Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids

Reason #315: One Step Forward, One Step Back
August 27, 2013, 2:15 pm
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So you know how last week I was so courageous and I did things that scared me?  Apparently I got too cocky because G-d said “No, no, butterfly, how about fuck you instead.”

So I was feeling all good about myself because I drove myself to hard places, went to social gatherings, and didn’t let scary parking lots stop me, right?  I put up that blog post and as I was sitting there that night in my room patting myself on the back for being THAT fucking great, a spider crawls up my fucking wall.

As my long-time readers know, bugs fuck me up to no end. It all has to do with the fact that I don’t like being touched without my permission, and bugs – those fuckers – could give a shit that I am a survivor.  They don’t care that I am afraid of them, that I don’t want them crawling on me, that I will lose sleep over them, etc. They feel they have the right to exist, and apparently they feel they have the right to exist in my room.

Remember the motherfucking shithead of an ant that fell on my face when I was still married? That miserable piece of shit left me with survivor sleep for a year. A year. Last night, I was sitting up in bed frantically checking the ceilings and walls for signs of more spiders. I thought about how nice it would be to have a man beside me right now, and about how much it sucks being afraid of a spider all by yourself.

You know how you meet some women and you think to yourself “I don’t know how she does it!”  They seem to have so much on their plate, things that seem like they should break her, and yet she seems so together?  I was thinking about those women last night, and I said to G-d “I don’t think I can do this.” Last night everything seemed so hopeless. Being afraid of night and the spider seemed so overwhelming, and there didn’t appear to be an end in sight. I kept thinking about how this was going to be the rest of my life, spent anxious and afraid and hypervigilant in the middle of the night.

Eventually I put earplugs in my ears (so that spiders wouldn’t crawl into my ears) and after staying up way too late out of fear, I fell asleep. I woke up two hours later afraid of spiders.  I checked the ceiling, watched some tv with the earplugs still in, and fell asleep again. I woke up two hours later. I did the same thing again, check ceiling, tv, then sleep.

I woke up two hours after that and met my ex in the hallway, and she said “How did you sleep?” I had to swallow back tears and couldn’t answer her.

This is how surviving child sexual abuse in my childhood is fucking me up again as an adult.  This is one of those hidden ways, the kind that almost no one would ever know about unless they lived with me in my room. I can’t tell anyone about this sort of thing because I seem crazy.  But I am not crazy. I am having a reaction to terrible things that happened to me, and my fear of bugs is one of those reactions. I want to co-exist peacefully with all of G-d’s creatures, including bugs, but unfortunately I am unable to do that at this time. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.


Reason #193: Shopping for a therapist

So I’ve been shopping for a therapist lately.  As my regular readers already know, I already have a marital therapist, and we determined that my fucked-upness is fucking up my marriage and possibility of having another baby, and so it would be best for me to find my own therapist.  As most of you probably know, finding a therapist that you like can be difficult.  I once read a study that said that no matter what else happens in therapy, when people like their therapist, their chances of healing are much greater than those who didn’t like their therapist.  So, even if you have fucking Carl Jung himself as your therapist, if you don’t like him, you’re not going to get any better.

So, I called some therapists and left some messages.  I have seen so many therapists in my life already, and 95% of them have been total crap.  But I had two really great ones, and I am seeing a really great marital counselor now.  So there’s hope.

Anyway, one of them calls me back, and this is how the conversation went.

Doc: “Hi, this is Dr. ThinkI’mGreatButReallyISuck.  You left me a message.  I need to let you know that I am not accepting new patients until November.”

Me: Oh. Well, I guess that will be okay, it’s only 2 months away.

Doc:  I see.  What are you looking for exactly?

Me: I need someone who has some expertise in the area of child sexual abuse.

Doc: I see.  Is that because you are a survivor yourself, or is your child a survivor, or is it someone you know-

Me: (cutting her off) It’s me.

Doc: I see.  Have you ever been in therapy before?

Me: Yes.

Doc: I see.  And how long ago was this?

Me: (Starting to feel weird – do I have to tell her about my past therapists?  I don’t know her at all, and I already had to tell her I am a survivor, and I feel vulnerable.)  Uh, look, this is getting kind of weird.  You’ve been asking a lot of questions, and I haven’t gotten to ask you any.  I feel like I am telling you my life story, and I am trying to ascertain if you are even someone I should be seeing or not, and it seems like you are interviewing me before I have even made the decision to see you.

Doc: (defensive)  Well, I am just trying to see if you need someone earlier than November, and you said you were-

Me: (cutting her off): I don’t think this is going to work.  I’m sorry.

Doc: (pause) Okay.  (click)

Now I guess I have to call some more possible therapists.  But honestly, I already just saw one a few weeks ago who turned out to be an idiot (because she couldn’t keep up with the conversation, and I tend to go quick), and now with this last phone call, I don’t feel like it.

My marital therapist has offered to be my personal therapist.  It gives me a weird feeling, and I am not sure what to do.  On the one hand, she seems to really understand me.  On the other hand, there’s the weird gut feeling I have every time I think of seeing her as my personal therapist.

