I did not choose this... An Autobiography

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I did not choose this... An Autobiography

As a transgendered person, a pre-operative transsexual, one of the most disconcerting things I hear is "Why did you choose to be this way?"

To put it strongly, and in no uncertain terms, I did not choose to be transsexual.

Being transgender or transsexual does not begin the moment you put on clothes of the opposite gender. Being transsexual does not begin the moment you decide to live full time in the gender role opposite that which you were born into. Being transsexual begins before that, even before the moment you first realize that you're different. The moment in which you realize you were born in the wrong gender. People go their whole lives being transsexual, but never doing anything about it. They are usually angry, depressed, and often very socially distant. But to live like that is like living in a prison.

Why would I choose to be transsexual. It's one of the hardest lives I could imagine. Always looking over your shoulder. Never knowing who you can trust. Being looked down upon by society. I feel like a criminal just because I want to be happy. I wouldn't choose life that for my own worst enemy.

I did not choose to be transsexual, but despite the hardships I knew I would face, I CHOSE to live free.

I was born this way...

Here's the true story of my life. It's not some short biography. It includes details. Lots of them. Details up until now I had considered private. It's time to tell what my life has truly been like. I am not proud of a lot of the things that happened. The only thing I can say is, that is who I was, not who I am now.

I was born on a warm October evening during the final weeks of 1979 in Long Beach, California. I came into the world as a healthy baby boy to proud first time parents Darrell and Debbie Rose.

The first year of my life was normal. When I was a little over a year old, my parents started having trouble in their marriage. From the information given to me by my family, my parents were house sitting in Lakewood one day for my paternal grandparents and had been getting high on marijuana and Valium for most of the day. Neither parent can remember exactly what happened next, but they wound up in a yelling match that ended with my mother calling her uncle to pick her up. Their marriage didn't survive long past that day. The divorce was bitter and my Mom walked away with custody of me.

Now let me tell you a little about dear old Mom. Yes, she had a rough life up to that point, but she was controlling and manipulative. During the divorce, she testified in court that my Dad was neglectful towards me and had even left me alone in the house once leaving me to injure myself on a coffee table. Many of my family members were left not knowing what to believe, but in the end, the judge sided with my Mom and I temporarily said goodbye to my Dad.

My Mom didn’t have a job or a place to live, so we moved in with my great-grandmother. She was a loving woman, who loved living alone, but welcomed my mother and I into her Cudahy home for my sake. Several times she threatened to kick my mother out and keep me. Eventually, My Mom and I left to live with my grandmother. A short time later, my grandmother fell in love and married the man I came to call grandpa. This meant that Mom and I would have to find a new place to live. We spent a few months living in one crappy motel after another. After we spent our 6th month living in motels, Grandma and Grandpa invited Mom and I to move into their mobile home in Anaheim. But this mobile home park we lived in was an adults only residence where the occupants had to be over 40 years old. My grandparents were forced to kick us out for fear of being evicted. At that point, my Mom was involved with a man named Gordon Hansen. We moved in with Gordon and he and my mother married soon after that. During this time, I was occasionally left with an adult cousin of mine. Kenneth. The asshole. The bastard.

What is about to be said is considered even now to be one of the most personal and darkest moments of my life. I guess he had a thing for little boys. He did things to me no child... no person should ever have to experience. And I wasn't the only one. To this day, I still haven't fully recovered. It took over 10 years and the courage of my cousin Garet to even admit to the rest of my family what was done to me. Some think I made it all up, some despised Kenneth for what he had done, but the truly, most sickening part of it all was how normal he made it seem. He made me think that since I did not yet know that anything was wrong with it, that it was all ok. Bastard!

When I was four, Mom and Gordon separated for a time. Soon after that, my mother went to jail for welfare fraud. My Mom asked my Dad if she could leave me with him until after she got out of jail, and he agreed. At the time, my Dad was living with his parents in Lakewood. We lived there with my grandparents until my Dad moved in with his girlfriend, Kathy. We lived in a little one-bedroom guesthouse across the street from MacGregor Park near Downtown Long Beach. Both Dad and Kathy worked long hours at their respective jobs, which left them little time to take care of me. They decided that I would spend the week with my Grandparents in Lakewood, and my dad would pick me up from preschool on Fridays so I could spend the weekend with him and Kathy. Things went very smoothly for the first year of this arrangement, but then my grandmother got sick and was no longer able to care for me. My grandfather worked long days at the Long Beach Naval Shipyards, and was unable to help care for my grandmother and I both. The only solution left was to live fulltime with my Dad and Kathy. The new living situation became increasingly difficult with the little space there already was being packed full of my few belongings.

After my fifth birthday, I was again living with my grandparents in Lakewood. My grandmother’s health had gotten better, but she was no longer able to work, and was having trouble keeping up with an active and energetic five year old child. Since there had been no word on when my mother would be released from jail, my grandmother took the initiative and informed my dad that I would need to be enrolled for the next school year. Since my dad and his girlfriend lived in a very run down neighborhood, it was decided that I would continue living with my grandparents and would attend elementary school near them. I spent my first year of public school at Madison elementary School in Lakewood under the guidance of my first grade teacher, Mrs. Palladini.

Had I known then what I know now...

At this point, I knew I was different. It wasn't Nature vs. Nurture... My parents didn't raise me to be feminine... But something was definitely different about me.

Sure, I did a lot of the things boys did at that young age... I played sword fighting with my Dad's best friend. I ran and bounced off of walls like normal 5 and 6 year old boys. I wanted He-Man, Transformers, and G. I. Joe toys. But I also did a lot of things with a "girly" twist... I had a tendency of being a bit more "fragile" and "fair" in physical activities, even though I appeared to be a normal boy. When friends got together and wanted to role-play, I didn't mind being cast into the female role. I always had a more caring approach to situations. When one of my friends was having a bad day, or had been hurt, I didn't just pat them on the shoulder and leave them recover on their own. I tried to console them, help them, even going so far as to giving them a hug if I felt they needed it.

Many of these things were noticed by my family early on. After moving away from my Grandparents' home in 1986, my Dad tried to get me into sports, as a way to "toughen" me up. He even signed me up for the local municipal sports leagues in Buena Park. Despite 3 seasons with the Buena Park PeeWee and Peanut League baseball teams, Sports weren't for me. In 1990, both of my grandmothers passed away. Six days apart. And I was utterly alone...

Having spent the majority of my childhood with my Dad, and being an only child until I was 13, I spent a lot of time in my bedroom remaining alone. I spent that time reading, self-learning, playing video games, and thinking about how much better my life would have been if I had only been born a girl. Once puberty hit, I knew there was nothing I could do to stop myself from turning into a "man". I did everything I could to seem normal to everyone else. In the 1980's and early 1990's, there wasn't a lot of information about transsexualism that would be readily available for me to study. Not that I even knew what a transsexual was back then. I didn't want to be seen or labeled as a "freak". Homophobia was still quite rampant, primarily due to the association between being gay, and getting AIDS. Despite numerous times being caught with and wearing girls' clothing, I repeatedly denied to my parents that I wanted to be a girl.

When I was 12 years old, My Dad and step-mom were both working long hours at their respective jobs. Once summer came around, I was enrolled at the Boys and Girls Club in Buena Park. However, during the first two weeks of the summer, the Boys and Girls Club remained closed due to issues with beginning their summer program. In desperation, my parents asked my step-mom's sister if I could stay with them until the summer program began. I spent my first weekend with "Aunt Wendy" in total depression. I couldn't see my friends, and there wasn't anything fun for a 12 year old to do. I slept in an extra bedroom, which Wendy used as a storage room. she kept out of season clothes in the closet in my room. On my third night, after she had gone to bed, I snuck into the closet in my bedroom and began trying on various different outfits of hers. Unbeknownst to me, she had gotten up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and had seen my bedroom light on. When she opened the door, what she found both shocked, and delighted her at the same time. She had been the youngest daughter, and never had a little sister to dress up. From that point on, during those two weeks, Wendy let me dress up in her older clothes. I felt so free. I even got to go with her to see a movie as a girl. She picked out the name Danielle to use for me. On the last Saturday I was to spend the night, Wendy had a brilliant idea. She asked her boyfriend at the time to give me a tattoo so I would have something permanent to remember those days. Since I knew this would probably be my last time openly being a girl, I went for it. Dennis, a professional tattoo artist, brought out his portfolio book, and I selected a simple, hollow star about the size of a dime. After determining where to have it done (inside of my left ankle), we called my father, and asked him if I could get said tattoo. Since he was drunk at the time, he asked me a few times if I was sure I wanted it. After several 'Yes!' answers, he asked if it would piss off my Mom. When I told him it probably would, he said to go for it!

That same summer, my Mother straightened up her act, and got sober. She was by then married to my current step-father, Eli Sanchez. 9 months later, in February 1993, they welcomed my new baby sister into the world. A little girl. I was so jealous. Not because she was the baby and would get 95% of the attention, but because she was born the way I wish I had been.

Despite the jealousy, I cared for that little girl as if I were her parent. I bonded with her in a way I would not bond with a child again until 2004. Yes, I was the typical protective big brother, but there was something else there. Several months after Jennifer was born, I again bounced from one parent to another. Having become attached to my baby sister, I decided to tell my dad I wanted to live with my Mom and Step-Dad. Despite his own reservations, he agreed.

Idle hands are the Devil's playground...

I spent the next year and half living with my Mother, and though living arrangements were tight, we were for the most part happy. I spent most of the eighth grade making up for my troubles while living with my Dad... I almost literally spent nearly every waking hour doing school work, doing chores, being forcibly involved my my parents' church, or helping to care for Jennifer. My Mom and Step-Dad kept a very close eye on me. My Dad had informed them about the "cross-dressing" I had done, and was worried I might return to said previous habit. Because of this, my mother kept her clothes locked up tight in a closet at night. I didn't seem to have the time to even think about wanting to be a girl. Surprisingly, I kept out of trouble, or the most part.

