Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids

Reason #302: My Son Started School

My son started school last week.  I cried my way through most of the week.  Lots of mothers get fucked up when their child first enters the school system, so this in itself would not be a reason not to fuck kids.  For me though, the whole thing brought me to my knees.

All I could think was ‘I couldn’t keep me safe, and now that he’s at school, I can’t keep him safe either.’  And then I cry and pray and cry and pray. Tears and prayer are what you do when you have nothing else you can humanly do.

The whole thing seems unsafe to me.  The school bus, the school building, the teachers, the bigger kids.  And then there’s my sweet beautiful son, who is so innocent and sensitive.

I have no memory, but I would have had to have been his age or younger when the babysitter fucked my brother and I.  I have no memory of being five, or of kindergarten.  I realized that yesterday, that I have no memory of kindergarten.  Nothing in my mind about the teachers, the school, nothing, nothing but a big black hole where the memories of life should be.  Isn’t that rather odd? I asked my ex if she had any memory of kindergarten, and she said yes.  Not only kindergarten but nursery school too.

I once read a study that found that adults that have survived child sexual abuse tend to lose big chunks of their autobiographical memory.  I wonder if those adults are actually kids like me who have no memory of the abuse and thus big black holes in their memory of everything else during that time period?  Or are there adults who remember the abuse but still have the big black holes in their memory about everything else?

My sweet beautiful son is now out there in the world. I feel like he is alone out there, and when I was left alone, a babysitter came into our home and raped my brother and I. And I’ve been fucked up ever since, and so has my brother.  And then he fucked me too, because that’s what he’d been taught by that horrible person.

I keep telling myself that it is okay for children to go to school, that they have to go to school, that this will be a growth opportunity for him.  My ex told me how much she loved kindergarten. I swear to G-d, I had no idea what the fuck she was talking about.  “How could you have loved it??  It was school!” I said.  She said she loved it.  My memory begins at age 6, and where I grew up, it was a city environment, and the teachers yelled at us a lot.  I saw one teacher pull childrens’ hair a lot too.  My grade school felt inherently unsafe to me, probably because I had already been unsafe in the world.

I pray about my son and his school sometimes, but I feel that prayer is useless in this situation.  How can I ask G-d to protect my son when He couldn’t even protect me? It seems to me that G-d doesn’t intervene in things like this. He will hold your hand through it and through the healing process, but He will not step in and stop you from being abused.  I don’t understand that, but in order to keep surviving, I tell myself that the pain that came with surviving was all part of my life journey.  I tell myself that it fueled my growth. I don’t want my son to grow like that.

I don’t understand what G-d is thinking.  I mean, yeah, a lot of growth happens in painful times. But shit, a lot of growth happens in loving, nurturing times too. Why did You let me get hurt like that?  Why did You let her hurt me like that?

And now I am supposed to just put my son out there on a bus, in a school, in the world, as if it doesn’t scare the shit out of me?  Am I supposed to trust the world to take care of him and keep him safe when it couldn’t do that for me?

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  Because we grow up and have kids, and the already-painful first day of school brings with it a layer of terror.


Reason 269: Thelma and Louise

Do you remember that movie Thelma and Louise? In the movie, this guy is trying to rape Thelma, and Louise kills him before he can finish. Before she kills him though, the rapist defends himself by saying “We were just having some fun.” Louise, a rape survivor herself, said, “Just so you know, when women are crying and screaming like that, they aren’t having any fun.”

I woke up today thinking about that movie. When that babysitter was molesting us, I wonder if we cried and screamed. Probably not, judging by my behavior with my brother while he was molesting me. I probably dissociated and left my body and pretended I was somewhere else, like I did with my brother.

This happens to me so often. I HATE not having conscious memory of her, of what she did to us. I wouldn’t hate it but for the fact that all my symptoms of surviving molestation appeared after she molested us, which was years BEFORE my brother ever touched me. So, obviously the memories are stuck somewhere in my subconscious, unable to be accessed by the rest of me. And so I am left to drive myself crazy with the wonderings of what she actually did, how she went about hurting us, how long she waited after my mom left, how we reacted, etc.

Reason #222: Against my will

I told the therapist that I don’t feel like I will ever heal from the babysitter’s abuse unless I actually remember it.  I mean, come on, how can you heal from what you don’t remember?

She said that somewhere inside me I do remember it, but it might not be the kind of memory that I am considering ‘real’.  She said my body obviously remembers the trauma, and I might remember it in some sort of pre-verbal stage.  This would explain why I’ve been afraid all these years, why I put the covers over my head at night years before my brother ever touched me.  Why the night terrifies me.

I told her I have to remember it.  I need to know the details.

She said “You don’t need to know the details in order to heal.  You know everything you need to know already.”

I said “How do you mean?”

She said “Here’s what you know.  Something bad happened to you against your will when you were a child.”

That gave me pause for thought.  In a way, she is right.  This quest for memory is not helping me heal, and if I could heal just knowing what I already know, then that would certainly be the *right* path, right?  The quest for memory may also be fruitless, as my memory may never return.  I may never feel safe enough to regain what has been lost, in terms of my memory of what she did to me, to us.

I might never feel safe either way. That is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  May we all find our safety and heal from our wounds.

Reason #123: We forget large parts of our childhoods

I spent some time with my family this weekend because it was Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year). Happy 5770 to all my Jewish followers. Anyway, my family was showing some old home videos of me and my brother and cousins when we were little.

The videos were painful to watch. I was embarrassed for my husband to see how I used to be. That butterfly. I have worked so hard to become this Butterfly, and I was just so embarrassed for him to see me like that.

The astonishing thing was that on these videos there were holidays, birthdays, all kinds of memorable shit. I have no memory of any of these events. Frankly, I was shocked to see myself and how I looked, because I have no memory of that either. Hard as I tried to recall any of the events on those home movies, I can’t recall one fucking thing.

I realized a while after the videos were finally turned off that in one of the videos I would have been about the age I was when my brother started molesting me. When I was staring at the moving pictures of myself on screen though, it was like I was watching someone else. While I understood intrinsically that these pictures were obviously of me, I just couldn’t connect with that person.

It’s like my child self is a total stranger to me. While this may sound like nothing, it’s actually kind of big. Think about it. All of who we are now has been a formation of who we were then, and our memories of our experiences through our lives, and our memories of ourselves as we were then. I don’t have that. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

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