny jars. So cute!

When we arrived, people were arriving on time or earlier. I was stunned and (almost cried), "Don't you people know it's rude to show up on time?? I'm not ready!!" Yes, that's me. I'm messed up mental bridezilla now.

People saw I was setting up, and were amazing and asking to help out. They were all so wonderful! It took like 5 minutes to hang all the things up, with people's help. So many people were arriving, and I was feeling overwhelmed with pure joy. It pays to listen to your spouse-creature when they're trying to calm your special brand of crazy. A couple cancelations due to unavoidable circumstances does NOT mean the entire event is off. Who would have thought? Quite possibly I'm a basketcase, but someone loves me as I am. So...

Anyways! Jarred was right, I was wrong, shut up brain.

So I'm flitting about like a fairy princess, trying to meet and greet everyone there. It felt like I no sooner was introduced to someone new before Jarred was pointing out someone old from my life was arriving and we were skipping to our lou, my darling, all the way to the new faces to hug, shake hands, be friendly, and oh no, no, we won't have enough food, there are so many people here, oooh, something to drink. Yes, I made this tea just right.

Introduction to my niece-in-law again, and, yup, niece-in-law, little Baby Charlotte smacks me in the face and almost decks off my glasses. Hard to starboard, we have a live one!

Biological relatives, friends, family, relatives by spousal agreement... the place was just hopping!

And me? I'm that pretty, pretty, fairy princess living the perfect dream. Minus getting decked by a child under 2 or so. Nothing is going to bring me off my cloud. The sun was shining, the weather perfectly behaving which was a shock on its own. Because Wisconsin is where you get 4 seasons in 24 hours.

I'm feeling good, and I ask Jarred if he thinks now is a great time to make our announcement since food had just been delivered. He agrees and starts clearing his throat to get attention of everyone. Several clears of the throat fail. So...I pull out the loud lady card. "HELLO EVERYONE!" yep, it worked. "THANK YOU FOR COMING TO OUR SPECIAL OCCASION. FOOD HAS ARRIVED, BUT BEFORE THAT, WE HAVE A STORY FOR YOU."  I had an entire speech planned, and I was going to execute it perfectly.

"Once upon a time..." I forgot the speech. People are looking at me. Panick panick. Brain...shutting down. "We got pregnant. The end. Food is there, and over there. Tea and drinks and desserts. Have at it."

Initiate stunned silence sequence. Initiate crickets chirping. Cue abrupt laughter because apparently I'm a stand up comedian. Go me!

Then cue me having to argue with my guests that I don't have to go first in the food line.

This day was wonderful. Thank you for all who managed to attend. I know adult life is super rough, like the first draft of a novel. No one likes it until you've got the editted version, the good bits cherry picked out to suit your style. We will have another party next year, like a cookout or something, so I'm hopeful that our adult life schedules match up better next time.

With all my love and suspicion possible,

James

**Edit, if you were there and you would like to add your own recap of the day's events, I would love to read it. Please write it in the comments!!

Kitty Victory

Once upon a time there was a cat. She wasn't very brave, but what she lacked in courage she made up in physical appearance. I dare not say "beauty", as we all know beauty is relative. This little cat had elegance to spare, dainty little tail wrapped around her feet like a long puffy boa when she sat.

But back to her bravery...and this is important to note... she wouldn't take a leap to a couch from the arm of a chair two inches away. She would think about it, make herself ready to jump several times, and then hop to the floor and climb up the couch to get on it.

One day, she decided to be brave and she left her safe spot. She battled a man-made contraption and won, but there was a price for this battle. She lost her elegant tail. For weeks, she had to wear the undignified necklace of healing, and her mother and father made her take wretched icky flavored waters. One was probably retrieved from the evil human litter bowl, while the other water was assuredly from the instant rain maker. That's how bad they tasted!

But once the evil villainous healer humans felt the necklace of healing had done enough of its work, mother and father took off the necklace. The little kitty felt better than ever. She turbocharged around her territories, gained her strength, and soon was making jumps she never dreamed of. Today, she jumped five feet up to a spot on the tower, right from the floor. She had a hero's victory!

**Author message. Not all cats survive against the perils of reclining furniture. This is a reminder to protect your pets from electric and manual reclining furniture.

I still love you... A depressing story

I’ve been disowned…?

