Just a short note. I've enjoyed BC, FM, Storysite, and other TG fiction sites for a long time now, and thought I’d make a contribution. I’m not a writer by any means, but what the heck…

Be kind, but please let me know what you think. - tommilynn

WARNING: This is not a “feel good” story. May even be a trigger for some.

A Severed Heart

I had dreaded tonight. I spent weeks trying to organize my thoughts. Years contemplating how and when I would do it. Days were spent figuring how to present myself, and my sanity to my family. My plans were set into motion with great trepidation - - - It all went to rubbish in just a blink of an eye.

My family, Dad, Mom, and my two siblings all sat around the kitchen table as I had requested their presence for a "family conference". Dad is about 45, the typical "business drone' with a slight paunch and slightly balding – all man – the “bread winner”. Mom is the same age, beginning to show the strain of keep the five of us clothed, fed, and pointed in a direction to insure our success in life. Sis, Lottie, is about 18 - two years younger than I am and the spitting image of Mom when she was 18. She's into everything involving spirit at school and active in the school choir as a soloist. Ty, my brother, is 15 and the typical high school jock, the main lady's man on the team and very self-absorbed. Me? My name is Jules Adam Wilson. I'm 20 and the exact opposite of my brother in most things social or athletic. I couldn't survive a single tackle in football, or sink a basket, hit a home run - or anything remotely approaching athletic excellence. I wasn't large and muscular like him, if fact I’ve been described as “delicate” featured and small boned.

Me - I'm into reading, self-contemplation and generally staying OUT of the limelight in which my siblings seem to revel. An afternoon sitting under a tree in our large back yard on a mild summer's afternoon with a good book is my idea of fulfillment. I've tried the choir thing (at the insistence of sis) but I just didn't have the ear for it, and was chosen most likely to be silenced during the soft passages during coral concerts. It took me about two weeks to decide I wasn't fit for consumption by the human ear - and quit. Of course, Dad had me try many different sports too, I couldn't follow a pitch to hit it in baseball, football was just plain too violent to my liking, and even golf presented s difficulty in even hitting the ball with a club - let alone placing it in some semblance of the direction of the pin.

I have my passions, but most would think it weird if they were to find out what they were, as I said I enjoy reading - fantasies to be exact. I can get lost reading and placing myself in the place of the heroine - yeah I said heroine. I've often felt I was more suited to be the heroine than the hero. I could never imagine myself slaying dragons or breaching castle walls, instead I would day-dream about wearing the most delicate gowns, holding court with princes, and being womanly. I would dream about spending the day being primped and coiffured for a formal event. I want someone to hold me, someone strong and masculine, someone that I can feel protected by while I give them the whole of my support and love.

I had years ago decided that I would do something about it, and transition. I planned it, I worried over it, and I put it off (through fear) as long as I could. Now was the time I would inform my family about my drastic plan for my life. So - That brings me to the eventful night I had sat my family down around the kitchen table. They were a bit confused about the purpose, as I wouldn't let on the topic I would be discussing. I didn't want them forming opinions before I could lay it all out there for them - how I felt, why I felt that way, how I had struggled to keep the facade of "normal" from breaking for most all of the past 10+ years. I needed to lay everything I felt on the table (literally) and allow them to try to come to the same conclusions I had - I was meant to lead the role of a female in life.

It started out with every one slowly sauntering into the kitchen at the appointed time. (As usual) Ty was the last to appear. Once the family was all present, and attentive, I began slowly. I told them I had something I needed to let them in on - something I had been leading to for all my earlier life, something that would probably have a gigantic impact on the dynamics of the family from that point forward. This seemed to insure their full and undivided attention. I related I had been living my life as a lie for over ten years. The quizzical looks on their faces was something to note.

I explained that since I hit 18, and could do so without parental permission, I had been seeing a therapist. Dr. Morgan had sat with me for two hours a week (two sessions) for the past two years. She had held my hand, listened to my miseries and guided me to coming to my own conclusions. In short - she had been there to provide the direction that my family had failed to provide (though I didn't say that to them). She had probed me, drawn enough blood to satisfy a hungry vampire, sent me to specialist that did the same, had my brain structure analyzed, checked my body structure, had me take test after test that measured how my brain functions, and had - after multiple results pointed to the same conclusion - affirmed that I was indeed female and wrongly habiting a male body.

First to react was my Mom. She began crying and asking what she had done wrong to ruin my life in such a way. Dad just sat and fumed. Lila said (and I quote) "What a FREAK!". Ty just sat there repeating "That's f'd up bro". Dad quickly began shouting for me to get out - leave his home. No child of his would even begin to think of doing such a "sacrilegious" thing. It was unnatural. It was against all that he had ever considered for one of his “own”. Ty - just left the room repeating his mantra over and over, and Lottie left laughing under her breath. I was only left there with my Mom. She was sobbing incoherently about how she had failed me.

- - That went well - NOT…

Having been ostracized and disowned by Dad, called a screw-up by my brother, summarily dismissed by sis, and having my admission reduce Mom to a blathering puddle of self-pity, I figured I had done enough, and I left. I drove across town to my apartment that I had just occupied for only past two months. I walked in - sat down in the dark and tried to find the pieces of my heart that they had so distinctly torn asunder. I had expected some shock, maybe even some doubt, but revulsion and dismissal from my own family was well beyond my expectations. I had expected at least reluctant support. I had gotten none. Sitting there in the dark, I went back over my discourse. Had I been too blunt? Had I not explained my own pain? Was I too glib about something that had torn me apart inside for so long? Was I too late to include my family in my journey? Could I have gotten support if I had spoken to them 10 years ago?

It would hurt for a long time, but I would not be deterred from my path by my family's reaction. The reason I picked now to talk to them was because Dr Morgan had me set to start HRT next week. I knew that once the changes estrogen and androgen blockers would bring became evident, it would be too late to say anything. I knew I had to do it - and I had. My mind was set - transition WAS my future. If my family couldn't bear that - so much for them. I had to do this for my own sanity. I had to do this for my own well-being. I HAD to do this! If my family couldn't give me support during that process - then they would just have to deal with it after the fact. My only hope is that they will come around at some time in the future. In the meantime - It will be their daughter Julie Anne Wilson, not their son Jules Adam Wilson, they will have to reconnect with, because Jules “died” tonight.

Maybe by that time, I will have repaired my heart and will be able to accept them within it once more.

I can only hope and pray…