Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #295: Acting Like I’m Not Scared

I can’t even count how many times in one day that I act like I’m not scared when really I’m shaking inside.

My son sleeps in the dark, and I pray that he always sleeps in the dark. I am so afraid of the dark. But at night sometimes he asks for a drink of water, so I walk into his dark room like it doesn’t bother me at all, and I’ll hand him his cup of water.

I don’t want him to learn fear from me, so I act like I am completely fine being in a dark room. I learned fear when I was his age, in a terrible way.

Trying to give my son a drink of water at night when he asks for it. Yet another perfectly normal thing that has been fucked up for me, all because people sexually abused me when I was a child. That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #294: The Man in the Hotel Room

You remember that friend I talked about in Reason #152, the one who used to cut herself? The same friend who doesn’t like to go to certain buildings alone. This last weekend, we had to go to a work conference together. We stayed in the same hotel room.  We’re not very close, but we get along.

The reasons she cut herself were similar to my reasons. In her case, she was raped by her then-boyfriend (when she was 15).  In my case, three people used my body for their own sexual pleasure and power, during my childhood.

Anyway, so we were at the hotel this weekend. Knowing that she has a history of trauma, I wondered if she was all fucked up the way I am fucked up.  No one would really know just how fucked up I am if they don’t know me.  I mean, since I succeed at work, people think I am okay everywhere else too.  They are wrong, of course.

The hotel room that we stayed in had two big beds.  When it was time for us to go to sleep, we turned out most of the lights.  She said she liked a little bit of light.  I appreciated that, obviously, and I took it as a hint that maybe her trauma affected her too. (I thought maybe she is afraid of the dark too.)  It looked like she fell asleep fairly quickly, but I couldn’t.  I started panicking at the thought that there might be an intruder in our hotel room with us, hiding behind the curtains.  I couldn’t summon the courage to get up and look, but I also couldn’t get past my fear that he was there.  I laid there huddled under the covers, shaking, for about a half hour.  Finally, I used some positive self-talk to get myself through it. I assured myself that there was no way anyone could have gotten into my room, and I also assured myself that I had been right near that window when I adjusted the curtains.  The self-talk seemed to work, and I finally fell asleep.

The next morning I told her that I had trouble falling asleep because I was afraid there was a man behind the curtains.  I figured if I divulged a secret fear of mine, then she would admit that she had panic as well.  But no, nothing.  She remarked how weird that was, and didn’t say anything after that.  It was quite the “Don’t Share Your Pain With Fools” moment. Then later on though, she said she couldn’t sleep either and had to put in headphones with rock music just to fall asleep.

This whole weekend was so difficult for me.  She and I used to be fat together, but she is now thin.  She is not only thin, she runs outside alone, and has been doing that for a while now. It was like this whole weekend highlighted my fatness and her thinness. I spent the whole weekend comparing myself to her, and it was such a stupid thing to do.  No one is ever going to win that type of competition. But I didn’t realize I was doing it until after the weekend was over.

I just don’t understand.  How is it that she can survive rape and now she goes running.  Alone.  And yet I survived child sexual abuse and can’t step foot outside my house alone without it being a big major decision that scares the shit out of me.

When I used to be in an incest survivors’ group, the group facilitators told us we shouldn’t compare abuses.  They said that everyone’s pain is painful, and comparing is stupid.  They were right, of course, but I still find myself comparing. I think what we were trying to do in the incest group, and what I was trying to do this weekend with my friend, was figure out a way that we are not as alone as we feel. Surviving incest is lonely.  It feels like I am the only one in the world who experienced it, and the only one who is so fucked up from it. And I think the instinct to compare is actually the instinct to see if other people share the commonality of traumatic experience.

Panicking about an imaginary man in my hotel room during a business trip.  That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.




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