Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #256: Hiding behind sunglasses
August 23, 2011, 12:34 pm
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Ever since the complete and utter failure of my marriage, I have spent a lot of time crying.  I cry a lot while driving.  Probably not the safest thing in the world, but I can’t help it.  It’s the only time when I do not have anything else to distract myself with, so I end up alone with my thoughts.  And these thoughts make me cry.

I wear sunglasses so that the other drivers don’t see me cry.  Is that weird?  I’m not sure.

I used to cry solely from the effects and memories of being abused.  Now I cry from that and my failed marriage.  All while hiding behind sunglasses.

One of the things that survivors of child sexual abuse innately learn is that no one is interested in seeing their tears or hearing them cry.  If they were interested in that, they wouldn’t have left us in situations where we were so easily abused.  Plus, most of the time when we cry about it afterwards, people don’t get it, and we quickly learn to hide our tears.

“What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open.”  – Muriel Rukeyser

 



Reason #221: Superman cries
February 9, 2011, 9:08 pm
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Were you guys ever fascinated by superheroes?  When I started my healing journey, I became fascinated with Superman and Batman.  Superman – he has all these powers, and yet he always chooses good.  And Batman – Batman had a totally tragic childhood, watching his parents get killed in front of him, and he used his trauma to help the world.

So I had one of my alone sessions with the marital therapist.  I of course started to cry, as per my usual with this therapist. I mean, with my other therapists, I maybe cried twice with each of them.  With this one, I have lost count how many times I have cried so far.  It’s happened in almost every alone session so far. It’s gotten to the point where when I first walk into the room, I look for the tissues to make sure they’re nearby.

I said to the therapist “Can we talk about this, the crying?  I feel like it’s a third person in the room with us.”

She said “Sure.  What would you like to talk about with it?”

I said “Well, frankly, it’s weird.  I mean, I have cried more with you than any of my other therapists combined.  And I think that’s weird.  I mean, this is by far NOT the most painful time in my life.  I used to want to die, and I used to cut myself, and I used to throw up three times a day.  I was in a lot more pain then, and yet I’m crying so much now.”

She replied “Well, maybe that is because you feel safe enough to cry now.  When you were going through the trauma, you weren’t safe to cry because you didn’t have the luxury of crying.  All energy went towards survival, and it sure wasn’t safe to cry.  Maybe we should talk about what is upsetting you about the tears?”

I said “Well, it’s vulnerable and embarrassing.  It’s like a weakness.  I am showing you my insides, and it makes me feel vulnerable.”

She said “Well, I don’t see tears as a weakness.  Tears are a sign of strength, of someone who is facing some tough things and is ready to feel emotion about it. It’s about someone who is not in denial about what’s happening for them.”

I said “I guess.  You don’t ever see Superman crying.”

Then she said “Oh come on, that’s just because they don’t have cameras on Superman late at night in his bedroom.”

That made me think.  I mean, it’s true, just because they don’t show Superman crying doesn’t mean that he doesn’t actually cry.  Does the Man of Steel cry?  Before this session with the therapist, I would have said no, but now I think yes.  I bet he too gets upset by what humans are willing to do to each other.  I bet he cries just like I do.  That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #160: Secret window into my soul

It has been about a week since I heard that trauma expert speak to a room full of people (of which I was one of them). 

A week ago, she discussed terrible things that happen to people and the effects of these terrible things on the people they happen to.   A week ago I pretended I was a normal person and not a butterfly who sits in rooms hearing about herself.

It’s been a week. 

This whole week, I have been ‘acting as if’.  Acting as if everything is okay, as if listening to the speech of what has basically shaped my life is also okay, as if that experience meant nothing to me.

I’ve been eating shitloads of food though, and I have been unable to figure out why.  I am enormous, and yet I keep eating.  I am miserable at this weight, and yet I keep eating.   This week has been terrible with the eating.

Today, I was singing a song to myself and my sweet doggie wandered over because she thought I was crying.  So I decided to test it by making crying sounds.  Sure enough, my sweet doggie came over with that sweet concerned look on her face that she gets.  As I was petting her and calling her a good girl though, I began to really cry.  The kind of crying that sounds like weeping.  It sounded like that because I was weeping.

Finally, after this whole week of pretending, I realized – there is a time for everything, and right now it is time to cry.  Today I cried about the words that were spoken by the trauma expert – I felt like she had some sort of secret window into my world, into my soul and was sharing my secrets without my permission.  I cried because she was right about everything she said.  And mostly I cried because I am afraid of what’s to come, as I have always been.

Fear is a terrible thing – it eats you up from the inside.  I have always been afraid; I have never known another way.  This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #144: I trusted them too
January 12, 2010, 1:45 am
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I was sitting in our marital therapist’s office today, because today was my alone session.  She asked me to picture my panic when I am panicked with my husband.  I have written about these sorts of panics many times here on this blog (for instance, see Reason #114).  Anyway, she asked me to picture it.  She said “Does it feel real to you?”  I started to cry.  Yes, it felt real.  Too fucking real, so I started to cry.

