Please don’t leave me…
Now the day bleeds Into nightfall
And you’re not here To get me through it all
I let my guard down And then you pulled the rug
I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved…
To [name redacted…CIA-style], my beautiful amazing girlfriend.
My God, the connection we have. Such pure joy and peace in my soul when we are together. How wonderful that even when we are apart I know how much you love me. I feel so blessed to have you in my life. We both feel like this is forever.
You know me so well. You know my soul.
Turns out I don’t know myself like I thought I did and I have never been so scared in my life. I want you to know me so deeply. I love you so much. I know you’ll leave me after you read this. I’m begging you, please, if you know you can’t be with me, please don’t reply. Just let me go. I can’t bear the heartbreak of seeing the words…it will kill me inside.
You would probably never guess but I have lived my whole life in fear, anxiety and deep sadness. My counselor asked me to name some positive life memories. I know objectively that there MUST be some. I’m 48. I can’t recall a single happy time in my life…until I met you.
I have felt like an absolute outsider my entire life. My soul has long been crushed and I have never felt I had a home…until I met you. I love you so much. You are home. You are where I belong. I love how the world disappears as we sink into each other’s arms.
I’m shaking. I’m about to lose you. The best thing that has ever happened to me is about to go away. I’ll once again have no home. This feels like death and I think about ending it every day. I won’t do it because of my daughter but I am plagued with these dark thoughts. I pray for a miracle. I pray you’ll still love me and stay. Please God.
You deal with so much in your life. I am crushed that I am going to hurt you so bad. Sweetie, I am so sorry. I didn’t understand myself. I didn’t know. I don’t know how to tell you. I can’t make this go away – I have tried.
When we text I always use the man and woman holding hands emoticon with a heart next to it. It’s not the right picture.
I’m not him. I’m an imposter. Despite what you think of as my considerable manliness, that is just the armor I protect myself with. I’ve been your lesbian girlfriend this whole time…
I remember being five years old living in Calgary. A girl who lived a few houses down from me was playing with her dolls. She was putting a full size diaper on one of the dolls. I was so sexually aroused. I wanted her to put it on me. Her mom (being a responsible parent) shut that down. That very day I was aware of some odd feelings that no five year old could possibly process. I think her mom told her she wasn’t allowed to play with me after that.
I tried to make friends with another girl in the housing complex. I thought she was maybe my friend but as I walked up to watch her older brother smash golf balls in an adjacent field she grabbed an iron and smashed my head open. I walked home in a daze with blood all over my head and face. A neighbor saw me and walked me home…then off to the hospital for more than a few stitches. Making friends with girls was going to be harder than I thought.
I didn’t fit in at all. Boys didn’t like to play with me. I liked to play with girls but I hardly fit in there either. I felt alone and scared and uncomfortable in my own skin.
My dad and uncle played senior rugby for the Edmonton Pirates. I would watch sometimes. I hated going there because if I had to use the washroom I had to walk into the clubhouse. Rugby players are a foul bunch and I couldn’t possibly be more uncomfortable around them if they were in the change room. The cacophony of toxic male bullshit, coupled with all the dicks and balls and hairy asses traumatized me. I felt like I was being assaulted. This was a place I would NEVER fit in.
I was bullied at school. I wasn’t particularly feminine that I recall but boys would call me, “Jamie Summers – The Bionic Woman”. It wasn’t meant in a kind way.
I was scared every day. I was afraid of being ridiculed because my family had no money, my clothes weren’t cool like the other kids. I tried to fit in but really never did. I had no good friends growing up.
One day in when I was in grade three, I was sitting alone (as always) eating lunch. We all had to eat in the gym so teachers could keep an eye on us. Somehow I had acquired a single piece of bubble gum (grape Hubba Bubba to be exact). A boy a year older than me approached me and asked me for the gum. I was so scared. I didn’t want to give it away (I didn’t have the ability to replace it and I never had gum of my own). Shaking, I told the boy that I would give him a whole pack if he let me keep this one piece. Of course I had no way at all to make good on that deal.
Every day he would come up and ask where his gum was. I kept saying I was trying to get it. He became more threatening and aggressive each day. I was more terrified each day. I knew I was going to be attacked but I was too scared to ask for help – like always.
