Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Not a reason, just an update

I haven’t posted in a while.  The thing is, I got freaked out.  I have been secretly keeping this blog for about 4 years now, and when I started it, it was because I had something to prove.  I needed to prove that there are a lot of hidden ways that being a survivor of child sexual abuse has affected me in my daily life.  Most of these effects are the kinds of things that no one but my ex-spouse would know about it.  In other words, it would take someone physically living in my space to be aware of the myriad ways that surviving child sexual abuse has fucked me up.

Of course, even living with me wouldn’t be enough to know all the hidden ways, because a lot of the effects take place in my head.  For instance, fear is a constant effect of having survived the abuse.

My newest fear is that the people I work with would find my blog, or that future people I need to work with would find my blog.  It’s disgusting, but in my line of work, people would judge me for being a survivor.  So I hide it.  But I worry that people would find my blog anyway.  I keep it anonymous for that reason.

The thing is, what began as a blog to prove things has also become a journal about my life.  I never could have predicted that so much change would occur in the space of four short years.  My husband is becoming my ex-wife.  My career is doing stuff I never even thought of. And I am trying to find myself, heal myself, and figure shit out in the meantime.

So that’s where I’ve been lately.

The ex-spouse and I still live together.  We’ve formed a lovely sisterhood, and we are raising our son together.  We will eventually get divorced, probably.  My sweet beautiful son has known his father as a woman since he was 3, and the other day his teacher told us that he explained his situation to another child (in the exact same way we explained it to him).

We originally told him this: “Some boys are born boys, and they look like boys on the outside, and they feel like boys on the inside. Some boys are born boys, and they look like boys on the outside and they feel like girls on the inside.  That’s Daddy.  He looks like a boy on the outside, but feels like a girl on the inside.  So now Daddy will begin looking like a girl on the outside to match what he feels like on the inside.”

He said “Am I a girl?”

Despite our trying to raise him with genderlessness, he’s all boy.  When he has wanted Barbie dolls, we got them for him.  But for the most part, he naturally seemed to gravitate to shit I was never interested in when I was a little girl.  Trucks. Monsters.  Superheroes.  Legos. Wrestling. Et cetera.

So I answered him “No sweetie.”

So that’s him, and that’s my ex.  And for me, I don’t know.  Sometimes I think about my future, and I wonder if there will be another boyfriend or husband or whatever.  Boy would he be in for a world of shit, huh??  I thought I had trust issues before this marriage, but holy shit have they tripled since then!! But I honestly think that is to be expected when you have a happy marriage and your male spouse turns into your female spouse. So, there’s that.

Sometimes though, I think about my life in a different way. This year needs to be about empowerment. I want to be empowered to be my best self. My best self would be someone who thinks a man is a ‘nice to have’, not a ‘have to have’.  Does that make any sense?  What I mean is that I hope that this is the year where I learn to live a more empowered life.

So that’s what I have been working on.  It comes slowly.

To my readers: Thank you for being with me for these last four years.  I will continue writing reasons when I have courage to do so. Thank you for taking the journey with me so far.

 

 



Reason #292: Who’s Gonna Love You Now?

I was watching Glee tonight, and in this episode Coach Bieste made the wonderful decision to leave her abusive husband. In classic abuser fashion, he said “Who’s gonna love you now?”.  After a slight pause, she reflected on his question, and said “ME.”

The whole thing made me think about my situation. One of the questions I have always wrestled with is feeling like damaged goods. Now that I am getting divorced, I have asked many times “Who would ever want me?” I think it’s a natural question to ask in a divorce situation, and also a natural thing to ponder when you have survived child sexual abuse and incest.

It would be really cool if I learned to love myself.



Reason #253: Power over an ant
August 1, 2011, 1:05 pm
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So, as my regular readers know, last week the fucking ants made a reappearance in my house.  I, of course, couldn’t take it, so I made an appointment for the exterminator to come over (he knows us by name; I am pretty sure we have funded his last five vacations single-handedly).  Also though, I asked the huz/wife to sleep in my bed with me until after the exterminator came.

So, the huz/wife slept with me in the same bed.  It was so uncomfortable.  You’d never know we had previously been pretty happily married for almost 7 years.  I could feel him not wanting to be there in bed with me, and it stressed me so much.  I tried to talk to him about it, and he said that trying to live in this body that doesn’t feel like his is so stressful, and the idea of trying to do that with someone else in the bed with him is more stressful. I guess that’s true, but I sure felt rejected from the whole experience. From the stress of trying to sleep together, I developed some sort of pain in my neck that is still with me today.