No…

I’ve been let go…?

That doesn’t feel right either…

Hurt. I’ve been hurt by unkind words I would never have thought I deserved.

Words that poured forth because I fell in love.

Words that would never have come if I hadn’t.

Does it hurt me?

Yes…

Forget this. You know what? It’s just me and you here, so I’m going to be completely open. This really sucks. A year ago, I was still writing. Or rather, I was finally getting back on track with writing. Now I’m dealing with shitty anxiety, heightened to the point where I feel like I need constant reassurances that I’m not totally sucking at life. Now, I’m dealing with ugly depression which makes me miserable and stashes even uglier thoughts in my mind like little landmines for me to stumble across and turn me into a batshit crazy, anti-social, hug the pillow kind of miserable.

Great descriptive, there, self. Clearly I must be winning at life.

But in better news, I’m making my attempt to cope with things. You know, like...medicine to regulate the something-somethings in my brain that need regulating, to keep me from acting on my mental crazies. I’m seeing a therapist who listens to me and is helping me work through this crappy, mental warzone. Hopefully we can, I don’t know… Neutralize these bombs. I think it’s going well.

But I don’t like it.

I’m hearing words like, “I really do still love you. But--I can’t come to your wedding reception, because it would upset your father.”

Are you being serious with me right now? Can you hear yourself speak, or is your mouth just flapping and words falling out without your knowledge? This is my happy occasion, and yet somehow I’m still managing to feel like I’ve done wrong. Like I’ve been a bad girl and need to be punished for it.

And I am being punished.

You know that moment in your life when someone else has decided what is right for you, and you can either please them and do it, or choose to take a different route and go with what you feel is right instead even knowing you’ll piss everyone off? Yeah, that moment came and went, without warning until suddenly when I tried to invite my parents to eat dinner with me and my then-fiancee, I received a very long email back that began, “Seriously?! This request should have come last February.”

So, you know, when I started dating, I should have taken my barely-known boyfriend to my parents and let them vet him. I guess I missed a lesson growing up by not having these dating experiences young. But that is par for the course, since my first date ever ended in my father threatening to kill said young boy who damn near pissed his pants and couldn’t leave fast enough.

I’m not to be trusted to vet my own significant others, because my own feelings are flawed.

The letter continues, “I no longer want to meet your sociopathic boyfriend or ever see either of you again.”

First of all, your use of sociopath is wrong. It doesn’t fit the character you’re trying to warp it around. A sociopath is a noun, defined as “a person with a personality disorder manifesting itself in extreme antisocial attitudes and behavior and a lack of conscience.” He’s not at all antisocial. He’s the opposite. He’s not exactly a bar-hopping, man-whoring player, but he definitely displays the sort of attitude one has when they’ve got Jimeny Cricket on their shoulder and they’re listening to his little chirps about right and wrong behavior.

You can’t just stamp someone with the label of sociopath and expect it to stick, especially if it has completely incompatible glue on it. I get that you don’t want to see me, too, you’re upset and somehow I am behind your emotional turmoil. But you don’t stop your letter there, do you?

“Your entire relationship has been based on lies and manipulation. He is a vandal, a bully, and a liar. You may not be aware of everything he has said or done to me and my husband, but you confirmed that you knew about the cruel comments threatening that [your father] would never see his grandchild. You are actively participating in spreading lies and trying to hurt us.”

Um...what? Disregarding your allusions to what my relationship is based on--which you have no idea because you refuse to hear anything anyone but my father tells you--you called my significant other a vandal, bully, liar. I’ve been the one with him for long enough to sensibly witness his interactions with multiple people. Waitresses, my own friends, his friends, my grandparents, his parents, service workers...ME. Perhaps in all of that, he could have fooled me into believing he was good and righteous but actually not have been. But don’t mistake the major power of logic in witnessing how someone deals with the rest of the world. He was raised to be respectful and mindful of others. To understand that wait staff aren’t smiling at you because they want to, but rather because if they don’t, their finances will suffer. I do not suffer degradation in front of his friends. It is the opposite, in fact. I am treated respectfully, and as an equal, to his friends. He respects and honors my relationship with my friends too, even the male ones. He doesn’t feel like he has to be along any time I want to hang out with my male friends, because he respects me and he trusts me. The same goes for him from me. I trust him to go out into the world on his own, have hobbies and friends on his own, and not cheat on me or spend his entire paycheck binging on cigarettes and alcohol.

