Inner Demons, AKA "Journals of an Angry Trans Gurl"
© 2017 Haylee V
* This is a true account of my life experiences. All persons portrayed in this story are based on actual people I've met throughout my life, and the events portrayed actually happened. No malice is intended to those individuals involved, and names have been altered to protect the identities of the people portrayed. *
* This is a copyrighted property owned exclusively by Ronald Heyward Bailey, Jr., written under the pseudonym Haylee V. Exclusive rights are hereby given to host it on Big Closet Top Shelf or any of its affiliated companies. If you are reading it anywhere else, please be aware that you are reading a pirated copy, and should inform one of the web mistresses of Big Closet (Piper, Erin, or Sephrena) the web address where you found it. *
* Thank you for taking the time to read this story. I hope you find it as enjoyable to read as it was for me to write -- Haylee V *
* And now, on to the story. *
There. I had done it. I had completed my "homework" for the "good doctor". As I finished, I debated whether or not to throw that goddamn little black composition book I had brought into the trashcan. It would be so simple. Just forget the whole thing. Forget counseling. Forget about fighting for what should have been mine all along. Forget Lynne and Bethany. Just blow everything off -- as I'd done so many times before -- and move on with my sorry life.
I mean, what's the f*cking point, anyway? She's just another in the long list of people in my life that has royally screwed me over. Just walk away. Let her rip my heart out and trample upon it as so many others had done in the past. RUN. AWAY. FAR AWAY.
I reached for the bottle of Jack I had brought just for this occasion. I poured a HUGE shot into the tumbler. I hesitated, then threw the bottle against the brick wall -- hard. It shattered into a million pieces, splattering the dark amber liquid all over the freshly painted wall and dribbling onto the snow-white carpet. F*ck this! I thought, as I got up to pour the shot down the sink. What the HELL am I doing?
I was tired -- so tired. Tired of being rejected. Tired of fighting. Tired of always running. Just tired...
I reached in the utensil drawer under the sink. I grabbed the largest butcher knife I could find. Taking it with me to the can opener on the kitchen counter, I began to sharpen it to a keen edge. I ran my finger slowly and carefully across the blade, drawing a thin trickle of blood on my naked, exposed finger as I did so. That SHOULD be sharp enough. I hope...
I took the newly sharpened blade with me to the bed, thinking. Should I leave a note? And if so, just what should it say, EXACTLY? I wonder if I will feel any pain. Having no more tears to cry, I thought, It would be nice to feel... SOMETHING. I'd hate to think I cut myself just to watch the blood flow...
Just then, the phone rang.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Yeah, man. This is John Hoode. Put that bitch Susan on the phone!"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Yeah! I know you're the PRICK screwing her. Put that cheating slut on. NOW!"
"Look, you idiot. You've got the wrong goddamn number. I don't know who the HELL Susan is, but if she's with a DICK like you, I DON'T BLAME HER FOR CHEATING! GOOD-BYE, ASSHOLE."
I slammed the phone down so hard it shook the walls. Just what I needed. Here I am, just trying to DIE, and that prick calls. What was his stupid name again? HOODE. That's right and he was looking for SUSAN. Hmmm... Hoode... Susan... Those names sound familiar. I wonder why???
Then it hit me, like a bolt out of the blue. I started smiling, then chuckling, and before long, I was braying like a donkey in heat. The knife fell silently out of my hand onto the bed.
I looked up at the ceiling.
"You've got one helluva sick sense of humor, you know that? But I get the message. I'll give her a call." I just hope she's awake at THIS hour.
I reached into my wallet and took out the distinctive crimson card. I walked over to the battered phone, and picked the receiver up off of the floor, where it had fallen after my tirade with the jerk. The jerk who -- unknowingly -- just might have saved my life. I just hoped it still worked.
I picked the receiver up off the cradle, ecstatic to hear a familiar dial tone. I quickly dialed the number.
After what seemed like an eternity, I heard a groggy voice answer silently, "Hello?"
"Yeah, Hi. I'm sorry to call you so late, but this is Geoff. We need to talk."
"OK," she replied. "Can you be at the office in say... half an hour?"
"Uhh... yeah. That works, I guess."
"Good. I'm on my way. Oh, and Geoff? Things WILL get better. Just trust me, OK?"
Trust. The ONE thing I no longer possessed. At least she's making an effort. I'll go... I at least owe her a good-bye, after waking her up at... I glanced at the clock on the wall, DAMN! It's only 2:45 in the morning? I am SOOO screwed...
I threw on some clothes rather quickly, but KNEW that I still looked disheveled. What did it matter, REALLY? I'm in a hurry. I have an excuse for looking haggard...
