Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #164: Family Gatherings

This past weekend, I celebrated Passover with my family.  My brother was there.

I forgave my brother long ago for what he did to me, but the truth is, I am terribly afraid of him.  Forgiveness does not equal an absence of fear.  I know what he did to me.  More importantly, I know what he is capable of doing, and I have a son, a child who is dependent on me and my husband for the safety of his body and soul. 

I live far away from my brother.  But at these family gatherings, I have to be on super-hyper-alert, and always keep one eye on my brother while keeping the other eye on my son.  To ensure that all eyes are everywhere, I always enlist the help of my husband, mother, and aunts.  Everyone knows what my brother did to me, and everyone has been instructed to make sure that he is never ever alone with my son.  Still, I keep my eyes on my son the whole time.  Every time my brother moves, my husband or I move with him, like bodyguards.

I wish it were all so simple as “banish him from your life, entirely”.  That is the simpleton advice that is always given to us incest and child sex abuse survivors.  Well, life isn’t so neat like that, with packages that can be tied with pretty answer bows.

I really don’t know how old I was when he molested me, but I think I was somewhere between 6 and 8.  I know it was in 3rd grade that all my grades went to shit, which makes me think I was 8 when it happened.  My brother was 10 years old when he molested me.  Should he be registered as a sex offender for the rest of his life for what he did to me when he was 10?  Should any of us be judged by our actions at 10 years old?  I don’t know the answer to this.  Some of me says yes, some of me says no.

My mother has two children, and one of them permanently damaged the other.  A babysitter damaged us first.  I wish these issues were as simple as “don’t go to holiday dinners”, but they aren’t. 

My brother has apologized many many times for what he has done to me.  I am pretty sure it is one of the major reasons that he has tried to kill himself.  Unfortunately, it is also one of the reasons I tried to kill myself too.

If I were a child now, I think he would molest me again.  Yet he shows no interest in other children.  Just me. How many other victims of crimes have to celebrate holidays with their criminals?  I mean, really, do people who’ve had their purses stolen – do they have to sit down to Christmas dinner with their robber? 

The thing is, it always sits heavy in the air between us.  We’re sitting at our holiday dinner, and there’s the din of the family talking all around us.  Can you please pass the corn, I say to him, as if being with him doesn’t scare the crap out of me.  As if every look between us isn’t laden with memories of him using my body like I wasn’t even in it.  My no’s meant nothing then, and I fear they would mean nothing to him now.

Most of the reasons you shouldn’t fuck kids are gifts that keep on giving, like this one.  There will be more family gatherings.  Birthdays, holidays, graduations – all these things that both of us would be invited to.  I don’t want to remove myself from my family, especially since my family is acknowledging that my brother abused me.  He has not done anything to hurt me in almost 30 years, and yet every family gathering consists of me standing on guard, watching my son like a hawk, and being the world’s greatest actress.  If you were at one of these family gatherings, you would think I am the happiest wife and mother, all smiles and laughter.  Yet inside, visions of what he did to me flitter through my mind like a movie reel.

Families look forward to holidays.  For incest and child sex abuse survivors, it is yet another time when we have to act like everything is okay. That is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #104: Everyone’s a Predator

The huz and I ran some errands yesterday with our son. Our son is almost two years old. At one of the stores we were at, some guy took a real interest in our son. He got real close to him, and asked us his name, if he’s talking, what kinds of things he likes, etc. I wedged myself between him and my son because I immediately disliked him and his questions.

Later, when we were driving to another errand, I asked my husband what he thought of that freak in the store who talked to our son. My husband could tell what I thought of him from the way I had asked him the question, and he said “He’s probably harmless”. I said “Why? Because you want him to be?” He said “No, because I know the statistics. Most people are not out to harm our son.”

That statement gave me pause for thought. In my mind, most people are out to harm my son. The world is one big predator waiting for me to drop my guard so they can hurt him in some way. It is one of the many reasons I am constantly on guard when I am alone with my son. My husband, however, was raised in an idyllic place with a lovely childhood where he was safe all the time, and no one hurt him. His parents never even hit him because they don’t justify the use of violence with children. I imagine that if I grew up in such a safe world where no one ever fucked me, I might also have the luxury of thinking that the freak in the store was interested in my child because of some innocent reason. Instead, I grew up in an unsafe home and am consequently all too aware of the pedophilic tendencies of people in the general society.