Shortly after the beginning of the 9th grade, we moved from Stanton to Anaheim, into an apartment complex managed by my cousin Vanessa. Despite a few incidents during the summer and previous school year, my Mom and Step-Dad loosened up the restrictions imposed on my life. Big mistake, for them anyway. My chore list was lightened, and I had more free time to myself. I had saved up a nice allowance, as well as money received from birthday and Christmas gifts over the past year and a half. It was time for a little splurging. While on a bicycle ride one day, I stopped at the nearest Target. As I walked in, I began to tremble. For some reason, I found myself walking towards the teen girls' clothing section. I was fascinated with all the clothes. Yep, I bought bras, undies, pants, shorts, skirts, and tops. I didn't even think of where to put everything... I had a really big backpack, so I rode my bike to Loara High School, and began to empty my school books from my backpack into my locker.

Carefully hiding just a single outfit in my backpack, I quickly put the rest of the clothes into my locker. That would be my undoing. I was unable to resist the urge to try my new clothes on that night after everybody had gone to bed. Wearing my new outfit instilled in me a sense of comfort, a sense that I was finally "right". I laid on my bed, imagining myself being truly female, having slumber parties, and gossiping with the other girls. I knew I had to be careful. I knew what would happen if my Mom or Step-Dad found me wearing girls clothes. I'd be in deep... yeah. But I knew I could count on those clothes giving me a sense of relief, of mental freedom. What I didn't count on was falling asleep in my new clothes. It was an awkward moment when my mother woke me up the next morning. Suffice it to say, I was grounded. The outfit I had just spent my hard earned money on was thrown out. I was told if I was ever caught in girls' clothing again, the shit would hit the fan. I so was embarrassed, I began to act out again. I got into a lot of trouble. But I couldn't stop the desire to wear a pretty outfit. Then, one day, I had a bold idea. I rode my bike to school, arriving far earlier than anyone else. I got to my locker picked out an outfit, and decided I would wear it in public. I would skip school, and go out in public as a girl. Yeah, or so I thought. Les than two hours later, in full girl mode, I was caught in the very same Target I had bought my outfits at. And after being warned about truancy, a police officer took me home. He wouldn't even let me go back to my school locker to change back into boys' clothes. And when my Mother opened the door...

Yep, the fan was hit, and it got everywhere. I was suddenly the freak again. My parents didn't mind letting everyone know what I had done. Even the entire church seemed to know. Soon after, my Mother decided she couldn't handle me. I was sent to a temporary youth shelter. The Casa Youth Shelter, several miles from home in Los Alamitos. I was there for five days before I got any visitors. I was shocked that it turned out to by my Dad who visited me first.

While I was at Casa, my parents went to the high school to get my school books so I would be able to keep up with my school work. The school had found my hidden stash of girls' outfits in my locker and reported it to my Mother. At that point, she decided I would not be coming home. She called up my dad, told him she was done with me, and that he should take me back.

Let's start over, shall we...

Back to dear old Dad's house I went. The rules for moving back in with them were simple. All of my female clothing had to be thrown away, and I had to agree to my Dad that I would never, ever think of being a girl again. Oh, yeah, I also had to maintain at least a B+ average in school... Like that was ever going to happen.

Several weeks went by, and things seemed to be okay. I got involved in school, even managing to keep my GPA up. But somewhere in the back of my mind, curiosities abound. I knew I was biologically male, but I still felt deep down within me that I was supposed to be female. I wondered if these feelings meant I was gay. I had only just started coming to grips with the possibility.

In January of 1995, I met a boy at school named Freddy. I didn't know it at the time, but he was a closeted gay boy. His outward appearance was a very big, no nonsense kind of guy. He said he had sensed I was different, and asked me over to his house after school one day. After a particularly deep conversation, I sensed he wanted to tell me something. That's when I found out he was attracted to me, or my male form anyway. It was then I told him my secret. That I wanted to be a girl. He said he could live with that, and we began a short, whirlwind something or other... I was dying to see if this would "cure" my feelings... Nope.

After a couple weeks, Freddy began pressuring me into sex. He said since I wanted to be a girl, it would only be logical that I be the receiver. I was quite scared. I didn't know what to expect. Being anatomically male, I knew the only way it could happen. Uh uh... I wasn't gonna go for that. He said ok, and we watched a movie on his bed instead.

This I consider to be the second of the two most personal and darkest moments of my life. I woke up, unsure of what was happening. I couldn't breathe. I was on my stomach, and my glasses were not on my face. I couldn't see. As I said, Freddy was a big boy, and apparently he had all his weight on my back. And my legs were spread apart. It didn't even dawn on me yet that he was already inside me. I screamed for help, but nothing happened. After the act was over, he dragged me, half naked, out through the front door. Upon letting me go, he began punching me silly in the face. I walked home, covering myself with ripped clothing, and covered in blood and bruises. I snuck in through my bedroom window, not even able tell my own father that I had just been raped. He wouldn't have understood. Then I cried myself to sleep. Those events changed me...

At 15 years old, I met a girl named Veronica (Ronnie for short). She was 17 years old, and had a little problem with authority and the "status quo". She was rebellious, and didn't care about how others saw her. I don't remember how we ended up being friends, but she knew from the moment we met that something was different about me. After some weeks, I finally confessed to her my deepest, darkest secret. She accepted me for who I was, and who I wanted to be. My relationship with my Dad at that point was tenuous at best. He didn't care if I was home or not, as long as I wasn't causing trouble that would involve him. Ronnie invited me to start staying with her family. She said as long as I was living there, I could be "me". At the time, I hadn't thought too much about what I would do if given the chance to actually live completely as a girl, but was excited to try. I eagerly accepted, and with her help, I settled on the name Amber. Prior to this, I had imagined that only in my wildest dreams would I be accepted as a girl. My Dad boxed up only a few of my personal belongings, and signed papers indicating that, while I was still in his "legal custody", I would temporarily be living with non-family.

Ronnie was known for taking in "strays". Two other girls, twins Janie and Jamie, were also living with Ronnie. I couldn't believe that, not only had Ronnie so readily accepted me, but so had the twins. Janie and Jamie's mother had passed away from cancer, and their Dad, working 80-100 hour weeks, decided to let the girls move in with Ronnie, whose mother was a distant cousin of the twins' mother. Having a split level home, Ronnie's parents agreed to leave the bottom half of the house to the four of us, excluding the kitchen and dining room. There was a large family room, and single master bedroom downstairs. Ronnie and Jamie converted the family room into a bedroom, and Janie and I would occupy the master bedroom. My dreams had been answered. I was living as a girl. I already had hair that was close to touching my shoulders, and still had a small frame. I "passed" with flying colors. I even managed to attend school with only a few school administrators and a select few friends knowing my true identity. Those 4 months were the best I had up to that point in my life.

But it couldn't last... Ronnie was not only known for taking in strays, but she was also known for picking crappy boyfriends. Janie and Jamie were off visiting their Dad one day, and Ronnie told me she was going out with her boyfriend, Steven. He was 22, an ex-con, and a bad influence. I stayed home and watched a little weekend TV. After about an hour of being bored out of my mind, I decided to go for a walk. When I got close to the house, I decided to go to the corner gas station to get a bottle of soda. Upon reaching the parking lot, I heard a gun shot ring out... I almost didn't even notice Ronnie laying on the ground next to Steven's truck, bleeding... Instead of running to the gas station to call for help, I ran back to the house, informing Ronnie's parents of what had happened...

Later that evening, after returning from the hospital and telling me Ronnie would be okay eventually, Ronnie's parents informed me I had to leave. I was no longer welcome at the house... With no where else to go, I grabbed my bags and walked the whole way back to my Dad's house. After opening the door and hearing what had happened, my Dad agreed to letting me back in, under certain conditions...

This time, my hair had to be cut. And again, I had to throw away all of my female clothing and agree to my Dad that I would never, ever think of being a girl again. End of transition attempt Numero Uno...

A lot of things happened over the course of the next year. I met Shanen Haan, who would go on to become one of the best friends I would ever have. He introduced me to his family, whom I have come to call family as well. We became so close, we were brothers. We spent nearly every waking hour in the company of one another over the next several months. Even my relationship with my girlfriend at the time, Serena, had become less of a priority for me. Despite being intimate with her, the camaraderie with Shanen seemed more important to me than sex. Also at this point, my relationship with my Dad was again very strained. He was simply tired of my mostly harmless, yet sometimes legally ambiguous antics. Again, he agreed to let me live somewhere other than with him. After a month or so of staying at Shanen's house, my Dad agreed to sign physical and legal custody over to Shanen's parents, whom truly seemed to want me in their lives. They knew my secret, but still cared for me a great deal. I was in heaven, or so I thought... Something else that couldn't last...

I still don't know the reasoning behind her actions, but my Mother refused to allow my Dad to sign me over to the Haan's. She even threatened the Haan's with legal action if they didn't turn me back over to her. By February of 1996, I was yet again living with my Mother. In the hopes of straightening me out, I was again put on a very short leash. While living with my Dad, my grades had dropped so drastically, I was kicked out of Kennedy High School and enrolled at Gilbert West, a special Continuation high school. Because of this fact, I was not allowed to re-enroll at Loara. I was instead transferred to Gilbert East. Because of only attending half-days at Gilbert, my home chore schedule became quite rigorous.

