Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids

Reason #287: Learning to Love Yourself Again
March 30, 2012, 8:22 pm
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I watched this documentary last night about this man who used to be severely overweight. Now he has found his normal weight, and he said he is living a totally different life than the one he used to live when he was fat. He said he used to attend a group, and they told him something very beautiful. As he recalled what they told him, he began to cry in front of the camera. They told him “Let us love you until you learn to love yourself.”

I figure it is good advice for us survivors of child sexual abuse. As sisters and brothers in the war that we survived together, maybe we can accept and learn from each other’s love until we learn to love ourselves again.

Reason #286: Can She Hurt Us Now?

I was talking to my therapist about the babysitter, and how I think a lot of my general anxiety/phobia has to do with her.  Since I don’t have conscious memory of her, I am basing this on circumstantial evidence.  All my fears started after she babysat us, but before my brother ever touched me.

Lately, we have been drilling down through a bunch of shit to get to the real issue: the babysitter and her effects on me. I told the therapist that a part of me almost feels like I made a childhood pact with my brother to keep silent about everything, and that if I tell, I am breaking that pact.  It’s an odd thing, because he later became one of my abusers. But we were SO young when she fucked us, and it’s almost like surviving a war together.  In actual adult combat wars, soldiers call each other “battle buddies”.  I guess that’s what we were – battle buddies – before he became my next battle.

The therapist said that whether or not there was an actual pact, there was certainly an air of implicit silence.  Then I told her that I think we were both afraid she would hurt us in some way if we told.  (Truth be told, I am afraid even as I write this.) She reminded me that I am an adult, and no longer a child.

I looked at the therapist and said “Can she hurt us?”  The therapist said “How do you mean?”  I said, “I mean, now, can she hurt us?  Can she find us and hurt us?”

She said no. I said “How do you know?”  She said that the babysitter was only interested in fucking kids, she doesn’t want adults.  She reminded me again that I am an adult, and that I have the power.

I know that logically it doesn’t make sense to wonder if the babysitter could hurt us now. I understand that. But in all honesty, where is the logic in any of this?  It isn’t logical to fuck kids, but that happened to me.  It also isn’t logical for a brother to use a sister in a sexual way, or for a father to look at his daughter as a wife, but those things happened to me too.  So why should ‘logic’ be the dictating rule here?? Why should I be operating from a ‘logical’ standpoint when none of the originating actions were logical to begin with?

So who knows if she can hurt us now?  Why is that fear any less real than anything else?  The therapist said that when I think about her, I am using a child/adult dynamic with her, and that I revert to my young self.  I’m sure she is right about that.

Can she hurt us now?  I have no idea.  But it sure is scary to think about, and it makes it hard to think about telling too.

Reason #285: Mi Sheberach

As a survivor, I have always had a difficult time getting to sleep and then staying asleep. This last year of marriage breaking and almost dying in a hospital has probably worsened this already existing problem.

Last week, in an attempt to stop being so afraid at night, I bought myself a lava lamp. I figured that the moving shit inside the lamp would make me less afraid at night, and give me something pretty to look at. It’s pretty to look at, but it didn’t make me less afraid.

One of my fears is that I will go to sleep ‘too early’ and then I will wake up in the middle of the night, afraid and alone. Too early can be anywhere from 10PM – 12AM. The thing is, sometimes I get up at 6AM and sometimes at 7:30AM.

Anyway, I’m tired. I’m tired from a year of shit sleep. I’m not sure what to do about that. It’s definitely affecting my work, and I have a meeting with my boss tomorrow morning (ostensibly to talk about the fact that I am not doing my work well or on time). That’s what I’d talk to me about if I were him.

The thing is, I can’t say to him “I’m sorry I haven’t been producing the kind of work I used to. I’ve been sleeping alone in my own bedroom ever since my husband told me he’s a girl. Sleeping alone is very difficult for me because three different people tried to fuck me when I was a child, and since then I am scared all the time. Since I’m not sleeping, I’m not doing great work either. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids; we have times of being shitty in the workplace.”

Most of the time he lets me skate by because I’ve had periods of raging success. But it’s been a year of shit for me, and thus, shit for him. I’m not sure how to change the situation or how to suddenly get sleep.

On Sunday, I was laying in bed awake, and it was like 2AM, and I was feeling so sad and hopeless about my situation. I started comforting myself with thoughts of suicide. Mind you, I don’t want to actually commit suicide– (I don’t believe in motherless children, so suicide is not an option for me right now). I just want to be able to sleep at night and live my life without constant fear all the time.

