Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids

Reason #242: Comparing myself to others

I have a cousin who is almost the same age as me.  We were always pretty close to each other until puberty hit and then we got kind of distant, probably because I was afraid of males.  But we always kept that childhood bond anyway.

I don’t think he’s ever been competitive with me, but I have always compared myself to him.  It’s a competition I was never going to win.  He grew up with money, white male privilege, two parents that loved him and were involved in his life, no weight problems, and he was never abused.  My parents divorced each other twice, some of the time we were on welfare, I started getting fat after my brother started abusing me, and I grew up traumatized because three different people used my body as their own personal plaything. 

In other words, it’s a competition I was never going to win.  Everyone does this, I am sure.  Everyone compares themselves to others and loses.  I was once maid of honor in a wedding at a time when I was pretty sure I would never get married, and I was comparing myself like crazy to my thin pretty best friend who had no fear of sex.  Up until I met my husband, I was terrified of penis.  I was never gonna get married, as far as I knew.

During that time in my life, a wise therapist said “You are never going to win when you compare yourself to others.  You are comparing their outsides – the best of what you know about what they are willing to show you – with your insides, the worst of what you know to be true about yourself.  It’s a competition you can never possibly win.”

So last night I told my cousin that I am getting a divorce.  And that my husband is going to be a woman. And instantly, I was transported back to all the other times in my life where I felt lesser than my cousin.  My cousin’s marriage is going strong, and mine is failing.  His wife is going to stay a woman and my husband is going to become a woman.  He is fucking his wife, I am sure, and my husband and I haven’t fucked in years now.

I felt like the same old Butterfly; poor abused Butterfly from the wrong side of the tracks.  Poor fucked Butterfly.  I hate that feeling, and it fucked me up last night.  It wasn’t anything he did or said, it was me; it was all shit I brought with me to that conversation.  I had been congratulating myself on the fact that it had been my fourth day of not crying, after two months of crying daily since I found out about my husband.  But then I told my cousin about us, felt like shit, and spent the rest of the night sad.

Everyone compares themselves to others, so this in itself would not be a reason not to fuck kids.  But fucked kids know intimately that something is very wrong with us.  We continually think that there must be something inherently wrong with us, either because they picked us to fuck us, or because after the abuse happens, we truly are changed people after that.  We are damaged to a point that makes our former selves almost unrecognizable.  Thus, after being abused, every time we compare ourselves to others, we are always for sure going to lose, because our very soul is damaged from what has happened to us. 

Telling my cousin I am getting divorced and instantly being transported back to feeling like a fucked kid. That is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Reason #241: A New Bedroom for me
May 22, 2011, 12:02 pm
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Since my husband has figured out that he is a woman inside, and my marriage is over, we have been talking about us moving into separate bedrooms in our home.  Luckily, we happen to have a guest bedroom.  It is much smaller than our master bedroom and it is covered in really ugly wallpaper that we always meant to change but never got around to it.

When I told my mom that I am going to be the one that moves into the guest bedroom, she said “Why?  Why can’t he move into the other bedroom?”

I got embarrassed.  It’s not the first time my survivor issues have crept up in unexpected places, unexpected conversations.  The reason I have to move into the other bedroom is that the smaller bedroom is a lot less frightening for me.  The Master bedroom has four closets to worry about people hiding in, all kinds of nooks and crannies to shine a light in before I go to sleep, etc.  Just too many places for me to be worried about.   Too many places for me to be afraid of.

The smaller bedroom is like a square, and the only places I have to worry about are the one closet and under the bed.  It’s just a much easier bedroom for me to live in, if I have to live in a separate bedroom from my husband. 

When I said all this to my mom, she said “Oh sweetie.  I’m so sorry honey.”  And then I started to cry, as I have every day since this whole mess started.

Having to take the smaller shit bedroom upon separating from my husband.  That is the 241st way that being a survivor of child sexual abuse has fucked me again.

