Being an abuse survivor. Part 3. How it happened to me.

(The following article is written from a very a personal view-point, and should be read as such.)

These posts are taking more time to get up than I had expected, so I apologise for the delays. It turns out that for all their brevity they’re exceedingly difficult for me to write. That being the case your patience is much appreciated. Well anyway in my previous post I said that I would speak a little about how I believe I came to be in the sights of a pair of sexual predators.

I was first abused when I was 9ish (the precise age I was is very hazy to me, probably a good example of a mental self-defense mechanism in operation, but a pain in the arse when writing these articles.) But the grooming began a few years earlier. I’ll go into detail on how that was performed in a later post, but it’s sufficient for now that you understand that a child is rarely just picked up and abused. There’s usually a prolonged period of breaking the child down until they can be abused with minimal risk of them telling anyone.

There are three things which I believe contributed directly to my being targeted.

1: I am transgendered, and even at that young an age I was painfully, and I am told often visibly, uncomfortable in my own skin, and my own life.

2: I was bullied physically in school by older children. Despite always being tall, and strong for my age I was as a child extremely gentle. I preferred to avoid all confrontations when possible, worse I was very study minded. For example, I went into secondary school already knowing the entire science syllabus for the next two years by heart. So of course what a perfect target for school yard bullies. A fact that brought me to the attention of the teachers in my primary school, one of whom would be one of my abusers.

3: I came from a family which had moved towns three times in the previous five years. This meant that I had yet to make any close friends, or even learn how to make such friends, and so was almost always lonely.

Take those three facts from my life. Add to them a primary teacher with 30 years of experience in almost reading the thoughts of young children. And as it turns out 30 years experience of picking out just the right child to groom for future abuse. Take all that, and put them together, what do you have? The starting point for a ruined childhood, a shattered teenage years, and very nearly a life utterly destroyed.

In the next part I want to explain what grooming is in more detail, and show how it was performed to break me down until I felt more alone than ever before, or again.

Link to Part 1.

Link to Part 2.

When a doctor hears that you’re transsexual.

This week I had to attend an emergency appointment in the hospital with my gastrologist. I won’t go into the gory details of why, but suffice to say that over the past fortnight I have spent an inordinate amount of time either in bed, or lying on my side on the couch wishing I was dead. It’s been a very rough period of my life.

If you have any experience in hospitals then you know that most of the time, when you attend a clinic of some kind you will be seen by a different doctor each time. You may, or may not see the specialist in charge. But you will see someone, and because of the speed with which the other doctors rotate through various clinics it’s unlikely you’ll meet the same doctor twice. Ordinarily this is a good thing. Ordinarily this gives you the chance for fresh eyes to see your case, the chance for someone with the potential for a new insight to attend to your case. This isn’t such a good thing if you’re transsexual.

Why?

Well let me tell you a little about my experience over the past decade with doctors not attached to my gender clinic. In those ten years precisely two doctors have understood that my gender has zero to do with my stomach problems. My GP, and the specialist in charge of the tummy clinic. That’s it.

So you wander in to an exam room from the waiting area. They ask (for the umpteenth time) for a list of your symptoms, how your medication is working out for you, things like that. Then they ask you for a complete list of the medications you’re taking. This goes fine until you mention being on both Goserelin, and oestrogen.

“Why are you on those?”

At this point my brain usually derails for a few moments. Yes, of course I know I’m transgendered. But I’m so comfortable in my own skin these days that I often forget for hours, or occasionally, even days at a time. It’s jarring to have to bring it back into mental focus. It’s also stressful when you have to bring someone new into the loop on your physical nature.

“Because I’m being treated for being transsexual.”

That’s the point when one of two things happens. Either they move on with your interview, and try their hardest to help you. Or they simply switch off, because obviously if you have gender issues it’s all in your head. Nevermind that you have had these symptoms since you were four years old, long before you even realised there was a difference between boys, and girls. Nevermind that if it actually was all in your head, you would have surely had some kind of improvement when you became comfortable in your own skin. And most of all nevermind that the doctor sitting in front of you is honour, and duty bound to treat you to the best of their ability, regardless of their own biases.

