Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids

Reason #234: Clayton

The other day there was an Oprah show on about a particular case of child abuse where the father and stepmother kept this 6 year old boy (Clayton) locked in this tiny closet for months, in chains.  They peed on him, rubbed his face with poop, and starved him.

Oprah showed this in 2000 on her show, and had Clayton (now a young man of 19) on her show now in 2011.  When I looked at the pictures of him at the police station as a 6 year old being rescued, his eyes looked absolutely dead.  Just dead.  And now, at 19, his eyes still looked that way.  It was absolutely terrible.  (This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  When it doesn’t kill our bodies, it kills our souls.)

Anyway, a 9 year old girl was watching the show in 2000, and it gave her the strength to tell someone about the fact that her step-father had been raping her for 3 years.  Oprah had her on the show now to meet the boy who inspired her to do this.  Clayton hugged her.  She began to cry on his shoulder, but he didn’t know it and pulled away, thinking it was time to end the hug.  When he saw she was crying, he hugged her again, and this time he held the hug until she let go.

I thought to myself how beautiful that was.  Two survivors of terrible abuse shared in each other’s pain and comforted each other just by each other’s presence.  I also thought it was so beautiful that even though his father and step-mother were such degenerate animals so as to do these things to Clayton, he still had such beauty and compassion about him that he genuinely wanted to comfort the other survivor on the show.  This is such a sign of hope.

“We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms — to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” -Dr. Viktor Frankl, concentration camp survivor

Reason #232: My son asks for privacy

I’ve been teaching my son to use the bathroom.  He’s a toddler. Today I helped him up onto the toilet seat, and he wanted privacy in the bathroom.  He told me in his sweet little voice “You help me up and then you go away, okay?”  I of course left the bathroom immediately.  I keep trying to teach my son that he has power, especially power over his own body.  Power over who sees his body, who touches his body.  Power, the kind of power that I never seem to feel myself.

I wonder if we told the babysitter to go away.  Obviously she didn’t listen, but I wonder if we put up a fight.  I wonder if we protested at all.

I think about it a lot.  I wonder about the details.  The therapist says I know enough to heal, but I still wonder.  Did it start immediately?  Like as soon as my mom left?  Did we sense she was evil right away?

I wonder how helpless we must have felt, my brother and I, when we realized just how fucking powerless we were in that situation, alone in our home with someone 10 years older than us.  Me, all of five years old, and him all of seven.  We were so fucking little, and she must have been absolutely thrilled when she got the job to babysit us.  My mom, being a single mother at the time – I mean, this whole thing is just so fucking textbook classic!

How long do you suppose she molested us for, during that first evening?  I mean, at what point do you think she stopped?  She had to have started in immediately, for fear that my mom would come home sooner than expected and put a stop to all of her evil fun.  How long did she molest us?  Was it one hour?  Two?  Three? 

I wish I had at least some sort of visual memory of all of this, so that I could stop being so afraid of everything.

My mom came for a visit not too long ago and she left an address book that she kept from that time.  From the time of the babysitter.  She said there is a possibility that the notebook contains that number.  I asked her to bring the notebook, and she did.  (She takes my shit real seriously ever since our together session with the therapist.) I haven’t been able to look at it at all.  Just can’t do it yet.

My son asks for privacy in the bathroom, and I make damn sure he receives it.  He is 3, and I was only 1 or 2 years older than him (I think) when that babysitter ruined me.  Broke me.  Like Humpty Dumpty, who fell off that wall and couldn’t be put together again. 

That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Reason #223: Senator Scott Brown
February 17, 2011, 1:51 pm
Filed under: fear, survivor | Tags: , , , ,

Senator Scott Brown (Republican Senator in Massachusetts) has gone public with his survival story.  I am sad that this happened to him, but I’m glad he went public with it.  As I have said many times, each time one of us goes public and tells our story, all of us win.  Each time one of us goes public, we all learn that we are not alone.   I think we will also learn that there are more of us survivors than there are perpetrators, and if we could ever form some sort of Universal Group of Survivors – maybe we could stop this shit from happening to other kids from now on.

He had two abusers.  Both threatened him into silence.  Senator Brown actually said in the interview (which will air this Sunday (February 21st) on CBS) that this will be the first time his mother learns of what happened to him. 

I wonder if she will be surprised.  She was  married to a man that beat her and beat him.  This is of course how kids get fucked.  First, put them in a home where mom is beaten into submission, or mom doesn’t give a shit what happens to child.  Make child feel less than.  Set up the situation so that the child is alone.  A loner.  Make child feel like ‘the other’.  Place child in unsafe situations where predators are already on the lookout for ‘otherized’ children.  It really is that simple.

