Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #323: The Man in the Closet

Last night I was so tired. It was well past midnight and I was so tired and I really wanted to sleep. I laid down in bed and I got so scared. I was thinking “What if there is a man hiding in the closet, waiting for me to fall asleep, and then after I fall asleep he will surprise me and attack me?” My heart started beating rapidly, my eyes flew open, my breathing became irregular. I reminded myself that not only had I already checked the closets, but so did my ex. Then my thoughts went to the same surprise-attack scenario, but involving a home invasion. I looked around the room from my vantage point on the bed; no one was there. I listened carefully; I couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. I reminded myself that I am safe, just like my therapist and I have been working on for years. She says that you have to recognize safety in order to recognize unsafety. I reminded myself that my home has an alarm that goes straight to the cops when tripped. Plus I have a dog that sleeps next to me. I reminded myself of all this, but I was panicking anyway. The reminders of safety were helpful, and I eventually used thought-replacement exercises to get to sleep. I kept my mind busy with thoughts of a beautiful life with my next husband in a beautiful log cabin, etc.

I have really been hating the nights lately. My next contracted jobs don’t start until the fall, so until then my schedule is willy nilly. Since my work was the only thing I’d been doing in my life that gave me any sort of self-esteem (not to mention a regular schedule), I have been sad and I guess a little depressed.

Depression and suicide is all about a mostly false thought process inside a person’s head that tells them (over and over again) that the situation they are in will be the situation they are always in. That things will always be like this. That I will always feel this way. I know it is false, because life changes a lot, and sometimes it happens very quickly. Sometimes it happens slowly, but the point is, something always happens to change a person’s life.

I have been trying to think of ways to make the night easier. Maybe I should take up a hobby, like crocheting or cross-stitching during the night. The panic-sleep thing totally totally sucks. Maybe it’s time to do a meditation, or some sort of positive affirmation before bed.

Remember that time I went away to that conference with my friend, and I got scared of the imaginary man behind the curtains in our hotel room? Writing this blog post about last night, alone in my own bedroom, feels like that. But I figured I should put it in the blog today because the entire point of this blog is to keep a running tally of the many ways that surviving abuse in my childhood has fucked me up in adulthood.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. We get completely afraid of being assaulted again, and we find inventive ways to be afraid, and inventive ways to manage those fears. I am 40 years old. It’s been 35 years of survivor sleep. When the fuck does this end??

 

 



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 #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 #173: We Have Social Phobia
May 7, 2010, 12:09 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , ,

My co-workers invited me out for drinks the other night.  This is like the millionth time I have faced this sort of situation.  I thanked them for the invitation and said no.  When they asked why, I decided to go with the truth.  I said “I’m not social”.

Then came the same reaction I always get when I say that.  “What?  How can this be?  Everyone loves you.”

And inside, I nod my head and think “Yup, that’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  We get scared of social situations.”

The truth is that in these one-on-one conversations, I am mostly okay.  I am even okay when another person or two joins.  Once the situation becomes a “dinner” or “event” or “party”, I am immediately overcome with anxiety.  I begin picturing myself there and everyone looking at me, and I feel fat, bumbling, and stupid.  Then I begin thinking of ways that I might not have to go to the event.  And if it’s an event involving my husband’s work friends or even sometimes his family, I feel ashamed as I beg him for ways for me to get out of it.  He has gotten pissed more than once about me missing one of his events, and he has that right.  I’d be pissed if he missed one of mine just due to fear.

Sometimes I face the fear head on and just go to the damn party.  Sometimes I am not feeling that courageous and give in to my inner fear.

I think the core of my social anxiety is my fear of people judging me.  Survivors of sexual abuse are constantly judged.  ‘Is she telling the truth?  Did it really happen?  Maybe she made it up?  Even if it did happen, maybe she wanted it?  It wasn’t that bad anyway.  She’ll grow out of it.  She’s making a big deal out of nothing.’ 

My name is Butterfly, and I am afraid of parties.  That is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #166: I thought I would grow out of it
April 15, 2010, 1:04 am
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

After that babysitter fucked my brother and I, I began sleeping with the covers over my head every night, and I used several blankets.  My thought process was that if someone were going to stab me in the back, perhaps the knife wouldn’t get through all the layers of blanket.

Talk about Freudian with the ‘stabbing in the back’ shit, huh?  It’s such a metaphor for betrayal, being stabbed in the back.  Did my 5 year old mind know that? 