As I mentioned earlier, my cousin Vanessa was manager of the apartment complex we lived in. That meant, as far as my parents were concerned, free labor for the Juno Avenue Apartments. On weekends, I was doing things like cleaning the laundry rooms, washing down the patios, and so forth. I also became the free babysitter for my cousins. Vanessa's brother, Garet, had moved into Vanessa's apartment with his young son, Joseph. If I wasn't doing chores in my apartment, or outside, I was usually watching my baby sister, Vanessa's three kids, and Joseph. Occasionally, Vanessa and Garet's oldest sister would bring her daughter around to be babysat... by me. I hated it. I wanted nothing more than to leave. Around 6 or 7 months into my servitude, I finally picked up a job. Grocery bagger at a local produce store. Yeah, well, that didn't last either. I was fired two weeks in after too many complaints about squashed veggies. Needless to say, I didn't tell my parents right away. I enjoyed their renewed trust in me. I also enjoyed the freedom I was afforded by having the afternoons to myself. Yep, time to get into trouble.

Just two weeks before my seventeenth birthday, I got caught shoplifting at Tower Records. My parents didn't want to put up with my deviant behavior any longer, so I was sent to live with my Mom's stepfather. After my grandmother had passed away 6 1/2 years earlier, my grandfather had become a bit of a recluse, and my parents thought it would be beneficial for both my grandfather and myself if I moved in with him into his mobile home in Anaheim. My grandfather was a bit of a disciplinarian, and proved to me immediately that I was going to like living with him even less than I liked living with my parents. I wasn't allowed to watch television, except for current events and educational programs, nor was I even allowed to listen to my Sony Walkman. I was there as a punishment and I wasn’t going to get off easy. Hell, I didn't even get a birthday cake on my 17th birthday! Yeah, I was a bad seed...

I did it to myself...
(Note: I have come to be ashamed of the way I acted in regards to my grandfather. One of the things I never got to do before he died was to apologize for what I did. The events in this next part are a few of my only true regrets.)

My grandfather really liked trains, so we would often go to the train station in Fullerton after he picked me up from school. I got to know a couple of his friends, and even though they were much older than me, I really started liking them. Christine and Larry, two of my grandfather’s friends I saw the most, offered to take me to see more trains in Pomona one night. I had been getting excited about finally getting a break from my grandfather, but he put his foot down and told them I had to stay with him. When Christine and Larry asked him if he would bring me up, he got angry and began yelling at them. When Christine got too close, my grandfather turned around and pushed her to the ground. He then grabbed my t-shirt and pulled me off in the direction of his car in the parking lot.

That night, after my grandfather had calmed down, we were in his bedroom watching the news on the only working TV in the house. We had just finished eating dinner when we heard a knock at the kitchen door. My grandfather told me to stay put, and he went to answer the door. When I heard him yelling, I snuck into the hallway and found Christine and Larry standing on the porch. They were demanding my grandfather apologize to Christine. When he refused and slammed the door in their faces, I quietly hurried back into his room and acted like nothing happened. We finished the night by watching the some more News, and then went to bed around 10:00. I was awoken about an hour and a half later by a loud banging. When I looked out of the window, I saw two police cars in front of the mobile home. I then saw Christine standing by one of the police cars, accompanied by Larry. When an officer came into my room, he asked me if I was okay. When I told him yes, he asked me to get as many clothes that I could fit into one bag. When I asked him why, he told me that he was taking me someplace safe. I grabbed a few clothes and tossed them into my backpack, then followed the officer out of the house.

I overheard Christine talking to another officer outside, and found out that she feared my grandfather was physically abusing me. I finally found a way out of this hell hole! When the officers placed me in the car, they asked me if I had any family in the area. I told them that my Mom and Step-Dad lived on the other side of Anaheim, and my Dad and his wife lived in Buena Park. They took me back to the police station, and offered me a soda while they called my Mom and stepfather first. When the officer returned to the waiting area I was sitting in, he told me that my Mom was still upset about the shoplifting and didn’t want me at home. He then called my dad and asked him if he could come and get me, but I knew my dad would say no. I had already lived with him and his wife once before and made them very angry in the past by skipping school and getting into trouble. I didn’t think I was a bad kid, just very mischievous. I wasn’t a bad student either; I just needed to apply myself to getting my work done.

After the officer returned for the second time, he said no luck with my dad and I was going to have to be taken to Orangewood Children’s Home. I nodded slowly as I realized that I was about to become a “system kid”. I had known a few people who had been taken away from their parents and put into foster homes, but I thought that it could never happen to me. I stopped the officer and told him I didn’t want to go to Orangewood. He looked me in the eye and asked me if I had been telling the truth about my grandfather. I felt bad lying about my grandfather and was about to tell him 'no', but no matter how bad I felt I couldn’t continue living with my grandfather, or be arrested for lying to the police. When I nodded my head and told him it was the truth, he looked me in the eye a few moments longer and then walked away. About 15 minutes later, the night watch commander came out of his office and told me I would be escorted to Orangewood in a couple hours. I looked at my watch and saw that it was already half past midnight, so I decided that I might as well take a quick nap.

A little change might be in order...

I spent just over 3 weeks in Orangewood. On November 21st, I was escorted to the front office in order to meet with a representative from a group home called Olive Crest Children's Home. In contrast to a foster home, a group home employs individuals to watch the children in shifts, and after these shifts, they get to go home to their own lives.

The representative, Steve Goclowski, informed me that both of my parents had signed away their parental rights to the state of California. As such, it was then required that Social Services would have to find a permanent home for me. Apparently, Palm House, one of many homes in Olive Crest, would be it. I spent the next 3 or 4 months getting used to my new life. It wasn't completely horrible, but it wasn't what exactly paradise. Being in a group situation, it wasn't long before the other boys in the house (there were 6 of us) knew my deepest secret. My issues were talked about in group sessions, just as the other boys' issues were talked about as well. They knew I wanted to be a girl. And they never let me live it down.

I was visited by Shanen and his family a couple times, and even Serena and I had worked out enough of our differences for her to come pay me a visit. But being visited by people on the "outside" only made me want to be free myself. By February 1997, I had had enough. I wanted out. I packed up my clothes, took my allowance money, and bussed from City of Orange back to Buena Park. Serena had put me in contact with her brother, Sharif. He told me I could come stay at his house if I wanted. It was what I had dreamed... I was 17, already practically an adult. Why couldn't I go live with friends? I was reintroduced to one of Serena's friends, Raul. A friendly gay guy, not much older than me, I told him my secret early on in the friendship. If I wasn't at Sharif's house, I was hanging out with Raul. One day, we were hanging out in his bedroom, listening to Nirvana's Unplugged album. He brought up that since I wanted to be a girl, how would I feel about sex with a boy. I told him I was already traumatized. He said that he understood.

And it almost happened again... I got too close to a guy... Being woken up by someone touching you in places you shouldn't be touched... I had instant flashbacks of Freddy all over again. I screamed "NO!", grabbed my stuff, and ran out of his house back to Sharif's house. That night, Raul came over and apologized. He said he didn't know what he was doing and asked my forgiveness. I couldn't give it. I called up Palm House. I wanted to go back. I needed the security of being in Olive Crest. I wasn't ready for this. Not yet.

I spent the next week back at Palm House growing increasingly defiant. Something was wrong and nobody could figure me out. I wasn't telling them either. Eventually, amongst all the anger, I got physical with one of the staff. Yeah, that did it... I got locked back up in Orangewood for a 2 week "respite"... That's when I started to re-evaluate things... I needed to play by their rules, so I tried to be the normal kid again. Just a few weeks after I was allowed back in Palm House, I was transferred to a different house. Melody House. A lot more freedom. Apparently, within the hierarchy at Olive Crest, it was seen by some that I didn't belong in Palm House. I soon found out the reason. The Management of Olive Crest knew everything that had happened in my life... including the molestation I endured. They used me, as an experiment, to see if someone who was molested could peacefully live with sexual offenders. Not all of the boys at Palm House were bad, I even got close to a couple of them. I don't know who's bright idea it was, but if I ever find them, I'd probably hurt them. Some within Olive Crest did seem to have compassion, and spent the six months I was already in Olive Crest lobbying for me to be transferred. My AWOL and subsequent lock up in Orangewood seemed to be cause for the powers that be to finally heed the warning and send me to a different house... My nightmare was far from over, but things were finally starting to look up. I had made some good friends in Olive Crest, and even count some of them today as being among my closest friends.

(Joline, Lisa, Jesse, Angel, and Lance... You are some of the best friends anyone could have... You have accepted me for who I am, and I will never forget that.)

I finished out the remainder of my time at Melody House struggling to continue appearing normal. Having turned 18 in October 1997, I was given 6 months to finish school, find a job, and find a place to live. I was so far behind in school credits that I opted for the CHSPE (a version of the GED). I found a job working with my Step-Dad, but due to safety regulations, I wasn't allowed to work there as long as I lived in Olive Crest. I had reconciled with my Mother just a few months before, and we came to an agreement of me moving in with them in their small house, so I could take the job at Cinram.

What a life, what a life...

After moving back in with my parents, I struggled to accept adulthood. I was lazy, self centered, and still had my issues. After a particularly nasty argument, my mother kicked me out of the house again. I then moved in with an ex-girlfriend and her mother & siblings, as she and I had reconciled our failed relationship from Junior High. Bit it ended very quickly, and I was forced to move once again. With no place to go, I moved in with the Haan's again. After a couple weeks, my Mother called to apologize, inviting me to come back home. A few weeks later, we moved from the small house, which was owned by my Step-Dad's family, into a larger mobile home in East Anaheim. Over the course of the next few months, I was still an angry individual. Spurred on by months of mental abuse, I spent a good portion of my free time with Jeff, a staff member I had met during my time at Palm House. He was one of the few males I felt I could trust. He and I had already become close during my time in Olive Crest. He was known as Papa by the other Palm House boys. On Mother's Day of 1998, my parents had plans to go out. Prior to this, I had made plans to spend most of the day with Papa. My parents said it was ok as long as I was back enough time to babysit my baby sister. I spent much of that day venting my frustrations to Papa. He knew my secret, and he was supportive. I told him I didn't want to go back to my parents house, and that began a conversation of where I would go.