One of his sexual abusers was a camp counselor at a religious camp he went to.  This counselor told him he’d kill him if he told anyone.  His other abuser was an older boy who threatened him with a knife to perform sexual acts.  And so Senator Brown stayed silent.  Until now.

Senator Brown said, “There were, I knew now, no safe havens, no one I could truly trust, just my legs beneath me, running, riding as far as they could carry me, and the slow motion of my lips, offering up a silent prayer.” 

The first thing that all of us fucked kids implicitly understand with the very first improper moment with our perpetrator is that all of our safety is completely gone, and that it never really existed.  From the first time we see that look in our perpetrators’ eyes, we understand that ‘safe’ is not a real thing, the way Santa Claus is not real. And from that moment on, it starts us on a terrible trajectory of using fear as a means of trying to protect ourselves from the kinds of horrors we have already experienced.  Panic and fear become our constant companion on a terrible journey towards capturing the ever-elusive ‘safety’, which never comes because it’s not real.  That is of course why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

There were no safe havens for Senator Brown when he was a child, and for the rest of us victims of child sexual abuse.  May we all find our safety now.  May Senator Brown use the safety and power he has now to make it safe and powerful for all of us, and for future kids as well.  May he use his safety and power to make the abusers afraid, the way we have been afraid all this time.  And may that fear stop them from perpetrating evil anymore.

Reason #222: Against my will

I told the therapist that I don’t feel like I will ever heal from the babysitter’s abuse unless I actually remember it.  I mean, come on, how can you heal from what you don’t remember?

She said that somewhere inside me I do remember it, but it might not be the kind of memory that I am considering ‘real’.  She said my body obviously remembers the trauma, and I might remember it in some sort of pre-verbal stage.  This would explain why I’ve been afraid all these years, why I put the covers over my head at night years before my brother ever touched me.  Why the night terrifies me.

I told her I have to remember it.  I need to know the details.

She said “You don’t need to know the details in order to heal.  You know everything you need to know already.”

I said “How do you mean?”

She said “Here’s what you know.  Something bad happened to you against your will when you were a child.”

That gave me pause for thought.  In a way, she is right.  This quest for memory is not helping me heal, and if I could heal just knowing what I already know, then that would certainly be the *right* path, right?  The quest for memory may also be fruitless, as my memory may never return.  I may never feel safe enough to regain what has been lost, in terms of my memory of what she did to me, to us.

I might never feel safe either way. That is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  May we all find our safety and heal from our wounds.

Reason #221: Superman cries
February 9, 2011, 9:08 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

Were you guys ever fascinated by superheroes?  When I started my healing journey, I became fascinated with Superman and Batman.  Superman – he has all these powers, and yet he always chooses good.  And Batman – Batman had a totally tragic childhood, watching his parents get killed in front of him, and he used his trauma to help the world.

So I had one of my alone sessions with the marital therapist.  I of course started to cry, as per my usual with this therapist. I mean, with my other therapists, I maybe cried twice with each of them.  With this one, I have lost count how many times I have cried so far.  It’s happened in almost every alone session so far. It’s gotten to the point where when I first walk into the room, I look for the tissues to make sure they’re nearby.

I said to the therapist “Can we talk about this, the crying?  I feel like it’s a third person in the room with us.”

She said “Sure.  What would you like to talk about with it?”

I said “Well, frankly, it’s weird.  I mean, I have cried more with you than any of my other therapists combined.  And I think that’s weird.  I mean, this is by far NOT the most painful time in my life.  I used to want to die, and I used to cut myself, and I used to throw up three times a day.  I was in a lot more pain then, and yet I’m crying so much now.”

She replied “Well, maybe that is because you feel safe enough to cry now.  When you were going through the trauma, you weren’t safe to cry because you didn’t have the luxury of crying.  All energy went towards survival, and it sure wasn’t safe to cry.  Maybe we should talk about what is upsetting you about the tears?”

I said “Well, it’s vulnerable and embarrassing.  It’s like a weakness.  I am showing you my insides, and it makes me feel vulnerable.”

She said “Well, I don’t see tears as a weakness.  Tears are a sign of strength, of someone who is facing some tough things and is ready to feel emotion about it. It’s about someone who is not in denial about what’s happening for them.”

I said “I guess.  You don’t ever see Superman crying.”

Then she said “Oh come on, that’s just because they don’t have cameras on Superman late at night in his bedroom.”

That made me think.  I mean, it’s true, just because they don’t show Superman crying doesn’t mean that he doesn’t actually cry.  Does the Man of Steel cry?  Before this session with the therapist, I would have said no, but now I think yes.  I bet he too gets upset by what humans are willing to do to each other.  I bet he cries just like I do.  That’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

Reason #220: Powerless, but not helpless
February 6, 2011, 8:27 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

I was talking to my mom today, and we both said that we thought that perhaps a greater good could come from my abuse. We both believe that perhaps good could come from bad.