I have been trying to insulate myself from a betrayal that has already happened to me so many times, with the covers and the checking in the closets and under the beds, and checking the door locks, and pushing dressers in front of doors, and having two big dogs, and carefully evaluating my need to go outside before I ever leave the house, and not wearing gloves in the winter.  The list goes on and  on.

I told the marital therapist that my family and I assumed that I would grow out of these ‘childhood fears’.  When I was a kid, my mom told me that she was scared growing up too, and that she grew out of it, and so would I.  (My mom wasn’t sexually abused.)  I am 36 years old, and I haven’t grown out of it yet.  I keep waiting for it to happen.

The marital therapist said that most children with normal childhoods do grow out of childhood fears.  She said that many children are afraid of the dark or monsters under the bed or things like that, but they grow out of them because over time they learn that there are no such things as monsters and nothing has ever gotten them in the dark.  In my case, however, the monsters were real and bad things happened to me.  She explained that in my case, the fears were confirmed as real, so why would I grow out of something that was true?

That is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  You prove that monsters are real, and we become afraid of you and everyone else for the rest of our lives.



Reason #162: Not Napping when I’m Sick
March 25, 2010, 5:49 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

I’m sick.  Nothing terribly serious, just a cold.  But it’s in that stage where I feel weak, achy, and tired. I don’t know how it works for other survivors, but I swear when I am feeling sick, I feel extra vulnerable, extra needy.  Is that how it works for you guys too?  Or is it just me?

The huz told me the best way to heal would be to rest and sleep, and let my body fight the infection.  He said “Maybe you could take a nap.”

In the interest of full-disclosure and my 100% honesty policy with him, I told him I couldn’t do that, much as I wanted to.  I am afraid of sleeping in the house when no one is here with me.  Not even my two big barking dogs are enough to make me feel safe.

I would lock myself in my room, but how do I know someone’s not already there, just waiting for me to let down my guard so that they can hurt me again?  Wow.  Talk about Freudian – I put the word ‘again’ there, and that wasn’t part of my original thought. 

However, ‘again’ is probably exactly the point.  I wouldn’t be afraid of imaginary (I hope) intruders in my fucking room if people hadn’t shown me what happens when I was innocent and unaware.  And now I am not innocent or unaware, and so I am just plain afraid.

The thing is, saying it out loud or typing it in this blog – my rational mind understands that these thoughts are just anxiety talking, and that the chances of such occurrences are probably small.  But shit, no one thinks their kid is going to be the one that gets fucked, and yet I was fucked by three different people, so the idea of ‘rare’ doesn’t gel in my head. And frankly, fucking kids isn’t particularly rational either, so I am not sure where rationality should even get an equal opportunity in the argument against my anxious thoughts.

I’m sick, and tired, and too afraid to sleep.  This is the 162nd way that being a survivor of child sexual abuse has fucked me again.



Reason #82: The Shame Game
April 26, 2009, 12:54 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , ,

Last night, it got really hot in our house. I asked the huz to go downstairs to turn the air conditioning up. He got upset and said he was feeling comfortable. I said “Fine, get hot later on. Whatever.” Really I was feeling jealous that he is able to sleep with nothing but a sheet when I lay there huddled under everything and then some.

He got upset with my nasty reply (justifiably so), and said “Do you want to go downstairs and turn the AC up?” He asked this knowing full well that I wouldn’t go downstairs.

I played it out in my head, going downstairs to the dark room, creeping over to the thermostat and turning it, all the while listening listening listening until some sound made me tremble and shake and run back into the bedroom, shutting the door behind me quickly and locking it, checking the lock and latch again and again and again. Standing in the dark bedroom after my run up the stairs, listening listening listening – is the man downstairs following me? Did he run up the stairs after me? Quiet. Listen. Listen. Try to walk calmly to the bed, but run instead. Jump back into bed, put the covers over my head, lay there with my heart beating in my head.

Out loud, I said “That is the second time in two nights that you have shamed me about my nighttime stuff.”

Did he shame me? I don’t know. I sure felt ashamed after our exchange, that’s for sure. But at the same time, all he really did was ask a question. A very loaded question that led me down a terrible road.

The truth is that I was walking down that road a long time before I met my husband. He just reminded me of the road, and it hurt to be reminded of it in that way, at that vulnerable time.

Not being able to turn up the air conditioner when you are hot, because it is located downstairs in a dark room. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.




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