Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #317: Dipping toes in water

My ex-wife had genital reassignment surgery a few weeks ago. She told me she was a woman 2 1/2 years ago, and has been living as a woman on the outside for a year and a half, and she felt it was time to go ahead and get the surgery. What a fucking ordeal that kind of surgery is, holy shit. The recovery takes forever!! We knew that going into it, but still, holy shit. She is in a lot of pain but she is doing okay.

I am in a lot of pain too, but I’m doing okay too I guess. I suppose the truth is that no matter how much you anticipate a punch, it still hurts when it comes. This surgery was like a punch for me.

She has a look of freedom in her eyes that was never there before. It is almost painful to witness it.  It’s kind of like looking at a butterfly who has been caged and is now free.  The problem is that her freedom has now put me in a cage, kind of, and I am not ready to leave yet. I wish I was. The thing is, the safety of living with her is still better than the alternative for me right now, which would be not living with her.

I wish I could learn from her courage.  Against all odds, she did this enormous thing.  She risked losing everything – her family, her friends, her job, her home – everything – just to be who she really was inside. Now that she has a vagina, she feels complete and whole.  I wish I could learn from her courage and risk safety and leave her and fall in love again. We formally ended the marriage about a month after she told me she is a transgendered female, but I was still in love with her.  Grieving over the loss of her is over its roughest point, but there are still little nicks and cuts.  Losing your husband in this unique way is really a death by a thousand cuts, and there are still cuts. Like for instance our roofer stopped by unexpectedly and asked how my husband was. Great, I thought, another person I have to come out to. And how much do I tell these people?  We still live together.  No, the marriage is over. Yes, we probably will get divorced eventually. Right now we are still living together, raising our son. And up until a few weeks ago, the inevitable ‘yes, she will probably get the surgery’.

A few days ago, I cried at my therapist’s office about all of this, about losing my husband all over again.  It’s not the same kind of grief as when I first lost him, but it definitely feels like a loss all over again.  I guess somewhere in the back of my head, I kept thinking ‘When is he going to stop this craziness already?’ But the truth is, he was never going to stop that craziness because he is a she on the inside, and now on the outside too.

So my therapist asked me if perhaps this finality, this ‘nail in the coffin’ made me ready to have a funeral for my husband. We had touched on it before in the last two years since ‘he’ came out as a ‘she’ to me. But I had never been ready before.  I feel ready now. I guess that is the nice thing about the surgery — it set her free.  Maybe now it will set me free too. So I am preparing a eulogy about all the wonderful things that I miss about the only man I was ever able to trust enough to have sex with him.

Get this though…

There’s a guy at my job that I – I don’t know – that I think about. Okay, I guess I “like” him. He started there last year, and since then we have seen each other around the office sometimes.  We have both been to some office functions, and sometimes we talk to each other when we see each other. I told my therapist “I think maybe I like a boy.” That’s how I said it because that’s how I feel.  My sexuality is still stuck in fucking teenage and childhood years.  They say that when you go through abuse as a kid (or when your parent is an alcoholic, or any other kind of traumatic shit we force kids to live through), that your emotional age kind of ‘arrests’ at the age you were when all your shit started.  I had three abusers – the first (the babysitter) when I was 5, the second (my brother) when I was 8, the third (my dad) when I was 15. When I talk about liking a boy, I feel 15, the real age I was when I started actually liking boys. It’s just that my shit never progressed beyond that age.  You’d think that since I was married and had a child, that somehow I would stop being afraid of men and sex and all that, but no.

I wonder if he sees me as the fat office girl he has to say hi to sometimes.

So anyway, I told the therapist I like a boy. She smiled and asked me about him. I told her what I knew, which really isn’t much. He’s a tall guy, kind of a bigger guy, and he has longer hair. I told her he seems nice and that everyone only has good things to say about him. Then I told her that I basically contrived a meeting with him for tomorrow under the pretenses of working together on some project when really I just want to see what he’s about. Honestly, this whole thing is so stupid. He never talks about having a significant other, but I could have sworn that someone told me that he used to be in an 11 year relationship. I don’t even know if he is still in that relationship or not? If he is, then this is the safest crush in the world, since I refuse to mess around with that sort of thing. (I have a mantra that I will not screw over other women just for a man. And messing around with a married man screws over another woman. That’s my own personal mantra; no judgment for anyone else doing that. Everyone has their own moral codes.)

The therapist told me that setting the meeting with him is a good thing.  She said that even if nothing else comes of it, it is good that I am socializing and not taking to my normal hermit instincts.  She said that this is probably a safe way for me to dip my toe in the water, by liking a guy who is probably in a relationship because nothing can come of it (which makes it safe).

Sometimes I wonder if my child sex abuse stuff shows on me.  Does he know? Does everyone at the office know who I really am?