The following week, the final school bell rang and we flooded the halls to go home for the day. The boy approached me and I knew this was it. He let me know that I was “dead”. I snapped. Crying, tears flowing down my cheeks I beat the shit out this kid. He was bigger and a year older but I surprised him. I finished it by smashing his face into the water fountain. Through tears, crying out for another kid to “Please go get my mom! She’s outside in a yellow Datsun 510!”
I remember walking home from school one day. We lived in Edmonton and winters were harsh. We all wore snowsuits, mittens connected by a string through the sleeves (so we couldn’t lose them), toques, scarves and “moon boots”. I had to walk about two miles each way by myself. I crossed the street from the school and walked about a block before I heard voices behind me. Two much older boys who went to a high-school close by. They were talking about hurting me. They walked quicker and the threats became more violent sounding. I was terrified. I was alone and these boys must be at least a few years older than me.
I can’t remember how this happened but I saw a city bus pull up a few feet away. I ran to the bus and jumped on. Did I have a bus pass? I certainly had no money. I have no recollection of how I got on that bus. I was so scared. I didn’t know how to take a city bus. I was too afraid to ask for help. I rode the bus all over hoping to see some familiar landmark. The bus eventually finished its route and changed into a new bus. By some fluke it eventually drove by a familiar landmark. I got off the buss and walked home in the dark. I had been missing for hours. Dinner was over and I saw my parents who couldn’t bother to go look for me.
Another time, during the same winter, while at school, I was falsely fingered for throwing snowballs. This is a bigger deal than it seems. Kids would make them into “ice-balls”. The threat of injury was real. Like the Terminator, the Vice Principal (Mr. Van Horn) scanned the area and locked eyes on me.
“It wasn’t me!” I protested to no avail. It really wasn’t me but my denial made Mr. Van horn see red. He was far angrier than he should have been. He approached me rapidly and grabbed me. Pushing me up against the brick wall of the school. He then nearly lifted me up by my throat (shout out to Darth Vader for the inspiration), his large adult hand wrapped around more than half my neck. My head slammed somewhat into the wall. I was terrified. So were some other kids who saw. I felt very alone.
When I got home from school I told my mother about what had happened. She instantly said she didn’t believe me. I told her to call my sometimes-friend Bobby Carter. He saw it.
She called and Bobby said it was all true.
Here is where my recollection is fuzzy…my mom either called the school (I have a vague recollection of Mr. Van Horn apologizing) or they did nothing at all. I really don’t know which. In any case, I felt completely betrayed. I was assaulted by a grown man in a position of authority at my school. All an adult had to do was apologize and I could be physically harmed. No biggie. Another heartwarming moment at my house…
That year I got to hold hands with a girl for the first time. It was so unexpected and wonderful. Our class went on a field trip to go roller skating. I was so unpopular. I sat on the sidelines. So sad as I watched kids file out together for the “couples skate”. They were going to get to hold hands. I would not be participating. Bette Midler’s “The Rose” blared on the speakers. “Some say love, it is a river…”
Shocked. A girl, Shawna came up and took my hand. I got to do the couples skate. I’ll never forget how that felt. I was a normal kid for 3 minutes…
That summer we moved to Vancouver.
Not only did I not fit in for all the same reasons above but now I was also the new kid. This was so much worse.
Sometimes it seemed like I was almost fitting in but then my almost-friends would turn on me. I was still bullied. As luck would have it these kids were known as the toughest kids in the grade.
I also now had to wear glasses. I hated how I looked and this was just more ammunition for the bullies. Add “four eyes” and “nerd” to their (already considerable) bullying repertoire.
I was so exposed. Walking to and from school every day I expected to get threatened or harassed. I was so nervous every day. I was always by myself.
One day I was told by Mark G. (The ringleader) that I had to fight Mark K. after school or all of them (4 or 5 guys) would all “kill” me. I was so afraid. They told me this at our morning recess break.
I was shaking. Terrified. Also too scared to ask for help.
I watched as the clock inched closer to the lunch bell. I had made a decision. I wasn’t going to let this get to after school. Like (a terrified, sad) Olympic sprinter I bolted out of my seat as the clock struck 12. I took the stairs four-at-a-time as I rushed to Mark K.’s classroom downstairs. He was one of only a few kids who lived right next to the school. I knew he’d be going home for lunch as his house actually bordered the school grounds. The school was pre-WWII and had cloak rooms with big vertical sliding doors doors. As I burst into his class a few students were getting reading to walk out and I saw him getting his jacket in the cloakroom. I burst into tears, crying I beat the hell out of him. He begged me to stop and I eventually did. He ran home in tears.
