Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids

Reason # 108: The inability to kiss my husband
July 3, 2009, 11:53 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

The other night, I got to bed and the huz was already laying down. The room was dark. I took a deep breath and walked in the room. Since he was already laying down, it was kind of up to me to close the bedroom door. The hallway was light, and our room was dark. That fucking door was the only thing separating me from darkness and panic. But I also knew that sleeping in a room with the door opened and unlocked would give me a whole night of panic.

I closed the door and checked the lock. I checked the door and the lock again. I checked the door. Did I close it tight? Was it closed all the way? I checked the lock a few times. If an intruder got in, he would have to fight his way through the locked door before he got in the room. You know, sometimes the door feels like it is closed, but it isn’t really. Better check the door again. Since my hand is there, I might as well check the lock too.

“Baby, it’s locked,” I hear the huz say. I know it’s locked. But for whatever reasons I need to check, and I sure don’t like having an audience witnessing my michegas. Like it isn’t humiliating locking and checking and checking and locking as many times as I do each night.

Then I walk in the darkness to the bed. The huz is sitting up a little bit, letting me know he is awake. We’ve talked before about how it freaks me when he is already asleep and I have to do the nighttime darkness routine all by myself, so now he sits up a little bit to let me know I am not alone. When I type it out like this, I really realize how much shit this poor guy has to put up with. He has a heart of gold.

I am by the bed now. I am scared. I look around me. G-d only knows what is around me. It is dark, I can’t see. I quickly climb into bed, breathing a little harder now. I frantically look around, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the lack of light. I can make out shapes and that’s it.

I look around for a few minutes. “What are you doing, baby?” he asks. I can’t speak, I can’t be interrupted. This is important – I am the only one searching the room right now. What if the intruder is already in the room with us?? I scan the dark room with my eyes, looking frantically at the weak spots – the closet and the dark corners.

No furtive movements. Wait, what was that? I stare for a few more minutes. The huz says he has already checked the closets and under the bed and in the dark spots. He checks it in the dark though, and he doesn’t believe anything is ever there, so who can listen to him anyway? So I keep staring.

Finally, I feel safe enough kind of to lay down. I lay down next to him, with some space between us. He reaches for me. He feels guilty that we haven’t fucked in a few years, so he feels like he has to at least kiss me good night. His kisses have become more passionate lately. I would love to kiss him in light, but come on, it’s dark. I can’t see him in the dark. This could be anyone kissing me. I am freaked.

I try to kiss him back. I want to kiss him. I love him. But it’s too much, this darkness, me having to walk in the darkness, lock the door in the dark, I am too freaked. I can’t kiss. I pull away. He gets upset. He thinks I am mad at him, and gets mad right back. I start to panic. Who is this, who is this getting mad at me for not kissing? Is he going to force himself on me? He’s never done anything like that before, so there’s no reason to think he would now, but I am so scared now I can’t speak. Images of my brother on the couch with me flood my head. I said no then too. My no meant nothing then. I immediately reach for the light by the bed and turn it on. I am risking waking the baby with this big light on, but I can’t help it. I have to see NOW.

I see him, my sweet husband. I am 35, but I feel like I am tiny and powerless. And afraid. Very afraid. He is staring at me, wondering why I had to turn the light on. He begins to understand and says “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.” I can’t speak. This happens all the time when I get scared, I lose the power of speech. I want to answer him, but I can’t speak. My tongue feels heavy in my mouth, and I can’t remember how to form a word. I am frozen. Maybe if I freeze long enough all this will go away.

He says a sentence, a sentence that we have agreed on previously will be his sentence to use to bring me back. Back from wherever it is I seem to go when I freak like this. He says that sentence, and I recognize him for who he is, and I come back and I am just so grateful. Grateful to him for bringing me back and grateful to be back. I shut the light off and lay down again, this time terribly sad. I have fucked up our romantic time yet again.

Not being able to kiss my husband. That is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

7 Comments so far
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Oh honey, I’m so sorry. Sounds awful.

Comment by sworddancewarrior

Hi Butterfly,

I’m sorry dear. I don’t cope well with the dark either. I keep telling myself to get some flashlights, but I never do.

Good and healing thoughts to you.


Comment by kate1975

I’ve been lurking a bit….. Wanted to offer a hug and ask if you’d mind me adding you to my blogroll but as an acronym? (ie RYSFK)

Comment by woundeddeer

Hi Wounded Dear, (spelled that way on purpose)

I have visited your website, and I think the stuff you have survived is amazing and wonderful. I am blogrolling you.


Comment by butterflysblog

How about suggesting to him that he kiss you goodnight before turning out the lights.

I’m sorry you’re having this problem! Darkness is not one of my most serious triggers.

Comment by Ivory

[…] for those first five years of my life, I had no need of blankets over my head at night and holding my breath to stay so still.  Apparently I felt inherently safe for those first five years, and I trusted that […]

Pingback by Reason #150: What do I want? « Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids

[…] the dreaded talking about it afterwards. I posted about this several times during my marriage, like when I freaked out before we even got into bed together, , when I described it to my therapist as ‘fucking it up’ for us, and when my voice […]

Pingback by Reason #324: The Fosters | Reasons You Shouldn't Fuck Kids

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