I haven't written on here in a while because of my PTSD mostly, the rest is telling more of this story has only brought up more anguish and sadness.
My 12th birthday had come and gone and I was still in the Hospital, I had become adept at masturbating and except for a few dry humps on Joy that were absolute bliss. I was moved to a old building where they kept the older boys. This was very different, segregated by sex and placed into a situation where they were not only crazy but full of adolescent hormones. In my opinion an awful combination.
Within my first week there I was in a fight with an older kid, he was picking on me and I just had enough. I managed to throw him down the stairs and was kicking the crap out of his stomach and ribs.
That little incident got me thrown over to the maximum security ward, cut off from my family. i was there 2 weeks before they even visited me. I was brought some new clothes and just like that the visit was over. This ward was a new kind of hell for me, the lights wre on 24/7 and somone was always watching us. It grew into another but even more structured and boring realiy. The only highlight I remember was being show the movie "The Fantastic Voyage." In all I was in there for about 3 months before I was returned to the CB building. Little did I know my time there would soon end, but my adventure there was not over. I met another kid about my age, there were no semi private rooms like at the cottage this was open ward sleeping at its "finest" He was about my age and just as scared as myself. I introuduced him to the joy of panties and he quickly discovered that he enjoyed wearing them too. At least i had a freind who understood my desire to wear panties. We never discussed wearing dresses or anything like that it was all quite innocent.
After all, my hormones were raging and all I wanted to do was have sex with girls.
despite a rough start to my time in CB ward it was a time of change as well. Mom had established a small comisary account in my name. I couldn't take out more than a dollar to spend at a time,
Also I was now allowed off grounds for an hour at a time, my home was about 3-4 blocks away and it occured to me I could go visit but at the time I was allowed off grounds no one would be home.
I would go to the candy store and get some soda, or just wander around, eventually I had enrolled in some model building club, and the activity required me to take a bus to a nearby city for "class"
One cold miserable wither evening I had gotten off at the stop about 3 blocks from home and instead of walking up the street back to the hospital I decided to walk to my home in the blustery cold twilight. I arrived in time to interrupt my family's dinner. I had looked in for a few moments before knocking on the kitchen door. I looked at the three of them, eating and then my empty chair, it seemed surreal at the time like I was dead, a ghost at the window yearning to part of something now out of my reach forever. In a way it was a harbinger for a future time just 5 years away.
I knocked and they all turned to look, my Mom let me in while my Dad looked less than thrilled to see his second biggest mistake shivering in the doorway. I stepped into the warm, florescent lit kitchen rife with the smells of my Mother's wonderful cooking.
I don't remember what was being served, i do remember not being allowed upstairs to go to my room. What were they afraid of? All i had to do was pick up a knife or better yet take 3 steps into the dining room and pull out my Dad's loaded revolver from the middle drawer of the hutch and have at them. Of course I didn't think of that, I waited while my Mom called the hospital and arranged to drive me back. The short car ride through the winter darkness was quiet except for the radio playing ABBA's Honey Honey.
I don't recall any kind of punisment for this stunt other than being admonished for "running away"
I came away from that experience very depressed, really feeling like an outcast in my family.
It hurt me so deeply knowing that my family not only had a whole life without me being a part of it but didn't seem to even miss me. Even now after all this time that hurt has not lessened one bit.
However winds of change were blowing and my time there would soon come to an end. I don't really remeber my last few weeks there othere that I strated spitting out my bedtime dose of pills so I can get up early and go down to the kitchen and help out with getting breakfast ready.
I have no recollection of the last day there or going home. I know I was happy to have gotten out for good, but when Sunday evening rolled around I had an anxiety issuue for fear that this was all a cruel joke.
But I was home at last, happy to have my own bed, happy to have all my toys and the things I was not allowed to have in the hospital. I did not go back to school though, i was dropped at my Dad's parents house during working hours to be taken home at the end of the day. I was actually over the moon for quite a long time to be not going back. However I was still on my meds for a few weeks more and suddenly i was cut off cold turkey.