Reason #240: Feelings of Betrayal

Last night, I had a dream that my husband and my father were in cahoots with each other, and in the dream they both betrayed me.  I am sure it is just me working out my feelings of betrayal as my husband continues the process of becoming a woman, and I continue to process the end of my marriage to this sweet man.

My father is an obvious representation of betrayal.  Literally, he did betray me by touching me and looking at me in a way that no father should be looking at their daughter.  And a hundred other betrayals by him as well.

My husband’s a different story. I don’t feel like I ‘have the right’ to feel betrayed by my husband.  I mean, he really did not choose this.  He is this, and he cannot help who he is.  I guess my feelings of betrayal stem from him asking me to marry me in the first place, and from hiding his cross-dressing activities from me before we got married.  And, if I am being honest with myself, I feel betrayed by him for putting me in this situation, where I am now going to be a divorced woman back in the dating pool.  My G-d.

The same problems I brought with me into this marriage are the same ones I will bring into another marriage.  I keep asking myself, “What man could possibly ever want me now?”  I know, I know.  That’s just stinkin’ thinkin’, as Stuart Smalley used to say on Saturday Night Live.

Then I worry about bringing another man into my son’s life.  Did you know that the highest risk of child sexual abuse is the presence of a step-father in a child’s home?  Well, I do, and that fact alone is enough to terrify me about dating some new guy.  Or at least from bringing someone into my precious son’s life. 

Today’s theme is betrayal, and it’s not the first time I have written about betrayal in this blog.  It’s in my life, in my dreams, in my past, and apparently, in my present.

Reason #239: Deep Dark Places
May 14, 2011, 12:14 pm
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Last night I was in a deep dark place, emotionally.  My husband was out at a meeting for transgendered people, and he went there dressed as a woman.  I sat home, alone, contemplating my life and how I got here, and where I am to go in the future.

I came to think about G-d.  It was one of those times where I thought that if there is a G-d, He is mean.  He knew about that babysitter and totally let her come into our lives, and fuck my brother and I when we were vulnerable.  She is the reason that while I was sitting there alone last night while my husband gallivanted around with other men dressed as women, that I was able to be here not only alone, but also afraid.  I have been afraid of the night ever since she came into our life.

G-d also knew about my husband being a woman inside when I married him.  G-d knew, but I didn’t know.  I feel betrayed by G-d, and also by my own lack of intuition that allowed me to be in this place – married to a man who is a woman inside.

It is not the first time I have been in a dark place.  I cried pretty much the whole night, and after my husband got home, I wanted to be supportive of him, because even though this is all so hard for me, it is also terrible for him.  He did not choose this, he wouldn’t want this, and he can’t change it.  He certainly wouldn’t want to lose his wife and the rest of the life he built, and this speaks to the depth of the need inside him to be his true authentic self. So, here he is going through this enormously difficult thing, and I wanted to be supportive of him.  Instead, I failed miserably, cried with him, and told him I wish I were dead and that I don’t want to see what life has in store for me anymore.

It is not the first time I have wished for death, which is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  The experience of surviving child sexual abuse makes us actually want to die many more times in our life.  That death is on you. I began thinking about death when I was 12, and got real serious about it when I was 19. Now, I am a mother, so I would not take my own life.  I may be sad, but I am not that selfish.  I have seen what happens to children when they don’t have a proper mother here on this Earth.

I talked to my Aunt about the fact that I had no premonition or intution or bad feelings when I was getting married, and how betrayed I feel by that.  She said that maybe I had no intuition about it because if I had a bad feeling about it, I wouldn’t have gotten married to him and had this baby.  She said maybe I was meant to get married to him and have this baby.  She said maybe we were meant to be in each other’s life in this way, and that had G-d warned me about it beforehand, I wouldn’t have fulfilled my destiny.  That made me feel a little better about it, a little less betrayed.

But I was still in a dark place, emotionally, when my husband got home.  He held me as I cried, and told me that even though our marriage was ending, that we would never have to be truly alone because we’d always have best friends in each other.  I found that to be comforting.  He also said “You know, I always comfort myself with something that you told me once.”