So, although thoughts of suicide are comforting to me, I cannot act on them right now. So, in a Shawshank Redemption kind of way, I need to ‘either get busy living or get busy dying’. So, I tried something the next night. In temple, we sing this song called “Mi Sheberach”, which is a Jewish song for healing. The song is sung mostly in Hebrew, and the text of the song goes something like this: “May the source of strength, Who blessed the ones before us, Help us find the courage to make our lives a blessing”.  Here’s a link to the song on YouTube.

When I first got out of the hospital (after almost dying from gallbladder issues), I was in a great deal of pain.  At night, I used to rub my stomach and chest, and sing the Mi Sheberach song to myself, in the hopes of healing my physical ailments.  So a few nights ago, I put one hand on my head and one hand on my heart, and sang the Mi Sheberach in an attempt to heal my heart and mind. My heart and mind broke as a result of surviving abuse, and maybe if I sing this song to myself, I can be a part of the solution. Perhaps the forming of a ritual before going to sleep will help me get to sleep?

I will continue to pray for my own healing, and the healing of all of us who have suffered in this way.

Reason #284: Sleeping with the Lights On
March 14, 2012, 6:38 pm
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I hate sleeping with the lights on. Like most other humans, I like to sleep in the dark.  But the dark is my biggest fear and my biggest trigger, so when it all gets to be too much (as it did last night), I turned the lights on and slept all night like that.

This morning, my sweet beautiful son said “Mama, why did you sleep with the lights on?”  I said something about having fallen asleep with them on.  Total crock of shit.  It was completely purposeful, sleeping with the lights on. Humiliating.

Even with my ex, I was afraid to sleep in the dark.  But most nights I slept a lot more comfortably in the dark in bed with someone than I am right now without someone.  Right now my routine is to wait until I am sooooo tired that I can barely keep my eyes open, shut the lights off, (but keep the TV light on), run into bed, cover myself as much as possible, invite the dog to sleep next to me and then think about something else until I fall asleep.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. We sleep with the lights on. As you already know from a past post, I don’t like wasting electricity, but I need the lights to survive with sanity. But it’s not just the waste of electricity with this reason; it’s also the feeling of being a freak, and not being able to sleep as well with the lights on as I do with the lights off.  It’s lose-lose, just like every other reason I’m all fucked up.

Reason #283: Model Mugging

I feel like I am getting worse, in terms of my anxiety. I had a difficult session with the therapist last week.  We were talking about ways to feel safe, and she suggested that I take a self-defense class.  I told her that the one I want to take is called “Model Mugging” – it’s the one where a dude pretends to attack you and then you learn how to beat him up or get away.

She said, “Why don’t you do that?!?”

I told her that I wanted to, but that I was afraid I would get triggered because being pretend attacked is a little too much like being real attacked, in my mind.  And then the worst would happen, because I would cry in front of everyone.

She said “Why would that be the worst thing?”

I started to explain, but then my feelings about it all caught hold of me, and I started to cry right there in her office.  And then I was crying so hard that I couldn’t talk.

She asked me why I was crying, and it took me a while to answer because I was crying so hard.  This always happens to me whenever I think about taking the Model Mugging class.  I think about the class, and from what I have seen, the girl is laying on the floor and using her legs to hurt the rapist.  A woman’s legs are stronger than her arms, so they are taught to use their legs.  So, she’s laying on the ground and he’s standing over her.  This whole scenario is so scary to me, and every time I try to picture myself at the class, I start crying.

I told her I hate it when I cry in front of her.  I said “It’s such a waste of time.  I am paying to cry in front of you, when I could be talking to you.”    She said that she didn’t think it was a waste of time, and that in fact the opposite was true.  She said that the crying was a very important part of the therapy, because that is an important piece of working through things.  She said it means I am connected to my emotion about it, and that is a good thing.

I felt like we turned a corner in this session.  A good corner, but a difficult session.  I think that I processed a lot of the abuse from two of my abusers (my dad and my brother) with past therapists, but by the time I found out about a third abuser (that fucking babysitter), I wasn’t in therapy anymore.  Plus, there is also the pesky problem of not having any conscious memory of this abuser, and yet showing all these negative fearful symptoms at such a young age (before either of my other two abusers ever even touched me).  This tells me that her abuse of me fucked me up in the head.

Look at all the time, energy, and money that has been spent trying to heal from what was done to me.  Trying to fix what these people broke.  This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  I am 38, and still I am not done trying to fix what they did to me.  Sometimes, most of the time really, I think ‘Well, this is me.  This is how I am.  This will be me for the rest of my life.’

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