Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #84: The Occupational Therapist

My son gets occupational therapy once a week. Like his father, he doesn’t really talk a whole lot, so he also gets speech therapy once a week. I like his speech therapist a lot. She does a great job with my son.

The occupational therapist, on the other hand, scares the crap out of me. I was staring at her yesterday during my son’s session with her. I watch her very intently with my son. I watch the other therapist too, but with this one, my eyes are glued to her and my son, and I never leave them alone for a second. You could see why I would be afraid of people other than my husband and I taking care of our son.

Anyway, I was staring at her yesterday. She caught me staring at her, and looked back at me. I wasn’t sure how to act at that point, but I kept staring. I don’t trust her.

I asked myself why. Why don’t I trust her. Why don’t I like her. And so I was staring at her, trying to figure it out. I thought about it. Maybe she reminds me of the babysitter? I have no conscious memory of that babysitter, but maybe she reminds me of her? I thought about it some more, and I realized, she is around the same age that the babysitter would be now, since she was about 15 or 16 at the time of the abuse, so she’d be around 45 or 46 now. For all I know, this bitch could be that babysitter. The rational part of me knows that she isn’t, but still as I sat there staring at her, it was all I could think about. I don’t know that babysitter’s name or what she looked like or anything. I just know that some bad shit obviously went down to make me afraid like that for the rest of my life.

Maybe I am afraid of this occupational therapist because of what that babysitter did to me. Or maybe I am leary of her because something about her makes my survivor vibes go on full alert. Either way, I don’t like her. I know what you’re thinking – why don’t you change the OT to someone else? Because I’ve tried and have been unsuccessful and my son needs the services and in reality she hasn’t done anything wrong. What exactly would I tell these people? “I have a bad feeling.” Great, and then they can call the head doctors for me.

You know, if people without histories of child sexual abuse had bad feelings about someone, everyone says “Well maybe something about them makes her have bad feelings about that person”, but when a survivor says it, everyone is like “That’s just because you have been abused and you think everyone is an abuser.” You’re damn right that’s why! I know for sure that shit like that really happens when no one is looking, so you’re right, I think that a lot of people are abusers that you wouldn’t give a second look to.

She looks at my son for a second too long. Finds reasons to touch him, even in front of me. Pats his head, tickles his body. Don’t touch my son, bitch. Everything’s all innocent like that. “What, I was just tickling him.” “What, I was just patting his head.” They all say shit like that, rationalize and justifying their shit, like you can fool us for even a second. Come on. You can fool the non-abused, but us?? You can’t fool us. You’ve already fucked us. We know how it starts. All innocent and pretty, with a tickle and a pat, just like this bitch is doing with my son. Maybe it is innocent, but even that babysitter who fucked my brother and I – she started it with “Do you want to play a game?” And my brother and I were so small, and I bet we thought her game was innocent the way everyone else’s game was innocent with us until her. Until she took our innocence and broke us forever with her fucking games. This is why I stare at my son’s occupational therapist, and why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #83: Scared of men
April 29, 2009, 12:58 am
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , ,

I was thinking today about a male cyberfriend that I have. He’s been nothing but lovely so far, but always in the back of mind when dealing with men in general is a flashing DANGER DANGER DANGER sign. Some men have proven the danger sign to be true, some men have showed me no reason to fear them.

I was thinking today how unfair it is of me not to trust this male cyberfriend of mine at all. I mean, in our cyber time together so far, he’s been nothing but gentlemanly and gallant.

The more I thought about it though, the more I realized – that’s the point of this blog. There is nothing fair about me being distrustful of all men, just as there’s nothing fair about fucking kids. A female and two males molested me. Now I distrust all men, and frankly some women are circumspect as well. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #82: The Shame Game
April 26, 2009, 12:54 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , ,

Last night, it got really hot in our house. I asked the huz to go downstairs to turn the air conditioning up. He got upset and said he was feeling comfortable. I said “Fine, get hot later on. Whatever.” Really I was feeling jealous that he is able to sleep with nothing but a sheet when I lay there huddled under everything and then some.

He got upset with my nasty reply (justifiably so), and said “Do you want to go downstairs and turn the AC up?” He asked this knowing full well that I wouldn’t go downstairs.

I played it out in my head, going downstairs to the dark room, creeping over to the thermostat and turning it, all the while listening listening listening until some sound made me tremble and shake and run back into the bedroom, shutting the door behind me quickly and locking it, checking the lock and latch again and again and again. Standing in the dark bedroom after my run up the stairs, listening listening listening – is the man downstairs following me? Did he run up the stairs after me? Quiet. Listen. Listen. Try to walk calmly to the bed, but run instead. Jump back into bed, put the covers over my head, lay there with my heart beating in my head.

Out loud, I said “That is the second time in two nights that you have shamed me about my nighttime stuff.”

Did he shame me? I don’t know. I sure felt ashamed after our exchange, that’s for sure. But at the same time, all he really did was ask a question. A very loaded question that led me down a terrible road.

