Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #19: We Cry A Lot
October 26, 2008, 1:18 pm
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When I was a child, my mom used to say “Cry, petunia, cry”. She would say this every time I cried, in a kind of a mocking way. I imagine it was her way of coping with a child that cried a lot.

The Kabbalah says “G-d counts the tears of women.” It means that women understand the world more, so therefore they cry more.

Even back in Talmudic times, adults were fucking little girls. And little boys. And raping women. Then we cry. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

A therapist once told me an interesting story about the Trojan War:

After a day of fighting each other, the Trojans and the Greeks would come back to their own campsites. The Trojans would gather together and sit around the campfire, tending their wounds, etc. The Leader of the Trojans would stand up and say, “Today we will celebrate! We did very well in the war today! We killed many of our enemy and wounded many as well. We saw many of our own men die or get hurt, and still we fought! We fought hard and we fought well. Today we will celebrate.”

The Greeks would gather together as well. They would sit around the campfire, tend their wounds, etc. The Leader of the Greeks would stand up and say, “Today we will cry. We did very well in the war today. We killed many of our enemy and wounded many as well. We saw many of our own men die or get hurt, and still we fought! We fought hard and we fought well. Today we will cry.”

The Greeks won the war.



Reason #18: Therapy
October 17, 2008, 6:35 pm
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Ever since I started this blog, I have noticed that I have had a heightened sense of anxiety. You’d think writing all this shit out would be therapeutic, but in fact, I feel like it’s killing me slowly. I guess the thing about writing about sex abuse is that it’s like opening up a big box of hurt but not knowing what to do with the contents.

This week, I decided that maybe it was time to start back to therapy. I first went to therapy when I was 12 and thinking about suicide. My mom got scared and took me to see some idiot that didn’t like me and didn’t get me. If she were a good therapist, she would have admitted that she could not effectively treated me, and would have recommended that Mom take me somewhere else. Instead, I wasted a few months of my life, feeling disconnected from this judgmental therapist.

When I was 19, I got real serious about suicide, and I decided to seek a therapist to help. She was wonderful, and she really helped me get to the next place in my life. When I was 26 or 27, I decided it was time again. Different therapist, also wonderful.

I am 35. I can’t believe I am here again. Scared, anxious, intrusive thoughts, etc. I went to a new therapist this week, told her a bit about my family. She was nice, but there was no connection. For instance, I felt instinctively that I couldn’t tell her about this blog because the title is so provocative. And I guess because it is a window into my soul, and I don’t need someone I know poking around in my soul, fucking things up.

So, I am sitting there, keenly aware of my own history as I replay it out for this new therapist. I am sitting there on the couch, hoping for some sign that this will work, that she gets me and that I like her. I do like her, she is nice. But she doesn’t get me, doesn’t get it, and seems afraid to go there. Well, lady, it’s been nice talking to you, but I need to go there, and I need you to go there with me.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. How many strangers’ couches do we have to tell our story from before we even find one who understands enough to get on the roller coaster with us, and look at the same shit we are looking at? Instead they look back at us, seeing ourselves, instead of what we are looking at. And for that matter, the time, energy, money spent on therapy – it’s staggering. And painful, and lonely. Time spent in good therapy is never a waste, obviously, but shit, I would rather not have the anxiety and not have to go to therapy to stop being so afraid of my own fucking closets and the dark and everything else, you know?

P.S.: In Judaism, the number 18 is the sign for life. Maybe it’s a positive thing that the therapy post is reason 18, like that therapy will be good to bring quality to my whole life. Or maybe it’s a negative thing, like I will be in therapy for the rest of my life. Aaaah, numbers.



Reason #17: We are afraid of the doctor

I have a gynecology appointment next week. Just a normal yearly thing. I didn’t see a gynecologist for 30 years or so, because I didn’t want to go. The year before we decided to get pregnant, we thought I should go to a gynecologist just to make sure everything is in working order.

The doc asked me if I have a history of child sex abuse. I said yes. She said “Who molested you?” I said “There were three perpetrators. A babysitter, my brother, and then my father.” Except I couldn’t get the words out, because I started to cry. Normally, I can talk about my history without crying, but I was so nervous about having to be there at the gynecologist that I lost my shit.

No woman likes to go to the gyno. I get that. But for me, and probably lots of other survivors, it takes on a whole new level of shit for us. It’s not just fucking uncomfortable, it’s terrorizing. Someone down there is sticking shit into our vaginas, their face is down there, inspecting it and what not. It’s fucked up. I always cry. I hate crying in front of strangers, and the gyno gets to see me do it every time, and it’s embarassing.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. I shouldn’t have to cry at the fucking gynecologist’s office.



Reason #16: Suicide
October 12, 2008, 10:14 pm
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I was 12 the first time I thought about suicide. I was 19 when I got downright serious about it. By 19, I figured that I would never overcome my shit about sex, never get over what had been done to me in childhood. I figured I would remain a hopeless virgin, and that would consequently mean I would never have love with a man, and never have children. When I realized all of that, I consciously sought out death. I wanted to die. When my friends asked me what I wanted for my 21st birthday, I told them “death”.