After several hours, Papa and I had come up with plans for me moving into his apartment. He already had a roommate, Juan, and he didn't seem to mind if I moved in. The only thing is, Juan didn't know my secret. I still couldn't live the way I wanted to. Papa and I discussed this further, and decided that I could be Leah (the new name I had chosen) while Juan was at work. Around 5pm, my pager went off. It was my parents. I ignored the pager as it went off several more times. I had had enough of living with my Mother. Eventually, I called my Mother back to find out that since I neglected my babysitting duties, I was being thrown out of the house. I could deal with that...

Papa and I drove over the my Mother's house the next day to get my belongings. It finally seemed like I was going to be free... I quit my job at Cinram (I couldn't cope with working with my Step-Dad) and found a job at a local Taco Bell... What a step down. I went from making around $2000 a month to $5 an hour, part time. But it afforded me the chance to explore who I was. My hair had already started getting longer, and I was, at most times, very androgynous looking. I was 18, 5'9", and very thin. I hadn't yet (strangely enough) grown to my full height of what would eventually be 5'11 3/4". Every evening, I had to clean up and be a boy again for when Juan got home.

I was friendly with the next door neighbors. The mother was named Annie, and she had a 15 year old teenage daughter named Tanya, and a 19 year old son, Brian. Tanya was accepting of me, and often tried to help me with things like hair and makeup. She was also the one who introduced me to smoking. Oh yes... a teenager got me into smoking, how ironic... I'm pretty sure I already had it in me to smoke, after all, I had lived with smokers my entire life before Olive Crest. Anyway, Tanya and I spent most afternoons just hanging out on our front porch. And then something happened one day. I was on our porch, having a cigarette in full girl mode. And a familiar car pulled up in front of the apartment. Juan had come home early from work! He walked up the stairs to the porch, walked right past me, started to open the front door, and stopped. He turned around and looked back at me. Stunned? I don't know... but he walked in the house, and never said a word. Papa was inside too, just as surprised as I was to see Juan home.

It was decided then that since my secret was out, I could go back to living full time as a girl. I was so happy, I began to cry. My time at Taco Bell didn't seem so unbearable, and I even enrolled at Fullerton Community College. I was me!

Being only a 2 bedroom apartment, I didn't have my own room, my own space. I slept in the same bed as Papa. The bed was huge. It was a California King. I didn't mind, except for his rather loud snoring. After the lease was up, we were determined to find a larger apartment. Unfortunately, my pay at Taco Bell wouldn't allow for us to afford a 3 bedroom apartment. We instead found another 2 bedroom apartment a couple blocks from the previous one. I was genuinely happy with my life. Papa had taught me how to drive, and I was trying to save up my money for a car. All seemed well...

But the past events of my life had a way of manifesting themselves into my dreams. My nightmares. And it made me something of a paranoid person. I tried to shake off the paranoia, but the nightmares kept returning. Eventually, they started to feel "real". I woke up several times with the feeling that I had been physically touched. And the paranoia just got worse. I eventually accused Papa of touching me inappropriately in my sleep. Things got worse. I felt like I couldn't trust anybody. Over and over the nightmares were affecting my day to day life. I lost my job at Taco Bell, and because I couldn't pay my rent to Papa, I decided to contact my Mother. I had made something of an attempt at making amends a couple months prior. She allowed me to move back in, provided I kept going to school and worked at least part time. I agreed. Papa left me an open invitation to move back in with him, should the need arise... End of transition attempt number two...

Oops, I did it again...

One of the things I should have already learned by this point was to not trust my Mother. The reconciliation didn't last. I wound up being kicked out yet again, this time for no apparent reason.

I spent the next few months bouncing from friend to friend, couch surfing. Lisa also let me stay on her couch for a time, even going so far as to helping me get a job at the same Taco Bell she worked at. Eventually, Papa told me he was no longer living with Juan, but instead had moved in with his brother Dale in Corona. I spent a few weeks staying there, before Papa and I began to look for another apartment. We moved into our 1 bedroom apartment in May of 1999... Not exactly a big apartment, but it was just the two of us.

One of our neighbors turned out o be a male to female transsexual. The first I had ever met in person. While being married and having a daughter, she didn't get to live full time, unfortunately. I quickly confessed my secret to her, and we became friends. After a few weeks, she encouraged me to try resuming my transition. After an injury kept me from working at Taco Bell, and the subsequent recovery, I was forced to remain living as a male in order to get jobs doing odds and ends, working from one place to another. Eventually, I found a job with a security company. The first of many. I re-enrolled at Fullerton college, and thought my life was on track again... until the nightmares returned. I again had the strange sensation of someone touching me while I was asleep. And the paranoia again caused me to accuse Papa of doing something wrong, even though If logically I knew he wasn't doing anything... Eventually, I decided to leave again. And again, I went crawling back to my Mother... I never learn, do I?

This time around, I quit school altogether. I focused on my new 10pm-6am security job at Albertson's Distribution Warehouse . I slept during the day. I still had a little bit of a social life, though attempts at meeting up with my then current girlfriend, Hayley, proved next to impossible. On February 15th, after picking up my Step-Dad from work and dropping him off at home, I went to a birthday party for my friend Shaun. I met him and his girlfriend, Jessica, when I started working security at Albertson's... Upon arriving at the party, I gazed upon the face of someone who would change my life forever... Michelle. Yes, as in my soon-to-be-ex-wife.

The beginning of a new life...

I spent the majority of Shaun's birthday party fixated on Michelle. She matched what I considered pretty to a perfect "T". She was a little big, but that didn't bother me. I liked bigger girls. The party consisted of things like presents and birthday cake, and then a trip over to the computer to play some You Don't Know Jack. After a while, we started getting a little cabin fever, and decided to head from Downey, where Shaun and Jessica's apartment was, down to Michelle's house in Garden Grove. She had assured us that it would be fine with her parents, so Michelle, Jessica, and Jessica's friend Diane packed into Diane's car. Shaun and I got then into my truck and followed Diane all the way back to Orange County. After a small incident (I passed a motorcycle cop while speeding, and thankfully didn't get pulled over), we made it to Michelle's house. At 21 years old, she was still living at home with her parents and older sister. After meeting her parents, Virginia and Mickey, we headed into the large family room in the back of the house. Shaun had been a friend of Michelle's since high school, and even while having dated Michelle in the past, he was welcomed in the Rood home frequently. I was extremely nervous around Michelle's parents, though I did give it my best effort to be as normal seeming as possible. As the evening wound down, all five of us headed out to the front of the house, hanging out on the bed of my pick-up truck until I had to leave.

As I lifted the tail-gate, I asked Shaun to come talk to me in the cab of the truck. Once Shaun had gotten in, I quickly asked him if Michelle was available. He said she was. I told him I liked her very much, but asked him not to say anything to her until I was ready. Yeah... in hind sight, I should've known that was never going to happen.

The next day, I got a phone call from Shaun. He confessed he had told Michelle of our conversation under the pending threat of losing his masculinity at the hands of Michelle. Of course, I knew that was just a humorous reason, but he seemed to think Michelle had similar feelings towards me. After getting Michelle's phone number from Shaun, I called her and asked if she would like to go on a date with me. She quickly accepted.

I spent the next several days panicked about whether or not Michelle would notice my differences, and decide not to spend more time with me. While living with my parents, I had been forced to shed my lifestyle of living like a girl once again. But there were noticeable things in my mannerisms. I tried very hard to push them aside so I didn't have to deal with my parents' criticism.

My fears were obviously unfounded... After spending much of the afternoon together, Michelle and I decided to visit a friend of hers named Desiree. After about half an hour of visiting with Desiree, Michelle and I decided to go get something to eat. And someone decided to put herself into the date with us. Now, Michelle has never been very confrontational, but I had hoped she would've told Desiree that we would rather be alone. Instead, our very first date wound up being at a Jack-in-the-Box with one of her friends tagging along... How romantic... Yeah, ok, so after we finished our meal, we went back to my truck. Michelle finally started getting a little defensive once Desiree attempted to sit in the middle of the bench seat between Michelle and I. Michelle then told her that this was supposed to be our date, and that we would be dropping Desiree off and leaving. Now, I still don't know to this day what was up with Desiree, but either she was being protective of Michelle, or she too had a thing for me. And the latter was complicated by the fact that Desiree was, not only not my type, but she also was pregnant and had a fiancé. Yeah, so awkward...

After dropping off Desiree, Michelle and I managed to finally have some alone time. The sun was near it's setting, so I decided to show Michelle my favorite spot to hang out at the beach. I drove us to Newport Beach, and had her follow me to the jetties, a group of rocks that acted like a wall. They stretched out into the water, like a pier. I brought a beach towel from my truck, and laid it down on the rocks. And that was it... I think at that moment, while sitting on the rocks watching the sunset, is when I began to fall in love. I know, it seemed fast, but there was something about Michelle that immediately made me think she could be the one I would spend my life with. After dropping her off at home, I gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and she reciprocated. Yet, despite all the ups and downs of the day already, this day was not over for me yet. Heading home, I soon found myself being pulled over by the California Highway Patrol. Now, I had already talked myself out of a speeding ticket that night, but, much to my horror, I would not be so lucky this time.