There are many things I love about being transsexual, I’ve written about them twice. But I loathe telling medical professionals about my true nature. Nothing else in my life makes me feel so vulnerable, so powerless. They after all hold in their hands my potential to become physically well, (for the first time in my life) and the power to blatantly, or subtly refuse to help me.

Luckily this week I got a wonderful doctor who was genuinely, and very obviously upset by her inability to explain what was wrong with me. Sometimes you just get lucky that way, and end up with a gentle human being caring for you, rather than a tin god on a power trip.

Five more awesome things about being transsexual.

No sooner had I finished my original list of awesome things about being transsexual, then I suddenly realised how I’d only barely scratched the surface. After all there’s just so many wonderful aspects to being transsexual, why stop at only ten? So here we go again. This time no numbers, no count down, just another five of my favourite things about being a transsexual, though in some cases they’ll equally apply to any gender squishy person. This list will be a bit more personal, so it will probably be even more oddball than the last one. Well regardless enjoy, and I’m sure we’ll be revisiting this yet again in the future.

———-

So let’s start with, breasts. Let’s face it boobs rock, and jiggle, and bounce, and feel oh so good when you…*coughs* Well let’s just say that after 26 years without a pair I was delighted to be gifted by the boob-fairy with a honkin’ pair of double-d’s. And they truly are Weapons of Mass Seduction.

———-

Of course being transsexual gives you a perfect ready-made explanation for that very natural exploration of your own sexuality.

“Look Mom, I’m who I want to be. I have a great pair of boobs, long legs, and an ass that jiggles quite nicely when it’s spanked. And I wanna find out what I really prefer in a partner. So I’m going to partake of the boys, and I’m going to partake of the girls, hopefully sometimes both at the same time. Yes Mom, some of the girls will have pretty girl-cocks. Sheesh. No Mom I’ll be careful, never mind a condom I’ll wear a Wellington boot if it’ll end this conversation sooner!”

———-

And so very little beats the looks of confusion in sex shops when you ask to see their selection of fleshlights.

“Taking a trip away?”

“No, why?”

“Oh well I thought you were getting a little “Don’t miss me.” present for your boyfriend…”

“Nope, just buying  a little present for me. I’ll need to see what your selection of vibrating glass, and metal buttplugs is like as well please. Oh and lube, lot’s of lube. Strawberry flavour if you have it.”

———-

One of my favourite personal moments of the last eight years has to have been the moment I realised I had my dream butt. Seriously, I have the butt I dream of having on a girlfriend. Not too big, not too small, nicely rounded, firm, but with just the right amount of jiggle. Last night in fact I realised to my joy that it jiggles ever so slightly when I wash my teeth. Not visibly you understand, but just enough that I can quite clearly feel it. That was a really great moment, and one I definitely would not have experienced without a huge amount of hormone therapy, patience, and the careful, scientific  application of chocolate. Now if only I had someone to worship my perfect bum. *sigh*

———-

Finally, for this time, I get to enjoy the wonder that is my ability to pee standing up in a public restroom. As horrible as male restrooms are, sometimes women’s can be even worse. I remember, back in the dark days of B.B.B. (Before Big Bewbs), how horrifying using a men’s restroom could be. The badly spelled graffiti everywhere. The way urine was sprayed seemingly everywhere, sometimes apparently including the ceiling, as if the urinaters had spent their time having a huge make-believe lightsaber battle, but with penises and their piddle. Then there were the sometimes disturbingly large holes in the stall walls, and the…organic objects that would sometimes be shoved through *Karate Chop!*. And last but definitely not least the way some guys seemed to think stall door was meant to be used as toilet paper.

Well in these halcyon days of A.B.B. (After Big Bewbs) I’m equally horrified by some of the women’s restrooms I’ve had the misfortune to enter. Those that are in bars, and restaurants are usually fine. They can be a little grubby, but at the very least you can be reasonably certain nothing is going to try to crawl up out of the toilet bowl before trying to invade your body, from below as it were.  However there are some which are, let’s call them interesting. Where you don’t just wipe down the toilet seat before you sit, you instead fire it up liberally with a flamethrower from across the room, before you even think about entering the stall. You’re sure you saw something moving on the floor…no OH GODDESSES that’s not carpet, that’s the actual floor, and it really IS moving.