She asked what was happening inside for me that was making me cry.  She said “What about the situation with your husband makes you panicked and makes you question whether or not he’s a serial killer, or anything else bad?”

I said “I had three abusers.  I trusted them too.  They weren’t supposed to hurt me either, and yet they did, and I was surprised by it.  And I don’t want to be surprised by my husband’s betrayal too.  So I keep guarding myself against a betrayal from him.”

I keep my guard up, and that way at least I won’t be surprised by it when it happens.

Constantly on guard with my sweet husband.  This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #64: We Hire Babysitters for Ourselves

As you know, I have spent several days crying about the prospect of being alone because my husband has an upcoming business trip. I asked five loved ones to stay with me, and heard five kind no’s. I understand.

My mom is here this weekend, and it affords me the safety of clearer thinking. In a bold move of patheticness, I hired a babysitter to “help me with my son” while the huz is away. Now, while it’s true that I welcome the help with my son, the whole thing is such a pathetic fucking lie. I need her here so that I am not crazy and acting like a panic-stricken loon the whole time the huz is away. I would always do right by my son, which to me would mean acting like everything is okay so that he doesn’t have to worry. With the help of the babysitter a few hours every night, things really can be okay so that neither of us has to worry. So in a way, her being here would make everything better and she would be helping me with my son.

See what I did there? I am rationalizing PAYING SOMEONE TO FUCKING BABYSIT ME in adulthood. Pathetic. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

It’s funny. When I was bulimic, I was always reaching new lows. There were always emotional places that my bulimia would take me that I would think to myself “That’s it. I could not possibly get any lower than this.” But like all addictions, I would go even lower. Like the time I excused myself to throw up in the bathroom of a McDonald’s when my best friend knew exactly what I was doing. Humiliating and an all time low. Until the time my mom walked in on me throwing up. That time I knew for sure it would be my last new low. Until the times I started throwing up into containers in my locked bedroom so that the sound of retching into a toilet bowl of water wouldn’t be heard by my mother.

See what I mean? Our shit takes us to new lows. This here shit, hiring a babysitter so that I am not alone – that is a new humiliating low. Before I was married, I used to take time off of my life when I knew I was going to be alone. By that I mean that I would go sleep over friend’s houses, go back home to live with mom during that time, go to aunts and relatives, etc. But now I am ensconced in a life that would be very difficult for me to just leave, with my son and my work and what not. So, now I need others to take time off of their lives to come babysit mine.

In my life, I have only ever met one other person who was as afraid to be alone as I was. When I asked my girlfriend about this woman who was afraid to be alone, my girlfriend said this: “Oh, yeah, one time her roommates didn’t come home on time, and they didn’t tell her they were going to be late, and she totally freaked out on them. She yelled at them for a long time.”

Of course I said “But why is she so afraid to be alone?” She said, “Oh, a gang of men molested her when she was a little girl.” What was funny about it was that even though my girlfriend was a survivor and knew I was a survivor, she said it like it was an afterthought, like that happens every day. (Which it does.)

Maybe all of us survivors should set up some sort of free survivor babysitting service for each other. I mean, we all understand what it is to be afraid, and we would never humiliate each other about it, so if we called up the service and said “Yup, gonna be alone on this date to this date, need some company,” the service could say “No problem, we have at least three survivors on call in your area. She’ll be here by such and such time.”



Reason #63: Still we cry
March 28, 2009, 1:33 pm
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Last night, I was again crying in bed because my husband has to take this business trip, and I can’t handle it. I keep trying to think up solutions to me not having to be alone all week, but so far every avenue has failed. I have now asked five people (some friends, some family) to stay with me during that time. I have been humiliated five times by asking, and five times more by hearing my loved ones say no in a kind way.

The thing is, they are all right to say no to this request. They all have lives that have things happening during that particular week, and thus they cannot take time out from their lives to come babysit mine. It’s not their fault.

As the last no came in yesterday, I found myself absolutely hating myself. I was filled with such self-loathing. Finally, thankfully, the huz and I went up to bed. When the light was turned off and the room was awash in darkness, I was safe to cry and feel all these horrible feelings. It was okay to admit defeat in the darkness, and even more okay to admit my feelings about being defeated my personal demons once again.

The huz heard me crying and pulled me to him. He put his hands on my face, and my tears wet his hand.

And he fell asleep. In the middle of my crying. Now, in his defense, he has been working crazy hours, and has been stressed about the nature of this business trip, and even more stressed about the effect this business trip is having on me. But still I couldn’t help but be angry. Irrationally speaking, this is all his fault with this stupid business trip. This is ‘irrational speak’ because it’s not really his fault, he argued against the business trip and lost, and his company won, and in this economy you can’t go trying to win wars with your job.

So there he was asleep and there I was crying, and I couldn’t help but feel even more humiliated. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. We cry so much our husbands eventually fall asleep to it. We can’t help but cry though, because our sadness is so big it’s like an ocean. Waves of it keep coming even when everyone else is ready for the waves to stop.



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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