It's remarkable how few people are out and about at this hour. I hit every light green, and made it to Dr. Hood's office in about twenty minutes. As I was getting out of my car, I saw a newer red sedan pull into its designated spot. Crimson, of course! What IS it with this woman?
"Geoff?" a sultry feminine voice questioned.
"Yeah, it's me, Doc."
"Give me a minute to open up. I need to disarm the alarm and turn on the lights. Shouldn't be long," she said, fishing for her keys. Finding them, she quickly opened up the door and hit the light switch. She walked over to the far wall, punched in the alarm code, then motioned for me to come inside.
"I'll just be a minute. I brought some coffee and donuts. Black and strong, right?"
I can't believe she remembered THAT... It was a VERY MINUTE detail of our last "discussion".
"Need some help?"
"Nah. I got this. Just make yourself comfortable on the lounger. Or would you rather wait for me to unlock the main office?"
"Here's fine, I guess. I won't be keeping you long, anyway."
She noted the extreme sadness in my voice. How could she not? I wasn't exactly hiding how distraught I was, anyway...
"We'll see... Now, just what's going on?" she said, pulling up a chair and taking her notebook and a pen out of her purse.
"Well, I know we have an appointment later today, but I just felt this couldn't wait until then. Here!" I said, thrusting my journal at her.
She looked quizzically at me, as she took the proffered journal.
"My journal for this week. I ALWAYS try to keep my promises. I thought you might like to read it, before..."
"Before I leave," I finished. "I just can't deal with all... this. This..." I hesitated, running my hands over myself. "Me. I just wanted to say... Good bye!"
I turned to get up. Her gaze held me firm. Transfixed. Frozen.
"Are you REALLY running. Geoff? Or do you want something... BETTER?. This time. Please, don't run..."
I stood there for a moment -- or was it an hour? I just don't know anymore -- pondering her remark.
"Better?" I responded meekly.
"Yes. Better. As Lao Tzu, the great Chinese philosopher once said, 'A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.' You've already taken that first step. Will you allow yourself to take another?"
I just stood there, dumbfounded. Dr. Hood slowly eased me back on the settee.
"Give me a few minutes to actually READ your journal. It might provide me some insight into why you're feeling so..." she stopped, hesitation evident in her voice.
What is she thinking? I wondered.
"Forgive me," she said. "I just needed to get my thoughts together. I guess I'm not at my peak at..."
She glanced at her watch.
"Three thirty in the morning?" she finished, the alarm evident in her voice.
"I -- I -- I'm sorry," I stammered.
"No, it's OK. Really!" she assured me. "As my father always said, 'You can sleep when you're dead, Sue. Now GET UP!'."
"Oops... sorry," she apologized. "Poor choice of words, I guess?"
"Anyway, I DID say say call ANYTIME. And, like you, I try to keep my word, too."
She smiled, sat, and opened the journal.
When she had finished reading, she became eerily quiet -- TOO QUIET.
"Wow!" she exclaimed. "I see..."
"What?" I asked, exasperated, concern in my voice.
"You have some deep-seated issues going on here. Issues we SERIOUSLY need to address. And quickly..."
She reached in her purse and took out her phone.
"Excuse me a moment, Geoff," she said. "I just need to make a quick call. I'll be right back. Promise."
With that, she got up and unlocked her office, leaving her door slightly ajar.
I honestly tried NOT to eavesdrop, but I did manage to catch snippets of her conversation.
"Tiff? Sue. Yeah, sorry. With a patient now. Yeah, possible Baker. Yeah, witness. In thirty? OK, see you then. Thanks. Bye."
I quickly sat back on the settee before she came out of the office.
"I must say, Geoff. Reading the journal entry, and seeing you like this has me... concerned. I just called Tiffany. She'll be here in thirty minutes. We can discuss things until then."
Did she just ADMIT to everything I just overheard? Why?
She gazed at me in surprise as she noticed my jaw hit the floor.
"What is it, Geoff?"
"Umm... nothing," I lied, hopefully convincingly. "And you really didn't have to call Tiffany in. I'm OK. Really."
"She was MORE THAN happy to come in. I think she likes you," the doctor teased, good-naturedly. "Besides, a friendly face is always welcomed in times of crisis. Now, about this journal, and I assume the reason for your call..."
The atmosphere in the room thickened with tension as I began.
"You said write about rejection. So I did."
"I can see that much. But there's also so much pain. And anger. You mentioned something... ominous. Do you remember what that was?"
"I wrote down a lot of stuff that was on my mind. You'll have to be a little more clear."
She opened the journal, and pointed to some quickly scrawled (and quite large) words in the middle of the page. "Read them, please. Out loud."
