Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #44: People Inadvertantly Hurt Your Feelings
January 30, 2009, 1:29 pm
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After I ‘came out’ as a survivor of incest during my teen years (see Reason #43: Forced Visitation), there was some fallout to deal with. Needless to say, my dad’s side of the family stopped talking to me altogether. In one fell swoop, I lost my grandma, my uncle, my dad, and my brother. (My brother went to live with my father during and after the divorce.) I was glad to be rid of my dad and brother.

My grandmother said I was lying. She needed to believe that her son wouldn’t do such things, rather than believe that her teenaged granddaughter was telling the truth. She stopped talking to me altogether.

My mother’s side kind of believed me, but even they said stupid things to me. My aunt said “Things happen between brother and sister.” I said “Oral sex doesn’t happen.” She shut up then.

I think the most hurtful thing happened inadvertantly though. It happened with my beloved grandfather, my mom’s father. He would never intentionally hurt a soul. He was a Holocaust survivor who had lost his whole family in the camps. Anyway though, my mom told me that after my family found out about my surviving incest, my grandpa told her he was afraid to hug me, for fear that I would run to the cops and say he molested me.

Mom should never have told me that. I mean, I hadn’t noticed any difference in grandpa – it wasn’t like he stopped hugging me, so I would never have known that he said that to Mom if Mom hadn’t told me. I couldn’t help but cry when she told me though. I mean, it’s not like I just run to the fucking cops every time someone hugs me. Shit went down between my brother and I, and my father and I that was a lot more fucked up than a hug, you know?

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. It wasn’t enough to have to deal with surviving incest, but after I had to worry about how other people would feel around me too?



Reason #43: Forced visitation

When I was fifteen, my parents divorced for the second time. (And when I say divorced, I mean that he threatened to kill her and himself, and because he was an abusive prick, a judge granted my mother a restraining order.) After their separation, my dad actually had the nerve to petition the court to have forced visitation with me. In other words, he wanted the court to force me to see him. For the very name of this blog, I didn’t want to obviously.

I had never intended on telling anyone what my dad did to me. But then this idiot decided to get a court to force me to see him. So, in order to make sure this didn’t happen, I had to tell strangers what happened to me. Mom made an appointment with the Division of Youth and Family Services in our state, and I went in to see the woman. It was on a school day. She asked me some horrible questions. “Did you see his penis get hard?” Me: “No”.

I get in the car with mom afterwards. She says “Sweetie, you can stay home from school today if you want to.” I said “Mom, don’t be silly, I am fine.” I go to school, I get there at like almost the end of 4th period. Thank goodness, they are watching a movie in class. I sit in the back, cry a few tears, and I tell myself I am fine. I am fine.

I get to my 5th period class. My best friend is there. I had already told her I had a psychologist appointment that morning, due to the divorcing of my parents. She sits down in the chair in front of me and says “How did the psychologist appointment go?” I look at her, and suddenly the tears won’t stop. I am crying in front of everyone. I run out of the room. I am in the bathroom. My best friend is with me. I tell her everything, Dad, my real appointment that morning. The teacher comes in. I am sent to the nurse.

Still crying, can’t stop crying. It’s just too much. All of this is just too much. My dad, my breasts, him moaning. I am terrified and sad beyond belief. I am just a kid – doesn’t anyone see this? The nurse calls my mom to come get me. My mom and I see each other and both start crying. We both leave the school in tears. I cried for two more days.

People spoke in whispers about me after that. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #42: Star Trek (The Next Generation)
January 24, 2009, 1:06 pm
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A few years ago, I was over at my aunt’s house and we were watching an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation (the one with Jean-Luc Picard and Whoopi Goldberg). In that episode, some of the characters somehow had their age regressed until they were all children again. They kind of knew they were still adults, but they were in children’s bodies, and kind of acted like kids too.

So I saw this, and I started thinking to myself “What would happen if such a thing really happened here on Earth, where we were regressed to be kids again?” And that is when I couldn’t breathe. I literally had a fucking panic attack because of this episode of Star Trek.