The officer asked for all the usual stuff... my driver license, vehicle registration, and proof of car insurance. Before I go too much further, I need to let you know a couple things. While I was making payments to my parents for the pick-up, it was still technically in their name. I had been told by my Step-Dad that all the information was in the glove compartment. And I believed him. Big mistake, for as soon as I began searching for the insurance card, I knew in my gut that there wasn't one to be found. This led to a chain of events... finding myself betrayed yet again by my parents, and having to find a new place to live again. Thankfully, despite their reluctance, Michelle's parents agreed to let me crash on their couch in the family room for a few weeks. By this time, Michelle and I had grown quite close, spending nearly every waking moment with each other while not at work. By this time, I was now working the night shift doing security in the southern part of Santa Ana, near Orange County's John Wayne Airport. If it had not been for Michelle's friend, Elisha, I wouldn't have been able to keep that job. The three of us wound up spending a lot of time together, as Michelle would often spend the night at Elisha's so she cold be there with Elisha in the morning to pick me up. In April 2000, a few weeks before her 22nd birthday, Michelle told me she was ready to take the relationship to the next level. Yep, I was in love. And not just because she was willing to have sex with me, but she was, still is, one of the kindest, compassionate people I have ever known.

Eventually, I reconciled with Papa again. Before moving back into my apartment in Anaheim, I decided I needed to tell Michelle my true feelings. After all, if things between us got even more serious than just being intimate, I didn't want to have to hide anything from her. She was shocked, to say the least. But she seemed willing to test it out. After moving back into my apartment, I showed her some of the clothes I had managed to keep hidden away when moving back in with my parents just a few months prior. She thought some of the clothes were cute, and others she thought needed to be gotten rid of. Apparently, I had much to learn still about female fashion. After a little more time, Michelle actually began to help me when picking out clothes. I was ecstatic. I thought that I had finally found a long term girlfriend that could accept me and my desire to be female. Guess again.

Several months into the relationship, the lease on the apartment was up. Papa had decided to move into some cheaper apartments in Fullerton. With other roommates. Namely, my cousin Jeff, his, now ex-wife and newborn son, and a couple of other kids previously from Olive Crest. With all said and done, Michelle and I began to look for a roommate of our own. Noticing the rent was indeed cheaper at the apartments in Fullerton, we soon decided to rent a one bedroom apartment. Soon after, we converted the dining room into a bedroom for one of Michelle's high school friends, Jarred. Michelle admitted having had a crush on him in high school, but I trusted the two of them alone.

Eventually, having lost my job, and Michelle's hours cut back at Disneyland and Mervyn's, we were no longer able to afford the apartment. We managed to get the landlords to let us out of our lease, instead of being evicted. Moving in with Michelle's parents, I was forced to hide my cross-dressing (which is what it was referred to by most people as) yet again. Michelle's sister had moved out of the house by then, so I was given my own bedroom. I managed to stash away the clothes in a night stand drawer, but Michelle was worried about her parents finding out. Michelle forced me to get rid of all my female clothes, some of them finding their way into her own wardrobe. I was devastated, to say the least. It went on like this for the next couple of years. We would get our own place, then something would happen to make us move back in with her parents, or move in with mine.

In 2002, after moving out of a rented bedroom in Westminster, we found ourselves packing up our belongings and moving via Greyhound bus to Sandpoint, Idaho area. My parents had moved there the previous, December and offered to help pay for tickets to come out. I should've known not to trust my Mother.

A few weeks into our stay in Idaho, My mother grew extremely impatient, throwing us out of the house after stating we should already have had jobs by then. Now, let me clarify something... Sandpoint itself was actually about 12 miles up the two lane US Highway 95. Without public transportation, we were unable to get to the town unless my Step-Dad drove us. And he wasn't exactly very accommodating about that either. Most times, he wouldn't even let us catch a ride with him to town on his way in to work.

Panicked, we decided to call Michelle's parents to see if they could help us get back to California. Upon getting a resounding "No" from them, I resorted to contacting the last person I ever thought I would go to for help. My Dad. Dear old Dad was willing to let us stay out in Idaho and suffer, but thankfully, his wife was not. I never had a great relationship with Kathy, but at that moment, she was our savior. Two weeks later, we found ourselves once again back in California with nowhere to go. We moved in with my Dad and Kathy for a few months, but eventually needed to find a new place to stay. After Michelle and I had both found, and subsequently, lost jobs, we were again in a bind. By this time, Michelle's parents no longer thought highly of me, and would not allow me to return with Michelle to live in their home again. Also at this time, Papa had gotten fed up living with a bunch of irresponsible party kids. He and I met up to discuss finding a new apartment. With Michelle living at her parents' house, it would just be Papa and I. Well, that didn't last. Soon after, my cousin Jeff began needing a place to stay. He was given temporary custody of his son, Josh, when Jeff's ex-wife was no longer able to provide a stable home for him. Still without a job, I agreed to watch Josh in exchange for Jeff providing me with cigarettes. At other times, Papa would watch Josh if Michelle and I were spending time together. This arrangement worked out well for a few weeks.

How many times am I going to screw up...

Close to New Year's Eve 2002, I was becoming increasingly agitated. I wasn't sure if it was because I still hadn't found a job, or because I was unable to live as a female, despite Papa's acceptance. Finally, after a noteworthy argument with Michelle. I decided to end the relationship with her. While the argument was indeed noteworthy to me, Michelle didn't think it was enough to merrit us breaking up. After refusing to leave, I began yelling furiously at her, insulting her, bringing her to tears. That is a moment I am not proud of. I hurt her with words that I can never take back. Even now, amid our currently active divorce, I would take back those words in a heartbeat if I could.

Soon after, I realized the horrible mistake I had made. Despite my constant apologies and pleadings, Michelle was unwilling to take me back at that time. Feeling alone, and horribly and thoroughly disgusted with myself, I began finding ways to afford a few nightly rounds of alcohol at a local bar. After a few weeks, the loneliness began to sink in even more. I found myself on dating websites when sober, trying to find a new soul mate. My friends tried, albeit in vain, to help fill the void I felt from Michelle's absence. I had spent more time online and in person with Serena in the last few weeks, than I had in our entire relationship back in high school. Eventually, I met a girl named Sarah on an online dating website. After meeting at a local Starbucks, we started talking about the possibility of a relationship. Sarah was a big girl, and as I had previously mentioned, I liked big girls. They seemed less materialistic than thin girls in my opinion. Sarah also attended a local Christian college. Due to her religious beliefs, I was afraid to tell her my secret. After a few dates, she mentioned that I didn't seem to be over Michelle. True, I had brought up Michelle in a few conversations, but I didn't think it was an issue. More of a comparison between Sarah and her, really. Guess I was wrong. A few days later, Sarah broke up with me, believing it would be healthy for me to try and reconcile with Michelle. Despite the failed relationship, Sarah and I remained friends a few more years, before losing all contact. Last I heard, she was happily married and living a great life.

Over the next few weeks, I had met a few other girls online. One of them, Cathy, agreed to meet in person. Sarah agreed to wait with me until Cathy showed up. While chit-chatting, Sarah asked me what had happened between Michelle and I. Not wanting to divulge my true actions, I simply told her Michelle was needing some time apart from me. Not entirely the truth, but not entirely a lie either, Sarah seemed content to accept what I had said. Once Cathy arrived, Sarah left, and I got on with getting to know Cathy a bit better. What I hadn't realized was, even after seeing pictures online, how much Cathy looked like Kristen, Michelle's sister. It was a little too much for me. After agreeing to keep in touch over the next few days, we parted ways. I went home to change clothes, then to the bar. I kept thinking about how badly I had messed up with Michelle. Several drinks later, and a lot of tears shed, I went home. Quietly, I snuck in to the apartment, as not to wake Jeff or his son. After messing around on my computer for a couple hours, I looked at the clock and noticed it was 5am. As I went to lay down on the couch I usually slept on, the phone rang. It was Jeff's boss, asking him to go into work that day, which was now Sunday. Usually, Jeff had Sunday off and spent it taking Josh out to parks and such. Since Papa worked on Sunday, I was asked to babysit Josh. I hadn't even been to sleep yet. Of course, I couldn't say no.

Josh and I spent the better part of the morning simply laying around the house, watching TV and eating Spaghetti-o’s. About noon, I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open. I called a few friends to see if they could come over and help with watching Josh. Not a single one of them agreed to help. Finally, I called Michelle. I was surprised she answered. She agreed to come over and help, as long as we kept the interaction to a minimum. I fell asleep on the couch shortly after Michelle arrived. As promised, I didn't talk with her much, except to say thank you and advising her when Josh's diaper had last been changed.

A couple hours later, after waking from my nap, Michelle and I began a conversation that would soon lead to our reconciliation. I was in disbelief that Michelle was offering to give me another chance. She told me she had thought long and hard about it while I was asleep. Seeing me again in person had not been easy for her, and it made her re-evaluate her feelings for me.

About 6pm, Papa came home from work, and offered Michelle a ride home. Jeff was also home by then, caring for his son, so I went with Papa to drop off Michelle. After a quick kiss on the lips, she promised to call me the next day. My life felt almost normal again.

After a few more times of meeting to talk about restarting our relationship, Michelle and I decided to give it another shot. Sadly, we would not be able to be together physically much longer. Papa, had decided to move to Las Vegas, but was unwilling to bring anyone along with him this time. He wanted a fresh start. I couldn’t blame him, though that left me with very few options of a place to live. Despite our rekindled relationship, Michelle's parents were still unwilling to let me move back in to their home. I called my Dad and Kathy, but they were stll upset due to a couple broken promises I made. Yep, it was time to punish myself. I called my Mom and Step-Dad, who once again agreed to help me move out to Idaho. Now, with my parents now living in town, it would be much easier for me to find a job there.

