Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #325: The Man in the Closet in the Hotel Room
September 16, 2014, 3:19 pm
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I had to go away to a conference again, and this time I went with someone from my new job. A new friend who seems very nice, but kind of plays her cards close to the chest. I have told her a tiny bit about my childhood, opened up a little bit to share my world. She has been safe to confide in so far. I haven’t ever said anything about my PTSD though, because it’s work and I don’t want work people to know that I am so fucked up because then they will think I can’t do my job, and so far I have been able to do my job no matter what. If anything, my job has always been the only place in my life where I have experienced success.

So anyway, we had to stay in a hotel for this conference. Remember how I had to stay in a hotel for that conference a few years ago with the woman who used to cut herself, and I got scared of the imaginary man behind the curtains?

So this time I remembered to check the fucking curtains. We settled into the hotel room, we both got changed for bed, talked for a long time, and by midnight we laid down in our respective beds. We turned the lights out except for the bathroom light. You know, now that I think about it, my friend was the one who left the bathroom light on and the door opened. I wonder if she doesn’t like sleeping in the dark too? Or I wonder if it was her way of being kind to me?

So I laid down in my bed and I went through a mental checklist. I had already made sure that the door was locked in every possible way, and I checked behind the curtains. We were on the first floor, which is inherently unsafe, but I couldn’t control that. I didn’t check under the beds. I shifted in the bed so I could see under her bed. It was way too low to fit a human being under there. THE CLOSET. I didn’t check the fucking closet. I started panicking. He could be in there right now, waiting for us to fall asleep so that he can rape us by surprise.

I tried to talk to myself in a soothing way. There’s no one in there, Butterfly. There’s no one in the closet. I had such a strong vision of a man hovering over me in bed, breathing on me, me paralyzed with fear. He’s here. He’s waiting for me to relax and lose my attention on him and then he will pounce on me. I can’t. I can’t go to sleep like this, knowing he is in there. I just can’t. I leap out of bed and check the closet. I am breathing heavy and scared, and I hurriedly open the closet door. There’s no one in there, thank G-d.

I walk back to my bed and I see that my friend is staring at me with a WTF expression on her face. I am too tired to make something up. I explain that I have to check the closet or I wouldn’t sleep all night. Her face changes a little bit, but it’s an unreadable expression, and I can’t tell what she thinks. It almost seems to confirm something for her, but I can’t be sure. I don’t care.  I am just so grateful that I was able to check the closet and that no one was in there and that I can go to sleep already.

This kind of humiliating shit is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #316: One great step forward, one normal step back
September 9, 2013, 4:11 pm
Filed under: fear, night, survivor, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

Last week I did something incredibly courageous. I took a shower when no one else was home. I really wanted to take a shower, and gosh darn it, I took one! It was WONDERFUL.  Generally, since the shower is such an issue for me (see this and this post), I have to wait until someone is home so that I can feel safe enough to shower.  But not last week! I fucking showered! And it was fucking great!

With every step forward, there is a step back.  Sometimes the steps forward are like giant steps, and sometimes they are more like baby steps. Last week’s shower was a fucking giant step. But progress is never linear. It doesn’t follow a straight line up.  It’s just not how progress works. Not with surviving child sexual abuse, and honestly, not with anything else either. So this week there was a minor setback.

Last night when it was time to go to bed, my ex checked under the bed and in the closet for me. She turned on the house alarm, and checked all the doors in our home to make sure they were securely locked. Then she said goodnight, and went to her room, and I stayed alone in my bedroom.  This is our usual routine. Even though I saw her check in my closet, I still couldn’t shake the fear that someone was in my closet. I knew it was my own fear, and I knew no one could possibly be in the closet, but I was still so afraid! I kept reminding myself “She checked the closet. I saw her check the closet.”  I reminded myself that when I was in the bathroom, I had my bedroom door closed.  I would have seen someone go into the bedroom. Or I would have heard them open the door and walk in.  No one could possibly be in the closet.

