Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids

Reason # 273: “This is an attempt at safety”

So, in my last post, I talked about my session with my therapist and how she explained to me that all my OCD rituals/beliefs were really an attempt at safety.  I still think I am right about the bad name/good name thing, but shit, every part of life has shocked the shit out of me, so what the fuck do I know.  My point is, I am willing to question what I think I know at this point.

Anyway, so after she told me that all my shit is really an illusory attempt at safety, she told me to tell myself “This is an attempt at safety” every time I have a ‘distorted cognition’ (a fucked up thought that might not be true), or perform an OCD act.  I took her advice to heart and have been telling myself “This is an attempt at safety” every time.

It’s been almost two weeks since she told me to do that, and I believe my attempts at safety now number in the hundreds.  It’s kind of amazing all the things I do to attempt safety.  This is what happens when you fuck kids though.  We understand exactly how unsafe the world is, and we understand this on a terribly intimate level, unfortunately.

This morning, my son waved ‘goodbye’ to our dog. My ex husband/wife (we’re still living together) said “he’s waving goodbye to the dog’.  I have an enormous problem with the word goodbye.  I am afraid that if someone says that word, I will never see them again.  (This thought process is an attempt at safety.)  So I forbid its use around me. (This action is an attempt at safety.) I told the ex-huz/wife: “He’s not saying goodbye!” (This statement was an attempt at safety.) The ex-huz/wife immediately corrected the whole thing by saying that the baby was waving ‘see you later’ at the doggie.

You see what I mean though?  And that’s like one moment in the day.  There’s been so many daily occurrences of attempting safety.  I wonder if this happens to other survivors too, or if it is just me?  Do other survivors also attempt safety in so many little and big ways?

Reason #272: Attempting Safety
December 22, 2011, 5:55 pm
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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 #261: I lost him anyway
October 24, 2011, 5:31 pm
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I was watching a re-run of Glee the other day.  In that episode, a character with severe obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) went to see a therapist for the first time in her life.  The therapist said “You have obsessive-compulsive disorder. Therapy can help you.”

The OCD character replied “I’m not sure I want to lay on a couch and tell some stranger my secrets. And I don’t want to start popping pills just so I can turn into someone that other people want me to be.  This is how I am. This is who I’m supposed to be.”

The therapist said “Your illness is not who you are supposed to be.  It’s keeping you from who you’re supposed to be.”

I wonder who I am supposed to be, or who I was supposed to be.  I have spent time in my life grieving the Butterfly I might have been had I not suffered the abuse.  I spent a great deal of time thinking about who I might have become if I weren’t afraid of every fucking thing there is to be afraid of.  If I could be okay at night, who knows what my potential was???

When I started dating my husband/wife, I started to exhibit incredible OCD behaviors.  I would only walk into rooms with my right foot.  This later expanded into stepping onto different surfaces with only my right foot.  Then I began only reaching for things with my right arm.  Only taking things with my right hand.  Opening doors with my right hand.  Stepping into and out of my home with my right foot.  Et cetera.

My thought process through all of this was that he was the only good thing that has ever happened in my life, and I didn’t want to do anything that might jinx it.  I felt that if I could perform these obsessive-compulsive actions, I could ward off evil, and then maybe he would stay in my life.  If I did these OCD things, I wouldn’t lose the only good thing in my life.  I kept trying to ward off evil, and I knew exactly what kind of evil I was warding off, having already experienced it with three different abusers.

I did all these things for these last nine years and I lost him anyway.

Reason #226: Another OCD post
March 4, 2011, 12:02 am
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I had a post about the babysitter all ready, but then I realized that this reason is #226.  I don’t like the number 6.  I am afraid of that number.

I am afraid of a fucking number. 

