Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #57: How Many People Does It Take to Fix a Butterfly?

The other night I woke up at around 4:30AM. I just lay there in the bed wide awake. And it hit me – I hate our fucking therapist. As you readers suspected, she just wasn’t right for me. We went in for our first together session after our “separate sessions“, and she said “How did you feel our single session went?” I said “Uh, this is awkward, but to be honest, I felt like you opened a big can of worms and then left me to deal with the worms by myself. With like a minute left to the session, you were still bringing up new shit about my sex abuse. Then the session ended and I was left with a big pile of shit.” I explained how the dog stuff was upsetting, and how that happened to be one of the few things I had never previously discussed in therapy.

Dear readers, you are going to love her response to this. She said “I think you were upset because I was and still am angry at your mom.”

Isn’t that great? She’s angry at my mom. Well then, why don’t we stop the session so that we can focus on her feelings? The poor thing, having to sit there with her anger at my mother over what my brother, father, and babysitter did to me.

The more I thought about it, and mind you, it took me all this time to figure this out, I got PISSED. Seriously, who the fuck does she think she is? I am not aware that she is allowed to have a feeling about my mother. And if she is, why is she bringing it into our session? Is it meant to spur my anger towards my mother? Maybe she thinks I am protecting my mom? Let’s say that’s the case. Let’s say I am protecting my mom, because who knows, maybe I am. THIS IS MARITAL THERAPY. We aren’t here to talk about my anger with my mom – we’re here to talk about how my protection of my mom might be affecting the fact that my husband and I aren’t fucking. And frankly, I don’t think that’s the reason we aren’t having sex.

Her “anger” was an inappropriate response for a therapist. Readers and blog commenters, you had it right all along. So, I sat the huz down (later in the day when he was awake), and I told him how I felt about the therapist. He said “No problem baby, we’ll find someone else. It’s not going to work if you hate her.” So we fired her.

In the meantime though, I made an appointment with a psychiatrist for myself. I stopped taking the zoloft a few weeks ago. Let’s be honest with ourselves – it wasn’t working for me. I was in a lovely mood all the time, but I was still experiencing anxiety and panic. I think I need more help than a primary care physician can give me, and I think it’s time to see a psychiatrist. Maybe he can find the right drug for me.

I am nervous about going to a male psychiatrist. I don’t generally seek out any males for any of my paid needs. My primary care physician, gyno, urologist, etc – all females. Even my hairdresser is female. Part of this is probably the feminist in me, in that if you can give money to female workers, you should. But the rest of it is about the sex abuse, and this is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. I don’t like being around men, especially in rooms alone with men. And that is generally what happens when you pay them to fix you – it requires time spent alone with them.

I dread the part where I have to tell him my fucking story. How many people do I have to tell what the fuck has happened to me?

It’s almost getting comical, really, all the people that I have hired to fix what has been done to me. It almost reads like a shitty joke: “How many people does it take to fix a Butterfly?”



Reason #45: Coming to bed alone
February 5, 2009, 1:25 am
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , ,

Last night, I was tired by 10PM, but the huz wasn’t. He said, “Why do we always have to go to bed at the same time?”

I felt ashamed, as I always do whenever my terror is brought up to my eyes. I went to bed alone, thinking about my friend who once told me that even if she gets tired at 7PM, her husband always comes up to bed with her. If he isn’t ready to go to sleep, he just watches tv until he falls asleep.

It has been two weeks on the zoloft now. Shouldn’t that shit be working by now? Maybe it’s the dosage. Or maybe it’s the fact that three people in my life fucked me when I was a child, and now as an adult I am fucking afraid.

I laid in bed last night terrified of my closet. What if someone was hiding in there, waiting for me to fall asleep, so that he can catch me unaware? Isn’t that the way all terror works – evil catches good unaware?

So, I am laying there in bed last night, alone, scared, terrified, eyes wide open. I went up there because I was tired, but who the fuck can sleep with the man in the closet? So, I laid there awake until the huz got there. Ashamed of myself, ashamed of my relief when he finally came up to bed. Ashamed at all of this.

“Why do we always have to go to bed at the same time” he had asked. Because I am a survivor of incest and child sex abuse, and the miracle of surviving it also unfortunately means that I am afraid of imaginary people touching me, no matter what new pharmaceutical drugs the medical world comes up with to help me relax.

Obviously, yet again, my history of sex abuse is taking its toll on yet another relationship in my life. This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids.



Reason #38: Zoloft

I went to the doctor a few days ago for my ever-increasing anxiety and depression. The nurse asked me what I was there for, and I said “anxiety”. The nurse took down my info and said “the doctor will be in in a minute”. As she was leaving the room, I touched her arm and said “Do people come here for this?” She said “Yes. It’s better to get it now than when it is too late and it is controlling your life.” Too late for that lady, I thought. I started to cry. She was VERY nice. She hugged me. G-d bless these wonderful nurses.

The doc came into the room. I told her the truth, that I was anxious and it was interfering with my life. I find myself cancelling events so that I don’t have to leave the house. When I am outside, I am afraid in the parking lot, and the mad dash from the parking lot to whatever building I need to get to is overwhelming. I am terrified of rape, I told her.

When I described what was happening to me in the parking lot with the hypervigilance and the terror, she added “the looking over your shoulder constantly”, and I wondered if she, too, was a survivor. Then she said that she likes to prescribe zoloft because it doesn’t cause dependence, (though you do have to wean on and off this drug), and because the side effects are minimal in her experience. I agreed to medically drug myself for the first time in my life.

I have always been against the use of pharmaceuticals for this issue for myself. Politically, I feel like drugs have always been used to silence women. And who are women? Survivors. Men fuck us in so many ways our whole life, and then when we react to it, they drug us into a stupefied silence. So I have been against it.

But my life has become – bad. Writing this blog has been difficult, and trying to maneuver through memories constantly makes me feel like every parking lot is filled with scary bad men waiting to hurt me. When it gets to the point where everyone is bad, it is time for me to realize that it’s not the whole world that is bad, it’s me that is fucked up. So I agreed to the drug. I took my first dose today.

This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. If that babysitter hadn’t started this whole ball rolling, my brother never would have fucked with me. My dad, who knows. If these events hadn’t happened, I would be a very different Butterfly today.




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