It took several years of therapy before I found a will to live. And a lot of tears. A lot.

I am beyond grateful that I didn’t commit suicide. I would never have met my wonderful husband, and I wouldn’t have had the chance to be a mother to my beautiful son.

The thing about suicide is that it happens when you lose all hope, and that was how I was. I had lost all hope, and I felt like suicide was my best possible option towards ending all the pain I was in. I lost not only the will to live, but the hope that life would ever be anything beyond the shitty fucked up world I had come to know. A world where adults willingly fucked children, and children were encouraged to shut the fuck up about it.

Suicidality is like living in a dark dark tunnel where there is no light at the end. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that my life would always be shit, and that I would always feel this way. So why not do myself a favor and end it all?

I was wrong. Thank G-d, I was very wrong. I am grateful that I never succumbed to suicide, but really, I almost didn’t make it to this place in my life where I am able to write a blog. I almost took my own life, because I couldn’t bear the thought of living in my own skin even one more day.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. We tend to kill ourselves because we can’t take the knowledge of what you did to us. I am grateful to be alive, certainly. But I take no pleasure in knowing that others like me didn’t make it.

Note to those reading this blog: If you are in pain, and you feel hopeless, these people can help. You may be feeling alone, but know that you are not alone. Many people all over the world are feeling alone and sad. If you were to go into a room full of people, anywhere in the world, and ask them if they had ever felt so sad that they wanted to take their life, you would see a bunch of people raising their hands right along with you. You are not alone.



Not a Reason – Just a Beautiful Quote
October 10, 2008, 11:12 am
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This is from the Postsecret website. The creator of the website said something so beautiful, I had to share it here.

“The children that the world almost breaks become the adults that save the world.”
– Frank Warren, founder of Postsecret



Reason #15: We can’t see the forest for the trees
October 9, 2008, 11:42 am
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Last night, I was telling my mom that I am terrified that someone should abuse my son the way the perpetrators in my life have hurt me. I told her that most nights I lay there awake, thinking about terrible scenarios where my son gets hurt and I am unable to protect him. I started to cry when I told my mom that part.

The thing is, sexual abuse happened to me when I was a child, and I am dealing with that. But please, G-d, not him. Please G-d, not my son, please, don’t let that happen to him. I don’t want him to be 35 years old and dealing with all this horrible shit to the point where he feels compelled to write a fucking blog of reasons why people shouldn’t fuck kids.

My mom said “You’ve dreamed of being married and having a child for so long. Now you have all these wonderful beautiful things, and still all you can think of are horrible things.” Then she said something so poignant that it became Reason 15. She said “You live in the light and yet all you can see is the darkness.”

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. Even when nice things happen to us, we can’t see the forest for the trees.



Reason #14: Panic Disorder
October 6, 2008, 12:47 pm
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Last night, my husband and I went to bed and as he drifted off to sleep, I was laying there huddled under the covers, afraid. For no reason. We had a perfectly good night. We kissed each other good night, the baby was sleeping soundly in his crib, and yet I was totally panicked.

Frankly, it has been a week of high anxiety. High enough to make me think that maybe I should start seeing someone. Again.

Were it another night, I would have woken my husband up and told him I was afraid. Then we would have went through what has become a usual routine in our home:

Me: “I’m scared.”
Him: “Huh?” (disoriented from sleep)
Me: “I’m afraid.”
Him: (more awake now) “Everything’s okay. We’re totally safe here.”
Me: “I’m scared.”
Him: “Honey, everything is okay. I swear. Remember we checked out the closet, and under the bed, and in the storage space. We locked all the doors, the garage is locked, and I checked the bedroom door lock three times, remember? Plus, remember we have the dog here too.”
Me: “Are you sure you locked the garage door?”
Him: “Yes, positive.”
Me: “How do you know?”
Him: “I knew you would ask, so I made sure to do it. I need to remember to do this stuff in front of you or it doesn’t count.”
Me: (looking around the room) “It’s really dark in here. Maybe we could just turn on a little light.”
Him: “Baby, you know I can’t sleep with the light on. It’s safe in here, I swear it.”
Me: “I’m afraid.”
Him: (Loud sigh) “Okay. What can we do to make it so you aren’t afraid tonight, and we can get back to sleep?”
Me: “I don’t know. I’m scared.”
Him: “It’s safe here. I swear it. All the doors are locked.”

And then we go on like that until I am too tired to be afraid and sleep overtakes me. But I couldn’t wake him last night, because he had an early meeting this morning and I knew he needed the sleep. So instead I lay there totally panicked and hypervigilant. After about an hour of laying there like that, trembling and afraid, I finally got up the courage to walk in the dark to the light. I turned on the light, and after that I was a little less afraid. Less enough that I was able, finally, to get some sleep for a few hours.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. We have panic for the rest of our lives, and our entire quality of life is fucked after that.




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