I just KNEW she wouldn't let THAT slip by. The words were just too obvious.
I hesitated, looking into her pleading eyes, begging for a reprieve.
"Go on," she prodded. "You HAVE to read them. ALOUD."
"It's alright, Geoff. I know this is going to be difficult for you, but please. For me. For your wife and daughter. For YOURSELF. Please read them," she begged.
A hush filled the room. I felt the words strangling me, as all the air left my body. I CAN'T do this...
But you MUST!!! a voice answered back, from deep within my inner psyche.
I began again, this time with a renewed determination.
"I... hate...," I hesitated, drawing in a deeper breath than I ever thought possible. Then, almost imperceptibly, I whispered,"... me."
"Why, Geoff?" the doctor asked. "Why do you hate yourself so much?"
"Can't you see?" I started, as the tears began to fall uncontrollably. "I'm a FAILURE. A NOTHING. I work a dead-end 9-to-5, my wife's left me, taking the ONE THING that meant the most to me -- my daughter -- along with her. All over some damn stupid-assed joke. I've NEVER had many really close friends, I was denied the education I COULD have had, and worst of all, I've never gotten the love I DESERVE. From ANYONE. I'm just tired of all this crap. I KNEW it was a mistake coming here. I knew it was a mistake calling you. But still..."
"Still?" she asked.
"I ALWAYS try to pay my debts. I OWED you. I don't know why, or how much. I just do, OK? So I came to pay my debt. One final HURRAH for 'The Loser'. So Good Bye!"
With that, I turned to leave, just as Tiffany was coming through the door.
I collided with the opening wooden door -- hard -- and felt myself slipping away as the stars encircled me and my world went dark.
For only the second time in my life, I had been totally knocked out by a girl. When I came to, I was resting on the couch in the doctor's office, my feet propped up and a cold washcloth on my forehead.
"He's finally awake!" Tiffany squealed. I loved the lilt in her melodic voice!
"Welcome back, Mr... umm... Geoff. I thought you had left us there for a moment," the nervous doctor welcomed me.
"Uggh... Ya...," I replied groggily, as I tried to sit up. Tiffany quickly pushed me back down to a reclining position.
"Please, relax, Geoff. I called the medics. They'll be here shortly. You need to be looked after, especially since you were out for a few minutes there. You may have a concussion. And there are other things to consider, too..." she trailed off.
Other things? I thought, as my head suddenly cleared fully.
"I want you to go to the hospital for a little while -- for your own safety. They'll take good care of you, and you'll have time to heal -- both your head and your heart. When you're ready, we'll talk again. But for now, you just need to rest -- and get better. I do care about you, you know."
Tiffany wiped my pulsing temple. "So do I," she echoed. "And I want a chance to get to know the REAL you," she whispered in my ear, almost inaudibly. She gave me a quick smile as she tried -- hopelessly -- to hide her growing blush.
I was smiling as they strapped me to the gurney for my short ride to Piedmont -- and what would begin my twenty-one year foray in the mental health system.
* Yes, the phone call REALLY happened. The names may have changed a bit, but the events are all 100% real. God has a VERY WARPED sense of humor some times, especially when dealing with ME. But He made His point... *
* In South Carolina, as in many other states, Mental Health laws are on the books to dictate how clients should be treated, and the conditions by which they may be admitted for treatment -- either voluntarily or involuntarily. In South Carolina, this is called the Baker Act, and it states, in part, "..if a peace officer, after accessing the situation, determines the individual in question poses imminent or immediate harm to him/herself or others, s/he can be placed in protective custody for a period of no more than twenty-four hours at a hospital or mental health / crisis intervention facility. The individual MUST be informed, in writing if necessary, that s/he is NOT under arrest, just simply being detained for his/her own safety." It also empowers lay people, such as teachers, employers, family members, or clergy to act as agents of peace under these circumstances -- provided a witness is present at the time of detainment, and is willing to swear an affidavit stating that s/he believes the individual in question poses said harm to him/herself or others. The same power extends to medical professionals, thus the NEED for Tiffany to be present. *
* The attached journal entry, and the song, are included to provide color to the story, and as such, are COMPLETELY OPTIONAL for the understanding of this story. It is my intent that each chapter be able to stand alone on its own merits. Each of the following chapters will contain a journal entry. A warning, though: This is my darker side, and as such, may contain scenes, language, or situations that may make some readers squeamish or uncomfortable. If you have a delicate constitution, then I beg of you, PLEASE DO NOT READ THEM... *
* And finally, I beg of you: Please comment after you read. It's the ONLY way I can truly gauge reader reaction -- what I'm doing right, and where I need improvement. *
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