I only step into or out of rooms with my right foot.  I only reach for things with my right hand.  If I accidentally reach for things with the wrong hand, I will put it back and pick it back up with the right hand.  I have trouble wearing certain colors.  This is complete obsessive compulsive disorder.  All these compulsions are obsessively done by me in an attempt to ward off future evil, because I could not ward off the evil that has already been done to me.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Do any of my survivor readers out there have any ocd things?  Please share.

Reason #191: Can’t wear certain colors
August 19, 2010, 1:08 pm
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The funny thing about Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder is that unless you are actively attacking it, it will keep actively attacking you. Remember how I wouldn’t wear certain colors of underwear? Well, now I have expanded this mishegas into other items of clothing, and thus I won’t buy or wear certain colors of shirts or scrunchies (for my hair).  Some of my wardrobe is now good for shit because of this newest development in my fucked-upness.

In Judaism, the color red is considered to ward off evil.  So, obviously, red goes in the “can wear” pile. If I wear a blue shirt, or blue underwear, or blue scrunchie, I think something bad will happen. I feel like by wearing this color, I am telling the universe it is okay for something bad to happen. I don’t want to send that message out to the universe, so I don’t wear that color.  Think about it – when people say they feel sad, they say “I feel blue”.

Green, I figure, is okay because it usually signifies health.  Yellow is okay too – it’s the color of the sun.   Orange seems kind of bright, right?  Purple and yellow together are the colors of healing, a therapist once told me.  

As you can see, I have given this color thing a lot of thought. 

Sounds fucking nuts, doesn’t it? Of course it is fucking nuts.  These attempts of mine to ward off evil are absolutely fucking nuts, because if I had to psychoanalyze myself, I would say that I am trying to create an environment where I am certain that nothing bad will happen to me.  Or worse, that if something bad does happen to me, it won’t be my fault.  It won’t be because I wore the bad color.

This is what happens when you fuck kids.  We grow up believing that if we had done something differently, then we could have prevented people from taking advantage of us in the worst ways.  We spend the rest of our lives trying to ward off the kind of evil that has already happened to us, even to the minutest detail of the colors we wear.  The truth is, it wouldn’t have mattered what color I wore then, just as it doesn’t matter what color I wear now.  But it makes me feel better to only wear the ‘good’ colors, and to eschew the ‘bad’ colors, so I’m going to keep doing that.

Reason #81: Bordering on Ridiculous
April 25, 2009, 12:54 pm
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Last night, the huz and I were going to bed, and I asked him to check in the closets and under the bed and in the closets behind our bed too. Then I asked him to fix the covers so that they were ‘right’, which may be one of my obsessive-compulsive things. Then I asked him to make sure the door was locked. He got pissed then and said “You know, your bedtime needs are bordering on ridiculous!”

I know they are ridiculous. All of this is ridiculous if you look at it through that sort of lens. I mean, really, keeping a blog of reasons why you shouldn’t fuck kids is ridiculous too. The only people that don’t know why you shouldn’t fuck kids are the people that are fucking kids, and if they are reading this blog, they are still justifying their shit before, during, and after reading these reasons.

I know it’s ridiculous to ask him to check the bed and the closet and the door and everything else. This ‘ridiculousness’ is my response to being victimized. This is how I survive being fucked as a child. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Reason #67: We Fuck With Our Own Blog Numbers
April 2, 2009, 4:14 pm
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I had something pretty great planned for this reason, but when I saw that this reason would have numbered sixty-six, I couldn’t fucking handle it and had to change the whole thing. As I have mentioned before in this blog, I have OCD with numbers. I can’t deal with the number six, because apparently when you have three of them in a row, it’s the devil’s number. I have had enough dealings with evil in my life. I am not putting evil into my life myself.

See what happened there? I have myself convinced that if I put down the actual reason # of this entry, I am inviting evil into my life. Now isn’t that just crazy? Of course it is. This is what happens when you fuck kids. We get all sorts of crazy ideas about shit. Fucking kids is a crazy idea too, but we know for sure it happens. And if that can happen, then anything can happen, like certain numbers being bad.

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