I have always wondered why people prefer to blame others for their problems. I guess it may be human nature or the innate inability of most of us to accept responsibility for our own actions and the results. At one time I blamed god for being born transsexual and always wanted to ask god the question "how the heck can a supposedly omnipotent being get my sex wrong"? I lost my faith along the way and when I did regain some of my faith I realized by then that god had nothing to do with why I was born transsexual.
When I was a young child of 5 my mother was stricken with paralytic polio and I was crushed. I loved my mom and dad plus I knew they loved me. It had been a rather turbulent previous year to her illness because of my insistence I was a girl and not a boy was perplexing to all the adults. There was no screaming or yelling at me over this but there were lots of adult questions and hushed meetings of the adults trying to figure out if it was just a phase or was I actually serious and did their son actually believe he was a girl.
What makes it difficult for any kid is to them the world is basically black and white or good and bad. Kids no little of the gray areas we adults know exist. I had nor do I to this day have a rational understanding of why I knew I was a girl but it was just that I knew inside I was really a girl. This is quite common with Type VI transsexuals and actually not uncommon in Type V transsexuals. There were no girl toys in my world but I was fascinated watching my grandmother sewing on her Singer Sewing Machine or cooking her incredible fried chicken or baking.
The minute my Grandmother became aware of the "issue" I was shooed away whenever I wanted to take part or even watch anything considered not 100% boy. I overheard many a conversation between my worried parents and grandparents. It was 1951 and I was in first grade and it was late September when my first school incident happened. We were asked to draw a picture of our family with crayons and my artist skills are no better today than then but I had my picture of my mom, dad, my brothers and me finished quickly.
My teacher had been fascinated with me because I was already reading way ahead of my grade level, my brothers were the same way, but she pointed to the picture and asked, "who is that", and I said, "that is me", and she said, " that is a girl and you are a boy", and I said, "No, I am a girl" and well I guess the correct term is the shit kind of hit the fan. I was told to never lie so I told her what I honestly believed.
My mom was immediately called to the school and I was quietly ushered into the main office. There was a rather heated argument and my mom was extremely upset but nothing was said to me. Within a week I was skipped a grade and two weeks after that my mom was rushed to the hospital very ill and my world came apart. My mom was paralyzed and needed an Iron Lung just to breathe. It was polio and it was really bad.
The house was like a morgue. My dad was so stressed by it all because my mom was the love of his life as he said all the time. She started to slowly get better and eventually we could visit and when my Grandmother saw her for the first time the first thing she did was turn to me and say, "look what you did to your mother", and I made the connection between the stress I caused and what she was saying. She blamed me for my mom getting polio. That was traumatic for a child about to turn 6. Worse, I actually believed her.
Transsexual children have a big issue with self worth. In general we do not have high opinions of ourselves and self worth is low which is ironically a big problem for natal girls. This would eventually lead to or begin the process of turning my behavior into a self destructive one.
I never dared mention how I felt during the time mom was in the hospital. I avoided my grandmother like she carried the plague which was nearly impossible but I almost never spoke to her. This went on for over a year. My mom spent over a year in the Hospital between the Iron Lung and the Therapy required just so she could learn to walk again. She would eventually have a slight permanent limp but she beat it as best she could.
One of the things they did to prevent nerve damaged big toes from curling up was to put a "nail" in the big toe and all I can remember is I kicked it accidentally a lot and it was excruciating for her when I did. She walked for her exercise and my grammar school was close and I rushed home every day to take my afternoon walk with her. We lived next to a large peat bog that was fenced in with active animal life and was circled by a road and we lived on that road. I like to call it an Animal Refuge but it is a peat bog. We would eventually walk around that are every single day together whether it was raining, cold, snowing, or whatever.
I loved our walks and we talked but I was at this point still afraid to say anything about being a girl. I was afraid I would make my mom sick again and put her back in the hospital. I was now 6 and in the third grade and I knew I did not fit in so being really shy I withdrew into myself and began building the wall around myself that I realized later on was my protective shield. Scotty from Star Trek would have been proud of my shield.
