Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #319: What PTSD Looks Like

Yesterday I came home from work and I was already hypervigilant because I knew I was coming home to an empty house.  My ex wasn’t home yet, and my son was still at school, so I was scared.  But I tried to remain calm.

I walked in the house and closed the door. I heard a noise behind me. I let out a blood-curdling scream. He’s here, I thought. He’s here and he’s going to hurt me.

It turns out that the noise was the sound of my dog yawning.

After I realized the source of the sound and calmed down, I looked out the window.  Did the neighbors just hear me scream like that? They already think we are nuts, this will just confirm it for them, I thought.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. We acquire post-traumatic stress disorder as a means of surviving such an aberrant set of actions in our childhood. But it makes us scream when our dogs yawn.



Reason #316: One great step forward, one normal step back
September 9, 2013, 4:11 pm
Filed under: fear, night, survivor, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

Last week I did something incredibly courageous. I took a shower when no one else was home. I really wanted to take a shower, and gosh darn it, I took one! It was WONDERFUL.  Generally, since the shower is such an issue for me (see this and this post), I have to wait until someone is home so that I can feel safe enough to shower.  But not last week! I fucking showered! And it was fucking great!

With every step forward, there is a step back.  Sometimes the steps forward are like giant steps, and sometimes they are more like baby steps. Last week’s shower was a fucking giant step. But progress is never linear. It doesn’t follow a straight line up.  It’s just not how progress works. Not with surviving child sexual abuse, and honestly, not with anything else either. So this week there was a minor setback.

Last night when it was time to go to bed, my ex checked under the bed and in the closet for me. She turned on the house alarm, and checked all the doors in our home to make sure they were securely locked. Then she said goodnight, and went to her room, and I stayed alone in my bedroom.  This is our usual routine. Even though I saw her check in my closet, I still couldn’t shake the fear that someone was in my closet. I knew it was my own fear, and I knew no one could possibly be in the closet, but I was still so afraid! I kept reminding myself “She checked the closet. I saw her check the closet.”  I reminded myself that when I was in the bathroom, I had my bedroom door closed.  I would have seen someone go into the bedroom. Or I would have heard them open the door and walk in.  No one could possibly be in the closet.

Then I thought about how someone could break into my home and take my son. Or rape us both. G-d forbid, G-d forbid. I am afraid right now even typing these words.

But you see what my mind did there, right?  Once I couldn’t be reasonably afraid of the closet anymore, my anxiety went to the next logical place of fear.

My therapist says that if you have done everything you possibly can to keep safe, like have a house alarm, lock your doors, and own a dog, then that is all you can do.  At that point, since you have done everything possible that you need to feel safe, you can rest assured in your own safety.

But last night it wasn’t enough. No amount of calming self-talk was enough. I was too scared, and logic couldn’t fix my fears last night. It was probably about 3AM when I finally fell asleep, after four hours of trying to calm myself enough to be able to go to sleep.

And that is the rub of being a child sexual abuse survivor.  No one sees this part, the part where we are forever scared of night and darkness and sleeping and showering because those are all things that make us vulnerable, and we understand all too well what happens to us when we are vulnerable. No one but those who live with us or those we let in to our little worlds get to see this part of us. For instance, I am meeting a friend for lunch today. She might think I look tired, and she will assume it is because I have been working so hard at work. I have been working hard at work, but you and I both know that I have also put a lot of hard work just into surviving every day and night.

Being too afraid to sleep, to the point where I only got 4 good hours of sleep last night. This is yet another effect of surviving the incest and child sexual abuse that is hidden from the world. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #309: The obesity problem in society

I would like to lose weight.  I am unhappy at the weight I am at. The problem is that whenever I have lost weight in the past, I get to a certain point and no matter what I do, I can’t lose any more weight (even though I would be considered fat at that weight on any doctor’s scale).

Two years ago, I began The Sugar Addicts Recovery Program.  Kathleen DesMaisons feels that if you eat enough protein in the morning, you won’t have as many cravings through the day.  I think she is right, so I have been doing that ever since.  Then about a year ago, I found the Jon Gabriel Method. He explains that if you are anything more than 10 lbs overweight, it is because you do not feel safe losing the weight.  He says that as long as you don’t feel safe, your body will never release its hold on the weight because your body simply doesn’t want to be thin.

