Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #317: Dipping toes in water

My ex-wife had genital reassignment surgery a few weeks ago. She told me she was a woman 2 1/2 years ago, and has been living as a woman on the outside for a year and a half, and she felt it was time to go ahead and get the surgery. What a fucking ordeal that kind of surgery is, holy shit. The recovery takes forever!! We knew that going into it, but still, holy shit. She is in a lot of pain but she is doing okay.

I am in a lot of pain too, but I’m doing okay too I guess. I suppose the truth is that no matter how much you anticipate a punch, it still hurts when it comes. This surgery was like a punch for me.

She has a look of freedom in her eyes that was never there before. It is almost painful to witness it.  It’s kind of like looking at a butterfly who has been caged and is now free.  The problem is that her freedom has now put me in a cage, kind of, and I am not ready to leave yet. I wish I was. The thing is, the safety of living with her is still better than the alternative for me right now, which would be not living with her.

I wish I could learn from her courage.  Against all odds, she did this enormous thing.  She risked losing everything – her family, her friends, her job, her home – everything – just to be who she really was inside. Now that she has a vagina, she feels complete and whole.  I wish I could learn from her courage and risk safety and leave her and fall in love again. We formally ended the marriage about a month after she told me she is a transgendered female, but I was still in love with her.  Grieving over the loss of her is over its roughest point, but there are still little nicks and cuts.  Losing your husband in this unique way is really a death by a thousand cuts, and there are still cuts. Like for instance our roofer stopped by unexpectedly and asked how my husband was. Great, I thought, another person I have to come out to. And how much do I tell these people?  We still live together.  No, the marriage is over. Yes, we probably will get divorced eventually. Right now we are still living together, raising our son. And up until a few weeks ago, the inevitable ‘yes, she will probably get the surgery’.

A few days ago, I cried at my therapist’s office about all of this, about losing my husband all over again.  It’s not the same kind of grief as when I first lost him, but it definitely feels like a loss all over again.  I guess somewhere in the back of my head, I kept thinking ‘When is he going to stop this craziness already?’ But the truth is, he was never going to stop that craziness because he is a she on the inside, and now on the outside too.

So my therapist asked me if perhaps this finality, this ‘nail in the coffin’ made me ready to have a funeral for my husband. We had touched on it before in the last two years since ‘he’ came out as a ‘she’ to me. But I had never been ready before.  I feel ready now. I guess that is the nice thing about the surgery — it set her free.  Maybe now it will set me free too. So I am preparing a eulogy about all the wonderful things that I miss about the only man I was ever able to trust enough to have sex with him.

Get this though…

There’s a guy at my job that I – I don’t know – that I think about. Okay, I guess I “like” him. He started there last year, and since then we have seen each other around the office sometimes.  We have both been to some office functions, and sometimes we talk to each other when we see each other. I told my therapist “I think maybe I like a boy.” That’s how I said it because that’s how I feel.  My sexuality is still stuck in fucking teenage and childhood years.  They say that when you go through abuse as a kid (or when your parent is an alcoholic, or any other kind of traumatic shit we force kids to live through), that your emotional age kind of ‘arrests’ at the age you were when all your shit started.  I had three abusers – the first (the babysitter) when I was 5, the second (my brother) when I was 8, the third (my dad) when I was 15. When I talk about liking a boy, I feel 15, the real age I was when I started actually liking boys. It’s just that my shit never progressed beyond that age.  You’d think that since I was married and had a child, that somehow I would stop being afraid of men and sex and all that, but no.

I wonder if he sees me as the fat office girl he has to say hi to sometimes.

So anyway, I told the therapist I like a boy. She smiled and asked me about him. I told her what I knew, which really isn’t much. He’s a tall guy, kind of a bigger guy, and he has longer hair. I told her he seems nice and that everyone only has good things to say about him. Then I told her that I basically contrived a meeting with him for tomorrow under the pretenses of working together on some project when really I just want to see what he’s about. Honestly, this whole thing is so stupid. He never talks about having a significant other, but I could have sworn that someone told me that he used to be in an 11 year relationship. I don’t even know if he is still in that relationship or not? If he is, then this is the safest crush in the world, since I refuse to mess around with that sort of thing. (I have a mantra that I will not screw over other women just for a man. And messing around with a married man screws over another woman. That’s my own personal mantra; no judgment for anyone else doing that. Everyone has their own moral codes.)

