Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #323: The Man in the Closet

Last night I was so tired. It was well past midnight and I was so tired and I really wanted to sleep. I laid down in bed and I got so scared. I was thinking “What if there is a man hiding in the closet, waiting for me to fall asleep, and then after I fall asleep he will surprise me and attack me?” My heart started beating rapidly, my eyes flew open, my breathing became irregular. I reminded myself that not only had I already checked the closets, but so did my ex. Then my thoughts went to the same surprise-attack scenario, but involving a home invasion. I looked around the room from my vantage point on the bed; no one was there. I listened carefully; I couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. I reminded myself that I am safe, just like my therapist and I have been working on for years. She says that you have to recognize safety in order to recognize unsafety. I reminded myself that my home has an alarm that goes straight to the cops when tripped. Plus I have a dog that sleeps next to me. I reminded myself of all this, but I was panicking anyway. The reminders of safety were helpful, and I eventually used thought-replacement exercises to get to sleep. I kept my mind busy with thoughts of a beautiful life with my next husband in a beautiful log cabin, etc.

I have really been hating the nights lately. My next contracted jobs don’t start until the fall, so until then my schedule is willy nilly. Since my work was the only thing I’d been doing in my life that gave me any sort of self-esteem (not to mention a regular schedule), I have been sad and I guess a little depressed.

Depression and suicide is all about a mostly false thought process inside a person’s head that tells them (over and over again) that the situation they are in will be the situation they are always in. That things will always be like this. That I will always feel this way. I know it is false, because life changes a lot, and sometimes it happens very quickly. Sometimes it happens slowly, but the point is, something always happens to change a person’s life.

I have been trying to think of ways to make the night easier. Maybe I should take up a hobby, like crocheting or cross-stitching during the night. The panic-sleep thing totally totally sucks. Maybe it’s time to do a meditation, or some sort of positive affirmation before bed.

Remember that time I went away to that conference with my friend, and I got scared of the imaginary man behind the curtains in our hotel room? Writing this blog post about last night, alone in my own bedroom, feels like that. But I figured I should put it in the blog today because the entire point of this blog is to keep a running tally of the many ways that surviving abuse in my childhood has fucked me up in adulthood.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. We get completely afraid of being assaulted again, and we find inventive ways to be afraid, and inventive ways to manage those fears. I am 40 years old. It’s been 35 years of survivor sleep. When the fuck does this end??

 

 



Reason #259: Survivor Sleep, again

I am still sick, in pain, nauseated, etc.  The surgeon still needs to remove my gall bladder, which will necessitate a further hospital trip, which is scaring the shit out of me.  I pretty much lay awake thinking about it, and worried that he won’t get it in time.  He refuses to touch me until the pancreatitis heals.  In the meantime, I am scared that another stone will slip into the duct and the whole thing will start all over again.

It is hard to get on the computer due to the pain levels and most of the time it is all I can do to sit there and just be alive.  I am having a stronger moment right now so I decided to get on the computer and visit with you, my blog friends. 

Today is four weeks since I entered the hospital; four weeks of new trauma to work on, compounding the old trauma.  Four weeks of sleeping fitfully, especially since I got home from the hospital.  I am scared of going to sleep.  Laying there awake at night is an exercise in fear. Actually, all of this has been an exercise in fear, frankly. 

I was thinking last night about this physical/emotional trauma, and its similarities/differences to when I was a kid, getting molested by a babysitter, and then a brother, and then a father.  As an adult, the nurses were horrific to me in the hospital, and their lack of empathy absolutely worsened my condition.  As a child, no one even knew what was happening to me, but I knew.  I guess they couldn’t be empathetic if they didn’t know what was wrong in the first place.  I guess. 

When I told my aunt what my brother did to me – I was still a child when I told her – she asked me what his penis looked like.  I guess that was her way of seeing if I was telling the truth.  I told her it looked like an egg roll, which is what it looked like to me.  My brother is uncircumsized, and I hate that I know that through firsthand knowledge.

In the hospital, the nurses were assessing my pain level constantly, trying to see if I was truly in enough pain to warrant medicine to stop the pain.  They, too, were trying to see if I was telling the truth.  Are we just a world that thinks that everyone is a fucking liar? 

When I said that he was hurting me, I wish you would have said “My G-d, what happened to you was wrong, and it wasn’t your fault.  I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.  But I will be now, and I won’t let anyone hurt you again.  I will help you heal.”

To my mother’s credit, the minute I told her about the abuse with my brother, it stopped and never came back.  She believed me from the first second I uttered the words.  Thank G-d.  I guess the damage was already done.  My brother and I both had fitful sleep and nightmares and bedwetting and all the other signs of abuse after that babysitter came into our life.

I am 37, and I lay in bed awake and afraid every night.  Most nights I just keep escaping through tv shows until I am so tired I can’t keep my eyes open anymore.  But as soon as I get in bed, I am AWAKE, you know?

I dread the night. I hate survivor sleep.




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