That moment though, I discovered a bit of power. I wasn’t a small kid. I could fight back.
I ran across the hall into the school office. The Vice Principal saw me and before he could say a word I told him, “I just beat up Mark K. You can suspend me now.” After hearing my story he decided not to punish me.
The group of tough kids still tried to bully me. Winter came along and Mark G. decided to take a swing at me. I traded blows with him one-for-one. After that they thought twice about messing with me.
Unfortunately, after that, I became a bit of a bully myself. I feel horribly that I treated other kids like I hated being treated. I wish I could go back in time and change that. I can’t explain why I would be like that. It was never a fair fight. Bullies always make sure the deck is stacked in their favor.
As a young “boy” I adopted a fascination with women’s clothes. Especially underwear and lingerie.
I would find scraps of fabric or cannibalize some clothes that my parents wouldn’t miss. When I was alone after school I would use my mom’s sewing machine to make crude women’s underwear for myself.
Those days we would receive Sears catalogues a few times a year. The biggest was always at Christmas. As much as I looked at AFX slot-racing sets that I would never get, even more so I looked at all the pretty women in lingerie.
It bothers me that I can never say that I recall thinking, “I wish I was a girl.”
I remember vividly thinking though that, “I wish I could wear what she was wearing” and weirder yet, “I wish I could feel like she feels.”
My home life sucked and my parents finally divorced. I remember how I found out. My mom took me and my brother to Lansdowne Mall in Richmond. She asked us to sit on a bench as she went into Cole’s book store. She eventually came out and through the semi-transparent yellow Cole’s bag I saw the word DIVORCE. I immediately broke down in the middle of the mall.
I adorned myself in the armor of anger, apathy, sadness, self-loathing and violence. I got into so much trouble at school. Suspended several times in elementary school alone. I became one of the worst behaved kids in school. I was known by all the teachers as a kid with a major attitude and anger problem.
Eventually I had to move on to junior high-school. Most of the kids I went to elementary school with ended up going to a different junior high-school so I was a relative unknown. I still had trouble fitting in. I still had trouble making friends. I had been listening to heavy metal for some time. I loved Judas Priest, AC/DC, Iron Maiden…
I started to grow my hair out. I got my left ear pierced. (Back in the day it meant you were a “fag” if you had your right ear pierced). I wanted to grow all my hair out and wear big hoop earrings in both ears. Eventually I had long hair all over and earrings in both ears. I dared someone to call me fag. Try me.
This was as close to feminine as I could get. I still didn’t fit in but became a fringe member (at best) of the metal-head crowd. We’d stand out at the back of the school and smoke. Even though I liked how I looked much better – no girls ever showed any interest in me.
I would still get bullied. I didn’t fit in so good with the boys. There was a kind girl in my math class (Mr. Harwood – Grade 9). Her name was Stacy. She was always nice to me. One day on my way to school I saw police cars in her driveway. I was worried and a little curious.
When I saw her she seemed upset and I asked her what happened at her house. I don’t think she told me but the next thing I knew one of the cool kids, a jock named Jason was threatening to kill me every day. He was one of the most popular kids in school and had the biggest group of friends out of anyone in the school. This was horrible…again.
“What did you say to Stacy?!! You’re fucking dead man.”
He would confront me (always around his friends) at school, assault me outside of school and generally make my life miserable. If I ever see him I’m going to have a word with him. Let’s see what you got now tough guy. I’m 6’2″ 230 and would love to show him how it felt.
As I hit puberty I began to feel very odd in the boys bathroom. I didn’t want to be seen by other boys. I would squeeze into the urinal furthest away from the door or take a stall. I remember another boy noticed my discomfort (Shawn J. – see how this shit can stick with a person?), “Hey man, hug that corner!”. Fuck you. I will thanks.
Even worse was gym class. Unlike elementary school we had to change clothes in the change rooms. There were also showers. I hated this. I was not going to take my clothes off and never did.
I found out pretty quick that if you didn’t bring “gym strip” (workout clothes) you were not allowed to participate. Perfect. I just “forgot” my strip every day and they would send me to the office. I also started to act out in class big time. After getting sent away for no gym strip the final time, I told the gym teachers (there were three and almost a hundred students in attendance) loudly to, “Go fuck yourselves.” I put both middle fingers up and walked out of the gym – kicking a heavy bench over as I walked out. No idea how I didn’t break my foot. I was kicked out permanently after that and never attended another gym class in my life.