On one of our walks mom asked me if I was over the "I am a girl" phase and she told me later I turned whiter than I already was and begged her to forgive me for making her sick. Kids that age, even smart ones, are easily manipulated. She managed to make me tell her everything and she was quite upset with her mother and I was told to not be afraid to tell her how I felt. So I told her, "I am a girl", and she said she loved me and we will figure it out. This is kind of amazing when you realize it was 1952. Of course figuring it out meant curing me of the thoughts but it was the 50's.
I soon was skipped another grade and I was now in 4th grade and not yet 7. Outside the house unless I was with my older brother I was a recluse. My Grandfather was a great fan of Shakespeare and I was reading all of it by an early age. I had little interest in boy sports although I was forced at times to play. I was fascinated by Shakespeare and actually spent one summer talking like a character in a Shakespeare play. It seemed like a cool idea at the time. I was a weird child in so many ways.
Mom was looking for help and that led to Harvard University and my first Psychiatrist. I had just turned 8 and I was driving my Grandmother batshit crazy. There were no girls clothes so I had learned to sew and when she was gone I took fancy pillow cases and made a skirt to fit me. Not one of my brightest ideas but she knew to the foot how much cloth she used so pillow cases were my choice. I was quite good at it and even hemmed my skirts which were confiscated by my Grandmother and thrown out. I then switched to the pillow cases on my brother's bed which caused him to scream, "he is at it again".
I had a very bad experience with the first shrink that ended with him calling me weird names and my dad threatening to kick the shit out of him in front of another patient in the waiting room. It took me a while before I opened up to this famous man of Harvard and the look on his face when I finally relented and said, "I am a girl", fell somewhere between shock and horror. I never realized a man's face could get that red was my first thought. I was 8 and he told me I was a lost cause or something along those lines and actually uttered the words, "your family would be better off if you were dead", and I took him up on the thought. Of course the fact I read his book in the Library and criticized it might have had a little to do with his anger.
It is very difficult for any family with a transsexual child and particularly one that is open to them about their feelings. I knew I was a girl, I just knew it but how do you convince adults you are right? I swallowed a bottle of my Grandmothers pills and was saved because my older brother found me and I had my first experience with the dreaded stomach pump. You would think that experience alone would curb my self destructive thoughts but when you feel hopeless and in reality nobody really believes you it is easy for the mind to convince you the next time you will succeed and everyone will be better off without you. I heard what my brothers friends said about me hanging around constantly. I did not do boy that well although I tried so now my family had to not only deal with a transsexual child they needed to be on permanent suicide watch. I was bad at committing suicide but I was persistent.
1956 was not a good year for my family. My Grandfather and Father died within 3 months of each other and my world seemed to just collapse and my Grandmother got her two cents worth in by telling me "you drove your Grandfather to his grave", which was a real boost to my low self esteem. I adored my Grandfather. He taught me to read and his love of classic literature became mine. I was devastated by his death and my dad followed 3 moths later. Mom comforted me and said it was not true but I was 10 and spiraling downward as I realized I was never going to be the girl I was.
The other thing that began was the bullying. I was a pretty boy but lots of little boys are pretty but between mannerisms and appearance boys began to get abusive. Multiple times I ended up in the emergency Room with some pretty ugly injuries and every single time the Police talked with me I got the, "if you didn't look and act like you do it would not happen", which is weird because until I was 12 I never really pushed it. Basically the Police blamed me for making boys beat me up which was not to good for my self worth and destructive behavior.
During this period my neighbor Chuck made his first attempt to rape me and failed. The Police showed up and I was about 5-6 then and maybe 110 soaking wet but he said I attacked him and again it was my fault even though my clothes were torn to shreds and I was the only one bleeding. It was my fault for being me it seemed.
One of the problems was I was always telling my mom how badly I needed to be a girl. She was looking for a cure everywhere which culminated in Children's Hospital at 12 and a name my mom was given that eventually saved me. In those days a cure meant curing the child of being transsexual which is impossible. Psychiatrist after Psychiatrist was perplexed by this feminine boy. Most were not mean but enough were mean enough to require mom to have my brothers always watching me to prevent me from harming myself.