I said “Yeah?  What’s that?”  He said, “You told me that the Universe will take care of us, in spite of ourselves.”  We both laughed a little about that.

I woke up today feeling a little better than when I went to sleep.  I can see the dark place from where I am, but I am not down in it this morning.  He’s going to another meeting tonight, so I invited a female friend over to be with me tonight.

Reason #238: The movie Twins

Did you guys ever see the movie “Twins”, where Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito play twin brothers?  There’s a scene in there that I have always liked.  DeVito plays a guy who was raised in an orphanage and went into a life of crime.  Schwarzenegger plays a guy who was raised on a beautiful island with a lot of love, and so he is overflowing with love to give.

In the movie, they meet up with the doctor who is responsible for their life paths until that point.  The doctor said that they put everything good into Schwarzenegger, and all the crap that was leftover produced DeVito.  Schwarzenegger punched the doctor, and when he looks back at DeVito, he sees that DeVito is completely broken by what the doctor told him.  So Schwarzenegger puts his arm around him and ever so gently leads him out of that terrible room.

I wonder what would have happened if someone had punched out that babysitter and then put their arms around my brother and I, and led us out of that terrible room where terrible things happened to us.  I wonder – if someone had fucking acknowledged what had happened to us so early on in our lives, and and gave us some therapeutic intervention – would my brother still have molested me in years to come?  Would I have still become so fucked up around sex that I was completely afraid of men?  Would I have ended up in a doomed marriage with the safest man alive?

My husband and I have been talking every day about the enormous elephant in the room with us.  Every day we hold each other so tight, because somewhere deep inside us, I think maybe we both realize we are going to eventually lose each other.  Already the marriage has changed so much; it is hardly recognizable anymore.

This sweet man gentled me into this marriage, and he is gentling me out of it too, I think.  Last night, he held me for such a long time as I cried into his shoulder.  He cried too.  I am crying as I type this.

At our wedding, my mom read this beautiful verse about how there is a season for everything, a time to weep, a time to dance, a time to heal, etc.  This is our season of sadness, of loss, of learning who we really are and honoring our true selves.

Reason #237: Another migraine

I have had a migraine all day.  I woke up with it at 5AM.  No amount of Tylenol or Advil has taken it away yet.  I have tried migraine medicines in the past, but haven’t had any luck with them.

This isn’t my first post on migraines. That’s because it’s not my first migraine. I’ve been getting migraines since the first time my brother looked at me and touched me inappropriately.  Since I first laid on that couch, that fucking orange couch, and he used my body while I pretended I wasn’t there.  It wasn’t the first time my body had been used against my will, but I guess it was the first time that resulted in head pain.  Ever since then, whenever things get stressful for me, my head hurts so badly.  

Life is painful right now, and my headache is just my mind’s way of trying to cope with that stress.  When I was a little girl and I had these migraines, I would cry and cry from the pain.  My mom tried to comfort me, but she was so bewildered by it all.  Why would a child so young get migraines?  I knew that my crying was upsetting her soul, but I couldn’t stop, because it hurt so bad.  I also knew that crying was making the migraine itself worse, but I couldn’t stop crying anyway.

Even after I told my mom what my brother was doing to me, the migraines continued.  It’s like my body figured out that this is a sure way to handle emotional pain, by transferring it into a physical one.

Things with my husband are so painful right now.  I love him so much, and he loves me so much.  I hate this in-between stage we are in, where we don’t know if our marriage is going to continue or not.  I wish I could be attracted to him when he is dressed as a woman, and not be freaked out when he removes all the hair off of his body.  I told the therapist “I hate myself for my reaction to this.  I wish I could just embrace and accept this. ”  She had to explain to me that I have embraced and accepted this, but no amount of accepting it will turn me from a heterosexual into a homosexual.  She had to explain this to me because I have no concept of healthy sexuality, or even of myself as person who is allowed to be a certain sexuality.