I couldn’t agree with him more. I have always known that my fatness was about safety.  I didn’t start gaining weight till my brother began molesting me. As an adult, every time I have tried to lose weight, I have mostly failed.  A thinner body is a smaller body.  When I was in a small body as a child, three people used my smallness to their sexual advantage.  They used my body for their sexual pleasure, and enjoyed their power over me.  When I think about being in a thinner body now, I equate it with smallness.  Smallness hasn’t worked out well for me in the past.  These thoughts and anxieties have thwarted many attempts to lose weight, and eventually my subconscious overtakes me, and I have put on more weight than I have lost in diets.

This, of course, is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. You don’t like the obesity problem in America?  Stop fucking kids.  I was once at a conference on incest, and I swear to G-d, every single one of us (and I’m talking hundreds of people) was overweight.  Some of us were massively overweight.  We have all cleverly figured out that weight is a good shield, a good measure of insulation that keeps people far the fuck away from us. And honestly, this has worked pretty well for me so far.  Somehow when I reach a certain weight, I become invisible to men. This weight has kept me safe.

But the truth is that my adult self is unhappy with this weight now.  I don’t feel protected by it so much anymore. Instead, I feel hampered by it. I feel like my weight is holding me back from being my best self.

As you know from my last post, this year is my year of trying to empower myself. I have spent a lot of time working through this issue in therapy, and listening to Jon Gabriel’s visualizations.  And today I had such a lovely thought.  I tried to imagine myself in a thinner body.  And immediately my mind did its usual thing where thinness=smallness=me getting violated again. But today I changed the ending of that thought. The violator still tries to violate me, but in my thinner smaller body, I am confident and fit.  I am strong and I have a good relationship with my body.  My body and I work together and I fight my would-be violator, and I KICK HIS FUCKING ASS.

He will think twice before ever fucking with me again.



Reason #308: Good coming from evil

My mom called today, and she said “You know, I was thinking about your situation with the babysitter, and it’s such a case of good coming from evil.”

I said “How do you mean?”

She said, “Well look how much she hurt you.  Look how that has fueled your passion about child sexual abuse.  You’re doing so much good on behalf of survivors, and I think that never would have happened were it not for that babysitter.”

I think that when bad things happen to good people, we all want to make meaning of it.  I think that making meaning of tragedy or evil is a human way of processing terrible things. But I really do think that good can come from bad, and maybe that is me trying to make meaning of the babysitter, my brother, and my father all using my body against my will.

I think I am passionate about survivors’ voices being heard because of my own painful experiences. At the same time – all of this comes at quite a fucking cost.  It’s true that trauma survivors are much more empathetic to pain because we know what that pain feels like, but the problem is that no one is home with us at night to see what is really happening, so the whole thing seems so seamless.

Can good come from bad? Yes. But generally it means ‘good for society’ but still ‘bad for me’.

I write a blog in secret that details every new time my child abuse history interferes with my adult life. It’s good for society because it breaks the secret, continually.  Generally speaking, I am very empathetic to anyone else’s pain, which is also probably good for society. However, I am still afraid to leave my house, and my nights are punctuated from beginning to end with fear. Even though good has come from bad, I’m still fucked up.  That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #303: “I just started wearing colors again”

When I was in that incest survivors’ group, one of the things they had us do was have a combined group one night with teen offenders.  We were teens at that time too.  Anyway, it seemed that what they most wanted to know was how being incested and sexually abused had impacted our lives.  At that time in my life, I didn’t really understand the impact.  I knew I was fucked up, but I didn’t see how far-reaching the consequences were.

When it was my turn to discuss the impact on my life, I said “I just started wearing colors again.”  I could see that no one understood what I was talking about, so I said “I wore only black for a long time.  I felt that I was grieving a loss, and that wearing any other color would just be inappropriate. So I wore all black, every day, until it was done.  I just started wearing colors again.”

I find myself doing it again, wearing only black a lot of the time.  Not as consistently or as intently as I used to, but it’s there.  This time I am grieving the loss of a wonderful marriage. It was a marriage I was deceived into.  Still, the love part was real, as was the tenderness and support.  I grieve that loss.