As for “cruel comments” about “grandchildren”... I was getting harrassed at work, told I was a fuck up because I failed at college all those years ago. Mistakes I had made were being thrown in my face left and right, leaving me in emotional distress at work and causing my job to suffer. You admitted to me that my father needed to let go of certain mistakes I had made. Now you turned a 180 and chose to ignore the way I was being treated by my own father. So, my boyfriend did say my father wouldn’t see his grandchildren if he kept up acting the way he was toward me. Not because my boyfriend didn’t want my father in my life. Instead it was because my father was being too bullheaded to realize that if he kept up the way he was going, I was going to push him away. It totally became a self-fullfilling prophecy. You both have pushed me away. And now I’m sitting here in my little mental basketcase mind, writing or ranting, I’m not sure which.

I also never spread lies or tried to hurt you. I don’t know what exactly made you think that, but telling lies gets you nowhere and I learned that lesson the hardest way possible many years ago during one of my “mistakes”. Now, I do my best to be truthful because the truth always comes out, doesn’t it? It also doesn’t make sense that I would ever bother trying to hurt you both when I just want you both well. Regardless of the circumstances, I wouldn’t wish pain on you.

Your letter goes on to state things that are incredibly backwards. Things like how I should have continued dating x-person because my father liked him and knew about his past so it was okay for me to date him. You wanted to vet my boyfriend now, but you haven’t properly vetted x-person if you think I could bring a registered sex offender into my life. I don’t care what that person did, if it was mutual or circumstantial or what, there’s no case in which I would have continued. I had a few texts with that person, and never actually went out with them. Due to my history of “mistakes” I do background checks on people, as fully as I can, before letting them into my life like that, and I asked x-person about his issues. I got the story and then things ended.

But my father came up to me with coworkers and my boss around to hear it and demanded to know who I was dating in his department and why I thought I could do so. So I snapped and said that who I see really isn’t his nevermind. It isn’t easy for me to stick up for myself like that, but damn it, I was quite old enough at 27 to make up my own mind. Everyone seems to know it, with you both as exceptions to the fact.

The further your letter goes, the more vulgar the suggestions become of what my boyfriend got up to. It illuminated my father as a hero, as honest (remember him lying to you as he cheated on you), and family oriented (family nights at the bar while he gets drunk). Do you see what I did there? I brought up dad’s mistakes, because you seem to hold heavy stock in them. Mistakes apparently can’t wash away, so explain to me why I should listen to my father’s cries of, “I tried my best.”

Trying your best shouldn’t involve ignoring your past, but instead, learning from it. Yes, I made mistakes. Almost failed highschool, got kicked out of my birth mother’s, started to fail college, ran away from home. I also learned from my mistakes and moulded myself into a stronger person.

You close the letter by stating you didn’t gain a son-in-law when I got married. You lost a daughter, and I lost a father, a mother, and a friend. You explicitly state I’m not to contact you again and that you won’t respond even if I do. You called me a master manipulator, just like my birth mother, and that I believe my own lies and suck the lives out of the people around me. You state you will never sit down to a meal with us.

“You have made your decision, and so have we.” You state.

You know, I was going to analyze the entire letter line-by-line, but it’s not necessary at this point. Somehow you have been led to believe the horrible things in the letter. But we both know that the truth comes out eventually, and when it does, I’ll still be here with my respectfully chosen life partner who has been holding me up through this depression since your letter. Who drives me to the therapist so I can understand my mental crazy. Who holds me when I’m too emotionally disturbed to hold myself.

I wish things were different, but there’s no going back to the way it was. There is only forward. You’re absolutely right. I made my decision.

I have chosen the family who lifts me up.

The friends who hold my hand in times of darkness to keep me from straying too far.

The man who has asked to be by my side, to wipe away pained tears, to kiss me every night, to tell me he loves me for me, and who accepts my love equally in return.

I’m holding my head up. I’m going to work through these issues. There is no shame for having anxiety and depression, but there is suffering. With help, I’ll overcome the burden of your letter, your feelings. I hope you seek help too, because it sounds like you both could use it.

I still love you…

Goodbye.