Scars (2) (the original)

It's tough to talk about, all the sex and gender stuff.

Pictures are rough. Beyond rough, actually. I see pictures of myself when I was younger, with very few exceptions, and I'm a mess. It's seeing pictures of myself being abused.... tortured... and knowing that people find pleasure in those pictures. I can't even really put into words how it makes me feel. Suicidal would be close.

I "stole" a bunch of pictures from my mother. I'm often caught with what to do with them... save them or burn them. Saving them... there's proof... there's proof of what they did. Burning them would feel good though... a symbolic "fuck you".

The pic I have on my page is one of the few from that time period that I don't completely lose my shit over. Many of the pics that exist are from "holidays". "Holidays" were the worst. The fights were beyond bad. It was all about getting me dressed. The last holiday, before I left home, my stepfather pushed me down the stairs and had me backed against the wall. I wouldn't put the clothing on that they wanted me to.

It was always like that. September is "Jewish New Year", then there's Thanksgiving, then Chanukah, and finally New Year's. New Year's was a little less horrible than the rest.

It's funny. They blame everything for my leaving home. I wanted to be rebellious. Drugs. Whatever they can. I think it's really ridiculous that it never occurs to them that underneath it all, aside from a lot of it - the physical abuse, the dysfunction, the traumas and their effect - the reason I left home was because they were trying to turn me into a girl.

I could have dealt with strict. I could have dealt with getting my ass kicked every now and again. I could have dealt with ridiculous rules. I could have dealt with a lot of things. I could not deal with being forced to wear dresses. I could not deal with being punished for who I am.

I was nice. I was respectful. I was well mannered. I was funny, talented, intelligent, and creative. I just wasn't a girl.

To this day, they'll say that I am/was/etc. That abuse continues. They'll want me to see old photo albums... thinking that I'll see them and smile. They'll point out that they changed my diapers.

I hate them. All of them.

I do what I can to control the effects of the rage. It's a full time job.

Maybe all I want is for, one day, for them to apologize... and to treat me with respect... To realize that they were wrong for what they did to me... for what they've done to me for 34 years.

It's not the easiest thing being different. My body is different... but that just makes me a guy who's different, not a girl. It wasn't about wanting to be a guy. I am a guy. I just wanted to be myself. It took me a long time to undo what I could of the damage they did. ...the programming runs so deep... It took me a long time to realize that no matter what I did, I could not become what they wanted me to be. I did try. Through all the fights and the breakdowns and the suffering, I tried. You just can't be someone you're not. It doesn't matter what you wear, you are who you are. In a dress, I was a guy in a dress. Guys can wear dresses, if they want... it's ok. It's just not ok to force someone to wear clothing that they don't want to wear because of the message it sends. It's not ok to put a dog into a cat suit. It's not ok to abuse a dog in every way possible to make it into the cat you so desperately want it to be.

All they had to do was listen. All they had to do was give me the benefit of the doubt.