The therapist told me that setting the meeting with him is a good thing.  She said that even if nothing else comes of it, it is good that I am socializing and not taking to my normal hermit instincts.  She said that this is probably a safe way for me to dip my toe in the water, by liking a guy who is probably in a relationship because nothing can come of it (which makes it safe).

Sometimes I wonder if my child sex abuse stuff shows on me.  Does he know? Does everyone at the office know who I really am?

This, of course, is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. Our thought processes around dating are completely different than normal people. When a non-abused person likes someone, they wonder ‘does he/she like me?’ You know what I wonder about? ‘Will he rape me?” “When is it safe to be alone with him? Is it after 6 months of dating?” “If I bring him to my home, will he force himself on me?” And of course, my most popular thought process revolves around him gaining my trust only for the purposes of abusing my child.  All this, and I don’t even know him, and he’s probably in a relationship so all of this is moot anyway.

I will be glad when this stupid meeting is over tomorrow so I can stop worrying already.

 



Not a reason, just an update

I haven’t posted in a while.  The thing is, I got freaked out.  I have been secretly keeping this blog for about 4 years now, and when I started it, it was because I had something to prove.  I needed to prove that there are a lot of hidden ways that being a survivor of child sexual abuse has affected me in my daily life.  Most of these effects are the kinds of things that no one but my ex-spouse would know about it.  In other words, it would take someone physically living in my space to be aware of the myriad ways that surviving child sexual abuse has fucked me up.

Of course, even living with me wouldn’t be enough to know all the hidden ways, because a lot of the effects take place in my head.  For instance, fear is a constant effect of having survived the abuse.

My newest fear is that the people I work with would find my blog, or that future people I need to work with would find my blog.  It’s disgusting, but in my line of work, people would judge me for being a survivor.  So I hide it.  But I worry that people would find my blog anyway.  I keep it anonymous for that reason.

The thing is, what began as a blog to prove things has also become a journal about my life.  I never could have predicted that so much change would occur in the space of four short years.  My husband is becoming my ex-wife.  My career is doing stuff I never even thought of. And I am trying to find myself, heal myself, and figure shit out in the meantime.

So that’s where I’ve been lately.

The ex-spouse and I still live together.  We’ve formed a lovely sisterhood, and we are raising our son together.  We will eventually get divorced, probably.  My sweet beautiful son has known his father as a woman since he was 3, and the other day his teacher told us that he explained his situation to another child (in the exact same way we explained it to him).

We originally told him this: “Some boys are born boys, and they look like boys on the outside, and they feel like boys on the inside. Some boys are born boys, and they look like boys on the outside and they feel like girls on the inside.  That’s Daddy.  He looks like a boy on the outside, but feels like a girl on the inside.  So now Daddy will begin looking like a girl on the outside to match what he feels like on the inside.”

He said “Am I a girl?”

Despite our trying to raise him with genderlessness, he’s all boy.  When he has wanted Barbie dolls, we got them for him.  But for the most part, he naturally seemed to gravitate to shit I was never interested in when I was a little girl.  Trucks. Monsters.  Superheroes.  Legos. Wrestling. Et cetera.

So I answered him “No sweetie.”

So that’s him, and that’s my ex.  And for me, I don’t know.  Sometimes I think about my future, and I wonder if there will be another boyfriend or husband or whatever.  Boy would he be in for a world of shit, huh??  I thought I had trust issues before this marriage, but holy shit have they tripled since then!! But I honestly think that is to be expected when you have a happy marriage and your male spouse turns into your female spouse. So, there’s that.

Sometimes though, I think about my life in a different way. This year needs to be about empowerment. I want to be empowered to be my best self. My best self would be someone who thinks a man is a ‘nice to have’, not a ‘have to have’.  Does that make any sense?  What I mean is that I hope that this is the year where I learn to live a more empowered life.

So that’s what I have been working on.  It comes slowly.

To my readers: Thank you for being with me for these last four years.  I will continue writing reasons when I have courage to do so. Thank you for taking the journey with me so far.

 

 



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.




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