What I didn't know about was I was about to go through a "little" thing called withdrawal. It started with vomiting and dizziness, the endless dry heaves as my stomach was now empty. Crossdressing was the last thing on my mind during this time, as I was now bedridden and violently ill. With a trash can by my side and a clock radio for company. I would not get to eat for many several weeks, I tried to eat but couldn't keep it down, even water would not stay inside me. The doctor my Mom took me to told her to tell me it was just "Chest Congestion".... BULLSHIIT!
I have tried alot of drugs to numb my emotional pain but never got hooked due to my fear of withdrawal. I was sick for about 3 months then better for a week then sick for another month the better for 3 days during this time we prepared to meve to Middletown PA as my father had gotten a promotion and had been commuting back and forth daily between Harrisburg and our city. Which was fine as we barely saw that bastard until the weekend.
I really did not want to move, I had just made some new friends and was adjusting to a life free of being in a locked ward and on debilitating meds.
My beloved grandparents and my numerous relatives were all here as well as the all the familiar places i treasured. As much as I hate that town now, I loved it just as much then. To be ripped away from all I loved and knew was the cruelest blow to my psyche.
But moved we did, i cried and was generally angry and upset, During this time I encountered another relapse of withdrawal and was back in bed for a few weeks.
Next entry, out of the frying pan and into the fire, or a minnow in a pool of piranha's
I awoke with a fervor the next morining anticipating my next move, when would I have a chance to talk to her? I grabbed a pair of my undies and carried them with me all through class and therapy. Finally, during the late afternoon around a half-hour before dinner I got my chance to talk to her.
I asked her if we could talk down by the slide where no one was playing. She warily agreed and we proceeded to walk by the rest of the playing children. My heart was racing and I was nervous, screwing up the courage to finally blurt out, "I hear you like to trade underwear!" It felt as if I had shouted it when it was barely a whisper. "Joy" quickly smiled and said "Would you like to trade with me?" I quickly nodded an empatic yes and grinned slyly.
WOW! I cannot believe my luck, I was on top of the world, even so I still had to make the exchange.
I decided we would meet in the empty hallway on the steps and do the deal. She went to go back inside and I carefully did the same. Still having my Fruit of the Looms stupped in the pocket of my shorts I went into the dayroom. It was empty as was the hall, I plopped myself infront of the still on TV and pretended to watch The Rockford Files. Keeping a weather eye out on the hallway. Interminable moments had passed and I was getting depressed that this was some kind of joke being played on me.
Finally!, She appeared around the corner to the entrance of the West wing looking as nervous as I, here short bobbed hair swishing back and forth as she quickly scanned the hall.
I got up and calmly walked out the giant double doors to the north wing in the hall towards my co-conspriator. I was so paranoid as we met, fearing getting caught was a thrill in itself and the superior feeling a kid gets when they outsmart an adult. The trade was unremarkable in and of itself and quickly it was over. My trade netted me a pair of lace trimmed white acetate briefs with tiny blue flowers. I was in heaven! Indeed I walked into the bathroom and went into an open stall, I pulled my shorts off and quickly removed and discarded my boy pants into the laundry bag. I slipped them on a quickly realized these were not her panties! there were obviously a size too small for her, but a bit snug on me. I was not about to complain, after all I got what I wanted and they did fit and I was happy. The rest of the week flew by as I happily wore them under my clothes enjoying the silky feel on my nether regions.
However it was not to last and that Saturday afternoon as we played outside i had crouched down to play in the sandbox when one of the kids decided (yeah you guessed it!) look down the back of my pants. A shrill cry arose as my blood ran coold and my vision began to narrow out of fear. (I would later find out this was my first PTSD attack.
