Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #297: A Funeral, A Ritual, Something to Mark this Time

Last week, I told my therapist that in a week my ex-husband is shedding his/her male identity entirely, and going full-time female. (She began her new life as an outwardly-appearing female today, though she has understood herself as a female for about a year and a half now.)  Yes, we are still living together.

I thought I was past the grief, but I guess no matter how much you anticipate a punch, it still hurts. So I have been crying over the loss of what I thought was a man who loved me. The only man who ever loved me, who ever waited long enough to let me work up to sex with him, the only man who I was ever able to trust as a lover. Of course, it all makes sense now that I was able to trust him as a lover – he was actually a she inside. If you believe the prevailing theories, which I do, then you believe that transsexuals are people who have the body of one gender, but the brain of the other one. So, in the case of my husband, while she has the body of a male, she has the brain of a female.

Anyway, my therapist said “Have you thought about having a funeral for him? For the husband you have lost?”

I like the idea of it. I like the idea of rituals, certainly. I remember once I took a class called “Women and Judaism”, and it was taught by a female rabbi. She said that sometimes incest survivors like to ‘claim their body back’ as their own, and they do a cleansing ritual called a ‘mikvah’. (The mikvah looks strikingly similar to the Christian practice of baptism, in that they both involve water.) When the Rabbi told us about that idea, I liked it. I like rituals that validate the things we experience in life.

The thing about my kind of loss is that it’s not quite as ‘real’ a loss as everyone else can see. I mean, for instance, my mother in law lost her husband to cancer two weeks before I lost mine to another gender, and everyone came to her house and ate with her and passed the horrible shitty time where it was all raw and the loss was so bad. It was like that for me, all raw and shitty, for like 7 months or so. From the time she told me she’s a she to a month or two after I almost died in the hospital.  The thing is though, where my mother in law has had the world acknowledge her loss, I have had mine hidden for the most part.  With each new person that my ex ‘comes out’ to, it’s kind of a coming out for me too.  But even then, the focus is on her (as it should be).  With each ‘coming out’, I was reminded of what I had lost.

While I still ‘have’ my ex in human form, I have lost my marriage, my future with this man, and any dreams/plans that came along with that.  I am suddenly in the process of divorce and single, and worst of all, shunned by a lot of idiots who can’t seem to deal with a male-looking person appearing as a female in front of them.  We went to the restaurant the other day, and the waiter stared at us for so long and hard, I wasn’t sure if he was actually going to take our order or not.  It was pretty pathetic.

But definitely one of the worst parts is the fact that she doesn’t seem to want me anymore.  She is very focused on herself and her trajectory towards femaleness, in physical, emotional, and social spirit. She is exactly where she should be, in terms of her life path.  I am dust in the wind now, someone that she used to love in the way that two people in love can love each other.

In thinking about a ceremony, I wonder what kind of ceremony is appropriate. In a terrible way, she is actually yet another person who gained my trust and then set about breaking it. And then broke me in the process.  I feel as though I cannot trust what anyone is telling me.  It’s not her fault; I mean, she says she didn’t know that she was a woman until a year and a half ago.  But the effect on me is the same. In a way, this whole thing is so similar to surviving incest.  There’s so much loss and grief that goes along with surviving it, and yet no one grieves with you.  No one comes over and brings a casserole and just sits with you because they know you have lost something and are sad and hopeless about life.  Surviving incest needs a freaking ceremony too.  A funeral for who we were, the innocent child that has died.  A ritual for all that we have lost.  And a celebration that we survived and all the great things we will accomplish because of the adversity we have suffered.

I wish I did have the courage to bury ‘him’ and this relationship along with it.  I wish I had the courage to walk free and break free of my own chains.  I wish I had the courage to even just be my best self. Fuck, I wish I had the courage just to walk out my own front door without overwhelming fear and panic.

I don’t feel ready to bury him. I suppose no one is ever ready for death though.  I feel like an idiot even discussing this.  The actual person is alive just in a totally different form that includes wigs, dresses, a lot of time spent with make-up in front of the mirror, and constant “Do I look alright?” questions.  The superstitious part of me is afraid of even talking about this, lest G-d take the human too instead of just the man.

I pray for a positive end to this suffering, to the nights spent in terror and the days spent in hopelessness.