Sadly this still carries on today. I avoid the change rooms as much as I can and never shower until I get home.
So things were different but also the same.
I almost had my first girlfriend in Grade 10. Her name was Esther and she was a sweetheart. She hung out with the “tough girls” out back of the school. Her parent’s were extremely religious and didn’t like how I looked. Her friends were always going out with older boys from the high-school across the field. I think she wanted to be like that too. So she broke up with me and I was gutted.
That fall we would all move on to senior high school. It was directly across the field from my junior high. I showed up on the first day of school and everyone who knew me acted like I didn’t exist. I now had no “friends” at all. I stayed at the school for a week or so then decided to move to the school closer to my house. I had no friends so really no point in staying. I was living with my dad at the time in a basement suite.
He was doing security at that time. Mostly at hotels, movie sets and also at a famous Vancouver sound studio called “Little Mountain Sound”. He had no money but always did his best to try and get me some old computer to play with. I also occasionally got to meet some famous people. John Candy, Eugene Levy, Richard Dean Anderson. I was even on set of a John Candy movie right by the camera as they filmed. The best was getting to meet guys from Bon Jovi, Blue Murder and eventually meeting Aerosmith and Motley Crue. Cool moments but I was just as sad as ever. My dad tried so hard to provide. I love him for it.
When my dad was away at night. I would make my own women’s lingerie. I’d shred grocery and garbage bags, using tape to make women’s “PVC” and “latex” fetish clothing. I liked Penthouse magazine. It showed explicit sex when Playboy was more tasteful and other magazines like Swank and High Society had women who weren’t as pretty. I would pose and arch my back pretending I was them. I didn’t fantasize about men. I wanted to be a lesbian with the women in the pics.
So many times through out my life I have had the thought as I looked at various porn that, “I’d love to lez out with her”. So weird that I didn’t give much thought to that odd thinking. I pictured myself as a woman being with other women.
I lost my virginity at 17 but still didn’t connect so well with girls.
Life carried on and I lucked into a job opportunity that has carried me financially (despite my irresponsibility with money).
I became an engineer. I was working on aircraft and it felt good to have a cool job that paid fairly well. I have experienced one promotion after another since starting. Today, I can’t get any higher in the industry.
I was working away from home and hadn’t been laid in a long time. It had been a few years and I was getting lonely. I ended up hooking up with a clingy, damaged girl. She would act crazy when I tried to break it off with her.
A couple of time we would dress up and go to fetish clubs in Vancouver. I was dressed like a man but really wanted to look like the girls did. I hated her but this was as good as I thought I could do. I made the mistake of letting her and her kids follow me to a new city for a new job. I was going to break up with her when she walked into the hangar and told me she was pregnant. Fuck. Now I’m stuck.
She was bipolar and abusive to me and the kids. I thought she was a shitty person. I did all I could to provide for everyone. She couldn’t hold it together. We got married but almost split up before two days had passed. Every day was a nightmare with her. She was a serial liar, cheater and thief. Ergo she thought everyone was always lying, cheating and stealing. This will never work but I loved the kids.
We moved several times and purchased a couple of homes in different towns – always leaving too soon and taking a loss on the property. One day she sat me down to tell me she was leaving me. Perfect. She wanted to see if I wanted to talk her out of it. Hell no. Go. Now. I told her I’d ruin her life if my daughter didn’t stay with me. She has been with me ever since.
During that time alone. I would dress up a bit in any men’s fetish clothing I had. I wanted women’s things. I began to feel really lonely and did entertain getting together with another cross-dresser I met online at one point but ghosted him/her when it got real. I couldn’t do it.
A day later my ex wants to get back together. I felt so weird about the cross-dresser that I wanted to try, if for no other reason than to prove I wasn’t gay or something.
Liars and cheaters can’t trust. Somehow she guessed my email password and saw my correspondence with the cross-dresser. She blew a gasket and it was over all over again. I was terrified that she copied the email so immediately changed my password and hoped for the best. Thank God it never came up again.
My ex couldn’t hold it together. She left her house one day threatening to drive her car off a cliff. I told her to do it. Then called the police to go check on her. I drove to pick up the other girls and had all their stuff and them out of the house within an hour. I raised three girls for almost six years by myself. I didn’t think about dating at all. I was destroyed by life.
