In the Psychiatrists Chair -2 (Autumn 1968)
“Come on in John and take a seat.”
The client didn’t say anything. He was a teenager and was still dressed in his school uniform. The look on his face said that he didn't want to be here.
“Now John, you are here today to see me because you keep stealing money from your parents. Is this true?”
After a pause, he answered
“Yes.”
“Good. What did you spend it on? The latest Man U Strip?”
“Nah. That is so unhip besides, I hate that silly game.”
“What is it then?
Silence for several seconds but the doctor was used to people not answering straight away.
“I buy stuff. Stuff for Gillian.”
“Gillian? Who is she?”
“I buy her make-up, tights and the like.”
“She’s a lucky girl to have someone buying things like that. Shouldn’t her parents buy them for her?”
He shook his head.
“They don’t let her wear them.”
“Well, that is their right. They are her parents after all?”
“You don’t understand.”
The doctor made a quick note on her pad.
“What don’t I understand?”
“Gillian is me. There I’ve said it. I would rather have been born a girl. I want to be a girl. Now where are the men in white coats to take me to the loony bin?”
Then he fled from the room with tears runnig down his, or should it be her cheeks.
[Authors note]
This is when I told someone for the first time about they called my little 'problem'.
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Comments
Reminds me of me as well.
Reminds me of me as well. Hugs, Janice Lynn
at least your doctor let you flee
mine had other ideas ...
In '68 I thought I was the only one
You were brave to bring her out at that age and time. I am still struggling with that decision,
Hugs Jeri
Jeri Elaine
Homonyms, synonyms, heterographs, contractions, slang, colloquialisms, clichés, spoonerisms, and plain old misspellings are the bane of writers, but the art and magic of the story is in the telling not in the spelling.
I too struggled with telling
I too struggled with telling anyone close to me. After that event, I told no one for many years. Even now, aged 61 only one close friend knows. She's a real pal. We get dolled up and have girly nights in whenever we can. She loves giving me a makeover and watching me walk in heels far better than she ever could. giggles
I've come to terms with the fact that I could never pass as a woman in public. So I do the next best thing, I wear a dress/skirt everyday at home and that keeps me sane. I now have more female clothes than male thanks to Internet Shopping.
At the moment I am having fun getting used to a new pair of 5in heels. going downstairs is a bit of a challenge yet 4in ones are no problem. Funny that!
A Teenager.
You came late to it then or were you just suppressing it? Though if you had a name for her, methinks she's been around from the earliest onset of your gender awareness.
Assuming you were a teenager in 1968 that means you are at least fifty nine today. I hope you're looking after Gillian now.
Beverly.
I'm now aged 61. Yes. It had
I'm now aged 61. Yes. It had been brewing for at least 5 years. Then ... well I wanted to wear mini-skirts and makeup and everything. I started 'borrowing' money from my parents. Something that I'm now ashamed of but I blame it all on the hormones and my internal conflict over who I really was. Gillian changed her name to Samantha when I went to a recording of "I'm sorry I haven't a clue". If you have ever listened to that radio show, you know that Samantha is the scorer.
Morington Crescent anyone?