April 30, 2014
Dear Timothy;
This letter, which you hold, in your hands, was written, by your older self, as a note, to you and the hard times that await you. I wish I could spare us, of the psychological and physical abuses, at the hand of our brother, but I can't and won't try to lie that I can. As my heart is broken, knowing the following years will be spent dealing with the feelings of guilt and shame, and our struggle with mental illness, in silence. Often, we will be needing periods of isolation, to maintain our facade of normalcy to the world, while the silent mental tears fall. Except, we must be careful, not to isolate ourselves, to the point, we are hurting ourselves, instead of healing.
There will be, a very sad period, in our live, which we will be envying the dead, over the living, in wanting the pain to end, by any means possible, but we'll never use any illegal drugs, or alcohol, to do this, like others have. A hollow victory, but one, we shall be celebrating, none the less.
The homecoming, from the Edmonton, Alberta trip, where we visited family, will be the calm of the storm that will erupt, throughout the summer of 1985, while dad recovers from his first heart attack. Forcing us, to become an adult, years before our birth certificate says, we have to, at the age of 15 years old. And we weren't ready for the immense responsibility dumped upon us, by mom and society, as first born, while, struggling to get over Opa's sudden death, the previous year, on our birthday, as no one noticed the prolonged bout of depression that gripped us.
I know, we will feel responsible for the violence that he committed against us and mom, but his anger was totally out of control, while wired on caffeine and sugar. In placing ourselves, directly, into harm's way, to protect mom, regardless, of the possible danger to us, from his explosive temper and violent physical assaults. Being the eldest, we should have made a difference, but he tore through us, like a hungry tiger, facing a pitted goat, and that will leave a very bitter taste, in our mouths, as the balance of power shifted, within the family, permanently.
Remember, nothing we could have done, would have changed his actions, against us or mom, during that summer.
There are no acceptable excuses, for his multiple attempts to do grievous harm to us and mom, no matter, what mom says, otherwise. Like he’s acting out, because he sees dad connected to various wires and tubes, attached to different parts of dad’s body, whom he viewed, as his idol, who could do no wrong. Sorry, but that pathetic excuse doesn’t hold any water, for us, as it rings with the sound of desperation, trying to cover up his actions
Sadly, there must always be a heavy price to be paid, when dealing with an abusive situation like this, beyond the usual bumps and bruises, upon our body, from his attacks, like the mental ones, whose scars are still raw, even 29 years afterwards. I must warn you, you will experience very vivid flashbacks of these attacks upon us, years later. And the aftermath of these flashbacks will last several days, before we’ll be able to function, at a normal pace, in our daily life. As the toxins, from the anxiety that grips us, leaves our body, slowly.
As you find yourself, reliving these brutal attacks over and over, again, as our brain replays these horrible memories, in our sleep. You must remember these memories can’t hurt us, again. No matter, how vivid or realistic, they appear to us. I have been told this is the brain’s way of judging us, able to resolve these past traumas, which we couldn’t handle, at the time of the occurrence.
We are stronger, than we realize, and need to start believing in ourselves, like others do, in us. We must have patience, as we walk this long road to recovery and growth, for there will be days, which we may slip back more, than we advance. Although, in the long run, we'll make a steady improvements, in our mental health that other people will notice and compliment us, upon them, like our dentist and nurse practitioner.
Even now, I just need to close my eyes, and can see, the brutal attacks playback, before me, as if, I'm watching a digital recording, of those ghastly afternoons. Never mind, the nighttime flashback, I have, of him, using one of the kitchen chairs, with its aluminum legs, as a battering ram, against our and mom’s bodies. As if, it lasted several minutes, before switching over to his feet, to rain blows down upon our midsection and lower back area, with his booted feet. Strangely, I do remember, never once did he use his fists during this attack upon us or mom's body, like he didn't want to soil his hands, by touching, either, one of us.
Wish, I could remember how long, this brutal assault lasted, but only have the memory, of various body parts, being attacked, as I curled up, into a fetal position, trying to protect myself, while crying and pleading for mercy. Mom lay, in another part of the kitchen, watching helplessly, crying and begging for him, to stop, but he ignored us, stopping, only when he grew tired or bore of this game, of his. I shall never forget, the dread tone of mom's voice, for as long as, I shall live. Never having heard, such abject fear expressed, by another person, as mom's voice did that afternoon that it still haunts me.
We will consider ourselves, a failure and weakling, in our inability to stop him, but even a grown man had have trouble, containing him, much less stopping him, in the bathroom. We will be called courageous and heroic, by those, who know about these events, but don't feel like it. Will we ever feel like this? Able to take pride, in ourselves and wear it, like a badge of honour, and not, one of shame, like we do, currently.
I know this, because we’re battling these destructive daemons, on a constant basis, with very low self-esteem and confidence levels, from him and other abusers. To the point, we’ll become suicidal depressed, and never tell anyone about it, until decades later. Waking up, every single morning, disappointed to be alive, as a passive suicidal feeling, fills our weary soul. Knowing, we have to put on our daily happy face, just to function, never mind, thrive, as our true face would have scared anyone, in a position of authority, to hospitalize and medicate us, to the standards of the day. In pulling off, the greatest acting role, in the history of humanity, and yet, no one is aware of our achievement.