"Look every one XXXXX is wearing girls underwear!" he repeated the cry as he grabbed the back of my pants. I threw him off and ran away as all the other kids, about 15 or so all converged on my ass. I tried to get away by climbing a tree, but could not get up more than a few feet as the other kids were grabbing my legs and belt loops preventing my escape. Finally the aides came to my rescue and pulled me into the bathroom and made me take them off. I was sent to the rubber room "to think about what i did" I don't remember the details of what happened report wise, I am certain it was noted in my record as I saw the incident noted in the log many years later when I subpoenaed my records. I do not know if my folks were told but my weekend visit was unremarkable. A few months befre they began allowing me off grounds for a family visit.
I was given a "generous" 2 nights and "3" so-called days at "home" on the weekends. I became accustomed to anticipting the tell-tale jingle of her keys in the hallway after 4PM on Fridays.
She would take me "home" and we would have dinner and TV time and off to bed at 9PM for me and my sister. Saturday would be cereal and cartoons and playing all day, Sunday would come too quickly and mom's parents would visit we would have a big dinner and hour of TV and at 7PM back to the hospital.
I absolutley hated going back and could not understand since my time at home was "normal" why i needed to return there. It made me very sad to wake up on Monday morning and not be in my room with all my things and in my own bed.
The incident with the panties seemed to have been forgotten and so I waited for a moment where I could talk to "Joy" alone. I got my chance a few days later and we both decided we need a code for when we wanted to make a trade. I supposed she did it for the thrill as she had unfettered access to the laundry bags in the bathroom of her ward and could pick and chose what she wanted.
There were no girls on my ward so I had no choice. It was mutually decided the code word would be "BU for GU" and we would meet on unmonitored north wings far end by going out opposite sides and meeting there. This system worked very well and we had many exchanges without any discovery. Finally the end came when one day as we readied to make the trade it began to rain and hard. Instead of waiting we did the hallway steps exchange like the first time.
Big, freaking mistake! We were caught by one of the aides and the good times were over, we were no longer allowed near each other and my undewear was checked almost daily by the aides.
I do remember the questions by Mike my therapist, but I could not give an answer to something I knew no words for other than the very hurtful words my father would use while beating me.
I did not entirely realize how institutionalized I was becomming, I depended on the routine and the regular feedings of food and pills to survive.
During this time I learned to explore the immense hospital grounds especially the Gothic main building where I learned my Mom worked and would visit her in her office every so often. Not fully realizing the embarrasment I must have caused her by stopping into her office and the other women would see her "mental patient son".
In my explorations I discovered the tunnels beneath the main buildings and the endless shuffling of the patients who obviously had been here their whole lives. It was here I would discover that the majority of patients here were elderly and been dropped of there by their familes 20-30-40-50 years ago and even longer. I met some people who were commited there during the 19th century and listened to their stories. This was a place of horrors then, and now a place of horrors muted and blunted with drugs and therapy. There was no therapy for these people, they would all die here and even now nearly 38 years later I can only imagine how many hundreds of those people were dead now. Replaced by a new crop of forgotten Sons and Daughters and Mothers and Fathers to while away the long days in closed wards and the tunnels shuffling to their eventual deaths.
I totally was worried this would be my ultimate fate, and that I would never get out of this place.
I would look into the caged windows of these locked wards sometimes and see row after row of bedridden patients, or in wheelchairs drooling onto themselves and staring at nothing.
The bedlam I was trying to avoid would soon consume me and change my fortunes but thats for next entry
Before I continue, I just want to mention that a great deal of anguish and torment has been brought to the surface in revisiting my past. The past two weeks I have been more depressed than normal and actually find myself actually welcoming death as a relief from all the pressures of the past and the indignity of my current poverty which seems to be coming at me from all angles more than ever.
But I will soldier on even though I just want to fall apart and cry sometimes, currently I am working 6 days a week 12+ hours a day, In conditions less than ideal for a flower such as myself.
Part of it is the aging of my body and it's ability to cope with the hot cramped kitchen in which I spend most of my time. The rest is the mounting bills and the fact I now have to drive a van with no brakes in order to keep working and continue this ever increasing spiral of debt and ruin.