One of the other things we do is blame ourselves for being this way by asking, "what did I do wrong to make god punish me this way". That is part of the Christian angst of guilt because we are all sinners so it must be my fault. My family was religious but for reasons I will not get into I was thrown out of Sunday School at 11 and got to spend Sunday mornings with my older brother Ray, he was thrown out at 12, watching old movies and his beloved three stooges and championship bowling if I remember right.
My last suicide attempt was Thanksgiving 1959 and it was my best plan and thankfully I failed but it did lead to a hurried meeting with a Dr. Benjamin in late December of 1959. In February 1960 after I had started hormones I was raped by my neighbor. I have no memory of the actual event but like most rape victims blamed myself for letting it happen. That took some time to get over but I had a boyfriend and I was on my way to being me.
The one thing I am thankful for was nobody in my immediate family ever laid a hand on me. I would not have survived if I had been physically abused by my father or mother. I got my fair share of spankings and I can honestly say i deserved them all in retrospect.
Women seem to be genetically disposed to blaming ourselves for lots of things. The irony is most of the time it is men helping us blame ourselves. The abused wife stays with the husband despite constant beatings because she made hi do it by her actions. Battered wife syndrome is a male induced blame mechanism.
A woman gets raped and she gets blamed for "dressing provocatively" by the police, the rapist, and the courts which is why the majority of cases are not reported. There is a clear pattern here if you look closely when it comes to the male-female relationships. Men like to blame us when they do something bad or at worst intimate we brought it on ourselves and it has made women all to often blame themselves for something they did not have fault in.
I was a leading research engineer for a long time and most of what I was involved in had never been done before and in some cases never attempted. I know all about being wrong but having the intellectual courage to admit it and take the steps needed to get on track. A lot of what I was involved with dealt with flyboys in danger and the military and its weaponry. We made a mistake and people could die so accepting blame for a bad design was par for the course when in a testing phase. We made mistakes but thankfully I was never personally involved with any designs that led to deaths but I watched death reach out and grab friends and I also watched everyone blaming everyone else.
One of the things that irritates me as a woman with a history is what I see today. We are blamed by men for their problems. Look at it clearly. It is we women that are not allowing these poor transvestite men into our spaces because we are such meanies and I actually read one dipshit intimate the poor men in dresses needed to be escorted to ladies spaces by women who supported them. I would have led them to the men's room but then I kind of am interested in watching a 6-3 inch man in a dress and heels duking it out with another man in a shirt and jeans.
We are blamed for the transgender problems daily. We are blamed because we are called separatists. We are blamed because we do not support transgender/transvestite civil rights or human rights even when they infringe on those same rights for us women. It is part of the new blame game promoted by the Transgender Borg and the sycophants that follow them. We women are blamed because we find it silly that anyone would claim they are female with a penis but that is discrimination against a women with a penis which is both a dichotomy and an oxymoron and only men could not realize that.
Transvestites blame their wives for not accepting them and supporting them as if some social fetish requires every woman to bow down in deference to her husband's dressing wishes even though she certainly never made that agreement when she said "for better or worse".
Notice the picture here. It is men blaming women for not accepting them as an equal women. It even gets weirder when we get to the penis packing lesbian men claiming that lesbians are discriminating against them because they find it sickening that some man in a dress, with a dick, would actually believe a lesbian that prefers women and does not want a male sex partner would be offended by a lesbian with a functioning prick. Only a freaking man could think that way but again it is the woman that is to blame.
The sick part is they actually have women with a history buying this total bullshit they are promoting and even worse they have actually gotten GLAAD and the GLB to support their insanity. I actually read a blog where an activist said"Being trans is a rough hobby" or something of that ilk. In fairness she may have been kidding but it is as likely a Freudian slip as anything.
This is a man's world and always has been but now these same men want to invade what little we women have that is ours and it is our fault. Somehow I think I am being raped again and this time it is being done publicly.