My husband grew up in a safe home, and I did not. My husband’s body was always his own, and no one ever used it against his will, or took advantage of him in disgusting unscrupulous ways. My body was not my own with a babysitter, a brother, and a father.

My husband thinks no one is a predator, and I know that everyone is. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #65: I’m Just Not That Into Me
March 30, 2009, 9:58 am
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As you know, the huz and I don’t fuck each other, and haven’t now for about two and a half years. We stopped seeing that marital counselor, and surprise surprise, we still aren’t fucking each other.

One of the things I generally complain about to the huz about is the fact that when we go to bed, he immediately falls asleep, whereas I think a few minutes of pillow talk and then sleep might be quite the asset to our marriage. I have also commented to him on the fact that he could at least make the move to kiss or hug me when we are in bed. I feel like I am always the one doing this to him, and it would be nice to feel wanted (in a safe and good way with my husband).

I have been panicked for days now about the huz’s upcoming business trip, and while I didn’t spend last night crying, I did keep going over and over and over again in my head the scary things that could happen while he is away. When we got in bed, my sweet husband reached out to me and tried to pull me closer. I am all caught up in being panicked about his business trip though, and plus I am irrationally angry at him for leaving.

So he reaches for me, and I said “Look, why don’t we skip the whole part tonight where you pretend you’re into me, and let’s just go to sleep.” Startled, he said “I’m not pretending, baby. I am into you.”

I thought about what my husband said. I guess the truth is, with this latest round of humiliation where I am scared to be alone, in a constant state of panic and tears, and then humiliated further by everyone saying no to staying with me –well, I am just not that into myself now. I hate this part of me that is so afraid of everything. I am pretty sure that were it not for the fact that three different people broke my trust in humanity by molesting me when I was a child, I would not have spent the rest of my life afraid of what the rest of humanity has planned for me too. Now that I am talking to other survivors on a regular basis through this blog, I know I am not alone in this either. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #56: My Fat Ass

I suppose I cannot blame my whole fat ass on the sex abuse. I mean, I am Jewish and come from a family of Jews. We Jews are not exactly known for our restraint with the food. Plus, my whole family is a bunch of fat asses too.

BUT. When my brother started molesting me, I did start eating in a conscious effort to change my body. I thought that perhaps if I ate enough and got fat enough, he wouldn’t want me anymore. When my dad started molesting me, I ate for the same reasons. Only his shit made me so sick, I would throw it all up. I couldn’t take it. I would literally have bulimic attacks anytime I thought about it. For years, I binged and threw up on his birthday.

This Monday, I had six weeks of solid dieting under my belt. I hit 10 lbs of weight loss. I got excited. I went shopping for a new shirt. I calculated how long it would take for the next five to come off. I thought about how great I would look. How I would fit into my skinny jeans again. How men would find me attractive. How being thin opens me up to the possibility of rape.

Just so we’re clear – I understand that women (and men) of all shapes and sizes get raped. I get that. In my mind though, if I am thin, it is easier to overtake me, to overpower me. The size of my ass is directly related to my own comfort level, both up and down the scale. It’s not rational, but frankly, fucking kids isn’t rational either.

I told myself that I was getting healthier, not thinner. Rape doesn’t have to happen just because I get thinner. I will never be a child again, and no one can ever do that to me again the way it happened to me those times with my brother, and my father, and that babysitter. I am an adult now. Getting thin is just about getting thin, and that’s that. And then I binged my brains out and threw it all up while crying.

This seems to happen to me every time I hit some sort of milestone on the scale, like 10 lbs or 20 or 25, etc. The whole process of weight loss is just so fucking frightening. As more weight comes off, more of my real body shows. I am so used to being hidden under layers of fat, and as the real me emerges from underneath – well, it’s terrifying, frankly. Last time my real body was shown, a babysitter took interest in it, a brother used it against my will, and a father stared at its growing parts. This is probably why I hide my body in layers of fat, and this is also why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #47: Trust
February 9, 2009, 3:53 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

The huz and I went to our first couples counseling session today. (Because we have no sex.)