In April 2003, I once again found myself packing my bags and heading to the local Greyhound station. Once on the bus, I began feeling the sadness of leaving Michelle behind. I didn't know how long it would be before I saw her again. About halfway through the first of 3 days on the bus, I met Meghan. She seemed... well, different to me. After stopping in Sacramento to switch buses, she and I went outside for a cigarette. When I noticed we were alone, I decided to ask her if she was TS. Not exactly the best thing to do, I know, but it paid off. She affirmed what I had been thinking, that she was a transwoman. I quickly told her I was a closeted TS, and we hit it off. We spent the rest of the trip talking, learning about each other. Once we arrived at her destination, she left me with her email address and phone number. The next several hours traveling to my destination seemed a lot more lonely.

Upon arriving in Coeur D'Alene, Idaho, I was greeted by my Mother and her sister. I quickly settled in to the new home, calling Michelle to let her know I had arrived safely. She and I continued to call each other daily, aware of how hard the distance was making it on the relationship itself. My life fell into routine pretty quickly. I found a job at a local gas station, working the early day shift, 5am to 1pm. At night I would often help my Step-Dad clean my sister's private school at his side job. Things were... well, normal.

Life goes on...

At the beginning of Summer 2003, Michelle and I had started making plans for her to come out to Idaho for a visit. at the end of June, my Aunt Char and I went to Coeur D'Alene to pick Michelle up from the Greyhound station. Instinctively, I knew Michelle would not be able to leave. The date for Michelle to go home had come and gone. She and I began to talk about when she would have to go back to get her belongings. During one of these conversations, my mother approached us with questions about getting married. Later that same day, after careful consideration, Michelle and I had a marriage license and were waiting nervously before going in front of the judge. My cousin Les and his wife served as witnesses, as the Judge had us recite our vows. We were married. I loved Michelle, and now that we were married, I had to be there for her as her husband... as a man.

Michelle went back to California to tell her family we were married, and to get her belongings. That did not bode well. Her parents were hurt, and upset that we didn't at least invite them out. She and I were both afraid they would have tried to stop the marriage if they had known about it. Through the next several months, we worked, paid bills, even bought a car. We were husband and wife. Even though I knew I couldn't be female, my life felt normal. Like a void had been filled. Once Winter hit, Michelle found out she was pregnant. Around Christmas time, we went out to California for Christmas with her parents one last time before they moved to Florida. After getting home in January, things began getting desperate in the house. Since we were still living with my parents, we were forced to sleep on a futon in the living room. The futon was later moved to the dining room, which was much colder than the living room. In February, Michelle miscarried... My parents were unsympathetic, and Michelle and I were beginning to feel like we were no longer welcome in the house.

Now, Sandpoint is a very small town. A little more than 6,400 people back in 2003. There weren't very many apartments available, and though Michelle and I both were working, we still couldn't afford a full sized house.

Eventually, we made plans behind my parents' back to move to Florida. Michelle's parents would finance the move, all we had to do was quietly pack our belongings and have them shipped without my parents noticing. To tell you the truth, I was afraid of my Mother. She had shown violent bursts of anger in the past. I didn't know how she'd react to the idea of Michelle and I moving to Florida, but I didn't want to give her the chance. On February 24th, a few minutes before midnight, we put the rest of our few belongings in our car and started the drive to Coeur D'Alene. We spent a week in a motel in Coeur D'Alene waiting for the day we would board the plane to Florida. While staying at that motel, my Cousin Les and his wife came to visit. They were sympathetic to our situation, and had offered to buy our car from us.

At long last, March 4th had come. We boarded a plane in Spokane, Washington and made our way to Florida to start our lives over... again.

Goodbye Idaho, Hello sunshine... state...

I felt a renewed sense of life upon to moving to Florida. I felt like we had been given a chance to start over. Michelle's parents had not only financed our move to Florida, but had provided us with a place to stay. Our own home. Two weeks after landing in Florida, we moved into our cozy two bedroom condo in Longwood. The arrangement was we had to pay $400 a month for rent. I figured that as soon as we got jobs, we could do that. I quickly landed a job at the local Burger King, and Michelle soon was employed at Crisper's, a local deli. Things were going well, though we still didn't have a car. In May, Michelle and I found out she was pregnant again. This time we would be even more careful.

Things at Burger King didn't last, but I had already picked up a second job at a local gas station. Michelle was eventually let go at Crisper's. They feared being sued by us should Michelle fall at work and have another miscarriage. A few weeks later, Michelle's parents went to North Carolina for a vacation. While there, her parents had bought us a car. a 1983 Chevy Caprice. Not much to look at, but it ran, and was comfortable. From there, I picked up a second job at a local pizzeria delivering pizzas. Working both jobs eventually became difficult, as I was Michelle's only form of transportation to and from prenatal doctor visits. I didn't have much time to myself either, so I wound up saying goodbye to the gas station and kept my pizza delivery job. With Michelle not working, things became tight at home. After a few bad decisions, we had started falling short with rent every couple of months or so, and began accumulating debt. We spent the next few months struggling, but being happy. As the summer went on, we were able to have an ultrasound done to determine our child's sex. Up to this point, we had been calling it Peanut. And then it happened... the baby opened its legs just wide enough and long enough to see that she was a girl. A baby girl. My baby girl. We started going through names, but the final decision was yet to be made.

On October 24th, 2004, I dropped off Michelle at her parent's house before heading to work. She had been complaining of a back ache for the past two days, And I didn't want to her to be alone. about 4pm, I received a call from my mother-in-law telling me she was taking Michelle to the hospital, and to get there as soon as I could. With two hours left off my shift, my boss let me leave to go to the hospital. Upon arrival, I was escorted to the room in which Michelle was located.

The next thing I knew, a young nurse came in, looked under Michelle's hospital gown, and yelled out loud. An older, experienced came in, saw what had startled the young nurse, and began to try and calm her down. When Michelle and I asked what was happening, the older nurse calmly told us that we were going to have a baby. Michelle and I chuckled, and told her we already knew that. The nurse apologized and clarified herself. We were going to have a baby... Today!

The baby had already begun crowning, and moving Michelle was the last thing the nurses and doctors wanted to do. A call was quickly put in to Michelle's OB, and he would be at the hospital within the hour. Michelle and I panicked. She was only just at the end of her 27th week. That meant the baby still had around three months to go before she was full term. We were told that a special premature baby unit was being sent from Arnold Palmer Children's Hospital in Downtown Orlando. After Michelle's OB arrived, it was decided to move Michelle to a maternity room. Very carefully, and without allowing Michelle to get up, they transferred her from the gurney to the bed in her room.

At 8:18pm, with the Arnold Palmer team assisting, Michelle's water was broken. The next few things that happened are pretty much a blur. I was standing next to Michelle, my hand in hers. She was being told to push. She hadn't been allowed an epidural, they didn't want her sitting up for it to be administered. Her arm went limp, her eyes appeared to roll back and she looked suddenly pale. I heard an alarm go off, and the nurses pushed my away from the bed. Next thing I knew, I was allowed back by Michelle's side, and once again she was gripping my hand, pushing against the contractions. It was a miracle. The miracle of a baby being born. The miracle of life. Everything that had just happened occurred in the span of only 2 minutes. 120 seconds. just a few dozen breaths worth of time had passed.

At 8:20 PM October 24th 2004, My daughter was born. 2lbs 11ozs... 14 1/2 inches long... The life I had helped create. The life that changed me forever. The life that made me a parent, a daddy, a father. In the instant she was born, Michelle and I knew what her name was: Bethany Grace Rose. She was so tiny, so fragile, even more so than full term babies. She was going to have a rough time, we had to be strong for her. Michelle was briefly allowed to hold her before she was quickly spirited away to the NICU... I didn't even get to touch her.

Bethany was transported to Arnold Palmer's NICU, but Michelle wouldn't be discharged until the next day. After a fitful sleep, she was discharged the next morning. Instead of going home, we quickly made our way to Downtown Orlando to see our baby. The next several weeks were indeed hard. Bethany had a few times been required to be put on a ventilator. This was hard for both Michelle and I to see. One time, we were told that Bethany wasn't doing well, and we should have a priest perform a baptism, just in case. Knowing how close we came to losing her is one of the hardest things I'd had to live with at the time. And then a miracle happened. She surprised the doctors and the nurses with her recovery. It was later said that the day all of her family came out to visit her in the hospital, she felt that love, and knew she had to live. She made leaps and bounds in becoming a healthy little baby girl. Altogether, she spent 7 weeks in the hospital.

On December 11th 2004, we brought our baby girl home. Exactly two weeks before Christmas. Who could've asked for a better Christmas gift.

The next 2 1/2 years were a whirlwind of working, spending time with my daughter, trying to be the best parent I could be. Granted, I didn't always sit down and just play with her, but I tried. It was difficult to have time alone with Bethany. Michelle was always hovering, never letting me take care of any of Bethany's needs. Eventually, I came to the decision of Enlisting in the US Army. We had spent the better part of the last year realizing our finances were in trouble. I thought if I enlisted, and Michelle and Bethany move into my in-laws house, we would be able to get out of debt.

Sure enough, I enlisted, and was sent to MEPS in Tampa to complete my medical and physical testing. Somehow, I managed to pass my hearing test with flying colors, despite having had a hearing issue since I was 6 years old. Next, I picked my job. Looking through all the technical choices, I settled on Signal Corp. The last thing to do before being shipped off to boot camp was to enjoy myself one last time. My in-laws had set up for all of us to go on a cruise to the Bahamas. This would be the first time I had been on a cruise ship. Sovereign of the Seas, my was she beautiful. Despite her age, I think she was a marvel of wonder. Anyway, While on the cruise, I picked up an ear infection while swimming with Stingrays. Shortly after getting home from the Bahamas, I went back to MEPS in Tampa to be sworn into the US Army. I was proud of myself. 27 years old, not exactly in the best shape, but I was trying to do something to better myself. Once I received my orders to ship out, I waas on a plane to Atlanta. From there, the other soldiers and I were bussed to Fort Benning, Geargia. In my opinion, the WORST boot camp.