I think that grief work is a part of the healing process, and I think it manifests differently in every survivor.  For me, I was grieving for the Butterfly I might have been.  I grieved over what was done to me, and the innocence stolen from me.  I grieved over the impact that the incest had on me up till that point, most especially my incredible discomfort being in my own skin.

The ability to do even the simplest thing, like wearing colors on your body. I just didn’t feel comfortable wearing anything other than black.  In prison, they have to wear orange jumpsuits.  I was in my own prison, I guess.

Wearing only black and having to re-discover the ability to wear colors.  That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #300: We are not as productive in the workforce as we could be

I have mentioned before that the epidemic of child sexual abuse leads to adults who choose certain jobs over others, and also forces a situation where it literally affects the Gross National Product (i.e., the economy of the nation) because we get physically/emotionally sick and skip work.

Today was one of those days for me.  I woke up pretty early, around 5:30AM, with a migraine.  I first wrote about my migraines here, and then they came back strong after my husband discovered she was transgendered.  The ex and I have worked out a shower schedule where she will shower first and thus I can wake up later and shower around 7:30.  I usually appreciate the extra sleep.  Today I got up at 5:30, took some ibuprofen, and felt too panicked to lay back down.  Instead, I sat up, surfed the net and watched tv.

I started thinking about the parking lot where I work.  Again.  I always obsess about this parking lot, because I find it so difficult to get from my car into the building.  Usually I talk myself into going.  Sometimes I make the decision to work from home instead, when I just can’t face that parking lot.  Today I double-whammied myself by thinking not only about the parking lot, but also about the new janitor at work.  He creeps me out something fierce.  I don’t like how he looks or how he looks at me.  Something about him is just totally creepy, and it freaks me out to be in the building with him.

The parking lot and the janitor were too much for me, as was the shower.  My panic rose so high, I called into work.  I called into fucking work because I am afraid of a parking lot.

I know I am not the only one who does this though.  There are many of us.  Many of us adults who were fucked as kids end up with severe panic disorder that severely limits their work abilities.  There’s other shit too though, like the migraines.  Some kids get backaches, stomache-aches, etc.  So many people get shit like this that the medical community has a name for it.  Somatic problems.  Somatic problems are when you have a physical ailment that cannot be explained by any physical reason.  If there’s no physical reason for your tummy to ache, but you keep getting tummy aches, it’s considered a somatic ailment.  Remember when my vagina was hot for days (see here and here), and I couldn’t figure it out?

Anyhow, my point is, this is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  Everyone gets fucked when kids get fucked.  The whole economy suffers as a result, and so many survivors are on social security disability (a form of public assistance).  If you don’t like paying for other people to be alive, stop fucking kids.  Or stop allowing kids to get fucked (I’m looking at you, Dottie Sandusky).



Reason #234: Clayton

The other day there was an Oprah show on about a particular case of child abuse where the father and stepmother kept this 6 year old boy (Clayton) locked in this tiny closet for months, in chains.  They peed on him, rubbed his face with poop, and starved him.

Oprah showed this in 2000 on her show, and had Clayton (now a young man of 19) on her show now in 2011.  When I looked at the pictures of him at the police station as a 6 year old being rescued, his eyes looked absolutely dead.  Just dead.  And now, at 19, his eyes still looked that way.  It was absolutely terrible.  (This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  When it doesn’t kill our bodies, it kills our souls.)

Anyway, a 9 year old girl was watching the show in 2000, and it gave her the strength to tell someone about the fact that her step-father had been raping her for 3 years.  Oprah had her on the show now to meet the boy who inspired her to do this.  Clayton hugged her.  She began to cry on his shoulder, but he didn’t know it and pulled away, thinking it was time to end the hug.  When he saw she was crying, he hugged her again, and this time he held the hug until she let go.

I thought to myself how beautiful that was.  Two survivors of terrible abuse shared in each other’s pain and comforted each other just by each other’s presence.  I also thought it was so beautiful that even though his father and step-mother were such degenerate animals so as to do these things to Clayton, he still had such beauty and compassion about him that he genuinely wanted to comfort the other survivor on the show.  This is such a sign of hope.

“We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms — to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” -Dr. Viktor Frankl, concentration camp survivor




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