Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #247: Changing my Mantra

I keep catching myself thinking “I wish I were dead”.  Generally, this thought happens when I am faced with other thoughts about my present situation.  Like when I think about my husband turning into a woman.  Or when I think about my upcoming move into the guest bedroom.  (Mom and I spent the last week putting new wallpaper up in that bedroom, so that I won’t be as depressed when I move in there.) Or when I think about checking under the bed and in the closet of my new bedroom, every night.  Or when I think about waking up in the middle of the night, scared and alone in my new room, like I used to in every room I have lived in before I met my husband, ever since that babysitter showed my brother and I that evil exists in the world.

The thing is, I am not suicidal.  I used to be suicidal, and I feel that this thought – the “I wish I were dead” thought – is not accurate.  It’s almost disingenous, and in a way, I feel it is disrespectful to the me I used to be, the one who wished for death so badly that when I was asked by my best friend what I wanted for my 21st birthday, I said “Death.”

I don’t wish I were dead right now.  So I thought long and hard about what it is that I really want when I think that horrible thought.  I think what I am really seeking is an end to this terrible pain.

This past weekend, my mom was talking about the kind of torment my husband must have suffered all his life, trying to live in a body that wasn’t genuine to who he really is.  He is really a she inside, and having to push that down constantly, and keep that sort of a secret (even from himself) all these years must have been torture.  My mom was contemplating his pain, and then she thought about my sex abuse, and she said “Of course, it’s not trauma though.  You’ve been traumatized.”

I do that too.  I keep comparing my current terrible pain – heartbreak, betrayal, sadness over my failed marriage – to my other terrible pain – experiencing and surviving childhood sexual abuse.  I really shouldn’t compare pains, I suppose, since all pain is real. But maybe it is natural to compare pain, to seek some sort of level for all this, to try and make it familiar?  If Mom is doing it, and I am doing it, maybe everyone is doing it?  Who knows. 

When I find myself thinking “I wish I were dead”, I try to immediately stop that thought where it is, and change it to “I wish this pain would end.”



Reason # 246: We’ll Get Through This
June 14, 2011, 1:37 pm
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The huz/(wife?) and I had to go to a wedding for a family member recently.  Most of the people at the wedding didn’t know our unique situation.  My mom and close family knew though.

It was an incredibly painful day for me, watching someone else’s marriage begin as my own is coming to an end.  I didn’t handle it well.  There was a lot of crying and sadness on my part, and some drinking at the wedding as well.  I am not generally someone who drinks, since I am really the slave to only one master (which is food).  But shit, if ever there was a time for a drink or two, that wedding was it.

At some point during all of this, my mom looked at me and saw what was happening for me.  She took my hand and squeezed it and said “We’ll get through this together, sweetie.”  I can’t even say how grateful I was to hear her say this.  One of the many difficult parts of all of this is how overwhelmingly alone this situation makes me feel.  When you imagine yourself divorcing, it happens in a hundred different ways.  Your husband telling you he is a woman inside is never one of those ways.

My mom said she needed her mom a lot when she was divorcing. I have always needed my mom a lot.  As you know, my quest for safety is constant, and elusive because it never truly comes.  When something happens to a kid that is contrary to survival, like sexual things with adults, there are many reactions to it.  One of them is the need for safety and love in the form of ‘mother’.  In my incest survivors’ group (20 years ago), every one of us had a strong need for our moms.

The thing about getting fucked, of course, is that a lot of times the moms are complicit in the abuse, by either staying on the side of the guy who is abusing you, or by not believing you.  Or, worse, she is the one doing the abusing.

I wonder what the world would be like if, upon hearing their child disclose abuse, instead of the usual shitty reaction, moms took their childrens’ hands and said “We’ll get through this together, sweetie.”



Reason #245: Don’t Share Your Pain with Fools
June 10, 2011, 1:02 pm
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In my last post, I talked about how freeing it was to share my pain with someone who received our secrets with love and understanding. 

Feeling emboldened by the freeing of our secret, I decided to share my pain with a friend.  I got together with her for lunch and told her that my husband and I are getting a divorce because he is becoming a woman.  She herself is a divorced woman, and her divorce was very contentious.

She grilled me from the moment I told her to the moment the lunch was over.  One of her first questions was “Have you thought about what this is going to do to your son?”  She asked me in almost an accusatory way, as if I was choosing for my husband to be transgendered. 

 Then she asked me what lawyers I was going to hire.   I said that I didn’t think we were going to hire lawyers, and that we were going to probably do a do-it-yourself divorce kit.  We both love each other very much, and we really aren’t people who fight over possessions.  We have both already agreed that he can have what he wants and I can have what I want.  Since we both want to stay married and we can’t have that, which is what we really want, I could really give a shit who gets the dining room table, you know?