This, of course, is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. Our thought processes around dating are completely different than normal people. When a non-abused person likes someone, they wonder ‘does he/she like me?’ You know what I wonder about? ‘Will he rape me?” “When is it safe to be alone with him? Is it after 6 months of dating?” “If I bring him to my home, will he force himself on me?” And of course, my most popular thought process revolves around him gaining my trust only for the purposes of abusing my child.  All this, and I don’t even know him, and he’s probably in a relationship so all of this is moot anyway.

I will be glad when this stupid meeting is over tomorrow so I can stop worrying already.

 



Reason # 281: Caterpillars and Butterflies
February 20, 2012, 5:48 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

A few months ago, I went to a craft fair and I saw this sign: ‎”If you want to be a butterfly, you must be willing to stop being a caterpillar.”

As my regular readers know, I call myself ‘Butterfly’ on here because I believe that child sexual abuse survivors (and really any trauma or adversity survivors) are kind of like butterflies.  When we were getting abused, we had to hole up in our cocoons and hide.  Then we spend a great deal of time afterwards hiding in our cocoon because we become so afraid of the world.  We begin to believe that since one person (or in my case, three people) abused us, the whole world will also be abusive.

I want to be a butterfly.  I really do.  But I can see that I am still in caterpillar mode most of the time.

Last month marked a year since my husband began the process of figuring out that h/she was transgendered, and next month it will be a year since h/she told me that she is a girl.  Next month will be a full year since my heart was shattered.

I have put an ad on a dating website online.  I’m not sure what to think about that.  Now that I am beginning to conceptualize myself as a woman who is back in the dating world, I can’t help but think about the potential dudes that I would want to date or who would date me.  Honestly, they all scare the fucking crap out of me.  Hence my caterpillarness.  I was afraid of them before I married my husband, and now that my heart has been broken in such a unique way, I feel afraid of new dudes in both the ‘he will rape me or beat me’ way and also the ‘he doesn’t know himself and he will figure it out by being with me’ way. And, of course, I am also terrified that some new dude would be looking to get into a relationship with me as a way to fuck my kid.

I am not sure what the future holds for me though.  In my butterfly moments, I look forward to the future with hope.  Hope of healing and being a whole Butterfly all by myself, and then being able to share my whole Butterfly self with some new guy.  In my more familiar and regular caterpillar thoughts though, I scare myself silly with the ‘what if’ game.  I play out the scenario of dating.  We meet at a restaurant, a nice safe public place.  Things go well.  We go on a second date, also in a public place.  We date for a few months.  He seems really nice.  Maybe we are a good fit, I think to myself. I lower my guard a bit, and I finally invite him into my room to make out.  I trust him enough to date him. We begin to fall in love. We date for a while. We get married.  One night I see him in my son’s bedroom when we are all supposed to be sleeping.  He sees me seeing him and tries to explain, but I know what the fuck I am looking at.  I WAS the child in that bed over 30 years ago, no explanation is necessary…

See how quickly this thought process turns into an abusive scenario?  I don’t know how to change the mantra, and I sure as shit don’t know how to trust some new dude.  I don’t even really know if I should be open to trusting some new dude.  (Mind you, right now there is no actual new dude; all of this is pure conjecture.)

This brings me to my next bit of caterpillarness.  When I am not sitting here worrying about some predator preying on my son or me, I sit here and worry about the possibility of me being alone from here on out.  I try to tell myself it will be okay.  When I was happily married, I would imagine our marriage breaking for a hundred different reasons (like us not fucking each other, for instance), and I would tell myself I would be okay.  It’s all such a lie though, you know?  I mean, I guess I am okay, if by okay you actually mean ‘alive’.  I am alive.  I am existing.  I am back to work.  I am caring for my son.  I am overeating and throwing up a lot.  I am spending great deals of time at night not sleeping and that makes me tired during the day.  I spend a lot of time talking myself down from panic attacks, and general anxiety.  And I cry a lot.

I want to be a butterfly; I am just not sure how to get there.

 

 

 



Reason #278: Manipulating Body Size to Avoid Sexual Attention
February 1, 2012, 8:34 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

I happened upon the Incest Survivors’ Aftereffects Checklist by E. Sue Blume , and I was perusing it.  I, of course, have many of the symptoms on this list.  But then my eyes rested upon this one: “Manipulating body size to avoid sexual attention”.  This is SOOOO me.  Somehow every time I am in a relationship, I end up gaining a shitload of weight.  I gained so much weight in my marriage that the number was pretty astounding.  The number of pounds gained was so much, it would almost seem like a conscious decision to gain it.  But it wasn’t, and I have always been generally consciously unhappy with my weight.

I first started gaining weight after my brother began abusing me.  I didn’t start throwing up my food until my father started molesting me.  I have always been overweight, and I have tried every possible diet that there is to try, from Atkins to Weight Watchers to counting calories to nutritionists, etc, etc, etc.

The truth is, and I can only understand this now in retrospect, I have been manipulating my body size to avoid sexual attention.  During my thinner times, males have felt perfectly comfortable walking up to me and asking me out.  They have felt okay with talking to me to get to know me better in order to ask me out.  They have felt okay talking to my friends about me to see if I like them.  I cannot even count how many places I have literally run away from because some guy has done these things. Once I was in a restaurant and when I was in the bathroom, the waiter told someone at my table that he thought I was cute.  She told me about it when I got back to the table, and the way I handled it was to hide behind her as we walked out of the restaurant.