Then our conversation turned to my panic, and she asked me if I had thought about trying some anti-anxiety medicine.  I told her I had already tried some, and it didn’t work.  Then I said “The truth is though, no matter what happens, I think I will always be afraid like this, and I have come to terms with that.” And when I say “afraid”, she knows exactly what I mean. Panic when I am alone or at night, always feeling something with me in the bedroom, etc.

She said “Sweetie – you feel powerless over these fears, but you are not helpless. You are seeking treatment for your fears. They are doing such great research on the brain now, always finding out new things that could help you. Who knows what they’ll discover? You feel powerless, but you are not helpless.”

It was such a beautiful thing to say, so filled with hope.  And I needed to be reminded that hope exists.  And really she is right.  We may feel powerless, but we aren’t.  We have found some way to survive the terrible things that happened to us.  We were powerless over the things that happened to us.  We were powerless then, we are not now, but we still feel powerless.  We were helpless then, but we are not now, and we are learning that. 

May all of us survivors of child sexual abuse find our power and use it for good.

Reason #218: Hot sauce and power

On Good Morning America today, they showed footage of a mother who used hot sauce to punish her child.  Apparently, the child lied to her, and as a result, she poured hot sauce on his tongue, forced him to sit there with it on his tongue, and then allowed him to spit it out.  She was arrested for child abuse.  Thank G-d.

And, of course, as with anytime we begin to think that kids are human beings in little bodies, adults come out of the woodwork to defend the abuser, and in this case, to defend the practice.  People feel this is a legitimate way to ‘correct’ children.

I think one of the many things that bother me about using physical means to ‘discipline’ children is that the people who do it always defend it like crazy.  It’s like they know down deep inside that what they are doing is wrong, and so they have to protest real loud (in a ‘me thinks though doth protesteth too much’ kind of way). Whatever your stance on corporal punishment is, let’s at least admit a few things about it. 

1) It happens because it can.  Kids are small, and we are bigger, and we can force them to sit there and we can force them to open their mouths, and we can force hot sauce down their throat.  No one forces hot sauce down an adult’s throat, and yet we lie every fucking day. (Research suggests that we lie every day, from little ‘white lies’ to big fucked up lies.)  How would this woman feel if someone bigger than her picked her up, put her on the bathroom sink, forced her mouth open, poured some disgusting shit in there, forced her to keep it there, etc.  No one does that to adults, because for the most part, we can fight back.  AND WHEN SHIT LIKE THIS DOES HAPPEN TO ADULTS, WE CALL IT ABUSE.

2) This is all somewhat encouraged by society at large, because there is a general feeling that adults should have power over children.

3) When violence is legal against any group of people, that is a really good indicator of the kind of power they have.  Children are basically powerless.  We are allowed to strike them at will.  Whether we use our hands to slap their bodies, or hot sauce to assault their tongue – people will defend this action.

4) People who have been hit when they were children and go on to hit their own children will defend this practice vigorously.  They usually say some shit like ‘It helped me’ or ‘Better by my own hand than someone else’s’.  Here’s a thought – how about by no one’s hand??  How about if we live in the kind of world where no one hits anyone else?  That would mean us not hitting our kids, and them not thinking this is an option when they have their own children.

Kids live in a world where their body is not their own.  They are powerless over their own body.  They even have to ask to go to the bathroom.  This ‘hot saucing’ example is yet another example of their intrinsic powerlessness.  This child had no choice in this assault on his body. If you allow children to be violated physically, you are creating a world where kids are free to get violated sexually.  Neither type of violation is okay, and both will cause a child to grow up into the kind of adult that is afraid (see all the 217 ways before this reason why that is bad), or homicidal.

You shouldn’t fuck kids, and frankly, you shouldn’t hit them or hot sauce them either.  If you hit a child, hot sauce a child, or fuck a child, you are doing it because you have power over someone who is powerless.  Would you put hot sauce on the tongue of your dog and listen to it cry?  Would you think that is right?  Why is it more right to do this to a child? Sometimes things are just wrong.  The way robbing a bank is just wrong.  The way hitting a child is just wrong, the way fucking a child is just wrong.

One of the things my therapist keeps working with me on is my feeling of powerlessness.  I am so afraid all the time, and she keeps urging me to get in touch with my ‘inner mama warrior’ or whatever.   Every time I have to leave my house, it is a fearful fucking journey.  And nighttime, inside or out, is anxious.  Sleeping has been ridiculous since that session with my mom, with the constant hypervigilant waking, and sleeping right next to the huz for even the smallest measure of safety.  All of this is about me not feeling like I have any power and control in my own life, my own sleep, my own feeling of safety.  This is all a result of me getting fucked as a child and surviving it, and that’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids.

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