She asked us a question that went something like this: “If you both woke up tomorrow and the problem was gone, what would that feel like? What would that like?”

I wanted to answer “We’d be fucking each other too much to see what it looks like.” But I didn’t say that. I said “We’d be having sex. We’d have intimacy.” Then I looked at the huz and said “I’d feel connected and close to you. And I would fully trust you.”

My history of sex abuse came up in session. The therapist said “Earlier in the session, you mentioned trust issues with your husband. The sex abuse is mega big when it comes to trust.”

When she said that, in my head I said ‘and that is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.” We totally lose our ability to trust.



Reason #44: People Inadvertantly Hurt Your Feelings
January 30, 2009, 1:29 pm
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After I ‘came out’ as a survivor of incest during my teen years (see Reason #43: Forced Visitation), there was some fallout to deal with. Needless to say, my dad’s side of the family stopped talking to me altogether. In one fell swoop, I lost my grandma, my uncle, my dad, and my brother. (My brother went to live with my father during and after the divorce.) I was glad to be rid of my dad and brother.

My grandmother said I was lying. She needed to believe that her son wouldn’t do such things, rather than believe that her teenaged granddaughter was telling the truth. She stopped talking to me altogether.

My mother’s side kind of believed me, but even they said stupid things to me. My aunt said “Things happen between brother and sister.” I said “Oral sex doesn’t happen.” She shut up then.

I think the most hurtful thing happened inadvertantly though. It happened with my beloved grandfather, my mom’s father. He would never intentionally hurt a soul. He was a Holocaust survivor who had lost his whole family in the camps. Anyway though, my mom told me that after my family found out about my surviving incest, my grandpa told her he was afraid to hug me, for fear that I would run to the cops and say he molested me.

Mom should never have told me that. I mean, I hadn’t noticed any difference in grandpa – it wasn’t like he stopped hugging me, so I would never have known that he said that to Mom if Mom hadn’t told me. I couldn’t help but cry when she told me though. I mean, it’s not like I just run to the fucking cops every time someone hugs me. Shit went down between my brother and I, and my father and I that was a lot more fucked up than a hug, you know?

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. It wasn’t enough to have to deal with surviving incest, but after I had to worry about how other people would feel around me too?



Reason #43: Forced visitation

When I was fifteen, my parents divorced for the second time. (And when I say divorced, I mean that he threatened to kill her and himself, and because he was an abusive prick, a judge granted my mother a restraining order.) After their separation, my dad actually had the nerve to petition the court to have forced visitation with me. In other words, he wanted the court to force me to see him. For the very name of this blog, I didn’t want to obviously.

I had never intended on telling anyone what my dad did to me. But then this idiot decided to get a court to force me to see him. So, in order to make sure this didn’t happen, I had to tell strangers what happened to me. Mom made an appointment with the Division of Youth and Family Services in our state, and I went in to see the woman. It was on a school day. She asked me some horrible questions. “Did you see his penis get hard?” Me: “No”.

I get in the car with mom afterwards. She says “Sweetie, you can stay home from school today if you want to.” I said “Mom, don’t be silly, I am fine.” I go to school, I get there at like almost the end of 4th period. Thank goodness, they are watching a movie in class. I sit in the back, cry a few tears, and I tell myself I am fine. I am fine.

I get to my 5th period class. My best friend is there. I had already told her I had a psychologist appointment that morning, due to the divorcing of my parents. She sits down in the chair in front of me and says “How did the psychologist appointment go?” I look at her, and suddenly the tears won’t stop. I am crying in front of everyone. I run out of the room. I am in the bathroom. My best friend is with me. I tell her everything, Dad, my real appointment that morning. The teacher comes in. I am sent to the nurse.

Still crying, can’t stop crying. It’s just too much. All of this is just too much. My dad, my breasts, him moaning. I am terrified and sad beyond belief. I am just a kid – doesn’t anyone see this? The nurse calls my mom to come get me. My mom and I see each other and both start crying. We both leave the school in tears. I cried for two more days.

People spoke in whispers about me after that. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.




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