The truth is that I was walking down that road a long time before I met my husband. He just reminded me of the road, and it hurt to be reminded of it in that way, at that vulnerable time.

Not being able to turn up the air conditioner when you are hot, because it is located downstairs in a dark room. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #81: Bordering on Ridiculous
April 25, 2009, 12:54 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

Last night, the huz and I were going to bed, and I asked him to check in the closets and under the bed and in the closets behind our bed too. Then I asked him to fix the covers so that they were ‘right’, which may be one of my obsessive-compulsive things. Then I asked him to make sure the door was locked. He got pissed then and said “You know, your bedtime needs are bordering on ridiculous!”

I know they are ridiculous. All of this is ridiculous if you look at it through that sort of lens. I mean, really, keeping a blog of reasons why you shouldn’t fuck kids is ridiculous too. The only people that don’t know why you shouldn’t fuck kids are the people that are fucking kids, and if they are reading this blog, they are still justifying their shit before, during, and after reading these reasons.

I know it’s ridiculous to ask him to check the bed and the closet and the door and everything else. This ‘ridiculousness’ is my response to being victimized. This is how I survive being fucked as a child. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #80: What Came After
April 23, 2009, 9:05 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , ,

I was watching this movie that I recorded on TiVo called “The Nanny Express”. The nanny character is this woman whose mother died of cancer when she was in high school. She said “I thought the months right before she died were so hard, and it turns out they were nothing compared to the next few years without her.”

That is what it was like for me, surviving the abuse. When it was happening, I thought it was so hard living through this. So hard wondering how to face my dad at the breakfast table when he was looking at me like that, so hard going to school with everyone and their normal problems when mine were mountains that I couldn’t see past.

After Mom divorced him, and both my father and brother were living away, I have never had to live with either of them again. It’s supposed to be good now, right? I mean, the abusers are not living with me anymore.

I didn’t understand that surviving the abuse is one thing, what comes after is real fucked up and hard. It’s been 20 years since I last had to suffer any childhood sexual abuse. I am still fucked up. I still have issues with summer blankets, nighttime terrors, fears of elevators, showering, all kinds of shit that make every day real hard. All these hard things share a common cause. A babysitter, my brother, and my father molested me when I was a child, at separate times. I have been afraid ever since. I am pretty sure that were it not for the kindness of strangers, family, and friends, I would be dead from suicide a long time ago. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #79: The summer blanket
April 20, 2009, 12:48 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

Last night, the huz and I made the switch to the summer blanket, which is this really thin flimsy thing that is probably meant to keep a body cool during the heat of the summer months. We’d both been sweating the last few nights, so we felt it was an appropriate time.

This morning the huz got up early to go work out, so I was in bed alone with the summer blanket, and I instantly felt unsafe under its relative non-weight. It was actually weird all night long with it, but it got acutely difficult after he left the bed and I was left alone under it.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. We can’t sleep unless we are hidden in a mess of heavy blankets because of what you did to us. We hide at night under our covers, the way you read about children doing when they are scared. We were those kids. Now we are those adults, and we still need all those blankets even though we also know somewhere in our heads that no amount of blankets ever really kept us safe. Still though, we need to sleep at night, so we imagine that heavy blankets keep us safe.

Surviving childhood sexual abuse absolutely seeps into every facet of living, from waking through sleeping. I have always thought so privately, but now that I am counting every reason out in my blog, it’s really hitting home. I bet my husband was happy about the summer blanket. I bet the fact that it weighs next to nothing actually felt good for him. For me it was yet another thing to get through.



Reason #78: That fucking “g” word again
April 18, 2009, 9:34 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , ,

So I think we can all agree that my husband puts up with a lot of shit, right? I mean, just in the last post alone was some shit about how I refuse to say what I call “the g word” (goodbye), and how he basically felt hung up on for the first few months of our relationship. Well here’s part two of that shit.

The baby’s pediatrician asked us if the baby was waving goodbye yet, and we both said no. The pediatrician looked a little worried, which worried me. (I’m Jewish.) Anyway, I was talking about it with my mom, and my mom said “Sweetie, you never say that word, so where would the baby learn it from?” That put my worries to rest about the baby not waving bye bye yet.

Well, it appears that the baby has learned it anyway. Other people besides myself and the huz watch this baby at times, and apparently, they have taught him to be normal and use that word when he is leaving. Lately, when the huz says “Say see you later mama” while waving his hand, the baby goes “Baaa baaa”. I give the huz a big panicked look, and the huz starts laughing uncontrollably. Now, I can’t get mad at the huz because he puts up with a lot of shit from me (starting with this whole “see you later” shit).

My baby is saying that word to me, and I can’t handle it. It scares me. I am afraid of a word. I suppose there is a world where that word is a perfectly good and usable word (no it’s not, it’s a fucked up scary ass horrible word).

I am afraid of a word. Afraid of saying it and hearing it. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.




%d bloggers like this: