Inner Demons, AKA "Journals of an Angry Trans Gurl"
© 2017 Haylee V

* This is a true account of my life experiences. All persons portrayed in this story are based on actual people I've met throughout my life, and the events portrayed actually happened. No malice is intended to those individuals involved, and names have been altered to protect the identities of the people portrayed. *

* This is a copyrighted property owned exclusively by Ronald Heyward Bailey, Jr., written under the pseudonym Haylee V. Exclusive rights are hereby given to host it on Big Closet Top Shelf or any of its affiliated companies. If you are reading it anywhere else, please be aware that you are reading a pirated copy, and should inform one of the web mistresses of Big Closet (Piper, Erin, or Sephrena) the web address where you found it. *

* Thank you for taking the time to read this story. I hope you find it as enjoyable to read as it was for me to write -- Haylee V *

* And now, on to the story. *

====================

Chapter Two (Conclusion)

Well, it's been two weeks now. Two weeks of pure hell in this gulag. But somehow, I've survived. We had a "group session" today. "Boris", the Nazi, had us sit in a circle, while his goon patrol guarded the door -- the only exit. He proceeded to lecture us on all of our evils -- how we were f*cking screw-ups that didn't even deserve to be treated like mutts -- let alone people. People like us have no right to live. We waste valuable resources meant for the "worthy".

I just tuned him out. I'd heard bullshit like this my entire life. Same propaganda, different dick... err... tator. Dictator. I feigned attentiveness, though, as he plodded on. Finally after an hour, the idiot shut up. I mean, after all, even piles of shit need to breathe sometimes -- although I did wonder...

"You all need to listen to my wisdom. The world hates you. I hate you. You have no value to anyone. Yet, even you can become a somebody. Maybe not as good as me, but somebody, nonetheless. Just quit f*cking up, and start f*cking over. Think about what I said. There are pencils and paper on the table. I want each of you to write to someone that has wronged you, and make them feel as bad as you do. Nothing is better in this life than revenge, and I'll teach you worthless pieces of shit that if I have to beat it into you."

Pencils? Paper? I silently screamed with joy, as I hatched a plan. Hopefully, it would lead to my release. I just hoped it worked.

I took the smallest sheet of paper I could find, a pencil, an envelope, and a stamp. What I had to write wouldn't take long.

I sat down on my bed and began, first by addressing the envelope:

Dr. Tiffany Samuels, M.D., Ph. D., LCSW
Catawba Community Mental Health Clinic
166 Dotson street
Rock Hill, SC 29730

Next the letter:

"I need help."

I put the letter in the envelope, sealed it, then quickly dropped it in the mail slot. I didn't know if mail was searched or not before going out, so I tried to keep it as simple as possible -- just a patient asking his doctor for assistance. Perfectly normal. I just hoped "Boris" thought so as well...

About twenty minutes later, "Boris" came in.

"You send letter, ya? Ask doctor for help. Good. You a f*ck up, but you smart. Maybe Doctor can help you. I send."

Silently, I breathed a sigh of relief. It seems the Nazi thought I'd get tortured by the doctor as well, as I saw the sadistic gleam in the bastard's eye as he left. I slept peacefully that night, the first truly restful sleep I'd gotten since I came here. I marked my calendar. May 17, 1993. Monday.
=== === ===
I was sitting in my office, Idly thumbing through my mail. Today was Thursday, May 20, 1993. I was going to call it a day in about half an hour, as I had dinner plans to make tonight at the White Horse. It was my first anniversary, and my husband was taking me back to the place it all began.

Seeing nothing vital, I tossed the mail on Tiffany's desk, to sort. As she did so, I saw a shocked expression come over her face.

"What's wrong, Tiff?"

"I don't know. That's just... odd is all. I've got a letter."

"From your boyfriend, no doubt. I told you not to give him this address."

"No, it's not him. It's from Mr. Dan... err Geoff. Only it's addressed to DOCTOR Tiffany Samuels... He KNOWS I'm just the secretary."

"Maybe he's just confused. Maybe he meant it for me?"

"I don't know. It's just the way it's addressed. Like he was PURPOSELY trying to draw my attention to it. Look..."

I read the address. "Nothing out of the ordinary there. Just a bit formal, perhaps."

"Exactly. I told him to call me Tiff. And very few people would go through the trouble of listing ALL your titles, especially when they can just put a Dr. at the front and be done with it. If it was truly for me, why didn't he just write Tiff Samuels?"

"Interesting. Open it, Tiff. Maybe he's trying to send us a message."

Tiff opened the letter and read it -- slowly. Her eyes got as big as saucers, and her whole body shook. The letter fluttered to the floor.

