Identity

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There are many different ways to die.

By Karen J. Taylor

Copyright 2007

This story deals with what has been a controversial topic, if you can’t read it with an open mind, don’t read it at all. You’ve been warned.

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This time it was a display of Halloween costumes that triggered it. She was walking through the mall with her best friend when they saw a window of adult costumes. The cat woman outfit drew her eyes like a magnet. As she stared at it, her hand rose of its own accord to finger her upper lip. One memory triggered another and soon they were cascading into her mind like the flood from a broken dam.

"911 — What is your emergency?"

"Please send help! My friend, she’s collapsed and she’s like having a fit or something! She’s screaming and moaning and keeps shaking!"

"Where are you?"

"We’re at Riverside Mall, in front of Paper Warehouse. Please hurry!"

"Help is on the way, miss. Please stay on the phone with me until they arrive."

She spent the next three days in the hospital before they’d let her come home. The first day she was sedated, and after that they kept her on a high dosage of tranquilizers and under continuous observation. Even now that she was home, she knew there was at least one camera in her bedroom so her parents could keep an eye on her.

She looked at herself in the mirror; she was a beautiful 18-year-old girl, with a body that looked as if it had been sculpted by a skilled artist - which in a way it had. No trace was left of the 14-year-old boy she’d been when she was abducted by the slavers engaged in the sex and porn trade.

Her ears were perfectly rounded now; there was no sign of the pointed tips they’d given her; or of the whiskers that had been implanted in her upper lip. Further down, she had the small, firm breasts appropriate to a girl her age, not the huge double D ones their implants had given her.

All the way down, slim and firm tummy and wide, but not too wide, hips; and the smooth area where her penis had been, now a womanly triangle of pubic hair surrounding her vagina and hyper-sensitive clitoris.

That had been very important to her owners. As Caitlin the Cat Girl, she’d been expected to have sex with anyone and anything — human, animal, and not a few objects. Dosed daily with an exotic cocktail of drugs, she’d been in a constant state of mindless arousal, unable to resist or refuse. When the agents of the state and federal taskforce had rescued her two years later, she’d had to be forcibly restrained from trying to have sex with her rescuers.

Rescued, now that was a laugh. She hadn’t been rescued; she was still a prisoner mentally. Therapy, hypnosis, drugs, nothing could keep her from remembering what had been done to her, and what she was.

She looked around her bathroom, there was nothing pointed anywhere. No razor, after she’d disassembled one and slit her wrists they’d permanently removed her body hair. No tweezers, she’d tried to gouge open the veins in her neck with them. That same smooth neck showed no signs of the marks where she’d attempted to hang herself in the shower with her pantyhose. And only a slight huskiness in her voice betrayed the damage done when she drank the drain cleaner.

But there were ways; there were always ways, she thought to herself as she fingered the metal teeth of the zipper on her jeans. Later that night, after the lights had been out for hours, she reached down to the floor and slipped them under the covers.

* * * * * * *

"This is the sixth time she’s tried to kill herself! The sixth time, doctor! When’s it going to stop?"

"We don’t know, ma’am. It may not be possible to undo the damage done to her mentally."

"You mean she’ll keep trying until she succeeds?"

"Yes sir. At this point I’d say that’s a virtual certainty."

"Will she have to be committed? I lost my son; I don’t want to lose my daughter."

"There is one possibility . . . ."

"What?"

"We can go into her brain, there’s a tiny area . . . . If we burn away that area with a laser, she’d completely lose who she is."

"You mean she’d be like a baby?"

"No, but it would be permanent amnesia. She’d be able to walk, talk, dress herself, that sort of thing; but she would have no memories prior to the surgery. She would have to relearn everything about herself, she’d be a blank slate. Likely, she’d lose a few years and drop a bit in IQ, but she’d be trainable and able to function on her own after she grew up again."

"Oh, God!"

"We can’t make that decision by ourselves; we’ve got to ask her."

 

* * * * * * *

"Do it! I can’t live like this! I can’t stand what I am, what I’ve become!"

"You understand you won’t have any memories of yourself? Nothing prior to the surgery will remain."

"DO IT! You think I want to remember what I was and what happened to me? I promise you, if you don’t I’ll be dead in a year. Do it!"