I know what you’re thinking – ‘it’s ‘cuz she was molested’. And you would be absolutely right in thinking that. It was because I was molested. And of course, this is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

But even when thinking about it – even if I hadn’t ever been molested -even if my childhood had been ‘normal’ – even that thought gives me panic. If I had to regress back to normal childhood, I would still be horrified and panicked at the thought. I mean, think about it, childhood fucking SUCKS. You are constantly at the mercy of people who are bigger than you, who only let you do what you want to do when they agree to it, who tell you when and where to do the most basic of things, like sleeping. And even eating.

When I had that panic attack, I had to explain to my aunt why I was panicking. She said “Well, of course, you had a shit childhood.” And I thought about it, and maybe she was right, but I think childhood is shit anyway. Think about it – would you ever, ever choose childhood again?? I am panicking again at the thought.



Reason #41: Who is that babysitter?
January 22, 2009, 11:39 am
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I used to be in a panic group. Apparently when one survives child sex abuse, one gets panicked for the rest of their life. (One of the many reasons you shouldn’t fuck kids, by the way.) Anyway, so I was in that group, and when I discovered (at 21 years old or so) that a babysitter molested my brother and I (when I was less than five years old), I became enraged. And obsessed. Who was she? Did my mom leave and she right away fucked us? Or did she wait a few minutes and gain our trust before she violated us?

What did she look like? What was her name? Who was this woman that in the blink of an eye shattered all my future trust in humanity?

It’s pretty unusual to have a female perpetrator. Here’s how it breaks down. Men like to fuck little girls first. Men like to fuck little boys second. Then women like to fuck little boys. Lastly, women like to fuck little girls. I was one of those little girls, in that statistical minority. Was it chance that she came into our life? I don’t know? Was it fate? Again, don’t know.

Here’s what I do know. I know she was a teenager. Let me think – that was in the late 70’s, so about 30 years ago. So, if she was 16 in the late 70’s, that would put her at about 46 or so now. Shit, for all I know, she could be a reader of this blog.

My group said “You’re wasting your time trying to figure out who she is. You need to concentrate on your life now.” Fuck that, I say. Whoever she is, she holds the key to my healing. I have to know who she is, and why she did this to me. Was she a pedophile? Was she a victim herself? Is she still fucking kids??

The logical part of me says that she was obviously a victim of abuse. Someone fucked her, and then she fucked us. And now I spend the rest of my life wondering who she is and why she did this to us.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #40: Ear Drops
January 19, 2009, 9:20 pm
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Now that my son is done with his surgery, we have to put ear drops in his ears for three days and nights. He hates them. I can’t say as I blame him either. When we are finished with the ear drops, he runs away from us and has this horrible look on his face like we’ve betrayed him. And to his understanding, we have.

I told the huz I don’t want to be involved with the eardrops anymore. I said “He hates it.” The huz said “It’s not like we are really hurting him. It’s medicine. We do it for the greater good, so that his ears don’t get infected.”

I replied “Yeah, but to him the effect is the same. We are holding him down against his will and putting something in his ears against his will. It’s horrible.”

This morning was particularly disheartening. He saw the eardrops in my hand, and he laid down on the floor with his head in position to receive the eardrops, and just started to cry. My sweet baby is conditioned to receive hurt. From us, his parents.

I understand that, about just submitting to something because someone bigger than you is going to do it anyway. He understands that even if he struggles, my husband will overpower him and I will still put the drops in his ears, and even if he cries he still has no choice in the matter. It’s disgusting and horrible and brings up all my survivor issues. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #39: Ear Tubes
January 14, 2009, 6:29 pm
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I know what you’re thinking. What do ear tubes have to do with why you shouldn’t fuck kids? Nothing. Except that it’s my son who has to get the ear tubes surgically put into his ears this Friday.

Everyone says it’s a routine surgery, and I am sure it is routine. But when it’s your child, nothing is routine. It’s surgery, and here is what I know for sure. I have to hand him over to strangers to take care of for a few minutes, and in those few minutes I cannot protect him. While the logical conscious part of me says that he will be fine, I am sure my mother also thought my brother and I would be fine when she left us with that babysitter all those years ago.