I picked it up and read it. Something in my mind just clicked.

"Something's not right. If he wanted MY help, all he had to do was call me. He has my card. But he asked for YOU, specifically. And mislabeled the envelope ON PURPOSE. What IS going on with him?"

"I don't know, Aunt Sue," she said. "But you can be DAMNED sure I'm going to find out."

"Well, I was going to close shop soon, anyways. Calm down a little, while I call your father. We may need his help..."
=== === ===
"So, what's this all about, Sis?" Matt questioned.

"I really don't know. I just have a bad feeling that one of my patients is in trouble."

I explained my concerns, with Tiffany filling in details I forgot -- or didn't know.

Matt just shook his head silently.

"Well, I do have some leave available tonight and tomorrow. Let me get a few of the boys on the horn. We'll get to the bottom of this. Trust me."

Within the hour, Matt had assembled his team - two men and two women. He had dressed as a doctor, and his companion as a bodyguard. The women were, of course, dressed as nurses.

OK, guys," he began, laying out his plan. "Tom, you're going to be my bodyguard. Think B. A. from The A-Team. Think you can handle that?"

Tom replied (in his best Mr. T voice), "You messin' with me, fool?"

"Works for me..."
=== === ===
The group arrived at the Bull Street State Psychiatric Center about 4 P.M.

:Stay together, boys and girls," Matt whispered, "and pray that this goes off without a hitch."
=== === ===
Matt rang the buzzer of the cast iron door.

"Ya," a heavily accented German voice replied from the intercom. "Vot you vant?"

"I'm Dr, Hannibal Smith. I've come to speak with Dr. Voss. We've been ordered to transfer one of your patients."

"Enter," came the reply, as the door slowly swung open, creaking noisily on its rusty hinges.

"I'm Dr. Voss. Show me your transport papers."

Matt handed him the forms requested. Fortunately, Sally, the blonde nurse, was a master forger, who had worked as a civilian for the State Medical Licensing Board. Not to mention her father owned the best paper processing plant in South Carolina.

"You want patient 3731. A real nut job. Glad you brought muscle and two nurses. You'll need them."

Matt and the others were led down a long hall, and told to wait in the common area, while the patient was summoned.
=== === ===
I heard their heavy footfalls coming down the hall. What have I done now? I asked myself, the dread and fear heavily weighing on my mind.

Boris unlocked my door and barged in, roughly. For once, thankfully, he had left his pet monkeys home.

"Up!" he screamed. "Dress! Follow!"

I scrambled quickly to get to my feet. Whatever it was had the Nazi ROYALLY pissed.

He dragged me forcefully down the hall and to the common area, then pushed me down -- way rougher than needed -- into the chair.

"Silence," he screamed, motioning for the group to begin.

"Hi. I'm Dr. Hannibal Smith, and this is my colleague, Dr. Templeton Peck. We're here under the orders of the State Medical Director, Dr. Bethany Lynne, to transport you to a different facility. One that will better meet your needs. Nurse Gretchen will gather your things."

"Just make sure she COMPLETELY," I winked, unseen by "the Nazi", "strips my bed."

"Per the handbook," I stated to the Nazi, who just grunted and nodded.
=== === ===
With that, "Dr. Smith" helped me to my feet, wth "Dr. Peck" on the other side. We quickly exited towards the door, with the auburn-haired nurse in the rear.

I was led to a white van, and roughly pushed to the back corner. The men each mouthed a quick "Sorry".

A few minutes later, "Nurse Gretchen" joined me in the back, and we headed off --- away from my tormentor.I was, at last, FREE. SAFE.
=== === ===
Notes:

I have to come clean here. Some scenes were HIGHLY embellished. There wasn't really a covert sting, per se. More like two cops. The letter WAS, however, real, and was sent along with my "REAL" journal. Fortunately, mail was NOT checked, as a representative from the Postal Service gathered it each day.

South Carolina has STRICT laws about who can handle mail of inmates and the mentally ill, and follow FEDERAL guidelines TO THE LETTER. ONLY a sworn representative of the Postal Service can examine outgoing mail, and it MUST be done off-site, at a secure location. Mail is first x-rayed, and anything suspicious is destroyed by delayed incineration. Secondly, all mail that passes that step is subjected to drug-sniffing dog, to weed out contraband. Finally, each parcel is hand inspected, to prevent any pathogens or contagions from being released to the general populace, and to prevent stalking, threats, and any other illegal use.

If the parcels pass muster, they are then carefully resealed and sent to their destinations.

And yes, that IS (or rather was at the time, they've since moved...) the address of the town's mental health center.

* The next posting, a FULL CHAPTER, is slated for June 1. No Journal or poem, though.* - Haylee V