There was a spider in my room last night.  I think the Universe is trying to tell me something.

Reason #185: That fucking ant
July 16, 2010, 2:19 pm
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We’re sitting in our marital therapy session, and I spent the majority of the session crying.  What’s funny is that with my other two therapists, I cried maybe twice in their offices.  With this new therapist, this is my 3rd time crying in the six months or so since we’ve been seeing her.  This makes me think that perhaps marriage, and the intimacy that is required of good marriage, hits me in a place so deeply that it makes me cry.

Anyway, so we were talking about the ant that fell on my face while I was sleeping.  That fucking ant.  That motherfucking G-ddammed horrible shithead of an ant that has torn my whole sense of safety in my home to complete and utter shit.  That fucking ant.

In therapy, I projected everything at the huz.  How I need to leave this marriage because he doesn’t want another baby, and this ant made that clear.  How I am tired of fighting with him about it.  How he obviously doesn’t care about me. 

She says “Wait a minute.  Last week, you were both taking some great steps, and you felt like you were really moving towards something great together as a couple.  Last week, he assured you he does want a baby and that he does care about you.  So let’s take a step backwards and discuss how an ant means the dissolution of your whole marriage.”

So we started talking about it.  As we were talking about it, I realized that it was ME who was afraid of having a baby, and that fucking ant was the crack in the system that showed it to me.  I have been unable to sleep in our bedroom since that ant fell on me.  I have been living on edge ever since that ant fell on me, because that ant, as miniscule as it is, is proof that things can and will touch you, by surprise, without your permission.  Can you imagine trying to care for a newborn while being afraid of your own bedroom?  Me neither, and that realization was fairly upsetting.  That fucking ant.

The therapist said “What if the ant falls on you?”  I said “Then it will have touched me without my permission.” 

She said “Okay, and what then?”  I said “Well, it can go in my ear.” 

She said “Okay, and what then?”  I said “Well, sometimes bugs get stuck in people’s ears.  Then I would have to go to the hospital and get it surgically removed. As a matter of fact, that is a major reason that children in the inner city visit the emergency room.”

She said “Okay, and what then?”  Here’s where I started to cry.  I said “And then I would have to walk around knowing that there had been an ant in my ear and I had to have it surgically removed, and everyone would act like I was normal, and I would know I wasn’t.  I would have been through this horrible thing and I would have to act like nothing happened in my every day life, when really my whole life had been torn apart. And I would be afraid every day after that because I would know for sure that ants fall in your ear.”

She said “Oh sweetie.  So you never get to ‘okay’, do you?  There’s always something worse down the line, and nothing ever gets to the point of okay.”

I looked at her through tears, and the truth is, ‘okay’ was never even a thought in my mind.  She was exactly right. 

She said “You have lived your whole life trying to navigate down such a narrow path so that danger never comes near you.  Really, if you think about it, it’s quite a smart strategy, and it has helped you survive terrible things.  But it’s not working for you anymore.  That little girl inside you is so afraid and she keeps alerting you to all possible dangers, and the adult you is suffering along with her.”

The truth about that ant is that it proved to me that no matter what steps I take to be safe, I am never 100% completely safe.  That ant is the crack in my system, the chink in my armor.   And if an ant can fit through the cracks of my system, who knows what the fuck else can fit through there?   And now I am worried that if something as small as an ant can show me my fragility and my lack of safety, I feel hopeless as to ever feeling safe again.  Hopeless.  That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

P.S.  I made an appointment with a second therapist.  I hope she is good.

Reason #184: Resilience Bullshit

The other day, the baby fell down and got a scrape on his knee.  It didn’t seem to bother him a lot, and I mentioned it to my husband.  The huz said “Kids are resilient.”

How many times have we heard this shit?  Kids are resilient. 

I said “I hate that word.”  The huz looked kind of startled and asked me why.  I said “The truth about ‘resilience’ is that it’s bullshit.  All that word really means is that these kids aren’t bothering you.”

He was like “What do you mean?”  So I explained further.  When people use the word ‘resilience’, they really mean the word ‘alive’, as in “Even though something bad happened to him, he’ll live”.  There are scores of literature about what makes certain children “resilient” in the face of terrible circumstances.  But the truth is, for the most part “resilience” really means “alive” and “not bothering you, not a drain on society, not showing you their insides”  You think those kids aren’t fucked up inside like I am?  Of course they are.  All ‘resilience’ means in our cases is ‘not locked up in a mental institution for the rest of our lives’, or to be even more frank, ‘not dead by suicide’.

People told my mom I was resilient and that I would get over the fact that I had been sexually abused.  They lied to her, in my opinion.  I didn’t get over it, and I am not particularly convinced that anyone gets over it.  I think with some good therapy we can mitigate the consequences, but that’s it.  The damage has been done.

And for resilience, well, the truth is, this is what resilience looks like.   I am functioning in that I am holding down a job, I try to be a good mother, a wife, etc.  But if you are reading this blog, you know I am all fucked up.  Last week, an ant fell on my fucking head, and I have been living in crisis ever since.  I wake up at all hours of the night, trying to be hypervigilant against another ant falling on me and touching me without my permission.  I feel as though if I am just on guard enough, then it will not happen to me again, and if it does, it will certainly not be my fault because I tried so hard to be watchful.  Do you think I would have lost so much sleep over this fucking ant, and been so afraid of bugs touching me without my permission if three people hadn’t already done exactly that to me??