Guess, everyone thought, it’s just one of those mopey teenager stage, which we will get over it, eventually, when the truth was so far away from the reality, we were living. During this period, we will walk into the kitchen, and try to push a knife, into our chest, but end in failure, for almost 3 years, with none the wiser, about our nocturnal trips. Each failed attempt will increase our level of despair and our sense of worthlessness. How can parents be, so incredibly wrong or ignorant, about the state of the mental health, of their own children? Wish I knew.
How can we be heroic, when we are, on the receiving end of the blows and punches raining down, from this hate machine? We, both know, he has lashed out at us, several times, earlier, only to be stopped, by dad’s physical actions, in punishing him, with a spanking or sending him, directly, into a corner, to stand there, for a set time period. Creating a false sense of peace, between us, until the next time, he took advantage of the situation, which we were, often punished, for retaliating against his aggressive actions. As he stood there, smirking, always behind dad’s back.
Remember, you were following mom’s instructions, when she told us, not to call the police, to stop him, but run to a neighbour’s house, for help. Although, you will want to call the police, to come and take this monster away, when rushing off, to the neighbour’s place. Worse, once the crisis has past, it will be swept under the carpet, as if it has never happened, while creating a two month period of Hell, for everyone. Thus, she will leave three souls, in real need of serious healing and closure, unable to move forward, with their lives. Damn you, mom, for condemning us, to this plane of Hell. In your need, to avoid any direct confrontation, that is needed to cleanse this toxic situation, which been developing for years, in the family.
But, she hasn’t directly experienced the years of torture, at his hands, like we have, being pushed down the upstairs’ stairs, before chasing after us, to jump upon our prone body, from several steps, above the landing. Only to be stopped, by mom’s blocking his way, over our body. Although, not a flashback, I remember him, in fall of 1980, attacking us, with a crutch, when our right leg was, in a plaster cast, from the knee down. Stopping only, when dad placed him, over his knee and spanked him, as I never have seen dad, so mad like this, ever.
Some would call, our soul separating from the body, a form of astral projection, when we landed hard against the stair’s landing wall, while others call it, disassociation. As we watched, the action unfold below us, from the ceiling, as his rage mounted, at him, being frustrated by mom’s deflection of his body blows, at us. Landing several kicks to our chest, before being stopped, as our body and soul are re-united, once more. A similar experience will happen to us, during the spring of 1993, while writing a major essay, for either a political science or history course, which will freak us out more than anything that has happened to us, emotionally, at that time. Sadly, we’ll experience other such episodes, like this, throughout our lives.
Or, the time, we will play dodgeball, with the ball being, his and our soccer and hockey trophies, which he will throw at our head, but often miss, if unlucky, they land, on various parts of our bodies or mom’s, while she tries to keep us, separate, to no avail. Else, will attack us, like "Indiana Jones", using his belt, as a whip, against us and mom, landing the belt's large brass buckle, like a cat-o-nine-tails, upon our bodies. Can still feel the buckle’s hook dig into my body, leaving a large, painful red welt, as it lands.
His need for control wasn't limited to our physical body, but extended to the emotional side, during the summer of 1985. As he will attempt to manipulate our emotions, by his capricious actions, in removing anything that brought us, refuge from life, whether it's our choice of TV show, or access to the Commodore 64, our parents bought, the previous year, for Christmas.
At first, it won't seem like much, as he stands, in front of the TV, blocking our view, randomly changing the channels, or flicking the "off" switch, as he walks by, daring us, to challenge him, as if he was spoiling for a fight from us. Knowing, he only has to outwait us, before asthma attack happens, giving him, an easy target to attack. And yes, mom and dad were seriously thinking of installing oxygen, for us, prior to dad's heart attack, given our almost constant nightly visits to the E.R., for Ventolin mask treatments, over the past few years.
Wish, I could have foreseen, how he would act against us, considering the Commodore 64, turning it from an object unifying the family, into one, in which, it becomes a weapon of war, among us. Damn it, why didn't I see it coming, thus is able to prepare us, for his actions that happened over the next two months. As computer programs, which we like, started to disappear, without explanation or reason, in random order. And like, with the TV, he will pull the power cord, knowing we will have to start over, again, once the computer has rebooted. Or various cords will disappear, only to reappear, a day or two later, without any explanation on his part, why. But the worse step, he’ll take to control us, is the deliberate deletion of our favourite video games, on floppy disc.
You can forget about complaining to mom, as she won’t do anything to punish him or make him, replace that he has destroyed, of our property. A harbinger of things, which will come, over the following years, as many of our things will disappear or be destroyed, by him, like our collection of near mint books, which we will find, in his bedroom. Often, taken without our permission, to read or touch them, in the first place, as our complaints will fall, upon the deaf ears, of mom and dad, who are more interested, in keeping the peace, than the justice, due to us.