I thought about cutting myself the other day, for the first time in 10 years.  I hate myself so much for ever trusting him, for marrying him, for being so fucking stupid about all of this.

 

 



Reason #293: The fucking pride parade

Last year, about a month after my husband told me ‘he’ is actually a ‘she’, she went to the Gay Pride Parade.  She was on the Transgender float, and she stayed at the Parade all day while I stayed home with our young son.  I was heartbroken.

The Pride Parade is coming up in a few weeks.  She will be going again.  I am no longer heartbroken, but I sure do feel like shit about my whole life situation right now. (Please note, for all the haters out there, I am not against the Pride Parade, nor am I against homosexuals.  Nor am I against transgenders or the transgender movement, for heaven sake.  I am FOR all of these things.)

I just read an excerpt from a book called “Good in a Crisis” by Margaret Overton.  It’s a memoir of this woman whose marriage ended, and a bunch of shit happens to her.  She starts dating, and one of these men rapes her.

I probably shouldn’t have read this, as this is one of my many fears about dating again.  Did you know that if you are a child sexual abuse survivor, there is a higher likelihood of your getting raped again in your lifetime?  These fucking predators understand on some level that we have been raped before, and somehow target us again. I pray I do not become one of these statistics.

I could really use a cupcake. Or a box of cupcakes.

I agree with the concept of the Pride Parade, obviously.  I think people should have pride in who they are, and wear their colors proudly.  For me though, it sure brings up a lot of my own shit. There’s not a lot of fucking pride in being the idiot wife who was duped by the person who presented herself as a man for the 9 years we were together.  I feel like the world’s biggest moron, for falling in love with and trusting someone who ultimately hurt me so badly. When I read her blog that she is now keeping as part of her new identity as a trans woman, I realize all the many omissions and deceptions that were a part of our courtship and marriage.  Every time I read it, I find a new facet of painful realization, and yet I can’t stop fucking reading it.  All of it provides clues as to who she was or is, and I feel I need to understand all of her in order to understand how I ended up letting my guard down enough to fall for all of that.  As with most things, I feel I need to study this situation in order to protect myself from further harm.

On another note – I wonder if maybe we should be throwing some sort of Survivors Parade.  I mean, seriously.  There are parades for war veterans, for gay people, for celebrities, for heroes, for all kinds of people who have survived adversity or done amazing things.  Why not a Survivors’ Parade?  Why not wear our colors proudly?  We survived something terrible, and every day that we get up again to face the day is an act of tremendous courage.  Why not a parade for us??  Maybe I should be thinking about organizing something like that, for us and our supporters.  I wonder how to go about doing something like that???  Survivors – maybe we can all put our heads together and come up with something.

 



Reason #289: My Aunt and Passover dinner

So you remember how I was so worried about my sister-in-law and Easter dinner? Well, it turns out I should have looked a lot closer to home before worrying about my sister-in-law. My sister-in-law came around on her own!  She said that she finally realized “How does this affect me, really?”  Then she said that once she realized that this is not a threat to her in any way, she became cool with it.  She also said that once she was with her brother for two seconds, she realized that the relationship has not changed at all.  I thought this was such growth on her part.

Unfortunately, it looks like some members of my family have not experienced such forced growth. This past Saturday night, my ex and I went to Passover dinner with my family.  A note about our divorce situation – I know it’s different than the normal divorce.  As my mom remarked — “Your divorce is better than most marriages!”  This is true – we are still living together, and we are okay for the most part.  Well, I should say, I cry myself to sleep almost every night, but that is more about my sadness over where I am in life, and not a reflection on the way we get along with each other. Anyway, my point is, we are still living together, and have no immediate plans to separate living spaces.  So, we still function as a married couple, kind of.  But we have been in separate bedrooms for a long time now, and we no longer kiss or hold hands, obviously. And we do plan on getting around to actually divorcing at some point.

In a way, our relationship has kind of morphed from being husband and wife to being close sisters and best friends.

So we went to Passover dinner on Saturday night, and my Aunt fucking attacked my ex.  I felt like I had to stand up for my ex because it was my family.  When we were married, we worked under the assumption that my ex would take care of his family shit, and I would take care of mine.  This seemed to work really well for us. Now, I still feel the same even though we aren’t married and he is a she.

