Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids

Reason #307: Comparing Ourselves to Others
November 28, 2012, 1:48 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

I had a realization at that conference I had to go to the other week.  My co-worker, the one who cuts herself, said something about how much it sucks when she compares her work or her thoughts about her work to the rest of us.  She said she always feels behind and that she feels she isn’t as good as the rest of us at work.  She said ‘Do you feel like that about your work too?’

The truth is that my work is usually the one place I don’t generally feel like that.  I mean, sometimes I get the occasional ‘Am I doing enough?’ or ‘Am I good enough?’ feeling, but generally speaking, I don’t feel like I am in a race with others or in a competition with others.  It’s hilarious because I feel like I am competing with everyone else in practically every other aspect of my life.

I mean when they were all talking about their sex lives, I felt like shit about myself. When people have babies, I feel like shit about myself.  When people are able to lose weight or exercise or live by themselves or leave their house at night or drive long distances, I feel like shit about myself.  I feel like that because those are all things I can’t do.

When she asked me that and I realized I didn’t have the same feelings as her about work, I realized something else.  We really only compare ourselves to others about stuff that we ourselves are insecure about.  It’s like entering a race you know you are going to lose. The funny thing is that during that conference, I was comparing and losing the whole time. Unlike my friend though, it wasn’t about work.  It was about me and my feeling completely inferior to everyone else there because I am a fat incest/child sexual abuse survivor who is obviously less than everyone else there, replete with my failed marriage to a trans woman.

When you fuck kids, you set us up for a life of feeling that there is something intrisically wrong with us. For a long time we think that there must have been something uniquely messed up about us so as to attract our perpetrator(s).  Then after we learn that it wasn’t our fault in the first place, we still feel there is something intrinsically wrong with us because of all of the ways our lives have been affected by surviving the abuse (which for me so far is 307 ways). That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Reason #306: The Astonishment that People Cut Themselves

I was watching Sunday’s episode of The Good Wife, and in this episode a teenaged female character had a history of cutting herself.  The Good Wife was astonished that someone would do such a thing, and exclaimed “Why?? Why would she do such a thing?”  The daughter character responded with something like “I think sometimes people like the feeling of healing”.

My immediate thought was ‘Idiot’. That is so NOT why we cut, you idiots. It sure as shit ain’t about the feeling of healing.  It’s about there being such a fucking shitload of pain inside us that we have to cut ourselves to let a little bit out.  It’s about the fact that you can’t see how much pain we are in so we cut ourselves to give you a glimpse into our pain-filled world.  It’s about the emotional release that comes when the blade touches our skin.  Sometimes it’s about being so dissociated that the cutting feels good.

I can’t stand the astonished ignoramuses who have never been exposed to cutting.  I, of course, used to be one of those judgmental idiots who couldn’t understand why people would cut themselves.  ‘They’ve been hurt so much, and now they are hurting themselves?‘ I used to think. But that is very much the point, unfortunately.

It’s been 20 years since I first cut myself, and over 15 since I last cut myself. But shit, I sure remember how it felt.  Honestly, sometimes I miss it.  I know it doesn’t sound good to say that, but it’s honest.

You shouldn’t fuck kids; that’s a given.  But as you can see from the 305 reasons before this one, there are many reasons not to fuck kids.  Here’s #306: Sometimes the pain gets overwhelming and we can’t take it and we cut ourselves.  And then we watch people talk about us cutters on tv as if we are freaks.

I’m not a freak.  I am a survivor.  I have survived the child sexual abuse.  But this is what surviving looks like, unfortunately.  It’s cutting and secrets and blogs filled with little and big events in my life that are evidence of this survival.


Reason #305: Clark Kent and Superman
November 16, 2012, 1:57 pm
Filed under: fear | Tags: , , , ,

As I mentioned in my last post, I had to go to a conference this last weekend.  I didn’t want to go, but I had to.  Though you’d never know it when you meet me, I have social phobia.  You’d never know it because when you meet me, I am all smiles and sparkling conversation.  Inside though, I am scared you think I am a fat bumbling idiot, and I wish I were at home in the safety of my own bed.

Anyway, I went to the conference with my usual conference friend (the one who used to cut herself), and another woman.  I like the other woman but it’s difficult to get close to her.  She plays her cards very close to her chest.  I realized when the weekend was over that she hadn’t really told me much about her personal life.

Both women are married. Both apparently have satisfying sex lives with their husbands.  Now mind you, I wouldn’t choose either of their husbands for myself, but they each must see something in their husbands that sparks their love for them.

I asked them both about their sex lives.  I know that what happened with my ex is fairly unusual, but the truth is that I married someone who was never going to push me on sex, and I am pretty sure I did that purposely.  I didn’t know she was a woman in a man’s body, obviously, but I did know that I was never pushed on sex with my ex when we were together.  So I asked my conference companions about their sex lives.

They both seemed to really enjoy sex.  One of them was raised in a Catholic household where sex was ‘naughty’ or ‘taboo’.  My friend (the cutter) was raped in her first relationship.  She then slept with a series of men afterwards so that she could ‘take the power back’. I get that.  I went the other way and couldn’t ever get comfortable enough in a relationship with a man to sleep with him (until my husband).

I felt so – ‘otherized’ when we were all talking.  They both know my situation (in terms of being married to a trans woman), and I think they have both guessed that I have a trauma history.  It’s like one of those things that we all tiptoe around but no one ever says ‘I was fucked when I was a kid and that’s why I am fucked up now’.

The conference, as usual, was a difficult experience for me.  It’s kind of like being Spiderman or Superman.  They have to be one way in front of people, but they know this enormous secret about themselves that shapes everything about who they are. In front of people, especially at work, I am put together, polished, smiling, funny, etc.  In my own private world though, I am a survivor of incest and child sexual abuse, and it has informed every single aspect of my life.

I did some courageous things at the conference.  Well, courageous for me.  A few times, I walked to my hotel room from the lobby alone, and I stayed in the room for a few hours by myself too.  Normally I am so afraid of rape that I refuse to be alone in hotel hallways or hotel rooms.  But this time I told myself there are a lot of people at the conference and at the hotel; I am not really alone.

So even though I felt like shit about myself because I was measuring my sexual unsucesses with their sexual successes, I still did some courageous things at the conference, and that’s pretty cool.

Reason #304: Sometimes I smell like vomit

As my longtime readers know, I have bulimia.  I have had it since my father molested me when I was 15.  I am 39 now, so it’s been 24 years of binge/purge.  I trace my bulimia directly back to my father’s interest in my teenaged body.  It nauseated me, and after he touched me I just didn’t want to retain food in my body anymore. I started throwing up after that.

I use it mainly as a stress relief now, and it crops up once or twice every few months.  It’s still pretty shameful and humiliating, but at least now I only do it every so often (as opposed to how I used to be when I would throw up three times a day).

I had another conference this last weekend that I had to go to. I was very stressed about it.  A few days before the conference, I binged and then decided to throw it up. I did that twice that evening. I cried in the bathroom after the second time.

Later that night, I caught a whiff of the smell of vomit somewhere on myself, but I couldn’t place where it was.  Maybe it was my hand (which I use to trigger my gag reflex).  No matter how many times I washed my hands that night, I smelled the vomit.

Sometimes I smell like vomit.  That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

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