I've been coping by keeping myself pretty high to keep me from screaming out the back door into the night. My days are a sweaty blur of adderal,endless prep and cooking and standing, the hours I work effectively keep me from having a second job or a life. I cannot even plan anything in advance because my supervisor likes to make up the schedule as he goes along.
It takes a great deal to write about this as I am ashamed of my time in the State Hospital, few people outside of my family even knows.
I was let out of the room the next day and fell into a routine of life at the Cottage, it was a fairly new building. A single story split level structure laid out in a cross shape on top of a hill bordering the southeastern corner of the grounds nearest the iconic water tower. I could see that same tower from my bedroom at "home" I use quotes for that word because home is simply just a word to me.
Home is something I never truly had.
Home is something I am sure I will never find.
For me home is a place I can never visit and will always be just beyond my reach.
In my dreams Home to me is a physical place, wholly mine and is my bullwark against the tide of life's continual assualt on my desires for peace and serenity.
But it can never be....
It was two whole weeks before I would see my family again. I was angry that I was left here, but part of me was happy I was safely out of my Father's reach.
I was actually glad to see them, it was a Sunday morning warm and sunny, i had a plate of Kibbe and Dolmas, cold but savory reminder of my my Dad's mothers Middle Eastern cooking. It was already true comfort food to me before my inprisonment I was told they were only allowed to visit me for 20 minutes which angered me, I was hoping they were here to take me back home, but that was not the case. I quickly scanned the Sunday funnies they had brought with the food. But all too soon it was over, I felt abandoned and sad I went into my assigned room to cry.
The routine of the young patients here was quickly established witjh a full schedule for each patient.
There was a Monday to Friday schedule, with classes, shop, gym, and therapy and drugs 3 times a day. The evenings were free for TV or movies, or after dinner play until dark.
My time there would seem uneventful and boring if I had just followed the routine.
But things have a way of happening with me.....
I pretty much never had much of a connection with kids my own age, having maybe 2-3 friends in my childhood. Instead I had an easier time of connecting with adults, at least the ones keen enough to understand and connect with my level of intelligence.
The VOA daycare I was sent to ws a prime example, I was bullied, and picked on and generally did not fit in with the kids there. The volunteers were moslty college age kids of the folk music generation. I was quickly made the favorite and would get to skip naps and run errands with them into town and would get ice cream sometimes.
The hospital was no exception, my shrink Mike and his boss Kerry quickly realized this and treated me well and I had some perks other patients had no clue about.
During this time all i really ever thought about could be whittled down to 3 things.
Wearing pretty dresses all the time and being a girl.
Being free to live the way I want.
Revenge on those that put me here.
Seriously, even though we weren't locked inside at night and the grounds were pretty much open in the front and back of the property, and anyone of us could just walk off the grounds it still seemed like a jail and we were trapped.
My ward was on the north side of the cross, the east wing was for the youngest and the most severely affected by mental impairment. The West wing was for from what I could tell were for the least affected and was co-ed. This would make my time here more interesting. In the West ward there was a girl named "Joy." She had just recently arrived and already the rumors were flying that she was here because she liked to trade underwear with boys! "What" I said, the information was repeated, "really?" My mind reeled at the very thought of this, and I was already planning how I was going to accomplish making such a deal for myself.
I could hardly believe what I was just told but it being close to bedtime, my plan will just have to wait as will you until my next entry.
This is going to be one of the harder parts to write about as it involves me talking about something that will perhaps stigmatize me even in the eyes of the LGBT community. The shame and instant judgement others openly and secretly pass upon me when I mention this time of my life.
The strange thing is, I remember the summer of `73 as being one of the best summers ever, the weather, the music the long weekends at the Jersey beaches. How did it come to this? The stark austerity of the cold November weather perfectly reflected the emptiness of my soul.
