Attack of the muse. Our story continues with this highlight of the latest attack.

Growing up for me was interesting. I grew up out in the countryside I had two older siblings both a brother and a sister. I was not even walking yet when fate stepped in. I was born with other children on that day we all almost looked the same there was 3 girls and myself. Until the age of 5 yrs we all looked identical. I was even dressed in dresses just to take pictures with the girls.

At the age of 2 my older siblings carelessly left the door to the basement open and my plastic and metal walker could just make it through the opening. Unfortunately I was in it at the time. My siblings got in trouble for that one. Which years later I heard about more than once. At the tender age of 4 is where my story really begins.

My earliest memory is sitting in the living room playing with my doll. Just one doll it was a Marie Osmond Doll. Mummy would never tell me why she didn't have extra clothes. I got up from the floor clutching my doll and saw my older siblings getting off the yellow schoolbus. I don't recall what my brother wore. My older sister was wearing a very plain orange dress with a white stripe. When they got inside the house, we had a long driveway, I complemented my sister on her dress. I then asked her if I could wear it.

Mummy overheard this and told me that boys don't wear dresses dear now come drink your cocoa. Wee cocoa had my interest and dolly and me went to drink. By the time I got to chair dolly had disappeared, not unusual I was always droping things all over. The end of that memory had my brother and me racing down the hallway.

My next memory was school shopping. I was excited as I was going to be in kindergarden in a shortly. Mummy and I were walking through the store getting supplies for me. Some wax crayons in a disney pack. I don't remember what pictures were on that pack. I do however remember that blue dress with lots of lace. I told mummy it was so pretty. She agreed and said once again "boys don't wear dresses dear". The toy isle was next and that is the end of that memory.

I was in kindergarden in a dress from the dressup box since all the boys had taken all the other toys so I was playing with the girls. The teacher was trying to teach us how to spell our names. I got corrected alot. I don't even remember what name I was spelling but I got. "Boys don't have girly names like that" I do remember she was a nun though. I got my first visit to the dentist that day, I was still in the dress, I got told how pretty a girl I was as she checked my teeth. Rest of the memory greys out there.

When I was about 7 I think I was visiting my birth sister as we called each other. We all got dressed up in various outfits from the play box. I was wearing a skirt suit and top that matched. The parents all laughed and took pictures of all of us in our various outfits. I was told to change for supper I was sad but did as I was told. Birthday presents followed with cake so I wasn't sad for long.

When I was 8 years old my mother started to complain about bad cuts of clothing for boys. She had to take the waist in of the pants she bought me because my waist was smaller than my hips. Mom was not happy and when I asked if my dolly could have some nice clothes like my sister had for her barbies mom just quickly made up some stuff from scraps. It was no where near as nice as my sisters barbie doll stuff. I remember this white with red polka dot dress for barbies. My sister never put it on her barbies. So I grabbed it and put it on dolly. A fight ensued. I haven't seen dolly since that day. We did play dolls from time to time though my sister always made me hold the yucky ken doll. Since I couldn't play with the nice ones I lost interest in playing with her.

My brother was always walking on his knees pushing cars around and around I thought he was silly. He tried to get me to play guns with him once. I ran to mummy crying. So we played with cars and legos instead.

Dad was always yelling at me to stop crying. He would say "boys don't cry". Other times he would be smiling if I was doing something like what my brother did. Smiles were better than the belt. So although it felt wrong to do so I learned to play with cars like my brother.

School got interesting I was left alone by the kids. I would draw and color alot. Schoolwork was always boring. I would often spend my days watching any girl in a cute dress or outfit. I was jealous that they could wear them and I couldn't.

I was about 10 when the most horrible thing happened to me in my short life. Mom had told me to go wash up for supper. This was normal. When I came out and she said I didn't but I swore I did she brought me into the bathroom to make sure I washed. It was then my horror came out. I have black hair on the sides of my chin. I cried and cried while mom patiently taught me how to shave.

Soon after that I got introuble in school and my father got called. A girl in school was wearing a stunning dress. I got so jealous that something came over me. I got up in the middle of class and started to yell at her. Then I punched her in the face hard. I wanted to take that dress off her and go put it on. I didn't but the want was there and almost overpowering. Dad got called into the office from work. He was very angry. He and the principle asked me what the hell I thought I was doing. They said that boys don't punch girls. Then they yelled at each other while I cried.

I had no supper that night and my bottom was red from dads belt. The next day at school no girls wore any dresses. The only time I would see them in skirts or dress from that point till grade 7 was on picture day. I was angry whenever I saw them looking pretty and just punched boys instead which didn't get me in as much trouble.

All through school it was the same thing Girls got to wear pretty stuff and I would get into fights with boys on regular basis. The boys never really fought back either. Something was telling them not too. I punched a few more girls here and there with "boys don't punch girls"

I was 12 when fate too a new turn. My chest had been itchy and Mummy just said it was a growing pain. It wasn't until I got out of the bathroom one night that my dad saw what I was itching on my chest. It was the growth of hair it was my boobies. When he told me that and yelled at mummy for not noticing I was sad but very happy. I would sit in bed each night willing them to get bigger.

Dad would have none of that however, I was taken to the doctor who mentioned it was gynocemastia. He poked me and it hurt since my little breasts had glands that I could feel. He gave my dad a prescription for testosterone and for 3 weeks I took these large pills everyday. When my breasts stopped growing I was an emotional wreck. I cried and sulked for days. I wanted to wear a bra like sister did but I couldn't.

The fatty part of the breasts went away. I got more hair on my face arms and legs. I remember I once shaved it all off in the tub and felt alot better for it. My dad belted my bottom for that. Boys don't shave their legs. I still had the glands on my chest though so everytime something hit them It hurt. Really hurt. My instincts blocked that but not below.