So, I got into it with my Aunt.  She said such nasty things to my ex.  She obviously felt that the whole transgender thing was a choice, and a bad one at that.

The whole thing made me remember how she handled the news that I had been incested by my brother.  She said to me “Things happen between brothers and sisters.”  I finally had to tell her “Oral sex doesn’t happen between brothers and sisters”, which stunned her into silence for the moment.

It may seem like the two issues – incest and transgenderism – have nothing in common, but in fact they do.  Incest is a fairly common thing that happens in many homes.  But no one ever talks about it.  It’s such an ugly thing, such a shitty taboo to break.  Transgenderism is somewhat rare, but it’s not something that anyone has ever had any personal experience with until it happens to someone you know and/or love.  Both issues take a lot of education.

In both issues, there is a lot of downplaying and a lot of victim blaming.  My Aunt wishes I would shut the fuck up about how incest and child sexual abuse has affected my life, so that she doesn’t have to be uncomfortable with the knowledge that this happened to me. My aunt also likes to think that transgendered people should hide who they really are so as not to make her uncomfortable.

I live with the hope that my Aunt Will come around, in terms of her thought processes with all of this.  It’s not a choice.  It’s not my ex’s choice to be transgendered, it wasn’t my choice to be an incest survivor, and it’s neither of our choices to suffer ill consequences of what has happened to us.  But these are our lives now, and we have to live them.  I’d rather do that with my family’s support, but she really has never come to understand that my being incested wasn’t a choice (even with all my attempts at educating her), so she probably will never understand my ex’s life either.



Reason #288: My Sister-In-Law and Easter Dinner

My sister in law has been acting like an ass around my ex ever since my ex has come out to her as transgendered.  Her latest shit was that she arranged for an Easter family gathering at a time she knew my ex couldn’t make it.  My ex-husband/wife was understandable upset about this, and remarked to me (in a surprised but hurt voice) that “she would rather exclude me from a family gathering than have me there, just because I am transgendered”.  I felt so terrible for my ex then, and I wished I could fix it for her.

I don’t really understand my sister-in-law’s attitude about this.  I mean, as the wife in this relationship, I was betrayed.  Unintentional betrayal, but it was betrayal all the same.  I married a man, and ended up divorcing a woman. It has absolutely fucked with my world-view, and I am having a host of other effects from this latest betrayal in my life. But what does my sister-in-law care that her brother is becoming her sister?  I mean, in what real way does this affect her, really?  Does it take some adjusting?  Yes.  Should she have feelings about that?  Of course!  But to shun a family member who’s been so good to you just because you’re too closed-minded to accept that human beings come in many forms?  I don’t understand that. For me, humans come in two forms: good people who don’t/won’t intentionally harm me, and bad people who do/will intentionally harm me.  That’s what happens when you fuck kids; we base our entire opinions of people based on whether they will or won’t harm us.

The thing is, when I think about it, I wish I could face my sister-in-law and say this: You have no idea how lucky you are.  I would have killed to have had a brother like the one you had growing up, and yet you’re willing to piss away the whole relationship just because your brother is becoming your sister.  I take this issue personally, mostly because I wasn’t lucky enough to have a nice brother. I wasn’t born into that kind of family. Instead, I had a brother that sexually abused me and didn’t really have any love in his heart for me.  You had a brother that was nice to you all the time and genuinely loved you.  Abusing your spirit and body would have been the furthest thing from his mind. I had a brother that did not love me and the only time he was nice to me was when he was molesting me.  Now you have come to find out that your brother is not who you thought he was. I am here to tell you that just because someone is not who you think they are doesn’t make them any less worthy of your love.  Your brother is becoming your sister, and I am so jealous. I wish I had a brother who loved me, who didn’t abuse me, who I could feel close to.  If I had that kind of brother, and I found out she was becoming my sister, I’d be overjoyed.  Instead I have the kind of brother who I fear would rape me if I were alone in a room with him. 

 



Reason # 281: Caterpillars and Butterflies
February 20, 2012, 5:48 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

A few months ago, I went to a craft fair and I saw this sign: ‎”If you want to be a butterfly, you must be willing to stop being a caterpillar.”