Before I could get the tub to move more than a few inches my Aunt came running out screaming for me to stop and take that rope off... She was fast for a woman in her 70's she had crossed the porch and down the steps and across the yard. She pulled the noose from me and dragged me inside my feet barely touching the ground.
I was sent to bed, and I really don't remember the next few days, what my parents had said when they were told of my attempt or what they had even said to me. I do remember being sent to a different shrink for a while, but all I can remember was the lighted globe of the moon he had.
The winter passed and I was still in the 4th grade and the spring had started up and this young mans fancy had turned to masturbation in panties, the usual source was my Sister's or my Mom's. I had also had become adept at shoplifting the occaisional pair when we went shopping. Being small and skinny I discovered I could slip into the middle of the clothes racks and pick out what ever I happened to fancy. And as a matter of course I would get caught once again, this time my Sister and her curiosity to peek down the back of my pants one rainy april Saturday afternoon. I had picked out a pair of beige Charmeuse briefs to wear under my pants. I was not aware that they had ridden up and now she could see them. She made a big deal out of telling on me and I got my usual spanking and screaming at.
I was pretty terrified of my Father and for a week I stayed out of his way. The following Saturday was sunny and cool I awoke with a sadness so profound I couldn't stand it. This time I told myself I would be successful in ending my life. I pulled a pair of panties from a hiding spot and put them on, I felt a little better but I was determined. After breakfast my Dad had gone out somewhere, my Sister had planted herself in front of the TV with her toy horses. My mother busied herself with the Saturday laundry. I slipped outside and found a nice piece of rope in one of my Dad's boats, I found the old tub and stepped onto it and began fastening the rope to the branch and fixing the noose. My Mother was out the back door like a shot and once again I found myself in my room waiting for my Dad to get home.
I didn't have long to wait, I was called downstairs and stopped at the top of the last 3 steps as he actually lunged at me. He screamed " Do you want to die? Do you want to see what its like to hang yourself?" He had tripled up the rope and placed it with force against my throat. Indeed he had given me a taste of death, my father was choking the life out of me, I actually saw stars and things went yellow then briefly black. He released the pressure only at my Mothers pleading. Not once had he ever apologized for for nealy killing me.
I was also given a preview to the end of the era of spanking and one of beating. I still remember that pompous douche giving me the whole "Well spankings do not seem to be working so now I will be beating you!" speech. Since that exact point he pemanently cemented my firmest belief that all authority was full of crap.
I knew what was best for me and I was determined to find a way to get what I want. My time at home with my family was soon to be cut short. One day at school I was being bullied a little more than usual, I lashed out and fought back. I had bloodied the boys who were teasing me well and nearly given one a concussion. I was sent to yet another shrink this time the school one, no help to be had there. I was returned back to class a few weeks later, it was during this time I had gotten in the habit of just staying after school, basically afraid to go home It was here I developed a talent for art and drawing. I happily spent the time lost in my art and my own comics, one afternoon I had stayed exceptionally late. I was supposed to go straight to my Dad's mothers house, about a block away.
My dad showed up at the school at 4:30 all angry, as we were supposed to leave on a family camping trip to Williamsburg VA. Were were driving down the street as he continued to berate me, he finally got to the point and asked me "Just what exactly were you doing there all this time?"
I proudly showed him the picture of a tidal backwater I drew from memory complete with vacation housing, boats and docks in great detail and perspective. "This?" he shouted as he ripped it from my small hands "This... this GARBAGE?" with that he actually threw it out the window of the car.
I had never been so hurt in my young life and my hatred for my dad was off to a great start.
The vacation went off without a hitch as I was kept busy with fossil hunting and American history lessons. We had only been back a few days when I was taken one morning to see what I thought was a new doctor. It was at what I thought was a regular hospital. I could see its huge water tower from my bedroom window, and from just about anywhere in town.
What I didn't know was this was an evaluation and after talking to the shrink there who oddly enough had a toy gallows on his desk. I was taken to another building and this time to a basement room with some toys, a long table, some furniture and some books.
This was an intake evaluation, and all I cared about was pointing out the microphone hanging from the ceiling and the funny mirror on set in the wall like a window which I was certain was a one-way mirror. The meeting was soon over and I was shown the people in the other room by a rather sheepishly embarrased Ph.D. I know they had to see I was very smart but troubled and I felt certain that they knew my Father was the source of the problems. We returned home and a few days had gone by when one cloudy morning after I had gotten up and had breakfast my Parents said we were going out for a ride. We got into the car and headed out and soon we were on the grounds of the State Hospital. We drove through most of the property until we crested a hill and pulled up to a modern single story building. We got out and we went inside, I still suspected nothing as we were given a tour. Except for the Aides and the smell of lunch the place was eerily empty of patients. We walked down a great central hall and a set of steps to the north wing. It was there I was met by some Aides and was then told I would not be leaving with my family. I was in shock and was too stunned to react as i watch them walk away. I wanted to cry but I could not, instead I became angry, I walked out some side doors on the north wing and out into the humid but chilly morning. I was immeadiately set up by a boy who tried to bully me. I ran back up to the doors but they were locked. So I grabbed the nearest item to defend myself, a mop and proceeded to beat this kid senseless before the Aides could stop me. I quickly found myself in a rubber room with nothing but a bare stained matress.
I had been given a shot of Melaril and was woozy and disoriented so I just laid down and cried myself to sleep..... Stay tuned for the next installment "This is a Madhouse! A Madhouse!"
We originally lived in a second house that my dad's parents owned. It bordered a large graveyard in a gritty working-class neighboorhood sandwiched between a steel mill, a large slaughterhouse and two breweries. With the half dozen backyards facing a sea of marble behind a chain-link fence. One room houses that had grown into a ramshackle collection of wood and tar paper houses. I stil find it hard to imagine my great-grandparents raised 10 girls in that tiny house!
The house we first lived in was but a few steps from their home, and I certainly remember my Grandparents house being filled with love and great cooking. It was clean and a hub of social activity, it seemed like there was always someone visiting or stopping by with pastry or fresh baked Pita bread.
Of course I was aware of my Father's absence to some degree, I asked "where is Dad?" many times and was told he was on a trip to Alabama. So if there was some kind of underlying tension between my Mom and her In-laws, I wasn't aware of it on any conscious level.
Eventually my Dad returned, tail-between his legs, His parents had to take out a second mortgage on the second house to payback the money he stole. I remember visiting him at some cheap motel cottage and later some rented room in a old victorian on the city's west end. At some point he moved back in with us, it wasn't long after that my sister was born. We lived there another year until we had to move out because my dads sister was getting married and needed the house.
So we moved into my Mom's parents home, my grandfather ran a bakery on the first floor and we lived on the second and third floors. It sat on a corner on a very busy main road across the river on the east side, across the street from the local projects, where we could smell the sewage plant at night instead of the slaughter house.
This was also a house of love and where my feminine stirrings would begin. But here was a difference, there was a definite tension between between Pop-pop and my Dad, and it was where I would begin to discover what a jerk my father was.
Yes, I was not a perfect son and I was having behaviour problems stemming from my father's early absence, I was acting out and I was angry that I could not be a girl. I was while living here the daycare incident and the wake-up game was played. a few months before we moved out I was enrolled in a special school for kids with learning and behaviour problems.
It was in an adjacent town, mid 1800's with a bell tower with a bell and a huge coal burning furnace in the basement. I went here for 1st thru 3rd grades, it was also here I would be molested my first time. I was in 2nd grade and was using the toilet when this older boy came in and forced open the door to my once private stall. There, he forced me to perform him oral sex or he would cut my penis off! I never told my shrinks or my parents or friends at the time and buried my horror from that event.
