so time marched on. i suffered and endured at the hands of preachers and pastors hell bent on showing me what an abomination i was, and at a psychologist who pulled out every possible stop to making sure i would break. when an adult asks a child… and that childs response is that it makes them happy… they just want to be happy. and that response is met with a snide “well, do you want to be a deviant all your life?” comment…… you should know that person is not there for you or even to help. they are there for their agenda. most of the things said to me back then i didn’t really absorb. i heard them, and remembered them…. but i didnt understand the depth of the depravity and flat out torture until later in life.
as i mentioned earlier… i went through phases, like a roller coaster – sometimes it was all i could think about… other times, i felt shame thinking about it. i went through one of those low periods from 10-11 years old. and that summer i spent at my grandmothers and learned about my birth…. it made that low disappear. it replaced it with anger.
i knew after she told me that there was some small chance she was wrong. maybe she didnt remember it correctly. maybe i was misunderstanding it. i kept trying to rationalize and understand it all, but i knew i couldnt ask about it – or at least ask and get an honest answer. so, i thought long and hard about how to find out, as i needed to know beyond any shadow of doubt… and the idea of checking with my other (moms) grandmother hit me. my mom shared everything with her. if my dads mom knew… surely my mothers mom knew.
i kept everything bottled up inside for a few months until we went to my other grandmothers for thanksgiving. my grandmom was a smoker, and would always be in her backyard when she wasnt cooking, so i knew i would have the chance to ask her away from others ears.
i almost felt devious in the way i set her up… it felt manipulative – but i needed to know without prompting or leading her – so i was telling her about my friends surgery. we talked about it for a bit… she told me about her surgeries and showed me a scar on her knee where she had a big surgery when i was younger. and then i lead into asking the question i really wanted to know…. “do you know if i have had a surgery before”?
she knew. and i think she knew that i knew. she raised an eyebrow and smiled. “yes hon. you have. when you were just a tiny baby. you were way too young to remember it though”
i acted excited to hear that… like it was something neat to learn. and pressed her for more. she… unlike my other grandmother… was not keen to tell me. she didnt want to talk about it and just brushed it off with a “it was just a surgery” comment. but i kept pressing, and she became visibly irritated. as she got up to leave… my grandfather came out to check the grill. she looked at him, pointed at me… and as she passed by told him “tell your grandson about his surgery”
and he did. and it was the same LITERALLY identical explanation my dads mom had told me about over the summer. these are two sets of families that are not close… and do not talk. if i got the same story from both… it… was true.
at the time, i was still confused… but as i grew older – that confusion pieced itself together to form the puzzle that i am now fully aware of. simply put – they probably removed the wrong parts. my brain was wired more feminine… my body was a mixed bag… and now, its a gigantic mess. they took a bad situation, and made it worse.
at 12-13 years old… it was too late. those injections had done their damage… i was a walking mountain. my last year of jr high, i was as large as the coaches and principals walking down the hallway. i was a full 6-8 inches taller than anyone else in that school including most teachers and faculty. my shoulders were wider than most grown men in that school. i was recruited HEAVILY for football and wrestling and the high school coach actually came to meet me to make sure i would come play for them.
i also realized around later on just how alone i was. what was originally a happy, loving family that would get together on holidays… quickly turned into a steaming pile of shit. my dads side of the family was in the dark (or knew, and didnt care – but from simple prodding over the years or asking leading questions… i do not believe that they know). my mother however, used that to lash out at me. she told her side of the family everything. i remember my aunt and uncle who i adored – confronting me about it… and the absolute panic that made me feel. you ever get in trouble from a relative that has never disciplined you before? it was that feeling. here was an uncle i loved and respected, telling me to leave their lives and never talk to them again – reminder… i was still a kid. i remember the disgusted look on her face as she shoved her finger in my face and kept telling me “i was sick”. from that point on… we never really had contact again. i visited my grandmother in a nursing home once or twice at her request… but when my uncle found out (he had power of attorney) – he removed my ability to see her. so that side of the family was gone. the remainder simply had fatigue from dealing with my mom… and we were just seen as trouble that they preferred not to get involved in. my “family” dwindled down to myself, my brother and sister, my grandmom – aunt/uncle/cousins on my dads side, and kind of my dad. that was all that was left.
i reached a bit of an enlightened state at that age. i never fell for the therapy i was forced to endure… but i began to realize that i could not be what made me happy. there was one thing they were right about, as much as i hated to admit it – but being me would leave me being seen as an abomination by everyone. i could not embrace that or every set of eyes would look at me in disgust. if i wanted to reach some semblance of happiness, i would have to submit, and embrace who i physically appeared to be. i went through a bit of a mourning period around that stage. it was if i knew this other person inside of me… and i had to willing ignore them and help smother that part of me. i remember many nights laying in bed thinking ‘they won’ and how helpless i felt… and how disgusted it made me feel – like i hadnt fought hard enough and this portion of me died.
and that began the rest of my life. from that point on… i made conscious decisions to embrace everything i could about who i was supposed to be. football? yes. getting into fights? check. getting drunk with the guys in a taco bell parking lot? 10-4. i set out to be ‘that guy’. it was all fake…. or at least – not really, totally me. maybe “fake” isnt the right description. it was more of a smokescreen. but i knew i had no choice. i knew if i would just practice… pay attention to my mannerisms… watch what i say and how i say it… stop dressing in ANYTHING that didnt scream “bro”, “dude”, etc… i could pull it off. repetition makes perfection.
so that is what i did for every day of the rest of my life… from then, til this very day. its not that i am pretending to be something i am not… what you see is the real me. you just do not see 100% of me. at best… that barrier or wall i have erected allows 50% of me through. you get to see the 50% that i allow you to see… while my boot is on the throat of the other 50% of me.