Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #293: The fucking pride parade

Last year, about a month after my husband told me ‘he’ is actually a ‘she’, she went to the Gay Pride Parade.  She was on the Transgender float, and she stayed at the Parade all day while I stayed home with our young son.  I was heartbroken.

The Pride Parade is coming up in a few weeks.  She will be going again.  I am no longer heartbroken, but I sure do feel like shit about my whole life situation right now. (Please note, for all the haters out there, I am not against the Pride Parade, nor am I against homosexuals.  Nor am I against transgenders or the transgender movement, for heaven sake.  I am FOR all of these things.)

I just read an excerpt from a book called “Good in a Crisis” by Margaret Overton.  It’s a memoir of this woman whose marriage ended, and a bunch of shit happens to her.  She starts dating, and one of these men rapes her.

I probably shouldn’t have read this, as this is one of my many fears about dating again.  Did you know that if you are a child sexual abuse survivor, there is a higher likelihood of your getting raped again in your lifetime?  These fucking predators understand on some level that we have been raped before, and somehow target us again. I pray I do not become one of these statistics.

I could really use a cupcake. Or a box of cupcakes.

I agree with the concept of the Pride Parade, obviously.  I think people should have pride in who they are, and wear their colors proudly.  For me though, it sure brings up a lot of my own shit. There’s not a lot of fucking pride in being the idiot wife who was duped by the person who presented herself as a man for the 9 years we were together.  I feel like the world’s biggest moron, for falling in love with and trusting someone who ultimately hurt me so badly. When I read her blog that she is now keeping as part of her new identity as a trans woman, I realize all the many omissions and deceptions that were a part of our courtship and marriage.  Every time I read it, I find a new facet of painful realization, and yet I can’t stop fucking reading it.  All of it provides clues as to who she was or is, and I feel I need to understand all of her in order to understand how I ended up letting my guard down enough to fall for all of that.  As with most things, I feel I need to study this situation in order to protect myself from further harm.

On another note – I wonder if maybe we should be throwing some sort of Survivors Parade.  I mean, seriously.  There are parades for war veterans, for gay people, for celebrities, for heroes, for all kinds of people who have survived adversity or done amazing things.  Why not a Survivors’ Parade?  Why not wear our colors proudly?  We survived something terrible, and every day that we get up again to face the day is an act of tremendous courage.  Why not a parade for us??  Maybe I should be thinking about organizing something like that, for us and our supporters.  I wonder how to go about doing something like that???  Survivors – maybe we can all put our heads together and come up with something.

 



Reason #292: Who’s Gonna Love You Now?

I was watching Glee tonight, and in this episode Coach Bieste made the wonderful decision to leave her abusive husband. In classic abuser fashion, he said “Who’s gonna love you now?”.  After a slight pause, she reflected on his question, and said “ME.”

The whole thing made me think about my situation. One of the questions I have always wrestled with is feeling like damaged goods. Now that I am getting divorced, I have asked many times “Who would ever want me?” I think it’s a natural question to ask in a divorce situation, and also a natural thing to ponder when you have survived child sexual abuse and incest.

It would be really cool if I learned to love myself.



Reason #291: Creating safety

When you go to therapy, do you ever try to edge away from the tough stuff and talk about fluff instead?  It’s kind of stupid to do that, but I do that sometimes.  The reason it’s stupid is that I am paying this person to work with me through my tough stuff.  But then shit gets scary and I spend the next few sessions talking about my job or some shit.  Then a few weeks later we’ll get back to the sex abuse.

Yesterday I asked her if there are child sex abuse survivors out there who come out of this okay.  She said that some are more okay than others, but no one comes away from an abusive experience unscathed.  So then I said “Why am I so afraid then?  It seems like I am more fucked up with the fear and phobia than any other survivor I know.”

She explained that I was never safe.  She said that I lived in a house with a mom who was, for whatever reasons, unable to keep me safe.  I lived with two of my perpetrators (brother and father), and mom hired a babysitter that molested us (unbeknownst to her). Since mom lived in her own little world, she was unable to fathom my abused life and was also unable to protect me and create safety for me.  Consequently, I had to create safety for myself.

As a child, my means for making safety was a child’s way.  I became afraid of the dark in an attempt to create safety.  I put the covers over my head to sleep at night.  I used three blankets in winter, with the thought process being that if someone stabbed me in the back, the knife wouldn’t make it through all those layers. I used to get so hot and sweaty under all those blankets, but I refused to use less blankets. I became afraid of my windows, afraid someone out there in the dark was watching me.  Et cetera. All of these things were attempts at creating safety for myself.

I guess the problem is that I never feel like I have achieved true actual safety.  And all these childhood coping mechanisms stayed with me through adulthood. I still have all those coping mechanisms and I have added some over the years.  Like my OCD rituals, or deciding people are good or bad based on their names. Or adding layers of fat onto my body to insulate myself and become unattractive to men.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  We create our version of safety, but all it really does is keep people out. We become like turtles, insulating ourselves from the world by hiding inside ourselves.




%d bloggers like this: