LynLovely
06-09-2012, 07:23 PM
She and He is Me!
Her earliest memories were surprise , dismay , and disbelief. There was something wrong with the body and what was that thing hanging down between her legs. She didn’t have enough words to express what she felt. She learned the body she inherited was called a boy and it was appropriate for it. But she couldn’t get past the blank looks and frowns when she tried to tell her parents about the mistake. When she asked her mother what thing was, she laughingly said; “Its a funny, honey.” And that what she called it and thought of it to herself but she kept that name secret when she started school. And that first year was pure hell as she was confused about bathrooms and stuff. She came home several times that years having messed in her pants. And once she was brought home by the nurse when she passed out at school.
Sometime during that year or over the summer break her consciousness began to take a backseat to another one. This one seemed to better understand this body, though they both agreed that that thing was still “a funny.” She really didn’t mind too much and they agreed on most things and worked together good. They even agreed to take a hammer, nail and pierce the skin on it and maybe it would take the hint and go away or something. All that happened was that it hurt...a lot and they understood then it was real. And it was not going away. She didn’t miss girl stuff, can’t miss what you’ve never had but once she was thrilled when her aunt put some kind of mask on her face. She giggled as the mask seemed alive its tiny fingers crawled along her face. Sadly it only happened once but she held onto that memory firmly.
By the time they were about 10 their roles was established and while she was not exactly content, she was resigned to her present role. Their greatest supporter was her grandmother who shared their love of creative writing and offered encouragement and support. And she was proud of her partner as he was nice, respectful and in their first year in high school made the honor roll.
Then it happened and her world fell apart as puberty hit and his body was flooded with testosterone and her voice was silenced as she couldn’t reach him in this new reality. She didn’t understand what was happening to him and her as this body was filled with new increased energy but he couldn’t focus it productivity and anger and rage settled over them like a cloud. Wanting to fit in, he took unnecessary risks and his attitude changed to arrogance and elitist...a know-it-all, she understood wanting to fit in, but in two years he had become a committed drop-out, smoker, and drinker.
In the next 8-10 years he had been arrested twice, been in 4 total loss wrecks, was known in every bar, dancehall, bootleg joint and poker house in three counties, helped deal and smoke dope and was in the same room when a man was shot gunned over a bad drug deal. He used alcohol and nicotine to control the rage and anger that the testosterone brought with it. Once he destroyed a lawnmower with the heel of his boots when got he frustrated with it. He never dated though which was a good thing in her mind. And he developed an ulcer and high blood pressure from the anxiety and anger that he just couldn’t release. And that overload of testosterone seem to always keep him in the reptilian and limbic regions of their brain where she couldn’t reach him.
Three things stood from that from that “lost era”, the first was a family event and she influenced him enough to get dressed up for the event. A pair of tight black plants that he had to pour himself into and she admitted their butt looked really cute in and paired with half boots and a black starched silk see through shirt that also clung like a second skin. Unfortunately an aunt made the remark, ”Do you sit to pee,” which she thought was cute but the testosterone sent him into a flight or fight mode and she never saw that outfit again.
The second was when he let his hair grow for three years but she couldn’t influence him enough to get it styled and all he would do is wear it in a ponytail. And that plan backfired when he somehow got the idea that their grandmother thought he was a thief because of his longhair.
The last was him seeing a psychiatrist that helped him calm down enough to meet a woman and get married. His wife also helped him mend broken fences with their grandmother. It was also during this time that he started back to school, got his high school diploma and took a creative writing course and she saw their name in the school poetry book for a poem they wrote.
But just like everything he undertook the damn testosterone surges would push him into the reptilian brain and he’d get paranoid, angry and fearful and make short term, for the most part disastrous decisions.
Then the day came when their body couldn’t hold the stress of constant fighting and he had a heart attack. You’d think he’d learn but no it was back to the same things just a little less of it. By his fourth she had gained some ground as most of his Drs. and therapists were women who he began to trust using biofeedback models and coping techniques that at least kept him from fight or flight mode at least some of the time.
She used that time wisely using her influence and giving him plausible answers to her influence.
He had gained weight and she used that opening to suggest ladies pants and shorts which offered more choices and would fit better without a belt which was really digging into his waist. Then when his wife got endometriosis, she was thrilled, not because of the illness but rather because she got to cook. She was in her element for that year.
Another bit of good fortune happened almost simultaneously, one was a reiki master who offered help his wife recover and he got to go along and experience more of the gentler arts. And the sessions helped him to heal,too.
He had acquired a staph infection from one of many hospitalizations and for 18 months he was on antibiotics reaction that caused water/fluid to leak from both arms. The prescribed ointment was useless as it matted in his arm hair. There was no way around it, he had to shave his arms clean and it felt so soft and clean that he also began to shave his upper body. The antibiotics also seem to trigger an electrolyte inbalance and he came close to dying when his potassium level dropped way below 2. Since he was already on a diuretic, he told his doctor that spironolactone was a potassium sparing diuretic.
She used that leverage to tell him that all that stuff in his pockets and a wallet his back pocket were detrimental to his health and because he wanted to, her believed her. Then she whispered in his ear that belly dancing was good for cardiac patients and took mischievous delight in him thinking he was losing his sanity. But she did take pity after a time and directed him to sites that showed men had a larger role historically than women. Of course she delighted at his embarrassment when he went to the first class and explained to a group of women that a fat 56 year old man, wasn’t in fact a “dirty ole man.” He, in turn shot a line of male BS but true to his word and true nature put his heart and soul into learning the steps and routines and was accepted as a student in good standing.
After a year disaster again struck as in swift succession he got gout, stepped on a sewing needle with the other foot, had an adverse reaction to a med that caused acute bronchitis and an abscessed tooth. Many days it hurt just to take a breath and she wasn’t sure if he could had, if not for the vicodyn. He also had to resist the cardiologist’s efforts to perform a heart catheter as the bronchitis triggered spasms in the veins around his heart, the source of his last two heart attacks.
Today, three years later she is happy with his progress ; he has bought makeup and is once again removing his body hair and seeking to see if the belly dance class is meeting.
Prologue
In case you haven’t guessed both she and he are me. Lyn and Robert.
Everything written about above is true and happened, even more in fact, with creative license used only for internal dialogue and brevity. And if the truth be known I was a bigger Neanderthal than portrayed. The reason my wife gets no more ink is that she is represented in a sense by the “she” in the story and would have been somewhat redundant and probably very confusing.
The rage and anger was and is “’roid Rage”. Not the supplemented type but what my body produced by fear through the fight or flight response mechanisms which I suspects signals the adrenals and thyroids to produce more testosterone. I don’t know what my levels were when I was younger but at 54 they were well over 800, bordering on hyper for a healthy 20 year old male. God only knows how high it climbed when I was 20. I believe my response resulted in a stereotypical “macho” response and while I can’t speak for girls entering puberty I suspect an hyper amount of estrogen may lead to a similar stereotypical “bimbo” response.
Which I think leads to a pertinent point; that when teenagers are nearing and in puberty it might be a good idea to provide counseling and regularly monitoring hormone levels. I think it would have greatly benefited me.
Finally writing the story has been a healing process for me and maybe it will touch another heartstring or two but, it was something I read here about 2 weeks ago that triggered my level of awareness and prompted self-reflection resulting in this story.
Okay I lied: Finally, I’d like to ask for your opinion on what I wrote and style because it is true, our first love was writing.
-Lyn
P.S. About my username: Lyn is my birth name. Ly is a suffix meaning like or a form of. I aspire to love and is a reminder that I'm not there. Ly is also a reaffirmation of Lyn.
Her earliest memories were surprise , dismay , and disbelief. There was something wrong with the body and what was that thing hanging down between her legs. She didn’t have enough words to express what she felt. She learned the body she inherited was called a boy and it was appropriate for it. But she couldn’t get past the blank looks and frowns when she tried to tell her parents about the mistake. When she asked her mother what thing was, she laughingly said; “Its a funny, honey.” And that what she called it and thought of it to herself but she kept that name secret when she started school. And that first year was pure hell as she was confused about bathrooms and stuff. She came home several times that years having messed in her pants. And once she was brought home by the nurse when she passed out at school.
Sometime during that year or over the summer break her consciousness began to take a backseat to another one. This one seemed to better understand this body, though they both agreed that that thing was still “a funny.” She really didn’t mind too much and they agreed on most things and worked together good. They even agreed to take a hammer, nail and pierce the skin on it and maybe it would take the hint and go away or something. All that happened was that it hurt...a lot and they understood then it was real. And it was not going away. She didn’t miss girl stuff, can’t miss what you’ve never had but once she was thrilled when her aunt put some kind of mask on her face. She giggled as the mask seemed alive its tiny fingers crawled along her face. Sadly it only happened once but she held onto that memory firmly.
By the time they were about 10 their roles was established and while she was not exactly content, she was resigned to her present role. Their greatest supporter was her grandmother who shared their love of creative writing and offered encouragement and support. And she was proud of her partner as he was nice, respectful and in their first year in high school made the honor roll.
Then it happened and her world fell apart as puberty hit and his body was flooded with testosterone and her voice was silenced as she couldn’t reach him in this new reality. She didn’t understand what was happening to him and her as this body was filled with new increased energy but he couldn’t focus it productivity and anger and rage settled over them like a cloud. Wanting to fit in, he took unnecessary risks and his attitude changed to arrogance and elitist...a know-it-all, she understood wanting to fit in, but in two years he had become a committed drop-out, smoker, and drinker.
In the next 8-10 years he had been arrested twice, been in 4 total loss wrecks, was known in every bar, dancehall, bootleg joint and poker house in three counties, helped deal and smoke dope and was in the same room when a man was shot gunned over a bad drug deal. He used alcohol and nicotine to control the rage and anger that the testosterone brought with it. Once he destroyed a lawnmower with the heel of his boots when got he frustrated with it. He never dated though which was a good thing in her mind. And he developed an ulcer and high blood pressure from the anxiety and anger that he just couldn’t release. And that overload of testosterone seem to always keep him in the reptilian and limbic regions of their brain where she couldn’t reach him.