My husband asked me what part of this upcoming surgery was scariest for me. I said “The part where I have to hand him over. If he starts crying, I think I might die.” I started to cry as I said it. The idea that I might have to hand over my crying baby to some doctor is overwhelming. He will think I betrayed him. I am his mama, I am supposed to protect him.

The picture in my mind as I write this, and of course my mind can’t help but go THERE, is a memory of me as a little girl. I am in someone’s arms, and I see my daddy walk away. It’s not THAT babysitter, but I guess it is A babysitter. I am SCREAMING for my daddy. But he just keeps walking away. Now that I am an adult I realize that he didn’t know what had happened to me with that child-molesting babysitter, so it’s not like he intentionally walked away from a terrorized child. He thought he was walking away from a tantrumming child. Either way, the effect on me was the same. He wasn’t going to stick around to protect me from this either. This is not the image I want my son to have on Friday.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. My son needs a surgery to help stop recurring ear infections, and instead of being afraid of all the normal shit that parents in this situation are afraid of, I am afraid my son will feel betrayed by me. And scared and alone. I don’t want that for my son.



Reason #38: Zoloft

I went to the doctor a few days ago for my ever-increasing anxiety and depression. The nurse asked me what I was there for, and I said “anxiety”. The nurse took down my info and said “the doctor will be in in a minute”. As she was leaving the room, I touched her arm and said “Do people come here for this?” She said “Yes. It’s better to get it now than when it is too late and it is controlling your life.” Too late for that lady, I thought. I started to cry. She was VERY nice. She hugged me. G-d bless these wonderful nurses.

The doc came into the room. I told her the truth, that I was anxious and it was interfering with my life. I find myself cancelling events so that I don’t have to leave the house. When I am outside, I am afraid in the parking lot, and the mad dash from the parking lot to whatever building I need to get to is overwhelming. I am terrified of rape, I told her.

When I described what was happening to me in the parking lot with the hypervigilance and the terror, she added “the looking over your shoulder constantly”, and I wondered if she, too, was a survivor. Then she said that she likes to prescribe zoloft because it doesn’t cause dependence, (though you do have to wean on and off this drug), and because the side effects are minimal in her experience. I agreed to medically drug myself for the first time in my life.

I have always been against the use of pharmaceuticals for this issue for myself. Politically, I feel like drugs have always been used to silence women. And who are women? Survivors. Men fuck us in so many ways our whole life, and then when we react to it, they drug us into a stupefied silence. So I have been against it.

But my life has become – bad. Writing this blog has been difficult, and trying to maneuver through memories constantly makes me feel like every parking lot is filled with scary bad men waiting to hurt me. When it gets to the point where everyone is bad, it is time for me to realize that it’s not the whole world that is bad, it’s me that is fucked up. So I agreed to the drug. I took my first dose today.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. If that babysitter hadn’t started this whole ball rolling, my brother never would have fucked with me. My dad, who knows. If these events hadn’t happened, I would be a very different Butterfly today.



Reason #37: Depression
January 8, 2009, 10:22 pm
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I couldn’t leave the house today. I had appointments today, but I just couldn’t make it. It could be my agoraphobia acting up, or it could be my anxiety. Frankly though, I think it’s fucking depression.

Survivors tend towards depression. Oodles of studies point to this fact. I know I am not alone in my depression or my anxiety. I haven’t showered in days. I am tending towards self-loathing now.

There’s this poem written by Portia Nelson, called A Hole In the Sidewalk (I’ll post the contents at the end of this post). Anyway, when you read the poem you will understand what I am about to say. I know where I am, and I have taken action. I am going to see a doctor tomorrow for some anxiety meds. Let’s see if they can help.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids though. I shouldn’t have to take anxiety meds, and unless some adults in my life taught me that they would use my body sexually when I was in too little a body to stop them, I wouldn’t have anxiety.