Then I thought about how someone could break into my home and take my son. Or rape us both. G-d forbid, G-d forbid. I am afraid right now even typing these words.

But you see what my mind did there, right?  Once I couldn’t be reasonably afraid of the closet anymore, my anxiety went to the next logical place of fear.

My therapist says that if you have done everything you possibly can to keep safe, like have a house alarm, lock your doors, and own a dog, then that is all you can do.  At that point, since you have done everything possible that you need to feel safe, you can rest assured in your own safety.

But last night it wasn’t enough. No amount of calming self-talk was enough. I was too scared, and logic couldn’t fix my fears last night. It was probably about 3AM when I finally fell asleep, after four hours of trying to calm myself enough to be able to go to sleep.

And that is the rub of being a child sexual abuse survivor.  No one sees this part, the part where we are forever scared of night and darkness and sleeping and showering because those are all things that make us vulnerable, and we understand all too well what happens to us when we are vulnerable. No one but those who live with us or those we let in to our little worlds get to see this part of us. For instance, I am meeting a friend for lunch today. She might think I look tired, and she will assume it is because I have been working so hard at work. I have been working hard at work, but you and I both know that I have also put a lot of hard work just into surviving every day and night.

Being too afraid to sleep, to the point where I only got 4 good hours of sleep last night. This is yet another effect of surviving the incest and child sexual abuse that is hidden from the world. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #315: One Step Forward, One Step Back
August 27, 2013, 2:15 pm
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So you know how last week I was so courageous and I did things that scared me?  Apparently I got too cocky because G-d said “No, no, butterfly, how about fuck you instead.”

So I was feeling all good about myself because I drove myself to hard places, went to social gatherings, and didn’t let scary parking lots stop me, right?  I put up that blog post and as I was sitting there that night in my room patting myself on the back for being THAT fucking great, a spider crawls up my fucking wall.

As my long-time readers know, bugs fuck me up to no end. It all has to do with the fact that I don’t like being touched without my permission, and bugs – those fuckers – could give a shit that I am a survivor.  They don’t care that I am afraid of them, that I don’t want them crawling on me, that I will lose sleep over them, etc. They feel they have the right to exist, and apparently they feel they have the right to exist in my room.

Remember the motherfucking shithead of an ant that fell on my face when I was still married? That miserable piece of shit left me with survivor sleep for a year. A year. Last night, I was sitting up in bed frantically checking the ceilings and walls for signs of more spiders. I thought about how nice it would be to have a man beside me right now, and about how much it sucks being afraid of a spider all by yourself.

You know how you meet some women and you think to yourself “I don’t know how she does it!”  They seem to have so much on their plate, things that seem like they should break her, and yet she seems so together?  I was thinking about those women last night, and I said to G-d “I don’t think I can do this.” Last night everything seemed so hopeless. Being afraid of night and the spider seemed so overwhelming, and there didn’t appear to be an end in sight. I kept thinking about how this was going to be the rest of my life, spent anxious and afraid and hypervigilant in the middle of the night.

Eventually I put earplugs in my ears (so that spiders wouldn’t crawl into my ears) and after staying up way too late out of fear, I fell asleep. I woke up two hours later afraid of spiders.  I checked the ceiling, watched some tv with the earplugs still in, and fell asleep again. I woke up two hours later. I did the same thing again, check ceiling, tv, then sleep.

I woke up two hours after that and met my ex in the hallway, and she said “How did you sleep?” I had to swallow back tears and couldn’t answer her.

This is how surviving child sexual abuse in my childhood is fucking me up again as an adult.  This is one of those hidden ways, the kind that almost no one would ever know about unless they lived with me in my room. I can’t tell anyone about this sort of thing because I seem crazy.  But I am not crazy. I am having a reaction to terrible things that happened to me, and my fear of bugs is one of those reactions. I want to co-exist peacefully with all of G-d’s creatures, including bugs, but unfortunately I am unable to do that at this time. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

 



Reason #183: It already did hurt me
July 6, 2010, 2:59 pm
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We had a truly lovely 4th of July.  The huz and I enjoyed being a family, and we made s’mores.  It was the kind of family I had always dreamed of being in, and now I am the mom in it.

