Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #70: Stanley and Iris

I was up late last night, too late, because I couldn’t relax enough to sleep. Stanley and Iris, one of my favorite movies, was on tv last night. I was able to catch the end of it.

In this movie, Robert DeNiro plays an illiterate man (Stanley), and Jane Fonda plays this woman (Iris) that teaches him how to read and write. In the movie, DeNiro is a whiz at building all kinds of things, like contraptions that make cakes cool faster. Anyway, there’s this part in the movie where DeNiro lets Jane Fonda see what he built. She’s amazed, and she says “How can you make something like this when you can’t read?”

He answered her with this: “When you put a man in jail, or you put him in solitary, sometimes he’ll draw pictures on the wall with a spoon… sometimes he’ll train cockroaches. This is what I made in my prison.”

All of us fucked kids are in our own prisons, unable to get totally free. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. Something always reminds us what you did to us, and so we find ways to pass the time in our prisons. My friend SwordDanceWarrior, for instance, is planning a sacred ritual sword dance for when her rapist dies so that she can dance on his grave. Her rapist is her father. My friend V gets cancer and heals from it in his prison. My friend OnionGirl is just starting to share her prison, so the rest of us can understand her jail. My friend AudaciousAria is brave in her prison.

This blog is what I am making in my prison until I am free. There’s a scene in Good Will Hunting where the best friend character (Ben Affleck) says to the adult-abused child character (Matt Damon) how his best time of day is the 10 seconds that it takes for him to walk to Will Hunting’s house from his car, because he hopes that Will won’t be there. He hopes that Will would just take off and live his best life somewhere. I hope someday there are no more new entries in this blog, because it would mean that there are no new reasons how my life has been fucked up by surviving child sexual abuse. I worry that I will be 83 and still writing in here. 83 years is a long time in jail.



Reason #62: Business Trips

It looks like my husband has to take a business trip for about a week at some point in the near future. As always, when presented with the probability of being alone, I immediately begin strategizing. Who can I get to be with me during that time so that I don’t have to be alone? I even have a prayer about it where I liken the time spent to jail time. I ask G-d to make the time spent “easy time”, not “hard time”.

“Hard time” is spent in a constant panic, listening for every noise, counting the minutes till the huz gets back, constantly convincing myself that I am okay. It is my own personal hell.

I asked the usual suspects if they could come stay with me (i.e., mom and best friend), but both have to work. In this economy, it would really be a shitty thing to do for me to ask someone to take off of work just to come babysit me, a 35 year old woman.

I cried myself to sleep last night because I realized I was in my own personal jail. The more I thought about it, I likened myself to the time traveler in that book by Audrey Niffenegger — “The Time Traveler’s Wife“. It’s an excellent book by the way, if you need something to read. Anyway, in the book, the time traveler guy travels through time without warning or choice. He can’t help it, it’s just something his body does. He has no choice about where or when he goes either. He eventually lands in a structure that he never wanted to be in but always feared he would be. And that is me. I worry all the time about landing here, and sure enough, here I am.

This morning I was talking/crying about it with my husband, and I said “It’s humiliating. This whole thing is humiliating, being so afraid of being alone, needing people to basically babysit me while you are away.” The huz was kind about it, as he always is. He said “Baby, I wish you would stop thinking about it that way. This is a result of things that happened to you. Would you tell a guy coming back from the war in Iraq that his Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is humiliating? Of course not. He has PTSD as a result of what he went through, and you have PTSD as a result of what you went through. It’s not your fault, it’s not anything you did, it’s just what is.”

My husband is a sweet wonderful man. But he is going away on a business trip. And I will be alone and scared and doing hard time. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. We become adults who are terrified of being alone. A simple business trip becomes a matter of panic of epic proportions.




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