There’s A Hole in the Sidewalk
by Portia Nelson

Chapter One
I walk down the street
There’s a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in
I’m lost. . . I’m helpless
It isn’t my fault
It takes me forever to find a way out

Chapter 2
I walk down the same street
There’s a deep hole in the sidewalk
I pretend I don’t see it
I fall in again
I can’t believe I’m in the same place
But it isn’t my fault
It still takes a long time to get out

Chapter 3
I walk down the same street
There’s a deep hole in the sidewalk
I see it there
I still fall in. . . it’s a habit
My eyes are open
I know where I am
It is my fault
I get out immediately

Chapter 4
I walk down the same street
There’s a deep hole in the sidewalk
I walk around it

Chapter 5
I walk down another street



Reason #36: The Morning
January 6, 2009, 1:30 pm
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On the weekends, the huz and I take turns getting up with the baby. On Saturdays he gets up. On Sundays I get up. During the week, I get up with the baby, get him dressed, feed him, etc.

The baby generally wakes around 6AM. It’s still dark out at 6AM. The huz doesn’t like to get up with the baby because the thing he fears most in this world is shit. Literally, shit. He is afraid the baby will shit and he will have to change a diaper with shit in it. Shit doesn’t bother me for the most part, thank goodness. (That’s marriage, being strong where the other is weak, and vice-versa if you’re lucky.)

Anyway, getting up with the baby is difficult for me because at 6AM it is still dark out. I am afraid of the dark – that was actually the very first reason I brought up for why you shouldn’t fuck kids. So here’s how my morning with the baby goes. Baby wakes up, I look at the clock. 6AM. Fuck. That means it is still dark out.

Take the baby downstairs. All the lights are out. Start breathing funny, while talking to self “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.” Turn on all possible lights. Check the locks again, even though I did so last night before going to bed. Wait, wait, is that a sound I hear? Everything be quiet right now – let me listen. Listen for a few seconds. Everything is still and quiet. I am terrified.

Turn on Sesame Street, change baby’s diaper. Furtively look around. Is someone trying to break in? What time is it? 6:15AM. About 45 mins till some light starts to appear in the sky. Make baby some breakfast, which means going into the kitchen. Through the kitchen is a window in the other room that has a broken venetian blind slat thing that I can see the darkness outside. Can they see me too? Horrible. I am terrified. What time is it? 6:20AM. Okay, only 40 mins till light.

And that is how my morning goes until the sun comes up. I am missing out on this precious time with my sweet beautiful son, and my son is missing one ‘whole’ mama till the huz gets up. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



I Won A Bloggy Award!
January 4, 2009, 5:37 pm
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Superior Scribbler Award

Superior Scribbler Award

V. from A Rather Intolerable Pain in the Head – One Boy’s Fight to Survive has awarded me a Bloggy Award. I couldn’t be more honored. It is the first award I have ever won for this blog of terrible reasons.

The Rules of winning such a prestigious award are as follows:

1) Each Superior Scribbler (apparently I am now a Superior Scribbler) must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving Bloggy Friends (see below).
2) Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author & the name of the blog from whom he/she has received The Award (see above).
3) Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on his/her blog, and link to This Post, which explains The Award.
4) Each Blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to the Mr. Linky List.
5) Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.

The five blogs that I think should be awarded for superior writing skills are:

1) If Only I Were Human: When Words Fail. This blog is about one woman’s journey through mental illness, and trying to help people along the way. Her words are heartbreaking sometimes, and beautiful all the time.

2) Grace of Believe the Children. You can believe the kids now, or you can believe them later when they are in grown bodies and mad enough to hurt all of society.

3) Vigilant Antis blog. I give it to this person for two reasons. One, because I love the idea that all these shitheads get their picture or story plastered online, and that way everyone can know who they really are. Two, I really like this person’s writing style.

4) May We Dance Upon Their Graves. I like her writing.

5) I am giving the final award back to V, from A Rather Intolerable Pain in the Head: One Boy’s Fight to Survive. Because he deserves this award, at the very least.




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