Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids

Reason #297: A Funeral, A Ritual, Something to Mark this Time

Last week, I told my therapist that in a week my ex-husband is shedding his/her male identity entirely, and going full-time female. (She began her new life as an outwardly-appearing female today, though she has understood herself as a female for about a year and a half now.)  Yes, we are still living together.

I thought I was past the grief, but I guess no matter how much you anticipate a punch, it still hurts. So I have been crying over the loss of what I thought was a man who loved me. The only man who ever loved me, who ever waited long enough to let me work up to sex with him, the only man who I was ever able to trust as a lover. Of course, it all makes sense now that I was able to trust him as a lover – he was actually a she inside. If you believe the prevailing theories, which I do, then you believe that transsexuals are people who have the body of one gender, but the brain of the other one. So, in the case of my husband, while she has the body of a male, she has the brain of a female.

Anyway, my therapist said “Have you thought about having a funeral for him? For the husband you have lost?”

I like the idea of it. I like the idea of rituals, certainly. I remember once I took a class called “Women and Judaism”, and it was taught by a female rabbi. She said that sometimes incest survivors like to ‘claim their body back’ as their own, and they do a cleansing ritual called a ‘mikvah’. (The mikvah looks strikingly similar to the Christian practice of baptism, in that they both involve water.) When the Rabbi told us about that idea, I liked it. I like rituals that validate the things we experience in life.

The thing about my kind of loss is that it’s not quite as ‘real’ a loss as everyone else can see. I mean, for instance, my mother in law lost her husband to cancer two weeks before I lost mine to another gender, and everyone came to her house and ate with her and passed the horrible shitty time where it was all raw and the loss was so bad. It was like that for me, all raw and shitty, for like 7 months or so. From the time she told me she’s a she to a month or two after I almost died in the hospital.  The thing is though, where my mother in law has had the world acknowledge her loss, I have had mine hidden for the most part.  With each new person that my ex ‘comes out’ to, it’s kind of a coming out for me too.  But even then, the focus is on her (as it should be).  With each ‘coming out’, I was reminded of what I had lost.

While I still ‘have’ my ex in human form, I have lost my marriage, my future with this man, and any dreams/plans that came along with that.  I am suddenly in the process of divorce and single, and worst of all, shunned by a lot of idiots who can’t seem to deal with a male-looking person appearing as a female in front of them.  We went to the restaurant the other day, and the waiter stared at us for so long and hard, I wasn’t sure if he was actually going to take our order or not.  It was pretty pathetic.

But definitely one of the worst parts is the fact that she doesn’t seem to want me anymore.  She is very focused on herself and her trajectory towards femaleness, in physical, emotional, and social spirit. She is exactly where she should be, in terms of her life path.  I am dust in the wind now, someone that she used to love in the way that two people in love can love each other.

In thinking about a ceremony, I wonder what kind of ceremony is appropriate. In a terrible way, she is actually yet another person who gained my trust and then set about breaking it. And then broke me in the process.  I feel as though I cannot trust what anyone is telling me.  It’s not her fault; I mean, she says she didn’t know that she was a woman until a year and a half ago.  But the effect on me is the same. In a way, this whole thing is so similar to surviving incest.  There’s so much loss and grief that goes along with surviving it, and yet no one grieves with you.  No one comes over and brings a casserole and just sits with you because they know you have lost something and are sad and hopeless about life.  Surviving incest needs a freaking ceremony too.  A funeral for who we were, the innocent child that has died.  A ritual for all that we have lost.  And a celebration that we survived and all the great things we will accomplish because of the adversity we have suffered.

I wish I did have the courage to bury ‘him’ and this relationship along with it.  I wish I had the courage to walk free and break free of my own chains.  I wish I had the courage to even just be my best self. Fuck, I wish I had the courage just to walk out my own front door without overwhelming fear and panic.

I don’t feel ready to bury him. I suppose no one is ever ready for death though.  I feel like an idiot even discussing this.  The actual person is alive just in a totally different form that includes wigs, dresses, a lot of time spent with make-up in front of the mirror, and constant “Do I look alright?” questions.  The superstitious part of me is afraid of even talking about this, lest G-d take the human too instead of just the man.

I pray for a positive end to this suffering, to the nights spent in terror and the days spent in hopelessness.

I thought about cutting myself the other day, for the first time in 10 years.  I hate myself so much for ever trusting him, for marrying him, for being so fucking stupid about all of this.



Reason #285: Mi Sheberach

As a survivor, I have always had a difficult time getting to sleep and then staying asleep. This last year of marriage breaking and almost dying in a hospital has probably worsened this already existing problem.

Last week, in an attempt to stop being so afraid at night, I bought myself a lava lamp. I figured that the moving shit inside the lamp would make me less afraid at night, and give me something pretty to look at. It’s pretty to look at, but it didn’t make me less afraid.

One of my fears is that I will go to sleep ‘too early’ and then I will wake up in the middle of the night, afraid and alone. Too early can be anywhere from 10PM – 12AM. The thing is, sometimes I get up at 6AM and sometimes at 7:30AM.

Anyway, I’m tired. I’m tired from a year of shit sleep. I’m not sure what to do about that. It’s definitely affecting my work, and I have a meeting with my boss tomorrow morning (ostensibly to talk about the fact that I am not doing my work well or on time). That’s what I’d talk to me about if I were him.

The thing is, I can’t say to him “I’m sorry I haven’t been producing the kind of work I used to. I’ve been sleeping alone in my own bedroom ever since my husband told me he’s a girl. Sleeping alone is very difficult for me because three different people tried to fuck me when I was a child, and since then I am scared all the time. Since I’m not sleeping, I’m not doing great work either. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids; we have times of being shitty in the workplace.”

Most of the time he lets me skate by because I’ve had periods of raging success. But it’s been a year of shit for me, and thus, shit for him. I’m not sure how to change the situation or how to suddenly get sleep.

On Sunday, I was laying in bed awake, and it was like 2AM, and I was feeling so sad and hopeless about my situation. I started comforting myself with thoughts of suicide. Mind you, I don’t want to actually commit suicide– (I don’t believe in motherless children, so suicide is not an option for me right now). I just want to be able to sleep at night and live my life without constant fear all the time.

So, although thoughts of suicide are comforting to me, I cannot act on them right now. So, in a Shawshank Redemption kind of way, I need to ‘either get busy living or get busy dying’. So, I tried something the next night. In temple, we sing this song called “Mi Sheberach”, which is a Jewish song for healing. The song is sung mostly in Hebrew, and the text of the song goes something like this: “May the source of strength, Who blessed the ones before us, Help us find the courage to make our lives a blessing”.  Here’s a link to the song on YouTube.

When I first got out of the hospital (after almost dying from gallbladder issues), I was in a great deal of pain.  At night, I used to rub my stomach and chest, and sing the Mi Sheberach song to myself, in the hopes of healing my physical ailments.  So a few nights ago, I put one hand on my head and one hand on my heart, and sang the Mi Sheberach in an attempt to heal my heart and mind. My heart and mind broke as a result of surviving abuse, and maybe if I sing this song to myself, I can be a part of the solution. Perhaps the forming of a ritual before going to sleep will help me get to sleep?

I will continue to pray for my own healing, and the healing of all of us who have suffered in this way.

Reason #267: That was a really shitty thing You did
November 27, 2011, 11:05 pm
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I have been listening To Rihanna’s song: We Found Love (In A Hopeless Place). I have been thinking that this is what happened to me. I found love in a hopeless place, with a man who turned out to be a woman.

I was thinking about everything that led to me marrying my huz/wife. From the multiple molestations by three different abusers to me being afraid of sex, to me falling in love with the one guy who didn’t push me on the sex issue to him asking me to marry him and me saying yes, to our beautiful wedding, to moving in together, to having a beautiful son together, to him telling me he is a female inside.

G-d knew all along about who he/she was inside, knew this ending would come. And even though these three abusers molested me, He still let this newest betrayal happen without even a hint of what was to come.

I said to G-d today “That was a really shitty thing you did.”. And for the first time ever, didn’t feel guilty for saying that to G-d.

There was this episode of Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman where the white people killed all the Native Americans off but one man, Cloud Dancing. Cloud Dancing having seen his wife, child, and all of his tribe killed off, was obviously upset with G-d (whom he called “The Spirits”). Dr. Quinn said, “I can’t say if your spirits exist or not. I’m not even sure how I feel about my own G-d anymore.” Cloud Dancing replied, “Just because we are angry with them does not mean they will go away.”.

I say that to myself whenever I dare to express my anger at G-d. Just because I am mad at Him doesn’t mean He will go away.

Reason #188: Righteousness

“The righteous man quickly finds the world aligns against him.”

I was watching a re-run of “The Good Wife” today, and an Orthodox Jew said the quote above.  It got me thinking about righteousness in general, and fighting the good fight.

I started this blog as evidence.  Evidence that fucking kids leads to serious, persistent, long-term, harmful consequences.  There have been at least 187 times in the last two years where my being abused as a child has fucked me up, or made me react badly to an otherwise normal situation.  Let this serve as the 188th time.  Is the keeping of this blog a righteous act?  Are all of us righteous, by virtue of survivorhood?  Do we become righteous when we do not cross over to the dark side, and do what was done to us?  Do we become righteous when we fight against evil?

I can’t even count how many times in my life I have felt like I was fighting this fight alone.  Just this last week, I was talking to my aunt about the abuse my brother and I suffered at the hands of a babysitter, and my aunt said “But your brother said he enjoyed it.”  I was so taken aback by her line of thinking that I couldn’t even answer her.  Finally I said “He was 7 or 8 years old.”   At that young age, he had already bought into the rape myths that state that all males enjoy sexual contact with females, even when the male is a child and the female is an adult, and the male doesn’t have the power of consent.  And at that old age, my aunt apparently believes this shit too.  She has the privilege of living a non-traumatized life, I guess.

I don’t have that privilege, so I know all too well what the cost of his being abused was.  We both slept in mom’s bed after that babysitter fucked us.  For years, we slept there, and we were scared of the dark together.  That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids. Somehow he transitioned into abuser, and I stayed as victim, and we are both trying to learn from whence we came and where we are now.

“The righteous man quickly finds the world aligns against him.”  I guess righteous women find this too.

Reason #126: Yom Kippur

Last night, my mom and I went to Yom Kippur services at our local temple. Yom Kippur is the day of atonement. It is a time when Jews atone for their sins against their fellow humans, and against G-d. For the ones against G-d, we apologize to G-d. For the ones against our fellow humans, we apologize to them.

I spent the entire service crying. I am just so scared all the time, and I need G-d’s help. May G-d forgive me that this is what I prayed for on Yom Kippur. I asked for help for myself, which in my own eyes is a sin. Yom Kippur really isn’t a time to ask for help, it’s more of a time to apologize for all the wrong shit you’ve done to everyone and G-d.

Since I was already apologizing, I took my husband aside and apologized for all the times I have been shitty with him (like critical or short with him, etc.). I apologized to G-d too, for feeling far away from Him lately.

The Rabbi’s sermon was about hatred, and how hatred is a sin. He talked about those idiots in Kansas who hate in G-d’s name, and go around protesting funerals because they think that G-d rightly ‘killed’ those people as punishment for all of America accepting gayness. The Rabbi said that not only do we need to accept the GLBTQ community, the very idea of hatred for hatred’s sake is wrong. (It’s a reform temple.)

I thought about it though. Hatred for hatred’s sake. May G-d forgive me, as I have been feeling some hatred lately. People who fuck kids are #1 on my shit list obviously, and I, like many people, hate them. The thing is, hating them doesn’t help anyone. Hating them doesn’t make any of us any safer, it doesn’t help those who have already been abused, and it doesn’t help those who are currently being abused. Hatred and fear are two sides of the same coin, in my opinion.

I hate that babysitter, as much as I fear her. I feel she did this to me. She is the reason I am so afraid all the time, the reason I can’t go to sleep until my husband has checked every dark place in our room, has assured me that the door to our room is shut tightly and the lock checked, the garage door closed and locked, all the fucking doors closed and locked, etc. She is the reason I embarked on this journey, the reason every family I look at is now circumspect when I see a father figure/daughter figure. I hate her. She did this to me. She broke me. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Reason #110: We Lose Our Sense of a Greater Good

Today, my son’s occupational therapist came in wearing a shirt that said “We are in G-d’s favor” (except G-d was spelled with the “o” in the middle). That shirt gave me pause for thought. First of all, wearing a shirt like that means that one feels totally safe in the world. I mean, I can’t imagine wearing such a sentiment on my body because it’s inviting G-d to say ‘No you’re not. You’re not in my favor, actually.”

I have so many of the things I really really wanted out of life – a baby, a husband, a home. I thought ‘Maybe I am in G-d’s favor.’ But then I thought about what happened to me before I met my husband, before I became an adult. Was I not in G-d’s favor when I was less than five years old and that babysitter decided to fuck my brother and I? Was my brother not in G-d’s favor?

I had always had a good relationship with G-d until I started coming to terms with the abuse. I can’t help but wonder where G-d was during all that.

But then I think about all the good things that I have gotten – my husband, my baby, my home – I mean, none of this would have been possible without G-d, right? My husband doesn’t believe in G-d because it can’t be scientifically proven. I am not sure I need proof. No one believes me when I say my dad was a weird pervert, and there’s no real proof of that except my words. The huz is willing to take my word for it on my Dad, but not on G-d.

I think belief in G-d swings on a pendulum for most people. We believe sometimes, we don’t other times. But for survivors, it’s a whole different flock of geese. We know for sure that evil exists and can hurt us, and we can’t help but wonder where G-d is during our pain.

Now my belief in G-d borders on fear because I now believe that G-d will not stop bad things from happening, though I believe that G-d will hold my hand through it. I think. And that’s the fucked up part. Whereas the thought of G-d was always a comforting thought, it’s now mired in fear. And I think that’s fucked up, because if anyone should be fearful of G-d, it’s people who fuck kids. I mean, shit, if anyone’s going to hell, it’s people who fuck kids. They rationalize it, but deep down they know they’re doing wrong.

I am afraid of G-d. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Reason #19: We Cry A Lot
October 26, 2008, 1:18 pm
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When I was a child, my mom used to say “Cry, petunia, cry”. She would say this every time I cried, in a kind of a mocking way. I imagine it was her way of coping with a child that cried a lot.

The Kabbalah says “G-d counts the tears of women.” It means that women understand the world more, so therefore they cry more.

Even back in Talmudic times, adults were fucking little girls. And little boys. And raping women. Then we cry. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

A therapist once told me an interesting story about the Trojan War:

After a day of fighting each other, the Trojans and the Greeks would come back to their own campsites. The Trojans would gather together and sit around the campfire, tending their wounds, etc. The Leader of the Trojans would stand up and say, “Today we will celebrate! We did very well in the war today! We killed many of our enemy and wounded many as well. We saw many of our own men die or get hurt, and still we fought! We fought hard and we fought well. Today we will celebrate.”

The Greeks would gather together as well. They would sit around the campfire, tend their wounds, etc. The Leader of the Greeks would stand up and say, “Today we will cry. We did very well in the war today. We killed many of our enemy and wounded many as well. We saw many of our own men die or get hurt, and still we fought! We fought hard and we fought well. Today we will cry.”

The Greeks won the war.

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