* * * * * * *

Written in a childish scrawl in a notebook: "Hello, they say my name is Connie and I am fifteen. The doctor said I shoud write everything done as my head dont work so good as it did. Mommy and daddy said I was in a bad axident an thas why I have these bandages on my head. I guess they cut all my hair off so I look real funny I dont remember anything about it but mommy and daddy say everything will be ok and they love me very much."

 

_________________________________

Thanks to Janet — Mistress of the Guild, John in Wauwatosa, Jillian, PB and Angharad, all of who looked this over and made constructive comments and corrections. As always, I use what I want to, so any mistakes in this are there by my choice. The last paragraph is supposed to be that way.

And a big thanks to John and Jillian for their assistance in getting this posted. If you are reading this, their advice worked!

 

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Comments

Effective...

Works well enough; we certainly get a feel for the character's dilemma and an explanation of the choice she makes.

But as I see it, it's not death within a year that makes her current life unpalatable. It's the family's determination to keep her alive at all costs: inevitably, padded rooms, no solitude, no metallic or sharp objects, no food morsel large enough to choke on, etc., all the while remaining subject to depressive hopelessness and mental flashbacks. That's the kind of life that she'd justifiably consider an even worse option than identity loss and mental impairment. There may well be something to be said for imminent death as superior to either choice, even if our protagonist thinks otherwise. (And that's without even considering the TG element of the situation.)

Eric

' That debate '

kristina l s's picture

This pokes a pointy stick at the why. Is it just possible that sometimes there is nowhere else to go? It may be a death of sorts, but it is not quite the same thing is it. This is short but covers the essentials. Pain and horror, anguish and fear, it does get the consent of the 'victim' but it is still what it is. They still have their child and said child has a chance to grow and be. Nothing will be the same... yet, beats the alternative I think. It aint pretty...but a lot of things aren't.
Kristina

Short, to the point, bittersweet

Whe I saw two of her drafts I knew Karen had something here.

As Kristina says, the child and the family had no viable alternatives. She was in a vicious mental trap she could not escape. Her captors/transformers had left her trapped in her own mind, the memories were so strong and horific. Perhaps with time and massive professional intervention they might have got her urge to kill herself under control but she would have killed herself long before that. The poor child says as much. She is certain she will kill herself to stop the pain. Her family offers the terrible choice to her and does not force it.

At least there is some hope of a happy life, diminished as it may be for the child. With death there is nothing. What is the saying, 'a choice between the lesser of two evils?'

As I wrote to Karen, I hope I never am in a situation where I or someone I am close to ever has to make such a terrible choice.

A thought provoking what if.

John in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa

Life

There are things we would all like to forget. Usually pain we have caused someone else. Here we feel the pain done to someone else.

You've done a wonderful job of identifying Connie's pain. The solution gives her an opportunity for life where none would otherwise exists. It was a moving short story.

I liked it a lot.

As always,

Dru

As always,

Dru

I thouroughly agree with your ...

Jezzi Stewart's picture

... second paragraph if the antecedent for "her" in the second sentence is "Connie" and not Caitlin and/or whatever the boy's name was. He IS dead, and since it was by his own choice, I have no quarrel with that. The parents couldn't save their son, but they could give a new person a chance at life. I hope Connie's retardation is just a matter of relearning lost skills and not, as she writes, "... my head dont work so good as it did." Very powerful and well written; bravo!

I wonder if, at eighteen or so, if Connie is of normal intelligence, they will tell her the truth about herself. It might be better than if she inadvertantly finds out for herself.

"All the world really is a stage, darlings, so strut your stuff, have fun, and give the public a good show!" Miss Jezzi Belle at the end of each show

BE a lady!

I Believe I Said This Before, But...

I found this extremely moving when I first read it and even more so after the tweaks that led to this final version. My admiration for your skill as a writer is only eclipsed by my appreciation for your friendship.

Never let it be said that I don't enjoy the occasional delusion of grandeur

Never let it be said that I don't enjoy the occasional delusion of grandeur

Tnx everybody

Intelligent, thoughtful comments. Thanks to everybody. This was one of those "3:30 AM" stories, by shortly after 4 AM it was essentially done, although what I posted has been polished and re-polished. It was not my intent to stir up the identity death debate by writing a story about it, but once this story came, I knew I had to post it sooner or later. That's why I took the step of running it past four friends who's opinion I highly respect, to see what their reaction was.

It's a classic "no winners' story. There's a saying that fits: "You can't win, you can't break even, and they won't let you out of the game". As I told one of my proofreaders, the only moral of this story is that there are evil people out there, and life sometimes sucks.

I feel it would be a well-nigh impossible decision for a parent to allow their child to die as being preferable to living a life so completely abhorrent to her. It's may very well be hard-wired in a (good) parent's brain to do whatever has to be done to keep the child alive. I know there are parents out there that aren't that way, but I'm not sure they deserve the title. I believe if you really, really love your child, there is practically nothing you won't do to keep them alive. Letting go is simply not an option, right or wrong.

I deliberately kept the details as sparse as I could, to allow the reader to imagine what they wanted to, but one thing I wanted to show was that her parents had accepted her as a daughter and they loved her: "I lost my son; I don’t want to lose my daughter".

And who knows what will happen? As she grows up a second time free of the mental bonds, she may become a loving and happy young woman.

Karen J.

"A dress makes no sense unless it inspires men to want to take it off you."
Francoise Sagan


"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin

Short and powerful

This was a short and powerful story. In truth she was driven insane by what was done to her and only the most drastic action could help. Tragic and powerful!
grover

What are the answers?

And what are sometimes even the questions? Here a boy suffers HUGE drauma and is turned into girl sex machine. His questions and answers - if he would find any are different from any other situations. And if you end up with a situation where there really aren't any relevant questions to ask, no answers given and no future before you - then suicide is a way to end a meaningless life. But would cleaning the mind really be the answer? I don't think so as the loss of personality would only give a new reason to end it all.

When I was a kid (about 18 years old) I thought about suicide. Living had no real meaning for me. I had no questions and I had no answers - just a BLACK feeling. It didn't come from crossdressing I think and well who cares - I happily decided to live. And I would have said NO if offered a clean - and even a feminine plate to go on.

A very good story about the darkside!

Hugs,
Sissy Baby Paula and Snowball (my toy puppy)

When living isn't an option

Hope Eternal Reigns's picture

Dear Karen,

VERY powerful story! Excellent job. How do you resolve an unresolvable issue? At least the parents were able to help the physical human being, the psychological person was by your story beyond any help. A very sad story. I can't imagin anything worse happening to a family.

Thank you.

with love,

Hope

with love,

Hope

Once in a while I bare my soul, more often my soles bear me.

I'll...Come back later.

This is scary, really frightening to me, self-death is the worst kind. And for no reason just.

Well, I wanted to say I got a reaction, and I'll review later.

Dead Is Dead

joannebarbarella's picture

Anguish and horror and diabolical memories may be terrible, but losing your child is worse. A choice that is not good but with a fresh start there is hope,
Joanne

Bitter-sweet sad story, the unthinkable choice. Thanks for ...

reminding us of your short, sad tale.

No happy ending here but a chance, a glimer, a hint of salvaging something.

Your late night inspirations are remarkable, Karen.

John in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa

A grave Dilemma.

Staying is sometimes hard and unbearable.
Letting go, escaping is a way out, yet it is always a loss. A loss that leaves a void in its place.
The void can never be closed, but sometimes, something new can grow. And ease the loss.

I will not pretend I ever had to make difficult choices, or that my life was ever truly unbearable.
I truly hope and am determined to stay, where it matters.
I pray I will never have to make a choice.
I hope I will have the strength it requires, if the choice presents itself, to stay.

And I pray for everyone who is in a situation, when a choice is to be made...
To choose to stay, if they can, and to leave that which will grow to ease the loss, otherwise.

An option that leaves a glimmer of hope. There is no other option that can be considered.
And Connie's lost self made a choice that closed one door and opened another. We can only hope it will be enough.

Faraway

Faraway


On rights of free advertisement:
Big Closet Top Shelf

Where you can fool around like you want to and most you get is some bemused good ribbing!

Yes.

Karen I agree, it is a grey area, the place where you stand between your memories and your hope, and the memories take over.

