The House

I’m going to do something I almost never do.

I’m going to give you all a peek inside my mind.

But because just like the Q continuum on Star Trek, it’s much easier to translate my mindscape into something understandable, I invite you to envision . . .

A House.

We go through the front door, into the Welcome room,

The Welcome room is, as you can tell by the name, the section of the House where I’m most comfortable having guests.

It probably seems cheery enough, with soft huggle-shaped furniture, and with plenty of femininine touches, but even here, if you look carefully, there are dark corners, and artifacts of my boyhood that now seem sadly out of place, but are rooted to the spots they stand in.

But if you leave the Welcome room, and go deeper inside, it wouldn’t take you long to see why I normally don’t allow visitors to wander far from it.

And indeed, I try not to go far from the Welcome room myself.

Because not far from the Welcome room, there is an area that has been flooded, and now looks more like a lake.

But its not the kind of lake you’d want to go swimming in.

The lake is ink-black, and as thick and clingy as tar. And at the bottom of that lake is a siren of sorts, who tries to lure me into the lake, so it can drown me.

But there is a path around the lake, leading even farther down, so our tour isn’t over yet.

Below there are a maze of corridors, clearly designed by an insane architect, and haunted by ghosts and demons.

It is in those corridors that the sacrifice of my girl side when I was a child is endlessly replayed, like a video stuck on loop.

That sacrifice, trying to save my boy side from the horror of my rape, while brave, was not totally successful, and watching it replay is torture.

But if we brave through, we come at last to the place I wanted to show you.

We come to a dungeon, locked and chained and bolted, but if you listen, you can hear the growls of . . .

The Monster.

The Monster came about in part because despite how terrible my rapes were, my body also experienced pleasure at the same time.

That set me up for torment when puberty arrived, awakening my own sex drive, as horror and pleasure mixed together.

And the Monster fed on this mix and began sending me thoughts of doing to others something like what was done to me.

This so terrifies me that nearly every decision I’ve made since was designed in part to try and make the Monster less dangerous.

But the very fact that this door exists shows the truth - nothing I’ve done has pulled the Monster’s fangs, even after all these years.

And so I live with the fear that one day, the Monster will break loose, and cause untold harm to strangers, friends, and even to myself.
But the tour is over, and I lead you back to the Welcome room, the place where I can at least pretend I’m the soft fuzzy person I want to be.

At least for today . . .

End