Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids

Reason #120: Child Rape dreams
August 27, 2009, 12:38 pm
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This morning, I came downstairs with the baby and kissed my husband good morning. He said “Hi Baby, how’d you sleep?” (He’d already been up for a few hours – he likes to exercise in the morning.) I said “Oh, shitty. All night long I kept having the same nightmare about the rape of a child and the rapist.” I looked up at my husband and his face looked absolutely horrified.

What’s funny about this is the fact that for him, the whole experience was beyond belief, whereas for me, this was one of a million such dreams that I have had in my 35 years on this Earth. When I get stressed, this is how I handle it, with terrible dreams of child sexual abuse. One of the many reasons you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Reason #119: I bet this is what it was like for you
August 21, 2009, 12:52 pm
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The other night, my husband and I were over at his parents’ house. We all had dinner outside, and then his dad lit some sparklers. The baby absolutely loved them. He was clapping and enjoying and laughing, which of course made all of us clap and laugh and enjoy.

My husband was standing to my left, and my mother-in-law was standing to my right. I looked at my husband and said “I bet this is what it was like for you growing up, huh? Nights like this where the whole family gathered and special things like sparklers.” My husband said “Yeah, they were always doing stuff like this.” As has always been the case whenever I see functional families, I felt that familiar feeling. It’s not jealousy or envy, just a sense of ‘we never had nights like this’.

There’s this author, Steven Gold, and he theorizes that for sexually abused kids, it’s not just the sex abuse that fucks us up. It’s the fact that we come from the types of homes where shit is so dysfunctional that it allows sex abuse to happen (whether it’s incestuous or not). The sex abuse becomes just one of many fucked up things that have happened to us, and we are reacting to a whole life of people betraying us, letting us down, turning their backs on us, letting us get abused. I couldn’t help but think about that when I was standing there with my husband, watching our baby enjoy his first fireworks display. It wasn’t just the sex abuse – our home was rife with strife, and big on dysfunction. But the sex abuse was constant personal betrayal that made me never trust in good things again.

My mother in law looked at me, and maybe she could see my tears in the darkness. Who knows. She has no idea what went on behind the walls of my home. Anyway, she said “Now you have your own family, and you’re going to have all those nice things.” I hadn’t thought about it that way, but it’s such a nice idea, isn’t it? It’s so enticing. I was raised in shit, but I hope my son is not raised in shit. I wish I believed with my whole heart that this is my life now, but I don’t. Always is the ever-present thought that all this can be taken away in a second. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Reason #118: Migraines
August 18, 2009, 12:52 am
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I wish someone would research the link between surviving childhood sexual abuse and the incidence of migraines. Lots of women get migraines, it’s true. But lots of women are grown up fucked kids too. My survivor readers out there – do you get migraines?

I started getting migraines when my brother started his shit with me, when I was 7 or 8. I didn’t tell anyone what he was doing and my head hurt like hell. I imagine it was my body’s way of handling the unhandleable. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids – we get headaches for the rest of our fucking lives.

My mom tried all sorts of shit to help me with my migraines. Biofeedback was the dumbest shit that didn’t help me at all. Mom tried changing my diet to eliminate possible migraine triggers. Eventually I revealed the sex abuse to Mom, and she made his abuse of me stop, magically. Thank you G-d. And mom.

To this day, Mom wonders aloud if steak gives me migraines. I don’t know how many times I have told her it’s not the fucking steak, it’s the fucking of me as a child that has given me pain in my head in the form of migraines. I think it’s easier for her to believe it’s the steak. It’s easier for me to believe the truth.

Reason #117: Boundaries

When I was a teenager, I had a best friend who had two parents that got along with each other, and a brother. One day she said “My brother came out of the bathroom today with just a towel on. It was so gross. We all told him ‘put some clothes on!” I said “What happened then?” She looked at me and said “He put some clothes on.” I sat there completely flabbergasted.

Normal families have boundaries. Sexually abusive families do not. My father almost always walked around in his underwear (tidy-whities), and no shirt. And he would scratch himself and make noises while doing so. My brother, having learned from the fine example my father set for him, would masturbate in his room, and then walk out of his room in his underwear with his penis still hard. Disgusting. Both of them made me extremely uncomfortable with their weird exhibitionist behavior, and of course, neither of them could give a shit about me or my discomfort.

