Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids

Reason #323: The Man in the Closet

Last night I was so tired. It was well past midnight and I was so tired and I really wanted to sleep. I laid down in bed and I got so scared. I was thinking “What if there is a man hiding in the closet, waiting for me to fall asleep, and then after I fall asleep he will surprise me and attack me?” My heart started beating rapidly, my eyes flew open, my breathing became irregular. I reminded myself that not only had I already checked the closets, but so did my ex. Then my thoughts went to the same surprise-attack scenario, but involving a home invasion. I looked around the room from my vantage point on the bed; no one was there. I listened carefully; I couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. I reminded myself that I am safe, just like my therapist and I have been working on for years. She says that you have to recognize safety in order to recognize unsafety. I reminded myself that my home has an alarm that goes straight to the cops when tripped. Plus I have a dog that sleeps next to me. I reminded myself of all this, but I was panicking anyway. The reminders of safety were helpful, and I eventually used thought-replacement exercises to get to sleep. I kept my mind busy with thoughts of a beautiful life with my next husband in a beautiful log cabin, etc.

I have really been hating the nights lately. My next contracted jobs don’t start until the fall, so until then my schedule is willy nilly. Since my work was the only thing I’d been doing in my life that gave me any sort of self-esteem (not to mention a regular schedule), I have been sad and I guess a little depressed.

Depression and suicide is all about a mostly false thought process inside a person’s head that tells them (over and over again) that the situation they are in will be the situation they are always in. That things will always be like this. That I will always feel this way. I know it is false, because life changes a lot, and sometimes it happens very quickly. Sometimes it happens slowly, but the point is, something always happens to change a person’s life.

I have been trying to think of ways to make the night easier. Maybe I should take up a hobby, like crocheting or cross-stitching during the night. The panic-sleep thing totally totally sucks. Maybe it’s time to do a meditation, or some sort of positive affirmation before bed.

Remember that time I went away to that conference with my friend, and I got scared of the imaginary man behind the curtains in our hotel room? Writing this blog post about last night, alone in my own bedroom, feels like that. But I figured I should put it in the blog today because the entire point of this blog is to keep a running tally of the many ways that surviving abuse in my childhood has fucked me up in adulthood.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. We get completely afraid of being assaulted again, and we find inventive ways to be afraid, and inventive ways to manage those fears. I am 40 years old. It’s been 35 years of survivor sleep. When the fuck does this end??



Reason #303: “I just started wearing colors again”

When I was in that incest survivors’ group, one of the things they had us do was have a combined group one night with teen offenders.  We were teens at that time too.  Anyway, it seemed that what they most wanted to know was how being incested and sexually abused had impacted our lives.  At that time in my life, I didn’t really understand the impact.  I knew I was fucked up, but I didn’t see how far-reaching the consequences were.

When it was my turn to discuss the impact on my life, I said “I just started wearing colors again.”  I could see that no one understood what I was talking about, so I said “I wore only black for a long time.  I felt that I was grieving a loss, and that wearing any other color would just be inappropriate. So I wore all black, every day, until it was done.  I just started wearing colors again.”

I find myself doing it again, wearing only black a lot of the time.  Not as consistently or as intently as I used to, but it’s there.  This time I am grieving the loss of a wonderful marriage. It was a marriage I was deceived into.  Still, the love part was real, as was the tenderness and support.  I grieve that loss.

I think that grief work is a part of the healing process, and I think it manifests differently in every survivor.  For me, I was grieving for the Butterfly I might have been.  I grieved over what was done to me, and the innocence stolen from me.  I grieved over the impact that the incest had on me up till that point, most especially my incredible discomfort being in my own skin.

The ability to do even the simplest thing, like wearing colors on your body. I just didn’t feel comfortable wearing anything other than black.  In prison, they have to wear orange jumpsuits.  I was in my own prison, I guess.

Wearing only black and having to re-discover the ability to wear colors.  That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

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 #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 #208: Resentment, Part II
December 21, 2010, 2:14 am
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , ,

In my last post, I talked about finding out that my mom resents me for “making her feel guilty” about the fact that I was sexually abused.

I couldn’t take being so angry anymore, so I wrote her an e-mail saying that when I last saw her in person, she said something that upset me, and could we please set aside a time to talk on the phone about it.  She called me a few minutes after receiving the e-mail, but since she was at work, I didn’t feel comfortable talking to her about it then.  We set a time to talk about it tonight after she got home from work.

She asked me what she had said that upset me.  I told her it was about her resentment list, and how she told me that I was on it because I made her feel guilty about the sex abuse.

She said “Sweetie,  I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings.”

I said “But what do I say that makes you feel guilty?  Why do you resent me?”

She said, “Honey, resentment for me is really just a mask for my own guilt.  I hate myself for what happened, and I know I can’t take the pain away for you, and it hurts me terribly, and I know that if I am in pain about it, your pain is 10 times worse.  I carry tremendous guilt over it, and I will for the rest of my life.  You didn’t do anything, and I am so sorry I hurt your feelings with this.”

I am not sure if she was saying that because she knew it would make me feel better, or if she really felt that way, but honestly, tonight I don’t care.  I am grateful she either feels that way or grateful she is smart enough to say what I need to hear.  I accept her apology, mostly because I need to in order to get what little sleep I do get.  I need to have a mom, and thus, I need to accept my mom – warts and all. 

I am worried that the survivors who read this will think I am copping out by forgiving her.  You’re right – maybe I am.  This is where I am in my healing journey, and honestly, it’s probably why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  If one parent fucks us, we hold onto the ‘good’ parent for dear life.

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.

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