I spent the next 10 days doing what every other soldier in Reception Station was doing... standing around, being told what to do, where to go, and when to eat, sleep, and use the latrine. Oh... how fun. In hind sight, I guess the Army wasn't for me. I respect everyone who has served. I know what they went through during their first few weeks of Boot Camp.

During the first few days, I was nervous. I had been told by my recruiter that there wouldn't be anymore medical tests after MEPS, except for the inoculations. Coming up to the hearing booths, I knew I was going to fail. It had been nothing more than sheer, dub luck that I'd passed back at MEPS. And sure enough, I did indeed fail. I was threatened with being arrested for malingering. I denied those claims, and I was told I was to be sent the Eyes, Ears, Nose, and Throat (EENT) Specialist at Martin Army Community Hospital on base. Yeah, that appointment was fun... not! I had over 15 different hearing tests, some used tones, others used this weird pressure gauge. After 10 days on base, I was told I would not be joining the rest of my Company in Boot Camp. I had failed "Medical Procurement Standards." In other words, my hearing tests eventually caught up with me. No reprieves, no waivers, I was to be sent home within the next 1-2 months. I celebrated my 28th birthday at Fort Benning, and missed my daughter's third birthday. I spent a total of 6 1/2 weeks at Fort Benning before I walked off the airplane in Orlando. Right into the waiting arms of my wife and daughter.

Depression...

It did feel good to be home, but I was now very depressed. I had failed at many of my jobs, I had failed at the Army, and I was afraid I would fail my family. On top of all of that, I had been having the urges to want to live as a female again. I spent the Next 3 weeks leading up to Thanksgiving in a total depression. Finally, on Thanksgiving, Michelle came into our room and asked what was wrong. It was time to tell her. I needed to transition. To say she was shocked is an understatement. She thought that I'd be the man, the husband, and the father for the rest of our lives. She said she needed to think, so I stayed in the room and left her alone.

About an hour later, she had come out of the bathroom, crying. She asked me one simple question. If she didn't let me transition, would I leave her? I didn't even have to think about the answer. As much as she meant to me, this was something I had to do. With, or without her.

A few minutes later, she came up to me and told me that she'd stay... that she'd let me transition, and she'd support me. The next four months went by, I was letting my hair grow back out. Michelle and I had picked out a name for me: Danielle. I was ready for this, or so I thought. I had been put in contact with the then moderator of the Transgender support group at the GLBT Community Center in Orlando. I was invited to attend a meeting with the support group, which I try to attend still to this day. I met several wonderful people. I was getting lots of support from people I had never met before. And it felt wonderful to be able to be me!

Michelle's mom had also bcome quite confrontational. She would have several cans of beer a night, then start an argument. She and her husband didn't want me in their family. I'd screwed up, been caught in a few lies. I didn't want them prying into my business, so I didn't feel like I needed to tell them the truth. To boot, they never really did accept me in their family. I was always the odd one out. Truthfully, I don't blame them... much. I was different than them. I came from a different background, I had had my issues growing up. I didn't have happy memories of being a child. I came from broken families. Michelle's family could not say the same about themselves, nor could Michelle herself.

The events of one particular night are what culminated in the decision to move back to Idaho yet again. Michelle's mother, in one of her drunken stupors, attempted to come in our bedroom, complaining that I had stolen a cigarette out of her pack. Which, of course, I did not. She then began yelling, threatening to kick me out. When I raised my voice in protest, she tried to slap me across the face. I managed to block her using only my arm, but then she tried again. This time, I lightly grabbed her wrist, and told her that I would not allow her to hit me. Memories came flooding back. My father had been a little excessive in his punishments. many times it was with a belt. But when he was drunk, he'd use fists. And I was unable to defend myself as a child.

I let go of her wrist, and she said she was going to call the police on me for attacking her. I got in my car, and drove to the nearest Walmart. I called my mother, crying, and told her what happened. Sympathetic, she told me to come home. This time would be different, she said... This time I would be a parent. So That's what Michelle and I did. We packed up our belongings again, this time in a Ryder truck, and Michelle and I drove cross country back to Idaho. Michelle had convinced her mother to fly out a week later to bring Bethany to us.

We spent 7 months in Idaho, and guess what I learned. My mother STILL could not be trusted. Shortly after arriving, my mother said we'd have to leave, because of my cross-dressing, she said... I was getting tired of this. My mother knew about the transition. She said she supported me. Well folks, I just found out a few weeks ago (November 2011) that she said it only to get us to move out there. Over time, Shaun's brother had come to be friendly with Michelle and I. He was a bit of an ass, but I could deal with him I though. He eventually moved out to Idaho to begin a relationship with one of Michelle's new friends. While living in Idaho, I did happen to meet someone that I would eventually get to know a lot better, a co-worker. He seemed friendly enough, and his wife was someone I worked with occasionally. Anyway, I guess during my time in Idaho, I inspired him. Like I said before, this was a little town. People weren't open minded. But seeing me be who I was, despite all the bigotry and hate, must have made him, now her realize her full potential. Glad I could help.

So once again, we re-packed all of our belongings and moved back to Florida. This time I made the drive alone. It was interesting, and I did get to stop in Kansas and see one of my all time best friends. Once home in Florida, Things seemed optimistic again. Michelle's mother had been going to AA Alcoholics Anonymous for nearly 6 months, and she even apologized to me. I wasn't sure if it was heartfelt, or that she just felt obligated to do it, but I accepted it. Michelle, Bethany, and I spent the next 6 months continuing to live at my in-laws' house in Lake Mary. I managed to find a job at a local call center, and worked there as "Dani". Living and working part time as Danielle seemed to be ok, but I wanted more. I knew It was selfish, but I wasn't satisfied. Finally, after 3 weeks of looking for a new home, Michelle and I talked Robert into moving to Florida, and renting a house with us. I will always remember the date we moved into that house, because it's the date I went Full time as Danielle. April 19th, 2009. I am now nearing my third year of being full time.

Robert knew about my transition into full time, but didn't like, or support it. Moments at home could get a little tense. But I was living my dream. Not to be rich, or famous, or an astronaut... My dream was to be a girl, a woman. And it finally happened. I wasn't able to start hormones, let alone my name change, due to financial difficulties. It went on this way for a year. Michelle and I had rough times too. She was beginning to have difficulties with the change, though she tried to put on a good show for me. In July, despite Michelle's wishes, I came out to her parents. Not a good idea. It made them dislike me even more. Michelle became stuck in between supporting me, and supporting her parents. Sometime later, she left me... we had an argument about how I wasn't allowed at Bethany's fifth birthday party, which was being held at my in-laws' house. And I yelled at her again, much in the same way I did when I broke up with her years before. Only this time, I did it in front of my then 5 year old daughter.

It took a little over a week, but we managed to reconcile. Robert was also beginning to make life tough, getting very confrontational. He suffered from PTSD, caused by unspeakable events that happened to him while in the army, but refused to take his medication. Michelle and I decided to move to an apartment, just a few blocks away. It was tough, living on our own. But we managed. That is, until I lost yet another job. With promises of rent being paid with our pending income tax return, we managed to stay in our apartment until the end of February 2011. Then we got the eviction notice. I talked Michelle into taking Bethany and moving into her parents' house again. But I would not be welcome there this time. We packed up our belongings again, and stored them at various friends' houses around Central Florida. I took a bed and a few other personal things with me to my friend Kelly's house. She was the sister-in-law of Stacey, one of my closest friends in Florida, and had stated I could stay with her for a while. Things eventually didn't go so well, I spent much of my food stamps keeping food in the house. It was part of our agreement, but her kids were eating though everything I bought. When I finally said I was going to cut down on the amount I spent, she started to get distant.

Around this time, I talked a friend into coming over to fix Kelly’s car. Barb, a fellow transwoman, had once been a mechanic, and had helped me fix my car several times. With Kelly's car now fixed, I guess she didn't need me around anymore. I had left on a trip with Barb to help with her truck driving job. She transported cars. When I came back, I had found I was now locked out of Kelly's house, and had effectively been kicked out. With nowhere else to go, Barb let me stay with her and her 80 year old father. I spent the next few months riding along with Barb, helping her with her car hauling in exchange for food, drink, and cigarettes, as well as a little spending money. I had given Michelle our food stamp card, and she was using it all for herself and Bethany. Since I wasn't making a lot of money, I occasionally requested to use it for the times I did not go on the road with Barb.

Prior to the eviction, I had used part of the tax refund money to buy round trip Greyhound tickets for Michelle and Bethany to travel to Idaho for my sister's high school graduation. Since I wasn't welcome at their home in my state of transition, I didn't see any reason to go. In June, near the scheduled day for Michelle and Bethany to leave, I went to my in-laws' house to give Michelle some money for the trip. In exchange, since I was giving her all the money I had, I wanted to use the food card. Michelle said no. That started an argument which led to me yelling at her the way had the last two times. And again, my daughter was there to hear it all. Since I was unable to drive, having found out my license was suspended during a routine police pull over, Barb had driven me there that day. When she saw I had begun to lose my temper, she quickly came and dragged me away... The marriage really didn't survive beyond that day.

After their return from Idaho, Michelle and Bethany continued to call every night so I could say good night to my daughter. But Michelle didn't talk much to me anymore. On our 8th wedding anniversary, I offered to take her out to eat, but she declined. During this time, I spent a lot of time with another of my closest friends, Stephanie. She and I had met a little more than a year and a half earlier when I offered to take her to the support group meeting at The Center. We could always talk, and I always felt like she was someone special. Barb and I invited her to go with us on one of our trips, just a short jaunt up to Georgia. During this trip, my marriage was in trouble. I knew it. But I wanted to stay with Michelle for the sake of Bethany. On our return trip, Barb couldn't go any further. She needed to rest. She asked Stephanie and I to wake her in a few hours, so with that, Stephanie and I left the truck to explore the shopping center we had parked in. During our time there, Stephanie and I had begun to talk, learn more about one another. I quickly realized I was beginning to develop feelings for her. But I was married. I couldn't do that to Michelle, even if the marriage was close to being over.