As my regular readers know, I call myself ‘Butterfly’ on here because I believe that child sexual abuse survivors (and really any trauma or adversity survivors) are kind of like butterflies.  When we were getting abused, we had to hole up in our cocoons and hide.  Then we spend a great deal of time afterwards hiding in our cocoon because we become so afraid of the world.  We begin to believe that since one person (or in my case, three people) abused us, the whole world will also be abusive.

I want to be a butterfly.  I really do.  But I can see that I am still in caterpillar mode most of the time.

Last month marked a year since my husband began the process of figuring out that h/she was transgendered, and next month it will be a year since h/she told me that she is a girl.  Next month will be a full year since my heart was shattered.

I have put an ad on a dating website online.  I’m not sure what to think about that.  Now that I am beginning to conceptualize myself as a woman who is back in the dating world, I can’t help but think about the potential dudes that I would want to date or who would date me.  Honestly, they all scare the fucking crap out of me.  Hence my caterpillarness.  I was afraid of them before I married my husband, and now that my heart has been broken in such a unique way, I feel afraid of new dudes in both the ‘he will rape me or beat me’ way and also the ‘he doesn’t know himself and he will figure it out by being with me’ way. And, of course, I am also terrified that some new dude would be looking to get into a relationship with me as a way to fuck my kid.

I am not sure what the future holds for me though.  In my butterfly moments, I look forward to the future with hope.  Hope of healing and being a whole Butterfly all by myself, and then being able to share my whole Butterfly self with some new guy.  In my more familiar and regular caterpillar thoughts though, I scare myself silly with the ‘what if’ game.  I play out the scenario of dating.  We meet at a restaurant, a nice safe public place.  Things go well.  We go on a second date, also in a public place.  We date for a few months.  He seems really nice.  Maybe we are a good fit, I think to myself. I lower my guard a bit, and I finally invite him into my room to make out.  I trust him enough to date him. We begin to fall in love. We date for a while. We get married.  One night I see him in my son’s bedroom when we are all supposed to be sleeping.  He sees me seeing him and tries to explain, but I know what the fuck I am looking at.  I WAS the child in that bed over 30 years ago, no explanation is necessary…

See how quickly this thought process turns into an abusive scenario?  I don’t know how to change the mantra, and I sure as shit don’t know how to trust some new dude.  I don’t even really know if I should be open to trusting some new dude.  (Mind you, right now there is no actual new dude; all of this is pure conjecture.)

This brings me to my next bit of caterpillarness.  When I am not sitting here worrying about some predator preying on my son or me, I sit here and worry about the possibility of me being alone from here on out.  I try to tell myself it will be okay.  When I was happily married, I would imagine our marriage breaking for a hundred different reasons (like us not fucking each other, for instance), and I would tell myself I would be okay.  It’s all such a lie though, you know?  I mean, I guess I am okay, if by okay you actually mean ‘alive’.  I am alive.  I am existing.  I am back to work.  I am caring for my son.  I am overeating and throwing up a lot.  I am spending great deals of time at night not sleeping and that makes me tired during the day.  I spend a lot of time talking myself down from panic attacks, and general anxiety.  And I cry a lot.

I want to be a butterfly; I am just not sure how to get there.

 

 

 



Not a Reason – But a Topic we need to discuss re: Transgender issues
February 16, 2012, 5:43 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

*** Please note – this discussion will be triggering to the trans community and supporters of the trans community. ***

So, we need to talk.  A few weeks ago, my blog generated some discussion about the fact that I am “cissexist”.  I didn’t even know what the word meant, but here’s my understanding of it: Cisgender means ‘anyone who is not transgendered’.  So, when people call me cissexist, they probably mean that I am not giving trans people the rights and respects that they are entitled to.

I agree.  Calling my husband “he/she” or “huz/wife” can certainly be seen as offensive, and I am not trying to offend the trans community or supporters of the trans community.  Here is the situation: While I was married to my husband, she viewed herself as a he.  So he thought he was a he for the entirety of our dating and married life (9 years).  Literally, I married a ‘he’ and was married to a man who thought he was a man.  However, just as literally, it turns out I was married to a ‘she’ in a ‘he’ body.  Now, since he identified as ‘he’ during our marriage, when I refer to him in the past tense, I will continue to refer to him as he.  That was what he thought he was, that was what I was married to, and that is what she calls herself in the past tense.  Anything other than that makes me start to think I am crazy and that I imagined my whole marriage to a man.  It is something I am still working on with both my husband and my therapist, both of whom assure me I was married to a man while we were married.