For me, I think resilience bullshit is up there with forgiveness bullshit.  It is shit we like to tell ourselves to make ourselves feel better.  It’s shit we tell ourselves and each other to make ourselves feel better about living in a world where people are willing to fuck children.

This is what resilience looks like, and this is why it’s bullshit.  That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Reason #183: It already did hurt me
July 6, 2010, 2:59 pm
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We had a truly lovely 4th of July.  The huz and I enjoyed being a family, and we made s’mores.  It was the kind of family I had always dreamed of being in, and now I am the mom in it.

We went to sleep on Sunday night, and at about 4:30AM, I felt something crawling on my face.  It was a carpenter ant.  As my regular readers know, I am terrified of bugs.  Being afraid of bug was actually Reason #7 on this blog of fucked up shit that happens to us when we get fucked as kids.

So, the ant.  The huz removed it, and then went to go pee.  I got out of the bed and stood there staring at the place of my last betrayal.  The huz came back in and sighed, because he knew we were in for a long night now.  There was no way in fucking hell I was getting back in that bed after what had just occurred.

That’s the thing about bugs.  They touch you without your permission.  I was sleeping and innocent and unaware, and then this bug touched me without my permission.  Without my knowledge, my say-so.  This bug used my body to get to where he wanted to go.  I felt betrayed.

I could not get back in the bed.

The huz started “the conversation“, the one designed to get me back in bed so he could get some sleep. He said “You can be sure it’s the only one.  Carpenter ants send out scouts to go see if there is food anywhere.  There are no more.  He was the scout.”

I cast a dubious look at the bed, searching, searching for more ants, for more betrayal, for more ways that I would get hurt in bed.  Then the huz tried a different tactic.  He said “You know, they are carpenter ants.  They won’t bite you.  They can’t hurt you.”

I said “It already did hurt me.  The damage has been done.” 

I was awake in the middle of the night because something touched me without permission, the way three people touched me without my permission.  The damage had been done. 

I eventually did get back in bed, and I laid right next to my husband, all of our skin touching.  I slept that way the rest of the night.  At least if the ant touched me, I would be next to him.  He would be witness to it, at least.  Needless to say, the next night was fitful scared sleep as well.

The next morning, I said to the huz “I hate that this happened.  Now I’m gonna be fucked up for a long time until I can relax enough to sleep okay again.”  The huz said, “I know.  It’s stupid, but I hate that fucking ant.  We were just getting to the place where we were feeling good and sleeping good, and now that is all fucked to hell.”

When I was a little girl, I used to play with ants.  I wasn’t afraid of them until I was taught about betrayal touches. That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Reason #31: Bugs Revisited
December 18, 2008, 1:17 pm
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Yesterday morning, I woke up with a bug bite on my wrist. Needless to say, last night I was afraid of the bed.

The huz checked out the bed, between the sheets, under the blanket, over the blanket, the surrounding area, the ceiling, and under the bed. I was still afraid to go to sleep.

We are sitting there in bed. Actually, he is laying down, and I am sitting up. I am staring at everything in the room, trying to detect the slightest trace of insect. The idea that I might have to go to sleep with a bug in the bed is just too much for me. The idea that it could touch me without my knowledge or permission is just too much for me to handle. And I am not going to let this happen to me again.

Him: Honey, it’s safe. I checked out everything. You saw me check everything out.
Me: I am afraid.
Him: It was a one-time incident. That bug is long gone by now.
Me: You don’t know that.
Him: Baby, we checked everything. If there was a bug, we would have found it. How do you know it was even a bug bite on you?
Me: It was. (Looking around the room.)
Him: (sigh)

I have done my time with getting touched without my permission. I couldn’t sleep last night for fear of this bug. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Reason #7: We Get REALLY Scared of Bugs
September 10, 2008, 12:17 pm
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Yesterday, I saw a spider come down in the bathroom.  I immediately called the exterminator. My fear of bugs isn’t the normal ‘girly’ fear of insects.  I take it to a whole new level, thanks to panic disorder resulting from the trauma of surviving child sexual abuse.  So, when I see a spider, my reaction is to start shaking uncontrollably and hold my breath until I can reasonably think of something to do.  Then, with shaky hands, I reach out and kill the spider out of fear.  I take the life of the spider because I am so afraid of it, and then I feel guilty about it.  Frankly, just writing about that spider right now is causing me to breathe irregularly.

I don’t like things touching me without my permission. The thing is, something, someone, did touch me without my permission.  Hands on me, eyes looking at me, tongues touching me.  I don’t want some spider touching me without my permission too.  I decide what touches me now.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  We get all fucked up about things touching us, and it translates to everything.  Even bugs.  And humans.  My own husband couldn’t touch me for like the first two years we were dating. And the fucking exterminator is going to cost me $250.

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