Somehow when I gain weight, the number of males that show interest me is greatly reduced.  It’s like by becoming fatter, I actually become more invisible to men.

The heterosexual female part of me likes the idea of attention from men.  But the molested girl part of me usually takes over and then all of me runs away.

I asked my therapist about the manipulation of body size stuff, and she said that in her practice she has noticed that whatever way the child looked like while being molested becomes the opposite of what they choose to look like in adulthood.  So, for instance if a little girl has been thin her whole childhood until some asshole molests her, then she chooses to become fat (subconsciously, in my case). And if a little girl is overweight, she becomes anorexic, etc.  I don’t think this applies to everyone, but shit, it sure is true in my case.

I don’t think I would have ever had such profound weight issues, and such profound eating disorders, and such a profoundly fucked up relationship with my body and with food if three people hadn’t molested me.  This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #272: Attempting Safety
December 22, 2011, 5:55 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

As you know, I have begun thinking about a future that includes the possibility of dating. Obviously that brings up a world of shit for me, because dating means intimacy, and men scare the crap out of me.

I figured I should try to work out some of my barriers to dating, so I brought it up with my therapist. One of the things we talked about was the fact that I have an issue with people’s names. (Mostly men’s names, of course.) I believe that people with certain names are bad, and people with other names are good. If I meet someone new and they have a ‘bad’ name, I assume they are bad people. For instance, I wouldn’t date anyone with my brother’s name because obviously they’re bad people.

My therapist said that if I told her a name, she could tell me an example of someone good with that name and an example of someone bad with that name. I said, “So what does that mean then? I’m wrong about the name thing?”

She said “It’s an illusion of safety. You think that if you can categorize people into good and bad based on just their names, then you are safe from bad people. It’s an attempt at creating safety.”

I had never looked at it that way, but she is absolutely right. The ‘names thing’, the ‘only wearing certain colors of underwear thing’, the ‘only reaching for stuff with my right hand’, etc., all of these nutty things are my attempts at creating safety.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. We construct attempts at safety and take comfort in the illusion. We judge people on names and form reasons to hold people at arms’ length.



Reason #271: It’s been almost 10 months
December 20, 2011, 7:03 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

It’s been almost 10 months now since my husband told me he feels like a girl inside.  The first five months were spent in heavy mourning, with a lot of crying. The next two months – I spent them in and out of the hospital due to gall bladder issues combined with iatrogenic harm. Then these last few months I spent coming to an acceptance.

My mind has begun to understand my husband as a female, and I accept our upcoming divorce. Our relationship has morphed, after a lot of crying, fighting, blaming, etc., into a lovely friendship.

Now that I’ve come to this place of acceptance, I have begun thinking about the idea of dating in the future. When I picture trying to date a new man, I worry over every part of it. I have no specific man I am thinking of dating, mind you, so all these worries occur with some faceless guy in the future. Inevitably, my mind goes to the probability of me having sex issues in bed with new guy. I mean, that was the reason I ended up marrying my husband. He never pushed me on sex, and I sought out the safety of that. So it’s inevitable that this issue will surface again with a new dude. And even that is only if I can get over myself enough to freaking try to date again.

Sometimes I picture it all going something like this:
New Dude: “By the way, Butterfly, how many dudes have you slept with?”
Butterfly: “Oh, uh, one.”
New Dude: “What?”
Butterfly: “Yeah. The first guy was my husband. I was almost 31 when we slept together. A few months before we got married.”
New Dude: “Seriously? Why??”

And this is where I stare at him and contemplate saying “This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. We grow up scared of penis and sex and we marry men who don’t want sex, or in my case, their penis.”



Reason #77: Conversation endings
April 18, 2009, 12:36 am
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

I don’t say the word “goodbye”. I don’t like that word. To me, it implies a finality, a meaning of forever. I don’t want to acknowledge that this might be the last time I talk to you or see you, so I don’t say that word. My husband said that until I explained this to him (when we were dating), the endings of our phone conversations were real interesting to him.

Me: So I guess I’ll talk to you later?
Him: Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll call you tomorrow night around 7:30.
Me: That sounds good. Talk to you later. (Click.)
Him: Hello? Hello?

He finally had the sense to use his words and ask me about that. I explained to him that I didn’t want to say that word that people use to end conversations, because I would like to speak with him again, and by saying that word, I feel like I am telling the Universe that it’s okay with me to not speak to that person again.

I used to think I was the only one with the weird goodbye shit, but then I read Antwone Fisher’s autobiography (which was turned into a movie, but I haven’t seen that yet), and it turns out he too doesn’t say the word goodbye. He was molested by a female relative when he was a child. Now both of us are scared shitless of a fucking word. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.




%d bloggers like this: