Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids

Reason #268: I’m losing my hair
November 30, 2011, 12:31 pm
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I am losing my hair.  This started happening to me a few months ago, during my second hospitalization for gall bladder surgery.  I figured it was a part of the illness.  But it’s been two months, and I am still losing handfuls of hair every day.  I asked the huz/wife if the hair loss is visible, and he/she said no.  But then I visited my hairdresser for a trim, and the first thing she said to me was “My goodness, I can see a lot of your scalp.  You are losing hair.  Are you under a lot of stress right now?”

Am I under stress right now?  Well, eight months ago my husband told me he is a girl.  We made the painful decision to end our marriage shortly after that.  We are still living together until it gets too shitty or uncomfortable to live together.  I have had two major hospitalizations and during the first one I almost died.  And through it all, I am still experiencing all the effects that come with having survived child sexual abuse.

Now, someone reading this might think to themselves “So what?  What does losing your hair have to do with surviving child sexual abuse?” and you’d be right, kind of.  Lots of people lose their hair, and generally speaking, it would have nothing to do with surviving abuse. But I am losing my hair because I am under a great deal of stress right now because my husband is transitioning to femalehood.  I feel like I am living under the gun.  I married him because he never pushed my sexual boundaries, because three people used my body against my will when I was a child.  This marriage was a direct result of the child abuse I survived.  Consequently, I am losing my hair.  That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Reason #235: My marriage might be over

My husband recently told me some game-changing news about himself that directly affects our marriage.  While I don’t feel comfortable sharing it with the world yet, I am so affected by it that I have to talk about its impact on me, and this blog is the natural place to do that.

My marriage might be over.  I’m not sure.  Saying the words did not kill me, though it is certainly absolutely horrible.  Saying the ‘incest’ word didn’t kill me either.  None of it has killed me yet, I suppose.  Most of it has made me wish I were dead on many, many occasions though.

I don’t know if our marriage can survive this latest blow. We love each other so much, but I wonder if I am about to prove, yet again in my life, that love is not enough to save something that cannot be saved.  I proved this with my first girlfriend too.

I married this wonderful sweet man almost 7 years ago, and much of the reason that I allowed myself to love him is because he was willing to wait as long as we needed to wait for me to be comfortable enough to have sex with him.  I was terrified of penis.  He made me a lot less afraid of it, and the men to whom penises are attached.  Maybe it was intimacy I was also afraid of, and still am.

I kind of feel like I am in Chapter 2 of Portia Nelson’s autobiography (which I will post below so you can see.)  I am in the same hole again, but I know where I am.  I am not sure what to do with that knowledge though, or how to get out of the hole I am in.

It is not my fault that my marriage is falling apart at the seams.  What is my fault, however, is getting into this marriage in the first place.  For falling in love.  For trusting that this time it would work out for me.  For thinking, for even one fucking second, that being a fucked kid didn’t have everything to do with every decision I make.  Even now, in the midst of possibly ending this marriage, my heart panics loudly at the idea of trying to go it alone.  Of the nights.  Of picking up the pieces from yet another thing I have failed at in my stupid life. Frightening even to write the words.

Every decision I make is a direct result of three molesters who took advantage of my body when I was a pre-schooler, a child, and a teenager.  Every action is weighed in terms of safety.  Surviving incest and child sexual abuse has impacted every single part of my life, from the color underwear that I choose to wear to the person that I married.  It’s living proof of Newton’s 3rd law, that every action has an equal and opposite reaction.  This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Autobiography in Five Short Chapters

by Portia Nelson

Chapter One
I walk down the street
There’s a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in
I’m lost. . . I’m helpless
It isn’t my fault
It takes me forever to find a way out

Chapter 2
I walk down the same street
There’s a deep hole in the sidewalk
I pretend I don’t see it
I fall in again
I can’t believe I’m in the same place
But it isn’t my fault
It still takes a long time to get out

Chapter 3
I walk down the same street
There’s a deep hole in the sidewalk
I see it there
I still fall in. . . it’s a habit
My eyes are open
I know where I am
It is my fault
I get out immediately

Chapter 4
I walk down the same street
There’s a deep hole in the sidewalk
I walk around it

Chapter 5
I walk down another street

Reason #115: The Bridal Shower

A month or two before I met my beautiful husband, I had to go to a bridal shower for one of my best friends. I was maid of honor in the wedding, so truly, I had to go. I went, I played the part of best friend, I put on a smile, and I came home and cried.

All I could think was “Of course she is getting married. Why wouldn’t she get married?” I mean, look at her there, both of her parents lovingly throwing her a shower so that she can enter into this adult rite of passage. What exactly would have ever stopped her from getting married? She came from a loving home, a safe home, where no one ever fucked her, and she never had to push her dresser in front of her door to feel safe at night. She has no problem with sex. So really, of course she would get married.

At that point, I understood for sure that I would never get married. I would never have the bridal shower with the two parents lovingly sending me off. I mean, that just wasn’t my life, and for the most part I accepted it. But that bridal shower was too much for me that night, and I came home and cried. My mom probably thought I was crying because I wasn’t getting married, and that probably was part of it. But the real reason why I was crying was because I knew that I had never felt what my best friend felt. Safe. Safe enough to leave home, safe enough to get married, safe enough to trust that the man she was entrusting the rest of her life to wasn’t going to betray her.

I was wrong. But for 28 years, I was right. And this is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. The thing is, I was wrong about the marriage part, but truly, I was and still am right about the feeling safe part. I am 35 years old. I have no memory of feeling truly safe, and I have no feeling of true safety now either. I suppose in a world that is willing to fuck children, no one is truly safe.

Reason #77: Conversation endings
April 18, 2009, 12:36 am
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I don’t say the word “goodbye”. I don’t like that word. To me, it implies a finality, a meaning of forever. I don’t want to acknowledge that this might be the last time I talk to you or see you, so I don’t say that word. My husband said that until I explained this to him (when we were dating), the endings of our phone conversations were real interesting to him.

Me: So I guess I’ll talk to you later?
Him: Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll call you tomorrow night around 7:30.
Me: That sounds good. Talk to you later. (Click.)
Him: Hello? Hello?

He finally had the sense to use his words and ask me about that. I explained to him that I didn’t want to say that word that people use to end conversations, because I would like to speak with him again, and by saying that word, I feel like I am telling the Universe that it’s okay with me to not speak to that person again.

I used to think I was the only one with the weird goodbye shit, but then I read Antwone Fisher’s autobiography (which was turned into a movie, but I haven’t seen that yet), and it turns out he too doesn’t say the word goodbye. He was molested by a female relative when he was a child. Now both of us are scared shitless of a fucking word. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

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