Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: 1970's music, babysitter sexual abuse, childhood sexual abuse, Dancing with the starts, the 70's
This one is truly great, in terms of fucked-upness. So, I hate the 1970’s. I don’t even like typing it.
Yup, a whole decade shot to shit for me. Hearing music from the 70’s generally induces a panic attack, and I don’t like any visual reminders either, such as 70’s hair or clothing.
There was this one song that used to come on the radio and whenever it did, it would freak the shit out of me. I never understood why until I finally realized that it was in the 1970’s when that babysitter fucked my brother and I against our will. I would have been five years old or less, and he would have been 8 years old or less. We know it happened somewhere before 1979.
This reason really makes me shake my head. Hating a whole decade. Yet another way that surviving child sexual abuse has left me with a lifetime of fucked upness, with no real assurance that any of this weirdness will ever go away. I mean, I am sitting there watching one of my favorite tv programs, Dancing with the Stars, and they go and pick a fucking 70’s song. And I am instantly uncomfortable. And I start squirming in my seat, looking around. Can anyone see me, what is happening to me? Do I change the channel, or should I wait this out? Maybe the beauty of their dancing and the fact that people exist in the world who have such amazing relationships with their own body will make me forget about the fact that they are dancing to 1970’s music. I am getting more uncomfortable by the second. What did she do to me? Did she start right away, as soon as my mom left the house? I bet my brother was so uncomfortable too, just like me. But we were both kids and really, what the fuck could we do about our discomfort? I wish I could have saved him, and I bet he wished he could save me. And neither of us could save each other, and now I have to sit here watching people dance to the music I was molested to.
Hating a whole fucking decade. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: brother-sister incest, childhood sexual abuse, father-daughter incest, gloves, winter
It’s winter, and it’s getting cold out. Most people wear gloves when it’s cold so that they can keep their hands warm. I don’t wear my gloves, and here’s the reason: If someone attacks me, the police can get his DNA from under my fingertips when I scratch him. Plus, there would be physical evidence on this man’s face/body of the fact that I put up a struggle and fought him, thus showing that this was against my will. If I were wearing gloves, I wouldn’t be able to get his DNA, and then there would be no proof that this crime was perpetrated onto me, the way there is no proof of anything that babysitter did to me (or my dad or brother too).
I am reasonably certain that had neither of these three people fucked me when I was a child, I would be happily wearing gloves in the winter. This thought process of scratching his face for evidence wouldn’t even be a thought in my mind had I not experienced the abuse of my body as a child. And plus I would have warm hands now, as an adult. Cold hands due to the inability to wear gloves in cold weather. That would be reason #134 why you shouldn’t fuck kids.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: blowjobs, childhood sexual abuse, condom, husband, masturbate, penis, sex, virgin
I was 26 when I first got serious about dating men. The first guy I dated, I halfway fell in love with. I was totally enfatuated with him. The biggest problem with him, however, was that he very seriously wanted to fuck me, and not in the disgusting shitty way that people fucked me when I was a child. He wanted to have sex with me consensually, which would have been a nice change from what I was used to. Before our first date though, I warned him that I was a virgin. I told him that any kind of sexual activity would have to come REAL slow with me. He said he was fine with that. Now, at the time, I didn’t know just how slow that was, and he didn’t either. But I understood by that point that I was slower than most anyone else I knew.
By our fourth date, he got pretty upset with how slow we were going. Meanwhile, I had been congratulating myself on how fast we had been going. I mean, he saw my bra, how much faster did he need to go? That is when he came out with this lovely gem: “You should at least be blowing me by now”. Nice, huh? I laughed when he said it. I had no intention of blowing him or any other guy, and especially not by the fourth date. He eventually broke up with me because he felt we were moving too slow.
I was terrified of sex. Terrified, really, of penis. I fantasized about men, masturbated to fantasies of men, but couldn’t actually DO anything with men. Fantasies are one thing, but in real life, my understanding of men was limited to my brother and father, both of whom didn’t take no for an answer in the worst possible ways.
Blowjob guy broke my heart. He was not the first relationship I had had that said things like that to me. The whole time I was dating him, I tried to be this carefree Butterfly, this one who is free with sex. But the truth is, I was this Butterfly, the one who was betrayed by family members and babysitters, and molested. And I couldn’t trust him or anyone else not to do such things to me. When he broke up with me, I spilled the beans to him and told him why I couldn’t fuck him. It didn’t change his mind.
I am very very grateful that it didn’t work out with blowjob guy, because it left me free to marry my beautiful husband who was willing to wait through two years of dating me to make love with me. And we had a lot of false starts along the way. I mean condom on and ready to go and me saying “okay, let’s do it, wait, wait, NO I can’t do this, no don’t!!!” And him saying “Okay baby, no worries, we do it when you’re ready, we take it at your pace”, and me crying and him holding me, and this happening many times even since we’ve been married. And though I don’t really know for sure, I bet sex isn’t supposed to involve a lot of crying and tears and scary images in my head. I bet sex for the non-abused is all about wonder and exploring and excited nerve endings and what not. And this is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: childhood sexual abuse, PTSD, suicide, the nany express
I was watching this movie that I recorded on TiVo called “The Nanny Express”. The nanny character is this woman whose mother died of cancer when she was in high school. She said “I thought the months right before she died were so hard, and it turns out they were nothing compared to the next few years without her.”
That is what it was like for me, surviving the abuse. When it was happening, I thought it was so hard living through this. So hard wondering how to face my dad at the breakfast table when he was looking at me like that, so hard going to school with everyone and their normal problems when mine were mountains that I couldn’t see past.
After Mom divorced him, and both my father and brother were living away, I have never had to live with either of them again. It’s supposed to be good now, right? I mean, the abusers are not living with me anymore.
I didn’t understand that surviving the abuse is one thing, what comes after is real fucked up and hard. It’s been 20 years since I last had to suffer any childhood sexual abuse. I am still fucked up. I still have issues with summer blankets, nighttime terrors, fears of elevators, showering, all kinds of shit that make every day real hard. All these hard things share a common cause. A babysitter, my brother, and my father molested me when I was a child, at separate times. I have been afraid ever since. I am pretty sure that were it not for the kindness of strangers, family, and friends, I would be dead from suicide a long time ago. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.
Reasons You Shouldn't Fuck Kids 