Three things stood from that from that “lost era”, the first was a family event and she influenced him enough to get dressed up for the event. A pair of tight black plants that he had to pour himself into and she admitted their butt looked really cute in and paired with half boots and a black starched silk see through shirt that also clung like a second skin. Unfortunately an aunt made the remark, ”Do you sit to pee,” which she thought was cute but the testosterone sent him into a flight or fight mode and she never saw that outfit again.
The second was when he let his hair grow for three years but she couldn’t influence him enough to get it styled and all he would do is wear it in a ponytail. And that plan backfired when he somehow got the idea that their grandmother thought he was a thief because of his longhair.
The last was him seeing a psychiatrist that helped him calm down enough to meet a woman and get married. His wife also helped him mend broken fences with their grandmother. It was also during this time that he started back to school, got his high school diploma and took a creative writing course and she saw their name in the school poetry book for a poem they wrote.
But just like everything he undertook the damn testosterone surges would push him into the reptilian brain and he’d get paranoid, angry and fearful and make short term, for the most part disastrous decisions.
Then the day came when their body couldn’t hold the stress of constant fighting and he had a heart attack. You’d think he’d learn but no it was back to the same things just a little less of it. By his fourth she had gained some ground as most of his Drs. and therapists were women who he began to trust using biofeedback models and coping techniques that at least kept him from fight or flight mode at least some of the time.
She used that time wisely using her influence and giving him plausible answers to her influence.
He had gained weight and she used that opening to suggest ladies pants and shorts which offered more choices and would fit better without a belt which was really digging into his waist. Then when his wife got endometriosis, she was thrilled, not because of the illness but rather because she got to cook. She was in her element for that year.
Another bit of good fortune happened almost simultaneously, one was a reiki master who offered help his wife recover and he got to go along and experience more of the gentler arts. And the sessions helped him to heal,too.
He had acquired a staph infection from one of many hospitalizations and for 18 months he was on antibiotics reaction that caused water/fluid to leak from both arms. The prescribed ointment was useless as it matted in his arm hair. There was no way around it, he had to shave his arms clean and it felt so soft and clean that he also began to shave his upper body. The antibiotics also seem to trigger an electrolyte inbalance and he came close to dying when his potassium level dropped way below 2. Since he was already on a diuretic, he told his doctor that spironolactone was a potassium sparing diuretic.
She used that leverage to tell him that all that stuff in his pockets and a wallet his back pocket were detrimental to his health and because he wanted to, her believed her. Then she whispered in his ear that belly dancing was good for cardiac patients and took mischievous delight in him thinking he was losing his sanity. But she did take pity after a time and directed him to sites that showed men had a larger role historically than women. Of course she delighted at his embarrassment when he went to the first class and explained to a group of women that a fat 56 year old man, wasn’t in fact a “dirty ole man.” He, in turn shot a line of male BS but true to his word and true nature put his heart and soul into learning the steps and routines and was accepted as a student in good standing.
After a year disaster again struck as in swift succession he got gout, stepped on a sewing needle with the other foot, had an adverse reaction to a med that caused acute bronchitis and an abscessed tooth. Many days it hurt just to take a breath and she wasn’t sure if he could had, if not for the vicodyn. He also had to resist the cardiologist’s efforts to perform a heart catheter as the bronchitis triggered spasms in the veins around his heart, the source of his last two heart attacks.
Today, three years later she is happy with his progress ; he has bought makeup and is once again removing his body hair and seeking to see if the belly dance class is meeting.
Prologue
In case you haven’t guessed both she and he are me. Lyn and Robert.
Everything written about above is true and happened, even more in fact, with creative license used only for internal dialogue and brevity. And if the truth be known I was a bigger Neanderthal than portrayed. The reason my wife gets no more ink is that she is represented in a sense by the “she” in the story and would have been somewhat redundant and probably very confusing.
The rage and anger was and is “’roid Rage”. Not the supplemented type but what my body produced by fear through the fight or flight response mechanisms which I suspects signals the adrenals and thyroids to produce more testosterone. I don’t know what my levels were when I was younger but at 54 they were well over 800, bordering on hyper for a healthy 20 year old male. God only knows how high it climbed when I was 20. I believe my response resulted in a stereotypical “macho” response and while I can’t speak for girls entering puberty I suspect an hyper amount of estrogen may lead to a similar stereotypical “bimbo” response.
Which I think leads to a pertinent point; that when teenagers are nearing and in puberty it might be a good idea to provide counseling and regularly monitoring hormone levels. I think it would have greatly benefited me.
Finally writing the story has been a healing process for me and maybe it will touch another heartstring or two but, it was something I read here about 2 weeks ago that triggered my level of awareness and prompted self-reflection resulting in this story.
Okay I lied: Finally, I’d like to ask for your opinion on what I wrote and style because it is true, our first love was writing.
-Lyn
P.S. About my username: Lyn is my birth name. Ly is a suffix meaning like or a form of. I aspire to love and is a reminder that I'm not there. Ly is also a reaffirmation of Lyn.