Eventually a new school was built and we moved into our new digs, my dressing in secret began here. I started like many crossdressers by using what was handy, I started by using my sisters bikini, she was two years younger than me and it was very tight and uncomfotable but I bore out the discomfort because it made me feel whole and happy.
It wasn't long before my mom discovered the bathing suit in my room one day and a good amount of screaming and yelling and of course a spanking from my father. Well it was clear the special school was doing me no good and most likely for financial reasons I was taken out and placed into the 4th grade back at the school I went to for kindergarden. Again it was a special class and I didn't really fit in. I became destructive and violent here out of anger and frustration over my situation, I encountered a great deal of bullying and ostracism for being in a special class. My rage knew no bounds here, mostly I was acting out of anger for my rape and my not being allowed to be a girl.
I still clearly remeber the anguish and frustration and how I dealt with it.
This is where I began to hate myself and my lot in life, a few well timed releases of now classic westerns turned me onto hanging and it looked to me like a good way to go away from my awful situation. My parent's went away for some family event and left us in the care of a great aunt when I was 10. I came home from a particularly awful day of teasing and bullying, I remember coming home and before I went inside I got a rope from the shed and a large metal washtub. I lay the tub upside-down on the ground beneath a strong branch, and I climbed on up. I attached the rope to the branch, (at this point I'd like to mention I felt no fear, just a great sorrow and excitement.)
I fashioned a crude noose and climbed down and went inside to sort of say goodbye, I remember it was like some sort of trance, i walked ouside and walked down the back steps and over to the mullberry tree I had appointed as my place of execution. I think thats how I looked at it then, I was an abomination, a curse, a mistake that needed to be corrected.
I wanted out of my cursed life and body and away from my ass of a father. As I stepped up onto the tub I felt some sadness, I took the crude loop of rope and placed it around my neck and tightened it, the cold November wind blew across my face and hair reminding me that soon my young body will soon be as cold as the unforgiving pre winter winds. The rope was rough and and already painful against the soft skin of my neck. With a heavy sigh and a few tears I looked down and began to try to kick away the washtub......
More to come dear readers.
I'm not sure if I would call me lucky for knowing I was "different" from a very early age.
I started at the age of three. It happened one Spring morning in 1967 at the VOA daycare center my Mom would leave me at. Most of the other kids had gone outside to play in the early spring sunshine. I had stayed inside with this one girl, and we decided to play house.
In a moment of inspration she decided I should play the Mommy, and so I looked around and there was a life-sized doll in a pretty white taffeta dress with a petticoat and red lace trim.
I quickly undressed the doll and pulled the dress over my clothes. As I lowered the dress and smoothed out my skirts, I suddenly felt a warmth in my loins and an excitement I had never felt before!
I suddenly felt "right"
I felt complete and whole.
I felt like a great wrong had been corrected.
I felt a great tug on my right arm and I was yanked up to my feet by one of the voluteers.
I was instantly made to take the dress off, I was admonsished, smaked on my behind and made to stand in a corner.
I was left crying and confused, not knowing what I did was wrong (in their eyes).
The second time I knew I was "different" came about when I was 6, I used to play a game with my mother in the morning called "What are you today?"
Every morning she would wake me and ask me "What are you today" I usually picked animals and my Mom would play along as she dressed me for the day.
One morning she asked me "What are you today?"
I groggily replied "A Girl!" Nonplussed, my dear Mother played along, thinking it was harmless fun.
She pretended to brush my pretty hair and pick out my pretty panties and the frilly dress I would wear that day.
My mind reeled with happiness and joy! Once again, I felt "right". But it would be very short lived. As soon as it begun the fantasy was over. And so began a long and very heavy sadness and frustration for such a young child.
I couldn't even beging to describe my feelings to my parents (especially my Dad as you shall find out later dear readers).
A little background here, my father was missing for the first two years of my life after he robbed the safe at his job shortly after being promoted and ran off with another woman.
Why my mother took him back I will never understand.....
Well thats it for now, stay tuned as my life gets pretty messed up from this point.