The pain in my neck got so bad that I ended up going to the doctor – I thought maybe I had some sort of infection in my ear that was radiating down my neck.  She told me to  take ibuprofen every 3 hours, which is what I had to do because the pain was so bad.  Finally on Thursday, the exterminator came.  I had the huz sleep with me on Thursday and Friday night though, as a just in case measure.  The pain in my neck is still with me today, but not nearly as bad as it was.  I didn’t need to take ibuprofen last night or this morning.

On Saturday though, I slept by myself again.  And honestly, it was WONDERFUL!  Isn’t that surprising?  I realized that I enjoyed having the bed to myself, the room to myself, the TV to myself.  I enjoyed my nightly solitude!  Can you believe that??  The room feels like mine, and given my life circumstances, it’s frankly one of the nicer rooms I have lived in in my life. 

So then last night, just as the ex and I were saying goodnight to each other, I noticed a black wriggling ant on the floor of my room.  It was still alive.  WHAT THE FUCK.  How could this be?  Why every time that I feel safe does this happen??? 

The huz picked it up with his bare hands, killed it, and then compassionately asked me if I wanted him to sleep with me.  It took me a long time to answer.  The thing is, my neck had been hurting so bad from trying to sleep with someone who didn’t want to sleep with me, and we had been doing that for almost the whole week.  And I had enjoyed my Saturday night to myself.  And it seemed like this newest ant, while frightening to me, was actually dying (hopefully).  So I thought long and hard, and finally I said “No.  But please sit with me for a minute here while I get used to this, ok?”

The more I thought about it, the more angry I got at that ant.  Look how much sleep over this past year that fucking ant has cost me.  Look how much peace that ant has cost me.  And as I thought about it and got more and more angry about it, I thought “No.  FUCK THAT.”  I had already given that ant way too much power, for way too long, and I was not going to let it ruin yet another night.

I took my power back from that ant.  I took it the fuck back. 

That ant should have never had that kind of power over me in the first place, which is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  Because I am 37 and it took enormous courage and a year of hard work and a husband who turned into a wife and an impending divorce and too many nights of uncomfortable sleep and a terrible pain in my neck and a shitload of crying for me to take my power back from a little fucking ant.  That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  But G-ddammit, I took my power back from that ant for one night.  And please G-d, give me courage to never give it back to that ant again.



Reason # 246: We’ll Get Through This
June 14, 2011, 1:37 pm
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The huz/(wife?) and I had to go to a wedding for a family member recently.  Most of the people at the wedding didn’t know our unique situation.  My mom and close family knew though.

It was an incredibly painful day for me, watching someone else’s marriage begin as my own is coming to an end.  I didn’t handle it well.  There was a lot of crying and sadness on my part, and some drinking at the wedding as well.  I am not generally someone who drinks, since I am really the slave to only one master (which is food).  But shit, if ever there was a time for a drink or two, that wedding was it.

At some point during all of this, my mom looked at me and saw what was happening for me.  She took my hand and squeezed it and said “We’ll get through this together, sweetie.”  I can’t even say how grateful I was to hear her say this.  One of the many difficult parts of all of this is how overwhelmingly alone this situation makes me feel.  When you imagine yourself divorcing, it happens in a hundred different ways.  Your husband telling you he is a woman inside is never one of those ways.

My mom said she needed her mom a lot when she was divorcing. I have always needed my mom a lot.  As you know, my quest for safety is constant, and elusive because it never truly comes.  When something happens to a kid that is contrary to survival, like sexual things with adults, there are many reactions to it.  One of them is the need for safety and love in the form of ‘mother’.  In my incest survivors’ group (20 years ago), every one of us had a strong need for our moms.

The thing about getting fucked, of course, is that a lot of times the moms are complicit in the abuse, by either staying on the side of the guy who is abusing you, or by not believing you.  Or, worse, she is the one doing the abusing.

I wonder what the world would be like if, upon hearing their child disclose abuse, instead of the usual shitty reaction, moms took their childrens’ hands and said “We’ll get through this together, sweetie.”



Reason #245: Don’t Share Your Pain with Fools
June 10, 2011, 1:02 pm
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In my last post, I talked about how freeing it was to share my pain with someone who received our secrets with love and understanding. 

Feeling emboldened by the freeing of our secret, I decided to share my pain with a friend.  I got together with her for lunch and told her that my husband and I are getting a divorce because he is becoming a woman.  She herself is a divorced woman, and her divorce was very contentious.

