Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #284: Sleeping with the Lights On
March 14, 2012, 6:38 pm
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I hate sleeping with the lights on. Like most other humans, I like to sleep in the dark.  But the dark is my biggest fear and my biggest trigger, so when it all gets to be too much (as it did last night), I turned the lights on and slept all night like that.

This morning, my sweet beautiful son said “Mama, why did you sleep with the lights on?”  I said something about having fallen asleep with them on.  Total crock of shit.  It was completely purposeful, sleeping with the lights on. Humiliating.

Even with my ex, I was afraid to sleep in the dark.  But most nights I slept a lot more comfortably in the dark in bed with someone than I am right now without someone.  Right now my routine is to wait until I am sooooo tired that I can barely keep my eyes open, shut the lights off, (but keep the TV light on), run into bed, cover myself as much as possible, invite the dog to sleep next to me and then think about something else until I fall asleep.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. We sleep with the lights on. As you already know from a past post, I don’t like wasting electricity, but I need the lights to survive with sanity. But it’s not just the waste of electricity with this reason; it’s also the feeling of being a freak, and not being able to sleep as well with the lights on as I do with the lights off.  It’s lose-lose, just like every other reason I’m all fucked up.



Reason #262: It has been a shit year
October 31, 2011, 7:49 pm
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May I vent for a moment?

It’s been a shit year.  Just a shit fucking year.  My husband told me he thinks he’s a woman, and consequently, we are divorcing each other. 

My life was hijacked by serious medical problems these last two months.  I am very grateful to have survived it all, but I am somewhat traumatized by the experience of all this. I am still trying to get back to my ‘normal life’.  For instance, I went with the huz/wife to get my son a haircut yesterday, and I realized it was the first time I had been able to do that since all this medical shit started.  Thank G-d.  After being laid up in a hospital bed for 11 days and then another 5 days, these mundane chores look like heaven. 

I had to take a medical leave of absence from my job, and it makes me feel like a giant asshole.  This was not my choice.  I used up all my sick time, so my employer told me to go.  I will hopefully be able to get back to work soon.

I am scared of sleeping again.  Scared of falling asleep.  Scared of waking up in the middle of the night. I was just getting used to sleeping in my bedroom alone and then I went into the hospital, and everything ever since has just been plain weird.  That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  Every new trauma compounds the old trauma.  Theoretically, being hospitalized for gall bladder complications should have nothing to do with the fact that three people molested me when I was a kid.  And yet every night I can’t fucking sleep and I am so afraid, and I pull the covers up over my head as if the covers can protect me from them touching me.

The only good thing happening in my life right now is my sweet beautiful son, who has been even more sweet since the hospitalization.  He has been saying “I love you mama” so much more.  I feel terrible for him, because I know all this has been brought on by the trauma of losing me to the hospital/subsequent recovery.  But I also hope that time will hopefully heal this for him.  I keep trying to reassure him that I am much better now, but I know what it is like to hear adults say this kind of shit to you and inside you have a different truth from the one they are telling you to believe.

All those years in my childhood when I was afraid to sleep, afraid to be outside alone, afraid afraid afraid, all the idiot experts told my mom that time would heal my wounds.  So we kept waiting for time to perform its magic trick and heal me. But time didn’t work for me. I am as afraid now as I was then.  If anything, I am more afraid now; I am just better at hiding it most of the time.

It has been a shit year.  Whenever I say that, I think of the other shit years in my life. 2000  was also a shit year for me.  I asked the law to protect me from my father and cried in front of everyone that year.  1989 was also a shit year – my mother asked the courts to protect her from my father.  I had to tell people what my dad did to me.

I guess some years are shit years.  Maybe next year will be better.



Reason #251: It’s Okay to Fall Apart a Little

I was talking to my mom last night about the debacle that is my fucking life right now, and she commented on how sad I sounded.

I started to explain that I had been having trouble sleeping now that I am in a room by myself, and how I have been getting about five hours of sleep a night, and how this level of tiredness is probably affecting the rest of my life.  She interrupted my explanations to say: “Sweetie, it’s okay to take the time to fall apart a little.  This is a really major thing that has happened to you here; you’ve lost your marriage.  You’re doing everything you have to to survive, and if you need to fall apart in the rest of the time, it’s okay to do that.”

I thought it was absolutely one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me.

Last night, as I was doing my nightly routine of checking in the closet and under the bed and then trying to fall asleep afraid (that’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids, by the way; I hate my nightly routine), I was contemplating what mom had told me.  She gave me permission to “fall apart a little”, which is really tantamount to giving me permission to feel what I need to feel.

It’s so different when you are surviving incest and child sexual abuse.  People in your life either minimize it (so they don’t have to feel it with you), or tell you all the positive shit you have going on in your life (“you are doing so well with <insert other area of your life here>!”).  No one says ‘Holy shit, what happened to you was so fucked up, it breaks the fucked up scale.  It’s okay to take the time to fall apart a little.’