You wrote it from the abused point of view here. I can't prove it but i think that those doing such things also loses something. For want of a better word I would say they lose their soul. I wonder what would happen when one such person wakes up to the fact that they have became lower than a normal animal, and what they would do to reclaim their soul and dignity.

There are some examples of it in the bible i think?
And elsewhere too, I'm sorry, I've been up to long now, a habitual fault with me from nightly working. It makes my thoughts somewhat 'fuzzy' :)after the first days. But it's just my biological clock that refuses to listen.

But I really liked your story, it is a, well, not heartwarming perhaps as burning away parts of your brain is a rather invasive procedure, but very empathic and heartfelt.

I'm looking forward to reading your next example.

Thanks, Yor

I'm glad you found what you were looking for. Certain stories are "middle of the night" stories. Those are the ones where I wake after a really graphic bad dream and the words almost flow out of me. In one sense they are the easiest ones to write, but in another they are the hardest.

KJT

"Being a girl is wonderful and to torture someone into that would be like the exact opposite of what it's like. I don’t know how anyone could act that way." College Girl - poetheather


"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin

Frightening...

Andrea Lena's picture

...in many ways all too real and too close for comfort for me, I guess, but a compelling and altogether a fascinating if sad story. For me, I wouldn't trade one second of my horror if it meant forgetting everything else, but I can't imagine her pain and overwhelming sadness and fright. And she gets to grow up again, like the doctor said, but this time protected and safe. Excellent tale.

She was born for all the wrong reasons but grew up for all the right ones.
Possa Dio riccamente vi benedica, tutto il mio amore! Buon Natale, Andrea

  

To be alive is to be vulnerable. Madeleine L'Engle
Love, Andrea Lena

Identity - powerful story

Ms. Karen J. Taylor,

Your story is hits hard, and doesn't pull its punches at all. What was done to the victim was by monsters in human guise; the alternative to suicide, while drastic, does give the possibility of longer-term hope. Were it not for the hope, distant and limited as it may be, the story would be too horrible for me to want to remember, any more than the victim wanted to remember what had happened and been done to her.

Thanks for a thought-provoking piece of work.

KR

tragic choice

Right now, its one I can really relate to. Having a blank slate to start over with sounds like a good deal.

DogSig.png

Thanks Dorothycolleen

It's a fantasy, or nightmare, many of us have now and again. I think that it sometimes sounding like a good deal is what scares me the most.

KJT

"Being a girl is wonderful and to torture someone into that would be like the exact opposite of what it's like. I don’t know how anyone could act that way." College Girl - poetheather


"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin

Eww... Ew... Eww...Don't

Eww... Ew... Eww...

Don't know what to say to this. What a horrifying story.

If the psychs need to resort to crap like this, they did their job wrong. There should always be another option.

Awesome writing, but really horrifying.

Thank you for writing,

Beyogi

PS: I wonder why she didn't get amnesia by herself. Normally the brain tries to forget or at least stash away such memories so the person can still function.

When options fail

The difference between fantasy and reality: in fantasy there is always "another option"; in reality there may not be one.

Think of her as have a really massive case of PTSD. One so strong that the horror keeps coming back, in spite of all the efforts. In this case they are so strong that they threaten to take over completely, a non-ending living nightmare. Then where is the option? The victim has gone totally insane and is living a nightmare that never ends. In life no-win situations occurr, it has nothing to do with a person's inner strength or purity. Tom Wolfe makes reference to this in his novel "The Right Stuff, talking about a test pilot who augers in. All the time he's talking on the radio: "Switching to Plan B . . . no response. Switching to Plan C . . . no response. Switching to Pla . . . .". All the way down the test pilot tries everything he knows, every plan devised, for no avail. There were no plans, no options left to try.

* * *

There are plenty of people in this world who think they are wits. They are half right.

Karen J.


"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin

In real life, kinda like

In real life, kinda like Doctor Ken Zucker and his cronies and their Reparative Therapy taken to the extreme. They think being gay is better than being trans, and if they can get a trans kid to be gay, they count it as a success for their techniques. That goes along with the belief they might be able to "cure" gays someday, so they encourage the parents to punish feminine behavior in children and reward male behavior, sorta a Skinnerian technique of reward and punishment. It has been shown repeatedly the Skinner technique induced behavior does not last without frequent re-enforcement.

CaroL

CaroL