In August, I had a court appearance scheduled. I was due in court over the ticket I received for driving on a suspended license. I was nervous as it was. I didn't know what was going to happen. I walked into the courtroom, dressed in a matching skirt and blouse outfit. The deputy called out for MISTER Darrell Rose. A name I had not gone by in a while, at least, not with my friends. I was being served divorce papers.

Divorce. the one thing I had hoped would never happen. Michelle had filed, but since I was technically homeless, She had no way of having me served directly. That's where the court had come in. I spent the next few days going through the phases. Anger, depression, denial. Finally, after some days had gone by, I was in such a state of depression, that I took nearly a hand full of Tylenol PM's... I didn't want to wake up. I hadn't slept in 3 days. I think that was the lowest moment in my life. barb tried to wake me up, it was time to get ready to go to work. She said I didn't move a muscle, nor did I make a sound. She said she checked my pulse to make sure I was still alive, and then she left for work.

When I finally woke up, it was after noon. I stood in the bathroom, looking at myself. I cried for a while, then plopped back down on Barb's bed. I looked at her dresser and saw a pair of scissors. Maybe Michelle would take me back if I gave up being Danielle. I grabbed the scissors, and headed to the bathroom. Still crying, I grabbed my hair, and was about to cut it all off when Barb's personal ring tone went off. I knew if I didn't answer, she would've called her dad to come check up on me. I set the scissors down and answered the phone. Despite being angry with me, she needed my help. I did what she asked, and then laid back down on the bed... I couldn't believe I had almost just given up being Danielle.

Eventually, I learned from Michelle that the marriage had indeed been over for a while. She couldn’t handle me being Danielle any more. On top of that, she was tired of always struggling. I couldn’t give her the life she or my daughter deserved. Thankfully, even amid the divorce, Michelle told me she would never take my daughter away from me. I could see her whenever I wanted. But one life was over, and another was about to start.

I had pissed Barb off pretty good at that point. When she got home, she told me I needed to start looking for a real job. Living in a secluded part of Debary in Volusia County, I didn't have many nearby options. It was then that Stephanie and I had begun to consider the possibility of me moving in with her and her brother. And that's when my life changed... again.

About 4 weeks before I began writing this autobiography, I was in emotional turmoil. I still had feelings for Stephanie, but I didn't know how she would respond. I finally decided to come out with it on Facebook. It took her a couple days, and a few clues, but she finally understood how I felt about her... And now I'm lucky to have her. She's my soul mate, and we're also best friends. This is meant to be inspirational to any of you who need inspiration. You can see how I had come to live in the darkness of my demons, but then rose to live in the light when surrounded by people who care. I choose to live, now, and forever, as Danielle. That is who I am.

Danielle LeighAnn Rose

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Comments

So, you are 34 now?

So, assuming that this is all true, what are you going to do with the rest of your life? How are you going to make your life count? Sure, you went through a lot with your parents and I understand that is painful. Just know that there are those here who have gone through that and worse.

I know an individual who was thrown out of his home at 6 and put in care. Today, this person has been extremely successful and spends time with family, but also spends time trying to make life better for those of our ilk.

I also knew I was female from a very early age, was Gwinn at birth, and was very effeminate, not sissy, but just feminine. And Gwinn, sounds like Gwen, so with my diminutive size, feminine name, and high pitched voice people often mistook me for a woman. My own stepfather, a victim of the great depression, was threatened by me and beat me several times a week, several times threatening to kill me.

When I was drafted into the Army in early 1966, they just didn't know what the hell to do with me. They finally put me in the Military Police and I spent most of my time at the desk. Even in uniform, several people thought I was a woman when they first saw me.

I went on to live a life by someone else's standards, was married 40 years, had three children, 5 grand children and 3 great grand children. I was a melancholy individual, but soldiered on the best I could, trying to do what I thought was best. Many of us have done the same thing.

I never intended to come out or have SRS, but a serious abundance of strange occurances propelled me that way. As I said, I was always melancholy and then when 9/11 happened, because of my job, I saw lots of things that most don't know about it, and I eventually had a "nervous breakdown" to use an old term. They put me on lots of drugs, in heavy doses that they don't even use any more, and that blew the lid off of the GID that I'd fought off all my life. I was "The Queen of Denial". LOL. I also got addicted to bondage porn and that made me feel really guilty, so I planned to get a castration to control that drive. However, events would come to a head before I could get said operation, and I was outed, and thrown out. I did get the castration, and a year later got SRS.

AFTER I had SRS, I got off all the psych drugs, and in a year or so realised that my transition was not worth the loss of my family ties, religion, job, friends and everything else.

Still, the folks here at BCTS stood by me, and now by the mercy of God, have built a comfortable life with good friends, a new church, and the possibility of serving others until they poke me into the ground to molder away. LOL

In the 10 or so years that I have known what GID is, I have seen things get much better for us. In the 50's when I was a child, they simply killed us.

The whole thing I am trying to say is that what you do with your life is a whole lot more important than your gender identity, or your sexual preference. Try to focus on being good to yourself, serving others and God first. The rest will iron its self out along the way. If you devote yourself to making a life, then you may get the chance to make your body conform to who you think you are. If you drift through life, it is unlikely that you will ever have the money to do it.

I must admit, reluctantly, that in spite of all the pain of the losses I experienced, I am a much happier person, contribute more to society, and any complaints about my transition are just piteous whinings when I look at my old life.

Much peace

Gwendolyn

RE: So, you are 34 now?

Gwen, this is not a story. It is all true. I am 32 (b. Oct 9, 1979). I'm not sure what I''m going to do to move forward, I'm still looking for a job just to get back on my feet. I make my life count by being true to myself. I'm sorry you went through a lot too. At this point, I can't serve others, and I'm sorry if my beliefs disappoint you, but I'm not even sure anymore that there is a God... I thank you for your comment.

They're your beliefs and I respect them.

I totally missed the mark if you think I am dissing you over beliefs. You just do your best, OK?

Most of us have been through lots, but we make the choice to let it build us or tear us down. I am not SO very sure that coming out has to be as painful nowadays as it was years ago. I do think that things have improved for us.

Do find a support system; groups or what ever. Just google the area you live in to see what is there? Shrinks cost money, and I think that there are some who just drag it out to suck you dry. So just do the support folks and screw the shrinks.

I am not sure about now, but in 2006, when I had by "shuv the shouvel up me arse-ectomy", I found out when I was in Bangkok, that if a person just showed up at a clinic, you would not really need any letters or anything. You'd just pay about $200 to go to a shrink and get a SRS letter from him, and then go back to the clinic and they'd do the whole surgery and convalescence in their clinic/mini hospital. You'll never get them to admit it on line to Americans, but that is what they do for the locals.

So, that makes the support system doubly important, because if you regret it later, there is no one to have acted as the "Gate Keeper" to prevent you from losing your junk. Make sure you are not on any drugs before you make the decision, prescription or otherwise, because you want your head to be very clear on the matter.

I was on so many drugs that I would have cut my hand off and ate it, and been thankful. I've found that the explanation for much of the psych drug use is that providers get a kick back for putting you on meds. True story,and not hard to verify. You don't want these greedy bastards um "helping" you find yourself.

I was abysmally naive, stupid and bimbo-ish when I started all this and the $50k I had at the beginning got sucked up by the greedy, so there was not enough left to do the actual SRS. I had to put that on a Credit Card, and later because of financial problems had to do bankruptcy. It was an ugly, shameful business and I still feel ashamed of my stupidity.

We can talk more through PM or in the open if you like. I am very much NOT a system person. These "system" folk are what put me in the Army during Vietnam (though I did not go in country), so I just don't trust them.

You want to be a girl, and it hurts not being one, so you focus on that, and that screws your life up. I think you will find that after all the SRS bullshit, that GID hurts much less. Remember NO DRUGS of any kind, not prescription, not that street shit either and that includes gonsha.

You'll hear all sorts of tales about getting castrated first, and doing SRS later. I was castrated in April of 2005 and had SRS in August of 2006, and the Doc in Thailand said it did not matter one way or another. They did potato peel my tummy for some extra flesh, but that was only red for a few weeks. I could still wear a Brazilian Bikini, AS IF !

The thing with getting castrated is that you need fewer drugs. You don't need Spiro, and I now take Vivelle Dot and that is all. I never did all those other drugs that most forum doctors insist that are absolutely necessary. KISS. If your worried about accidentally meeting a cute girl and getting married, then just put some sperm in storage, or adopt.

Hope this helped a little.

G

Thanks

I apologize, I was PMSing pretty bad when I wrote my response yesterday and probably came across as a bitch. You have nothing to worry about in the way of drugs, I am not on any prescription meds (aside from 4mg Estradiol, 10mg Progesterone, and 100mg Spiro), nor have I EVER used "recreational" drugs... I don't even drink alcohol. The worst addictions I have are nicotine and caffeine (lol). I am currently in a relationship with another Transwoman, and already have my one child. As for SRS, If I ever find a way to afford it, I'm going to go through the proper channels, no matter how long it takes. I know girls who had SRS done "under the table" and it turned out to be done incorrectly... I also am in a support group, being the secretary of the Non-Profit organization responsible for it, as well as having my own unique support structure. I thank you for the kind words,
Danielle

how sad

Wow i guess transgenderism is a very sad thing for all of us to deal with. thanks for sharing your story it brought many tears of sadness and joy for you. but now your healing can begin.
Hugs, Lizzy

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