In these places it’s a bonus to be a well-adjusted transsexual of the futagirl variety. There’s a toilet seat that makes you want a hepatitis test, just for looking at it? No problem just lift your skirt, a little jiggery pokery in your undies, and you too can safely pee without having to touch bare skin to eldritch horror.

Admittedly you will have to touch the flush handle, but hey you can always cut off that finger at home later, if it shows any signs of demonic possession. Better make it your little finger you use, just in case.

The ten most awesome things about being – Transsexual

Why yes Virginia, it’s another list post. This time I’m going to list the top ten things that are awesome about being transsexual. Of course the media tends to paint a “pity me” picture of transsexual people, but guess what? There’s lots that really rocks about being differently gendered. Please note I am writing this list as a non-stealth transwoman, so some of these probably won’t apply to stealth transpeople, and some will have to be translated for the transboys in my audience.

10: A completely new wardrobe. Seriously change gender and start from scratch. Out with the boring jeans and t-shirt/jumper combo and in with…well whatever you damn well want! Which leads nicely to number…

 9: Reinventing yourself. Ever wanted to pull off the “quiet badass”? Or how about the hyper gothgirl? Well this is your chance, figure out what sort of person you will be post transition, and then become that person. How many other people get to do that?

 8: Disturbing your partners children. This one’s kind of particular to transpeople who end up with partners who have adult children. But nothing quite beats that “What The F**K!?” moment when they realise their apparently previously straight mom has brought home a transgirl as a partner.

 7: Little kids telling you that you’re awesome. This seems to only work up til about 7 years of age. But up until that point little kids seem to find transpeople really cool. I guess they think you’re playing a sort of dress up or something. But regardless, very little beats a teeny tiny little girl telling you that you’re “Weally pwetty”.

 6: Telling suitably Christian people that their God is a transwoman. This one just gives me hours of joy when it happens. God apparently having made mankind in his own image, means that one of those images is a 5’10” tall, brown-eyed, big busted, purple haired woman, with an oversized non-vagina adjacent clit. Hey it says it in the bible.

 5: Being everyone’s bisexual blip. This one’s kind of a personal one. Since my gender is a bit more complex that simply male or female, and so many people seem to find me easy on the eyes, I kind of get to be everyone’s bisexual blip. Fun times are had by all. Apart from the boys, because I’m lesbian and ewwwww boy cooties.

 4: Halloween. It really rocks being tall enough to pull off any female superhero. Or better yet being the only dress up Dominatrix who’s tall enough to actually engender some genuine awe. Besides it’s not like I have the wardrobe to pull that off anyway…

 3: Having some extra insight into the other gender. Okay you may have spent half of your life pretending to be the other gender. But that does mean you got to see that side of society with its masks removed. You’re in a unique position to understand, at the very least a little better, what the hell his actual intentions are. Or what she really means when she says “Nothing’s wrong!”.

 2: Being a divine hermaphrodyke. Again a personal one, but one that probably applies to quite a few of you reading. Ancient cultures are filled with Gods, spirits, and other assorted spooky things which were respected and hermaphrodite. You could be seen as embodying that in a modern way. Hey get that you’re divine!

 1: Getting to pull the “I was never a little girl so…” card anytime you want to do anything embarrassingly kiddy in nature. You want to watch The Smurfs on DVD “Yeah but I was never a little girl so…”. You want that rocking new tattooed Barbie with the little dog named Bastardino, “Hey I was never a little girl so…”.  You want to wear a pink onesy, nappy and drink from a sippy cup while your mommy looks after you, occassionally spanking you whe….Umm perhaps I should stop there. But you get the point I’m sure.

Now I really hate that bitch. Great pad, clothes and now she even has more tats than me!

So folks whether you are, or aren’t transsexual, what awesome things can you think of that I’ve left out of the list?

P.S. After writing this I realised what the single best thing about being trannsexual is. I get to be me.