When I was thirteen fate dealt me a new card. I pooped blood for the first time and it lasted a week. I was colorblind and my parents thought I just had diarrhea. I didn't know it was blood. I just got cramps and had to go. It wasn't something I could hold in either.

I got a sore tummy but nothing bad every month after that. And every 4-6 months I would poop blood. Most times it was 3 days however one time it lasted 2 weeks. At the end of it I was brought to the doctor who gave me my first enima and then put this huge freezing cold thing into my rear. He looked around and said there was some red spots but nothing to explain anything. He asked for a sample of what I was ejecting. Of course I had already stopped and it was now just diarrhea even I knew that. So I gave them a sample of normal poop.

For lack of anything better to call it the family just referred to it when it happened my period and left it at that. They didn't think it really was one but they knew it happend every 4 months or so and that it hurt me alot when it did happen.

I got caught in my sisters black two teired dress and moms heels though. My Dad sat me down infront of his desk and asked me point blank if I thought I was a transexual. I said no. That was that. I started to secretly make a stash of pretty clothes. Which was really difficult as my brother and I shared the same room. For the most part whatever he did I tried to do. I believed that I was supposed to be a boy and to fit in I copied what my brother did. Later I found out it was pretty much the opposite of my instincts.

Mummy did teach me how to sew, knit, cook. Cleaning she may have but honestly the only time I go into a cleaning frenzy is when I am sick.

I knew that the stash of pretty clothes was wrong. I couldn't stop myself though. I even burned them once. I was fascinated by makeup but the most I ever played with was lipstick. I did self pierce my ears with earrings though. I just popped them in without a mirror. No ice no pain nothing just pop in they went. I loved them but I took them out and let the holes try to heal up.

I never really had alot of friends. More along the lines of casual acquaintances. To make dad happy and try to fit in I tried a 'girlfriend'. It didn't do a thing for me at all. I remember I asked her once if I could feel her breast. She agreed. I felt it and it did nothing for me. I remember thinking I should have these. I don't know why but I did. The girlfriend thing didn't last long. My hated thing was never long at best fully excited maybe 3 inches tops.

Highschool came and went. I don't know why but before prom I went out and bought a prom dress. Its purple satin. Has spagetti straps and off the shoulder short sleeves that are really an extension of the bodice. In the middle of the bodice is a bow of same material. It has a flared double teared skirt and has a sash that ties into a bow in the back. I remember trying it on in the store and I was beautiful. I had to have it. Took me 4 trips before I finnaly bought it. I so wanted to wear it and dreamed about it for weeks.

On prom day however I wore an ugly stupid mens suit and tie. I had a date who wore an ugly dress, i didn't tell her that, I pinned the wrong corsage to her at first till mom made me change it. I hated the prom. As soon as I could I got into the alcohol until I was painfree or close too and passed out. I don't remember anything of that night except stopping once to toss my cookies out the door.

I got a lecture from mom and dad of how rude I was to my date. But with the hangover I didn't care. The only thing I knew for sure at the end of school was that I was not a boy. I didn't know what I was but it most definatly wasn't a boy.

We still lived out in the country so after grad I went looking for a job. I had some money from a short term job I had earned. I kept telling myself to be a man, even while I was buying a nice blouse or skirt. I got a really nice stash going including accessories and makeup. One day I should have been handing out more resumes or filling job applications instead I was playing with my stash in my car.

At one point it became overwhelming and I got prettied up and exited the car. I must have walked 10 miles in those heels up and down stairs avoiding people. It became a daily occurance that getting prettied up. Eventually fate would step in and force me to move from the shadows as a girl. When it happened a gentleman opened a door for me and I went into the world as myself. It was thrilling, scary but I felt liberated.

I had quite a bit of fun going around in a skirt suit applying for jobs with my much hated false male name. I never got anything but the feeling of so right was .. Actually I don't have a word to describe it.

I tried to show mom how pretty I could be but at the time my good stuff was in the car so i had on a blue skirt and white blouse all the trimings underneath though and white heels. Mom looked at me turned around and said my heels should match my skirt and to not let dad see me. I could have stayed to help her in that outfit but I didn't I got changed and went back to help her make supper.

I still had my periods ever couple of months but never really kept track of them. I was too busy having fun as a girl in the city. Boys would take me out to dinner movies and drinks. It was great. A kiss on their cheek and that was the reward. I was young and naive. I still didn't know what I was. In a way upon reflection I guess you could say I was transitioning. If I had know about hormones and gid I probably would have done that. I didn't. That was for transexuals (a dirty word in my fathers language) Those people who were male and wanted to be female. Well I wasn't male and was just being female.

This came to an abrupt end however. One guy who had taken me to dinner wanted more. He didn't like what he found in my panties. I got beaten and my clothes torn off.

I hid from the world after that. Time marched along and I tried to be the boy everyone thought I should be. It was depressing. I didn't care about my looks at all. Bath maybe once a week. Hair ehhh whenever. Food was cardboard that I ate. I shattered every mirror in my apartment and later moved out and back home with my parents. My old room was gone as they had renovated. I just exist from day to day now. I still have my prom dress which I did wear on a few dates in those magical days.

I eventually went to college, twice. And hold down a meaningless job answering phones. I don't look at girls or their outfits anymore. And everytime I go to sleep I cry. I still don't know what I am. And I still have bad cramps and run to the bathroom and poop blood every 4 months or so. I have never been scanned for the reason for this and no longer care.

Life is cruel and fate just gives you hope only to rip it away.

It's just NOT FAIR!

And I have to stop writing this story now. I am crying too much to see. For those that want to know this came to me in a dream lastnight I woke to tears this morning and had to write it.

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