She grilled me from the moment I told her to the moment the lunch was over.  One of her first questions was “Have you thought about what this is going to do to your son?”  She asked me in almost an accusatory way, as if I was choosing for my husband to be transgendered. 

 Then she asked me what lawyers I was going to hire.   I said that I didn’t think we were going to hire lawyers, and that we were going to probably do a do-it-yourself divorce kit.  We both love each other very much, and we really aren’t people who fight over possessions.  We have both already agreed that he can have what he wants and I can have what I want.  Since we both want to stay married and we can’t have that, which is what we really want, I could really give a shit who gets the dining room table, you know?

She asked me if I was ready to forgive him yet.  I looked at her and said “Uh, this just happened.  I am still in the grief stage over the loss of my husband and marriage.”  She then talked some shit about forgiveness being good, and how that’s an important stage or some shit.  As my readers know, I think forgiveness is mostly bullshit. I don’t feel that forgiveness should ever be brought up by anyone else.  If the survivor brings it up, that’s when it’s okay to talk about it.  Otherwise, all the other person is really doing is asking you to forgive so that you can shut the fuck up, and they don’t have to deal with your pain anymore.  So I resented her thinking I should forgive, especially at the stage where I am in, which is crying and sad every day.

The relentless questions and opinions continued.  I couldn’t help but think about the many times I tried to break the secret of child sexual abuse with people around me.  My one aunt tried to verify if I was telling the truth by asking me what my brother’s penis looked like.  At that young age, I told her that it looked like an egg roll.  She had fits of laughter over my answer.  None of it seemed funny to me; I had never wanted to see my brother’s penis, and I certainly didn’t want to touch it.  She didn’t understand my pain, or what the sharing of my pain meant.

By the time I got home from that lunch, I wanted to eat and eat and eat my pain away.  There just wasn’t enough food yesterday.  The hard truth about using to food to solve emotional problems is that it’s like looking in the fridge only to see a sign that says “The answer you’re looking for isn’t in here.”

Yesterday I stupidly chose to share my pain with a fool.  I hate myself for not being able to tell my friend to shut the fuck up with her foolish advice and questions.   I can’t even count the many times I have been forced to share my sexual abuse pain with fools.  Yesterday’s pain could have been avoided if I had remembered that and thought ahead.



Reason #242: Comparing myself to others

I have a cousin who is almost the same age as me.  We were always pretty close to each other until puberty hit and then we got kind of distant, probably because I was afraid of males.  But we always kept that childhood bond anyway.

I don’t think he’s ever been competitive with me, but I have always compared myself to him.  It’s a competition I was never going to win.  He grew up with money, white male privilege, two parents that loved him and were involved in his life, no weight problems, and he was never abused.  My parents divorced each other twice, some of the time we were on welfare, I started getting fat after my brother started abusing me, and I grew up traumatized because three different people used my body as their own personal plaything. 

In other words, it’s a competition I was never going to win.  Everyone does this, I am sure.  Everyone compares themselves to others and loses.  I was once maid of honor in a wedding at a time when I was pretty sure I would never get married, and I was comparing myself like crazy to my thin pretty best friend who had no fear of sex.  Up until I met my husband, I was terrified of penis.  I was never gonna get married, as far as I knew.

During that time in my life, a wise therapist said “You are never going to win when you compare yourself to others.  You are comparing their outsides – the best of what you know about what they are willing to show you – with your insides, the worst of what you know to be true about yourself.  It’s a competition you can never possibly win.”

So last night I told my cousin that I am getting a divorce.  And that my husband is going to be a woman. And instantly, I was transported back to all the other times in my life where I felt lesser than my cousin.  My cousin’s marriage is going strong, and mine is failing.  His wife is going to stay a woman and my husband is going to become a woman.  He is fucking his wife, I am sure, and my husband and I haven’t fucked in years now.

I felt like the same old Butterfly; poor abused Butterfly from the wrong side of the tracks.  Poor fucked Butterfly.  I hate that feeling, and it fucked me up last night.  It wasn’t anything he did or said, it was me; it was all shit I brought with me to that conversation.  I had been congratulating myself on the fact that it had been my fourth day of not crying, after two months of crying daily since I found out about my husband.  But then I told my cousin about us, felt like shit, and spent the rest of the night sad.