I really didn’t think about sex or relationships for almost six years. I also felt ashamed about my interest in getting together with that cross-dresser. I just couldn’t figure any of this out.
During the sixth year I began to work out and feel a bit better. I started looking better and decided to start dating. I did really well. No issues meeting women online and it was mostly fun.
Then I met you. My dating profile nuked almost immediately. It immediately felt like cheating to have it online.
From our first moments texting back and forth we became friends. When we met face-to-face for the first time it was so free and easy. We looked at each other and talked about life for hours that rainy night. It was so dark and the rain was coming down in sheets. I told you my daughter had done some amazing artwork. You were so silly trusting me as you walked through the rainy darkness to my truck to see it. Good thing I was on the level. The art was amazing and is still on my wall today. I still like to bug you about your lack of “stranger danger” that night.
I couldn’t wait to see you again. Thankfully I didn’t have to wait long. Every moment was pure pleasure. Such joy and peace like I had never felt before.
I could list all our moments together here but no point. We talk about them all the time. You are wonderful beyond words and I love you. We have made so many memories together.
I remember reading Andre Agassi’s biography “Open”. I was married at the time to my ex. There was a part in the book where he spoke of his wife Steffi Graf with such reverence and respect. I was heartbroken that I didn’t feel that way about my wife. You see, it was a crime that my wife was not an amazing, confident woman. That was my true desire. To be with someone I can respect on every level – not some whore there for my gratification. This relationship is about the heart and soul.
Naturally (and fortunately) that relationship didn’t last.
You are an amazing, intelligent, accomplished, strong, confident, talented, introspective, funny and beautiful woman. I admire and respect you deeply. I can speak of you like Andre Agassi spoke of Steffi Graf. I am blessed to have you in my life and feel your love for me every day.
During our time together, I’ve been hiding how much of a fetish freak I am. I know you’ve seen some things. Most that can be explained in a semi-manly sense. So I dial it back a bit for you but really no big deal…it’s all just a fetish right?
I don’t know if it’s because we live so far apart or maybe because of the trauma of my mom passing away but for the last year or so I have come to suspect this may not all be a fetish.
I have spent thousands on women’s clothing, lingerie, makeup, wigs and breast forms. At worst I thought I might have to admit that I was a cross-dresser, “But hey no big deal, if you aren’t into it I can stop. Right?”
In my idle moments I have had some sexual fantasies that would shock you (and me). Look up “sissy fantasies” online and prepare to be disgusted.
I decided to start seeing a counselor. I was losing my mind. I was starting to become convicted that I was trapped in the wrong body, walked wrong, looked wrong, sounded wrong…
I can feel “myself” radiating out from my body. I feel like a woman inside and I’m so confused and sad and anxious.
Recently I increased the dosage of an anti-depressant I was taking and my sex drive tanked. I couldn’t even really get an erection. I was also worried about getting “found out” so that couldn’t possibly be helping.
I was shocked to find that I still felt a massive drive to present as a women. This was supposed to be a fetish (obviously escalating but just a fetish nonetheless). This was an unfortunate revelation. This is real. It’s not going away.
I’ve been seeing a counselor who specializes in this stuff. I want to want this to go away. I expected to be told I am crazy but as I explore things in counseling and otherwise pick this apart am confronted with the fact that I am not at all crazy.
I’m a transgender person. For your sake, I so wish I was delusional. I can’t make this go away. I try so hard.
Every day I think “this just can’t be” or “surely I’ll wake up and this phase will be over”. It is and I won’t.
I want to say that I will destroy myself to bury this deep down to protect you and my daughter. Anything so you will stay with me.
I just don’t think I can. This is so hard. I think about killing myself a lot.
I dream of this:
I tell you how much I love you and then explain who I really am. You look at me (with love in your eyes) and tell me you “kinda knew”. I burst into tears as you hold me in your arms. You tell me it’s okay. You love me and you’ll never leave me no matter what.” *sigh*
This isn’t going to end well. So much I haven’t written. So much I don’t understand.
Every moment we have spent together has been so authentic. I am still me inside. Please, please don’t go.
Please don’t stop loving me. You are my home. I couldn’t bear it.
I love you so much. Please see me… I’m still me. I promise. I’ll stand beside you for the rest of your life.