While my current life has also knocked me flat for a while, I do not want to die. Surviving incest and child sexual abuse, however, almost killed me.  That is why I want to say this to all my survivor readers out there, and all the supporters of survivors that read my blog:  It’s okay to fall apart a little.  What happened to you or your loved ones was wrong; wrong on a terrible level.  You were betrayed, and you didn’t deserve it.  It wasn’t your fault.  It’s okay to take the time to fall apart a little.  It’s okay to take as much time as you need to feel it all.  And when you feel ready, it’s also okay to put yourself back together as slowly as you need to.



Reason #250: I fucking hate ‘survivor sleep’
July 12, 2011, 12:53 pm
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Last night was my fourth night sleeping alone in the other bedroom.  On the third night, I got a wave of panic and crawled into bed with my (ex?) husband/(wife?). I am (I guess?) separated from him (kind of?) even though we are living in the same house (and due to finances, we will be staying together physically for a while.)  Anyway, I felt so uncomfortable there that I got up in the middle of the night and went back to my new room.  I was so proud of myself when I woke up in the morning yesterday and realized I had made a courageous move in the middle of the night.

When we moved here, I never would have guessed that I would be sleeping in the little room.  I mean, we moved here as a married couple sharing a bed.  Now we are two separate people in two separate rooms living one weird life together.

I was up until around 1:30AM last night, and I heard my husband snoring away in the other room.  I am so fucking resentful today, so filled with anger and sadness about my situation.  Everything is overwhelming.  I cried in the shower today about the state of my life.  I am tired.  With less than six hours sleep, I can’t help but be tired.

‘Welcome to survivor sleep’, I keep thinking.  Survivor sleep is really one of the big fuck you’s of surviving child sex abuse, in my opinion.  The reason it’s one of the bigger ones is that it is a nightly thing, and the lack of it fucks up everything else.  It’s hard to be rational or healthy (or even happy) when you are lacking sleep.   And you know you are just going to have to face the same situation again tonight.  And the next night, and the night after that.  And over and over and over again.  I hate survivor sleep.

Studies have shown that reduced sleep actually reduces how long you live.  So the way I see it:

Child sex abuse –> survivor sleep=lack of quantity/quality sleep —> reduced life expectancy.  That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  It literally kills us.



Reason #249: ‘Survival’ sleep
July 8, 2011, 5:52 pm
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I am thinking of trying to sleep in the new bedroom alone tonight.  It will be my first time sleeping in there alone, but I feel like I have to do it.  I keep telling myself “This is my life now”, so that I stop longing for what I used to have and instead get used to what is.  This is what is right now.  This is my life now.  It sucks and I hate it, but I feel like I have to start relying on myself more. 

I hate the idea of trying to sleep tonight.  I hate ‘survival’ sleep, the kind that comes when I am afraid of the night and alone.  Every noise is something to wonder at.  Something to control my breathing for. It’s so different than easy sleep, where I enjoy sleeping, and where the sleep is restorative.

I haven’t met even ONE other survivor out there whose sleep isn’t fucked up from surviving the sex abuse.  I figure it is because that is when we are at our weakest, because we are most unaware of our surroundings when we sleep.  We unwittingly show our jugular when we sleep, even though we try so hard to be hypervigilant.

When I was 23, I used to push a dresser in front of my door every night. It fucking sucked, because inevitably I would have to pee in the middle of the night.  So I would have to push the fucking dresser away from the door, go to the bathroom to pee, come back to the room, push the dresser in front of the door again, establish safety in the room, try to relax enough to fall asleep, etc.

My dressers are way too big to push in front of the door now, and plus, I have a young son who sometimes has bad dreams, and I want to be able to run to him if I hear him cry.  So the dresser is out.  At least this room only has one closet to check in every night, and only under the bed too.  That’s not that bad, I guess.

The whole situation kind of sucks shit, if I am being honest.

‘Survival sleep’.  Fitful shitty sleep that comes as a result of surviving horrible shit like child sexual abuse. The 249th reason 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 #154: Not being able to sleep in
February 19, 2010, 3:42 pm
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My husband and I have a deal whereby he gets up with the baby on some days, and I get up with the baby on other days.  On the days he gets up, he knows to lock the door to our room so that I feel safe.  One time he forgot though, and I woke up and found the door unlocked and had a panic attack over what could have happened.  Ever since then, if I am not awake enough to hear the click of the door lock when he leaves the room, I have trouble sleeping.  Usually I just get up right after him and check the door lock myself and then go back to sleep.

Today, I woke up about 15 minutes after he left, and I wanted to sleep a little longer.  The huz had already left the room, and had presumably locked the door.  Wait, did he lock the door?  (Stare at the door from the bed.  I can’t tell from here.)  If I get up and check the lock then I might as well get up for good.  If someone broke in here, it would be my fault for not checking.  He probably locked the door, I guess.  Usually I wake up whenever he moves, so when he gets out of bed, I am awake enough to hear the click of the door.  Not this time, unfortunately.

In the end, I decided to just get up since I couldn’t sleep while worrying whether the door was locked or not.  This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.




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