We went to sleep on Sunday night, and at about 4:30AM, I felt something crawling on my face.  It was a carpenter ant.  As my regular readers know, I am terrified of bugs.  Being afraid of bug was actually Reason #7 on this blog of fucked up shit that happens to us when we get fucked as kids.

So, the ant.  The huz removed it, and then went to go pee.  I got out of the bed and stood there staring at the place of my last betrayal.  The huz came back in and sighed, because he knew we were in for a long night now.  There was no way in fucking hell I was getting back in that bed after what had just occurred.

That’s the thing about bugs.  They touch you without your permission.  I was sleeping and innocent and unaware, and then this bug touched me without my permission.  Without my knowledge, my say-so.  This bug used my body to get to where he wanted to go.  I felt betrayed.

I could not get back in the bed.

The huz started “the conversation“, the one designed to get me back in bed so he could get some sleep. He said “You can be sure it’s the only one.  Carpenter ants send out scouts to go see if there is food anywhere.  There are no more.  He was the scout.”

I cast a dubious look at the bed, searching, searching for more ants, for more betrayal, for more ways that I would get hurt in bed.  Then the huz tried a different tactic.  He said “You know, they are carpenter ants.  They won’t bite you.  They can’t hurt you.”

I said “It already did hurt me.  The damage has been done.” 

I was awake in the middle of the night because something touched me without permission, the way three people touched me without my permission.  The damage had been done. 

I eventually did get back in bed, and I laid right next to my husband, all of our skin touching.  I slept that way the rest of the night.  At least if the ant touched me, I would be next to him.  He would be witness to it, at least.  Needless to say, the next night was fitful scared sleep as well.

The next morning, I said to the huz “I hate that this happened.  Now I’m gonna be fucked up for a long time until I can relax enough to sleep okay again.”  The huz said, “I know.  It’s stupid, but I hate that fucking ant.  We were just getting to the place where we were feeling good and sleeping good, and now that is all fucked to hell.”

When I was a little girl, I used to play with ants.  I wasn’t afraid of them until I was taught about betrayal touches. That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #166: I thought I would grow out of it
April 15, 2010, 1:04 am
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After that babysitter fucked my brother and I, I began sleeping with the covers over my head every night, and I used several blankets.  My thought process was that if someone were going to stab me in the back, perhaps the knife wouldn’t get through all the layers of blanket.

Talk about Freudian with the ‘stabbing in the back’ shit, huh?  It’s such a metaphor for betrayal, being stabbed in the back.  Did my 5 year old mind know that? 

I have been trying to insulate myself from a betrayal that has already happened to me so many times, with the covers and the checking in the closets and under the beds, and checking the door locks, and pushing dressers in front of doors, and having two big dogs, and carefully evaluating my need to go outside before I ever leave the house, and not wearing gloves in the winter.  The list goes on and  on.

I told the marital therapist that my family and I assumed that I would grow out of these ‘childhood fears’.  When I was a kid, my mom told me that she was scared growing up too, and that she grew out of it, and so would I.  (My mom wasn’t sexually abused.)  I am 36 years old, and I haven’t grown out of it yet.  I keep waiting for it to happen.

The marital therapist said that most children with normal childhoods do grow out of childhood fears.  She said that many children are afraid of the dark or monsters under the bed or things like that, but they grow out of them because over time they learn that there are no such things as monsters and nothing has ever gotten them in the dark.  In my case, however, the monsters were real and bad things happened to me.  She explained that in my case, the fears were confirmed as real, so why would I grow out of something that was true?

That is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  You prove that monsters are real, and we become afraid of you and everyone else for the rest of our lives.




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