Everyone compares themselves to others, so this in itself would not be a reason not to fuck kids.  But fucked kids know intimately that something is very wrong with us.  We continually think that there must be something inherently wrong with us, either because they picked us to fuck us, or because after the abuse happens, we truly are changed people after that.  We are damaged to a point that makes our former selves almost unrecognizable.  Thus, after being abused, every time we compare ourselves to others, we are always for sure going to lose, because our very soul is damaged from what has happened to us. 

Telling my cousin I am getting divorced and instantly being transported back to feeling like a fucked kid. That is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #236: My Husband

In my last post, I said that my husband had some game-changing news, but I was unable to say what it was because it was too painful.  Well, here it is.  My husband said that he thinks he is a female in a male’s body.  He is thinking about actually becoming a woman, through surgical means.  At the very least, he is probably going to live as a woman for a while. 

I know.  It’s shocking.  Take a minute.  It’s been some time for me, and I’m still somewhat shocked.

Anyway, back to me… This revelation on his part is problematic for me because I know that I am mostly heterosexual.  I spent some time in gay relationships, and even though I loved my first girlfriend very much, we proved that love was not enough to save a doomed relationship.  I spent much of our sex life pretending and fantasizing that she was a man just to get through the sex.  I was VERY afraid of penis, and my girlfriends were very masculine women and I loved them.  But unfortunately, I am not gay, and I proved it. And if my husband does become a woman, I just don’t think I will be attracted to him in that way anymore.  I mean, I can’t say for certain, because you never know, but I don’t think I will be.

There’s a saying in Judaism that it is better to light a candle than curse the darkness.  I keep cursing my own survivorhood that brought me to this marriage, brought me to this place in my life.  I don’t know how to find the light in this, and I keep desperately trying.  I suppose that is the dark truth about desperation.  It is nearly impossible to find the light when you are desperate. 

Truly, I hate myself through all of this, even though I kind of understand that it’s not my fault.  The thing is, I of course would marry a man so safe that he is actually a woman!  I was so afraid of penis, and here was a guy willing to wait the TWO YEARS of dating that it took for us to be able to fuck each other.  Now I understand that he just wasn’t all that interested in sex, and he wasn’t interested in it because he didn’t really feel comfortable with his penis.

I was pretty mad at him at first, when he told me about being a woman.  I did all the standard “Why did you ask me to marry you” and “How could you not know” questions.  But in the end, I realized that this is a process for him, and he just didn’t know.  He just didn’t understand why he felt so different, and he feels more at peace now that he understands more of who he is.

Every night since all this started, I have been awake while my husband sleeps.  I sit there in bed, in the dark, and think about all this stuff.  I don’t really understand how to be in bed with him anymore, and also how not to be in bed with him anymore.

In our latest marital therapy session, I told the therapist I want us to stop working on trying to fuck each other.  I explained that when I decided to get into this relationship with my husband, I made a pact with myself that I would not just be a body in this relationship.  This time would be different, I decided, because I would allow both my body and my heart to be involved.  So many times in the past, I was only sexual with people because it was just my body, not my heart.  The way it was with my brother where I would dissociate completely from my body, and he would do shit to my body, but I wouldn’t really be there for it, and so it was okay to survive it.  I would recreate that situation again and again in my life with each new lover, and I just didn’t want that with my husband.  (By the way, that shit about just being a body in sexual situations, and recreating unhealthy situations – that right there is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  I would put money on the fact that almost all of us fucked kids do this.  And I’d be rich if I did.)

Anyway, the therapist understood, and we agreed that we aren’t sure where to take this from here on.  We originally got into marital therapy because we weren’t fucking each other, and I wanted us to.  Now we’re still not fucking each other, but I can’t fuck him unless I am sure our marriage is going to last.  If he actually becomes a woman, I am fairly certain that I cannot continue in this asexual marriage.  And I feel terrible about that, because I feel like I am abandoning him in the middle of such a difficult time.  (Although, we have both acknowledged that we will probably hopefully always be best friends, since we love each other and respect each other so much.)

In our latest marital therapy session, we both acknowledged that our marriage might be over.  My husband, in tears, said “I am sorry that I could not be the husband you need and deserve.” I told him that I wouldn’t take away a minute of falling in love with him, as it was and still is the best thing that ever happened to me.  At this point, the therapist started to cry.  After the session was over, I told my husband that it’s never a good sign when the therapist cries over your failed marriage issues.  We laughed through tears about that.

I married the safest man alive – a man so safe that he is actually a woman in a man’s body, apparently- and I did that because of my history of sexual abuse.   This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.




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