I asked my husband if he has ever seen his father or mother at all disrobed or unclothed in any way. He said no. My husband is the most respectful person I have ever met when it comes to boundaries. He was obviously raised in a home where boundaries were respected. When you’re raised in a sexually abusive home, it’s not like the sex abuse is the only bad thing happening in that house. There’s lots of other shit going on too. Since the big boundary has been forced down against our will, all the other boundaries were probably crumbled before that too.

As an adult, I have no understanding of boundaries, and I am constantly allowing my boundaries to be crossed so that people will like me. All of my boundaries meant nothing to those who were abusing me, so I grew up thinking that I have to let people trample over me and my boundaries in order to like me. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. We have no idea that we are allowed to fucking say no, to you or anyone else. And the thing about boundaries is that with some people, you have to assert your boundaries again and again. It’s not like the first ‘no’ will do it, you have to say it over and over again. And of course, with some people – like for instance people who fuck kids, you could say no every second of every day, and they still won’t stop.

I told my brother and father to cover up, that it made me uncomfortable. They didn’t give a shit about me or my boundaries, which is what allowed them to molest me. The incest taboo is an enormous boundary, and it exists for a reason. Fucking kids is wrong, and fucking kids within your own family is also wrong. People who fuck kids don’t like to believe it’s wrong, because they don’t give a shit about the kids or their feelings or their boundaries. They only give a shit about themselves. I could have asked them hundreds of times to put some clothes on, but my feelings were not their concern. Just like with all people that fuck kids, they were more concerned about themselves than they were about me. Boundaries exist in normal families, but I bet if you asked any person who has been sexually abused about their family’s boundaries, they’d say the same things I just did.

Reason #116: Desperately Seeking Safety
August 5, 2009, 12:31 pm
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Did you ever see that movie “Desperately Seeking Susan”? It has Madonna in it and Rosanna Arquette. The whole movie, Roseanna goes around desperately seeking this Susan character.

As a person who survivied incest and child sexual abuse, I continually seek safety in my life. I generally choose the safer of any options. I live my life safely. I hardly drink. I do not use non-prescription drugs and never have. I dated women, because I felt they were safer than men.

Did you ever hear that quote “Ships in the harbor are safe, but that’s not what ships are built for”? When I first read that quote, my immediate thought was “Yeah, but they’re safe. What could possibly be better than being safe?”

I wonder if, without the sexual abuse, I might have lived a different life. I wonder if I would have been pursuing my dream of singing onstage somewhere. I have always been a feminist. I wonder if I would have done something with that. I wonder if I would have had sex and enjoyed it before my husband, with other men?

I can’t even count the many ways in a day that I choose the safer option. Like locking myself in my room instead of being in the rest of the house, or even dare I say it, going outside for a walk. I can’t help but think about Warrior, who spends her life being courageous. I want to be like that, but safety always wins out. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Reason #115: The Bridal Shower

A month or two before I met my beautiful husband, I had to go to a bridal shower for one of my best friends. I was maid of honor in the wedding, so truly, I had to go. I went, I played the part of best friend, I put on a smile, and I came home and cried.

All I could think was “Of course she is getting married. Why wouldn’t she get married?” I mean, look at her there, both of her parents lovingly throwing her a shower so that she can enter into this adult rite of passage. What exactly would have ever stopped her from getting married? She came from a loving home, a safe home, where no one ever fucked her, and she never had to push her dresser in front of her door to feel safe at night. She has no problem with sex. So really, of course she would get married.

At that point, I understood for sure that I would never get married. I would never have the bridal shower with the two parents lovingly sending me off. I mean, that just wasn’t my life, and for the most part I accepted it. But that bridal shower was too much for me that night, and I came home and cried. My mom probably thought I was crying because I wasn’t getting married, and that probably was part of it. But the real reason why I was crying was because I knew that I had never felt what my best friend felt. Safe. Safe enough to leave home, safe enough to get married, safe enough to trust that the man she was entrusting the rest of her life to wasn’t going to betray her.

I was wrong. But for 28 years, I was right. And this is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. The thing is, I was wrong about the marriage part, but truly, I was and still am right about the feeling safe part. I am 35 years old. I have no memory of feeling truly safe, and I have no feeling of true safety now either. I suppose in a world that is willing to fuck children, no one is truly safe.

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