We are still living together, and truly, he is my best friend. Currently, he is still presenting as ‘he’ for 95% of the time, so I am still referring to him as he in the present tense.  This is what we have agreed to call him while he presents in male mode.  However, in order to keep it straight with my readers, I call him ‘he/she’ so that they understand that his orientation as transgendered has not changed, he is still a she inside.  Now, unfortunately, the term ‘he/she’ is offensive because in this case he is actually a ‘she’, not half of one and half of the other, especially since he does not identify as gender-queer.  For purposes of this blog though, I am not sure how to refer to him without using the pronouns ‘he/she’ without confusing my readers any further.  Trans community and supporters, I need your help.

I need for my non-regular readers to know that I was married to a man.  I also need for them to know he feels like a woman on the inside, looks like a man on the outside the vast majority of the time, and is working on looking like a woman on the outside the vast majority of the time.  This involves a lot of mixed pronouns and he/she type language.  How can I proceed with offending the least amount of people possible?  What language do you suggest I use?

May I also suggest the following, with all due respect to the trans community?  I understand that this is an upsetting issue.  But just like the word ‘fuck’, we can choose to get upset about the terminology, or we can take back the words and own them.  We can choose to get upset that I use the word fuck a lot, or we can choose to get upset that people fuck kids.  In the same vein, we can choose to get upset that I use the words he/she (with no disrespect intended), or we can choose to get upset at people who force us into a binary system of he/she in the first place and don’t want to pass GENDA laws or accept the presence of a third gender (transgenders).  Do you see what I mean?

My ex husband/wife is not upset at my usage of mixed pronouns.  She has her own blog now, which I would give you a link to, but she has her picture up there and I am trying to remain anonymous in my blog.  She feels that we have real issues to get upset about in society, and political correctness is not a hot button issue for her.  As a survivor of incest and child sexual abuse, I feel a little differently.  I would not want someone making light of my pain by using offensive language like ‘fondling’.  However, if a fellow survivor or well-wisher used it with no offense intended, I would be okay with it.  Does this make sense?

Anyway, if the trans community and supporters can think of a way for me to refer to the huz/wife when I reference our our unique situation, then I welcome suggestions and dialogue around this issue.



Reason #280: Valentine’s Day

Valentine’s Day is coming up.  It will be my first since the breakup of my marriage, though certainly not my first V-Day spent alone.  I was alone for many Valentines’  Days before I got married.

The one that stands out was the one spent during my freshman year of college.  I binged on sugar that night, and began a long crying jag.  My mom ended up picking me up from school that night because she was worried about me.  She said I was fucked up from eating too much sugar.  What she didn’t understand then and doesn’t understand now is that eating too much sugar is/was a SYMPTOM of the problem, not the problem itself.

I ate too much sugar that day because I was terribly sad.  I was terribly sad because I understood that I was different from all those girls with boyfriends (like my freaking roommate that year), and I would always be different from those girls.  Of course they had boyfriends!  They weren’t afraid of sex!!  And I knew I always would be.  I knew that my brother and father had scared me away from anything resembling consensual sex or healthy sex or boyfriends or loving valentines days, etc.  (At that time, I didn’t know there was a third molester yet.) So yeah, I ate a shitload of sugar to try to anesthesize these shitty feelings.  But instead of anesthesizing it, it just made the whole situation worse.  As I ate each stupid candy heart, I was reminded of my own fatness, my own disgustingness, my own unloveability.

This week, I talked to my therapist about how painful this Valentine’s Day will be for me, this being the first one I have to face alone in a while.  I mean, my husband and I were together for nine years, married for seven of them.  She didn’t seem to truly understand VDay as a painful day for me.  She told me to celebrate the day for what it is, a celebration of love.

I told her that I was right all along, from back in my college days.  I knew I was different then, and I still understand myself as that now.  I told her that what actually happened in this marriage is that two ‘differents’ found each other and fell in love.  I was different because three people fucked me, and he was different because he was born in the wrong body.  Two ‘differents’ found each other, and now that we know for sure that love is not enough to save what was ultimately doomed from the start, we are each alone again, and I want to eat a shitload of candy again to numb the pain.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.  Valentine’s day comes every year, and every year I am painfully reminded that I feel like a freak.




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