I am 37 now.  It’s been 30 years of migraines.  This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Reason #236: My Husband

In my last post, I said that my husband had some game-changing news, but I was unable to say what it was because it was too painful.  Well, here it is.  My husband said that he thinks he is a female in a male’s body.  He is thinking about actually becoming a woman, through surgical means.  At the very least, he is probably going to live as a woman for a while. 

I know.  It’s shocking.  Take a minute.  It’s been some time for me, and I’m still somewhat shocked.

Anyway, back to me… This revelation on his part is problematic for me because I know that I am mostly heterosexual.  I spent some time in gay relationships, and even though I loved my first girlfriend very much, we proved that love was not enough to save a doomed relationship.  I spent much of our sex life pretending and fantasizing that she was a man just to get through the sex.  I was VERY afraid of penis, and my girlfriends were very masculine women and I loved them.  But unfortunately, I am not gay, and I proved it. And if my husband does become a woman, I just don’t think I will be attracted to him in that way anymore.  I mean, I can’t say for certain, because you never know, but I don’t think I will be.

There’s a saying in Judaism that it is better to light a candle than curse the darkness.  I keep cursing my own survivorhood that brought me to this marriage, brought me to this place in my life.  I don’t know how to find the light in this, and I keep desperately trying.  I suppose that is the dark truth about desperation.  It is nearly impossible to find the light when you are desperate. 

Truly, I hate myself through all of this, even though I kind of understand that it’s not my fault.  The thing is, I of course would marry a man so safe that he is actually a woman!  I was so afraid of penis, and here was a guy willing to wait the TWO YEARS of dating that it took for us to be able to fuck each other.  Now I understand that he just wasn’t all that interested in sex, and he wasn’t interested in it because he didn’t really feel comfortable with his penis.

I was pretty mad at him at first, when he told me about being a woman.  I did all the standard “Why did you ask me to marry you” and “How could you not know” questions.  But in the end, I realized that this is a process for him, and he just didn’t know.  He just didn’t understand why he felt so different, and he feels more at peace now that he understands more of who he is.

Every night since all this started, I have been awake while my husband sleeps.  I sit there in bed, in the dark, and think about all this stuff.  I don’t really understand how to be in bed with him anymore, and also how not to be in bed with him anymore.

In our latest marital therapy session, I told the therapist I want us to stop working on trying to fuck each other.  I explained that when I decided to get into this relationship with my husband, I made a pact with myself that I would not just be a body in this relationship.  This time would be different, I decided, because I would allow both my body and my heart to be involved.  So many times in the past, I was only sexual with people because it was just my body, not my heart.  The way it was with my brother where I would dissociate completely from my body, and he would do shit to my body, but I wouldn’t really be there for it, and so it was okay to survive it.  I would recreate that situation again and again in my life with each new lover, and I just didn’t want that with my husband.  (By the way, that shit about just being a body in sexual situations, and recreating unhealthy situations – that right there is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  I would put money on the fact that almost all of us fucked kids do this.  And I’d be rich if I did.)

Anyway, the therapist understood, and we agreed that we aren’t sure where to take this from here on.  We originally got into marital therapy because we weren’t fucking each other, and I wanted us to.  Now we’re still not fucking each other, but I can’t fuck him unless I am sure our marriage is going to last.  If he actually becomes a woman, I am fairly certain that I cannot continue in this asexual marriage.  And I feel terrible about that, because I feel like I am abandoning him in the middle of such a difficult time.  (Although, we have both acknowledged that we will probably hopefully always be best friends, since we love each other and respect each other so much.)

In our latest marital therapy session, we both acknowledged that our marriage might be over.  My husband, in tears, said “I am sorry that I could not be the husband you need and deserve.” I told him that I wouldn’t take away a minute of falling in love with him, as it was and still is the best thing that ever happened to me.  At this point, the therapist started to cry.  After the session was over, I told my husband that it’s never a good sign when the therapist cries over your failed marriage issues.  We laughed through tears about that.

I married the safest man alive – a man so safe that he is actually a woman in a man’s body, apparently- and I did that because of my history of sexual abuse.   This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

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