She asked me if I was ready to forgive him yet.  I looked at her and said “Uh, this just happened.  I am still in the grief stage over the loss of my husband and marriage.”  She then talked some shit about forgiveness being good, and how that’s an important stage or some shit.  As my readers know, I think forgiveness is mostly bullshit. I don’t feel that forgiveness should ever be brought up by anyone else.  If the survivor brings it up, that’s when it’s okay to talk about it.  Otherwise, all the other person is really doing is asking you to forgive so that you can shut the fuck up, and they don’t have to deal with your pain anymore.  So I resented her thinking I should forgive, especially at the stage where I am in, which is crying and sad every day.

The relentless questions and opinions continued.  I couldn’t help but think about the many times I tried to break the secret of child sexual abuse with people around me.  My one aunt tried to verify if I was telling the truth by asking me what my brother’s penis looked like.  At that young age, I told her that it looked like an egg roll.  She had fits of laughter over my answer.  None of it seemed funny to me; I had never wanted to see my brother’s penis, and I certainly didn’t want to touch it.  She didn’t understand my pain, or what the sharing of my pain meant.

By the time I got home from that lunch, I wanted to eat and eat and eat my pain away.  There just wasn’t enough food yesterday.  The hard truth about using to food to solve emotional problems is that it’s like looking in the fridge only to see a sign that says “The answer you’re looking for isn’t in here.”

Yesterday I stupidly chose to share my pain with a fool.  I hate myself for not being able to tell my friend to shut the fuck up with her foolish advice and questions.   I can’t even count the many times I have been forced to share my sexual abuse pain with fools.  Yesterday’s pain could have been avoided if I had remembered that and thought ahead.



Reason #244: Breaking the Secret

The hard truth about secrets is that when you are keeping the secret, it has 100% power over you.  Once you free yourself of the secret, the weight of the world has been lifted off of you.  It no longer has power over you.  However, I think that freedom only really comes when you are the one who chooses to break the secret, not when it is broken for you. 

So, my husband’s cousin came over last night.  If you remember, last time she came over, it was an elephant in the room with us.  My husband couldn’t tell her he is becoming a woman.  He wasn’t ready, although I was.  His cousin and I are good friends, and it has been killing me when we get together that I have to act like my life is okay, when it is the farthest thing from it.

My husband told her last night.  He freed himself from his secret, and in doing so, he freed me from mine as well.  An enormous weight was lifted off of us both.  The air around us was lighter last night, and we both slept well for the first time in months.

After my husband told her, he left us alone to talk.  I came clean to his cousin about everything.  My past gay relationships, and my history of child sexual abuse and incest.  I didn’t tell her details, but I did tell her that I am a survivor of child sex abuse, and that my husband was the first one that I trusted enough to have sex with, and that it took us two years to even get there.  I told her that now I understand why it took us two years, and that I think he was able to successfully hide his own issues behind my enormous sex abuse issues. 

She listened to everything we said last night and then she called us this morning to make sure that both he and I are okay. 

My mom once told me “Don’t share your pain with fools.”  What she meant by that was that when you are going to share your pain with someone, choose that person very wisely, because you don’t want to share your pain with someone who ends up hurting you with it.  Thank G-d, we shared our pain wisely, with a caring soul who loves us unconditionally.

 This past weekend, I was in such a black hole of despair.  My husband was dressed as a woman on the transgender float at the gay pride parade and I was at home taking care of our child.  I am still sad about where my life is right now, but shit, it sure feels better to have the secret out there with someone here in my real life that I can share the pain with.

I have said this many times before, but it bears repeating.  When one of us breaks the secret, it gives courage to the rest of us to break ours as well.  And once the secret has been broken, we all become a bit more free.



Reason #243: Elephants in the room with us

My husband’s cousin came over last week.  She doesn’t know about my husband becoming a woman yet, so we had to act like everything is fine.  We had to act like our marriage isn’t imploding like a dying star.  It was like sitting there with an enormous elephant engulfing the space between my husband and I, while we all chatted about the weather. 

I don’t do well with elephants in the room that no one talks about.

It’s not the first time I have had to do that.  All of us fucked kids have done our time with elephants in the room.  It’s impossible not to.  First of all, a lot of the time, we are either related to our abuser or the abuser is close enough to the family that they are present in the same room as us during non-abuse times.  Second of all, the abuse leaves us feeling different.  Otherized.  So we sit there, staring at the elephant silently, while everyone around us blathers on about some nonsense we could give a shit about.

I can’t even count the many times this has happened to me. I mean, every time I visit my family, one of my abusers (my brother) is sitting at the table with me.   Or how about when an ‘innocent’ discussion about child abuse comes up, and I have to sit there like I haven’t lived it?  Like this discussion isn’t about everything that has formed who I am.  Like I am not a fucked kid.

When you fuck kids, you are making sure that they live with elephants everywhere they go.  Always feeling different and weird and awkward.  That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.




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