Know, we would prefer not to use force, to settle our disputes, but you find yourself, tempted, by the want for revenge, as your judgment will be clouded, by the need for vengeance against him, wishing for his death. As we dream, of walking into his bedroom, at night time, while he's asleep, and plunging a knife, into his chest, or slitting his throat, with one of the sharp knives, from the kitchen. But, you'll not lower yourself, to his level, by reacting to your base level, like he does. Wonder, is it passive/aggressive thinking, to wish he had never survived his premature birth, in 1972? Thus, sparing everyone, from this horrible ordeal that has ripped our family apart, at the seams.
The day will come, when we are able to stand up and face him down, when he holds all of the cards, over us, and tell him, "you're dead to us", before walking away, feeling truly confident, for the first time, in a long time. Sadly, this day won't come, until late August 2007. Mercifully, there will be long periods of time, which he won't be present, in our life, beyond the toxic memories and the vivid flashbacks; which will provide us, with a small comfort, over the next 22 year period of waiting. Except, one of these times, will mercilessly crush dad's heart, from which, he'll never recover from, as he dies November 15, 1998.
Timothy, please don’t ignore those nightly dreams, which you have been lately, where you’re transformed, into a woman’s body, from a man’s. For they contain a very important message, which our subconscious mind has been trying to tell our conscious mind that it has been ignoring, for far too long, blocking our development, as a person, for we were born, in the wrong body, gender wise. Somewhere, between conception and birth, our body received mixed signals, which resulted, in a physical male body being born, while developing a female brain, inside of it.
If you must trust anyone, please trust me, on this. Although, we won’t be emotionally ready to start hormonal replacement, until we are 38 years old. Having hidden our abusive past, behind mental barriers, over the years, which will come crashing down, on us, when we can least afford it, on August 14, 2007. As the first clink, in our mental defences, will be our reaction to mom's rejection of us, as her child, and our downward spin, into a suicidal depression, in July 2006. But we'll emerge, from this, stronger than ever, like the Phoenix, from the ashes of hatred and shame, having been cleansed, by fire.
I don't need to remind you, of the years, which the bullies made many caustic and painful references to our sexuality or gender orientation, as they pounded the snot out of us, throughout the school year, with little to no consequences to themselves, from the authorities. Well, they were right, in one sense, we'll never be a heterosexual male, no matter, how hard we try. But, why stick to plain Jane vanilla, when the world offers a variety, to select from and enjoy. Rather, I pity them, for their limited thinking, inside of the box, which is influenced by their fear of anything that is different, like our transsexual nature. Unknowingly, we have true power over them, and yet, never realized it, until years later.
Trust me, I have spent 28 years of my life, trying to live that lie to myself and the rest of world, with disastrous results, producing suicidal depressions and extreme anxiety, as I sought refuge, through isolation, fantasy/science fiction books and movies. Looking for a magical talisman or object, to transport us, to another world, where our body is magically transformed, into a biologically functioning female, from our male birth body. Alas, only to fail, in our search. Will admit, this road isn’t an easy one to walk, but the results are worth, the price, we have to pay.
But the payment, we get back, in its return, is worth it, just being able to see our true self, for the first time, is totally priceless, I can't begin to describe it, by giving it, the true justice that it deserves. Except, for the rest of that day, we're walking on Cloud Nine, and nothing can bring us down. Or, to have others, hearing for the first time, your voice is passable, as a woman, whom you have known for years, fooling them, into thinking, they have misdialed our number, when speaking over the phone, is another highlight, which awaits you. As you fight to contain your excitement, about this latest development, you will achieve, through hard work and persistence, through the years, it takes, to master your new voice.
And yes, it’s ok, to like and to watch musicals and not be labeled, as a gay male, as the other boys would insisted upon. For the record, ABBA is cool; again, to listen to and sing along to, as the musical, Mamma Mia (2008) will prove at the box office. Let’s keep this, as our guilty little secret.
One’s sexual orientation isn’t determined, by any one style of music, you likes or dislikes. Rather, by their genetic makeup, which they inherit, from their parents and any mutation that occurs during gestation. Besides, by definition, we can’t be a gay man, but a transsexual lesbian, who has lived, both sides of the gender divide, in experiencing, both the positive and negative stereotypes, which society has for, both genders. And yes, will admit, being frustrated, by the social customs, imposed on the genders, regarding, how I shall react, or dress, in general. But never feel like, everything is carved, in stone, when they are, just a set of guidelines, to advise us, which we can accept, or reject, as we feel fit.
Please Timothy, never ever, stop your dreaming, no matter, how hard things, get for you, as it makes the darkest days, livable for us. Even to dream, we're "Toni", opposite to Natalie Woods' "Maria", in the West Side Story (1961), singing the duet, "Tonight, Tonight", in celebrating a love, so pure and true, it breaks one's heart, in knowing it can't last, but transcends all boundaries, forever. Remember, hate can be overcome, just take a lot of work and energy, to make it happen. And yes, you can follow nurse Nellie's advice, from South Pacific (1958), and "I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair", freeing ourselves, from his tainted influence, forever.
Your loving future self,
Therisa
