CHAPTER FIVE
Moments in Hotel 21

My night had been deep and restful. I hadn't woken, until a nurse, dressed in jeans and a red blouse, had come in and told me she was getting me my medicine.

I nodded absently in my sleepy state, and it wasn't till after she'd gone, it occurred to me, I didn't know where the hell I was. I remembered breaking down... Oh, did I remember that! I could also not forget finally being taken to the hospital, but what had happened then? I couldn't remember much of the time from leaving the house to waking up that morning.

As the nurse walked back into the room, I bombarded the poor woman with a million and one questions, like a small child would do to his mother or father. She stopped and raised her hand for quiet and smiled. She told me she would explain and answer what questions she could.

"Matthew," Ouch! That name hurt me enough to glare at her. She paused, then smiled, seeming to relax me again. "You were admitted to us last night as the crisis team didn't think you should be by yourself as depressed as you were. When you got here, you were unable to stop crying. You wouldn't or couldn't respond to the doctor's questions, so he finally requested you stay and that we would see how you were today." She explained what had happened while I sat there in my bed, just nodding like I understood. Which I really didn't.

"How are you feeling now?" she asked while handing me some pills and water.

I quickly dodged the question and played the clever 'answer a question with a question game. "What are these?" I asked, referring to the two tablets she had handed me.

"Just Prozac, to keep you calm, and Colmazopan. They will help you keep calm and be able to cope while you're in here." She answered with a gentle smile.

"Do I have to take them? I'm feeling heaps better this morning." I wasn't lying either. Compared to the day before, I felt at least eighty percent better. It was nearly as if it hadn't really happened. Nearly.

"Well, it would be better. However, you don't have to take the Colmazopan if you are not feeling anxious." She said in a soft voice. As she spoke, she edged a chair closer to my bed and sat on it... Waiting, watching, observing and annoying.

She was going to ask me questions, interrogate me. I would have to try and give her the answers they're looking for. Having already won the medicine battle (I hate taking medicines I don't need), I felt I could answer some of her questions. Still, she seemed like a nice enough person anyway; I'd humour her.

I wanted to avoid talking or answer any questions. I felt that talking about it, thinking about how I felt, what had started the whole thing, would set me off again.

I needed to close myself off again, and I could now do that. The calm feeling allowed my resolve to firm up again so that I could just be genderless and hide away from the Dysphoria that plagued me.

"So... How do you feel today?" she asked again, knowing this time there was no easy way for me to get out of answering since she was now sitting there, waiting.

The Prozac fell out of the little cup it was in and into my mouth. I took the cup of water and swallowed down the pill, questioning if it would really help or not and wondering if taking it hadn't answered her question already.

I reached inside myself, wondering how to answer her question or if it would even be wise to. A second of self-examination revealed I was feeling better. At least I didn't feel caught in the downward spiral of thought I had been yesterday. The all-consuming emptiness that had been pulling at me like a black-hole had subsided. But its event horizon, surrounding a core of pain and was still there holding a grip on my heart, making my chest feel tight and compressed.

Having considered all those points carefully, I looked the nurse dead in the eye, smiled (hoping it didn't come out as a grimace) and said, "Fine." I lied.

It could be dangerous to display my pain for everyone's examination and discussion. This was my private pain, and only I could deal with it, somehow. People didn't understand my pain. When I opened up, people tried to understand it and usually worsened it when explaining it back to me. It was like they would tell me how I should be feeling, not listening to how I did feel.

Anyway, something else was now on my mind, something that was heaps stronger, that was eating away at my spirit. Eating away at my being. I placed it down to being in a hospital. It was one of the most disliked places of my life. I don't know why I disliked hospitals, but I do. The sooner I was out of that place, the better.

"Do you still feel like killing yourself?" She asked, her voice calming and somehow compelling me to explore the question. I couldn't answer.

That one question had me teetering nearly bringing back all the emptiness I had felt the day before. This could not be a yes/no question. Until the heart of my pain was dealt with, one way or the other, I knew the void would continue to tempt me. Even then, the dreaded sequence of can/can't, would/could, and that dreaded 'why' circled just a thought away. I steeled myself and answered, the only way I thought I could.

"If the world," I said, gulping down the hard lump that had formed in my throat, "gave me a way out. I think... no, not think. I know I would take it." I felt tears building up again, but I squeezed them back, dancing back from the encroaching void. This time I was more in control and blew my emotions. Blow them to hell, I would deal with this, and I would make sure that there would be NO MORE CRYING!

"So you think you would still take your life if you were given a chance?" She asked, the worry evident in her voice. This was nothing like the movies that you watch on TV. The ones where the white coats come out talking to you like you are nothing but a broken object, rather than a person in need of a hand. This honestly seemed concerned and really wanted to help.

I nodded, knowing no more words were needed on this subject. It was clearly making me upset, and I couldn't talk about it any more. The nurse smiled and nodded. "Then it would be better for you to stay, for today at least." She explained her voice, calm and soothing.

I nodded again, knowing that inside myself, she was right. It didn't make me feel better about being in the hospital, but it made me realise that it was the best option for my own safety. For my safety.

"Well, there is lots for you to do during your stay here. There is a games room, where you can play pool and snooker. We've a piano and some other instruments in the music room. There is also the TV room where you can watch TV and make cups of coffee, tea and hot chocolate." As she explained the services available in this ward, I was starting to think it sounded more like a hotel than a hospital ward.

Finally, she finished telling me what this ward could offer, and I was surprised at the number of things available. There was a sauna, a pool, and nearly every type of board game you would ever wish for. The only thing they didn't have was a computer, and really all I desired to do right then was write. I wanted to create something as doing so channelled my emotions into something outside my own mind. It was my escape from the real world, in the hope that the pain would not be waiting for me when I got back.

Somehow the pain of everything I had gone through, the emptiness, wanted to be placed on paper. Written down, explained, seen that it really did happen. I didn't want to lose it; I just wanted to write it all down and store it somewhere safe so that I could look back and say, "This was me then… now, look at me."

Just then, I remembered feeling it. There was a fight building inside me. Something in me had suddenly, at that one moment, lit into a burning fire. It was like a burning desire to BEAT this thing. A burning drive that wanted to survive, that wanted something. What was I aiming for now? What was I aiming to achieve? Was this all just the start of dealing with my gender issues? Was this the way I should have done it oh so many years ago? I asked myself each of those questions, like a game show host throwing question after question at an off-balance contestant.

"How are you eating?"

The question refocused me. I answered automatically, allowing the simple question to draw me away from the more significant issue. "I really don't feel like eating usually, and besides, big meals are such a bother to make. Keep me in bread and butter, and I'm a happy camper."

"Well," She chuckled gently, "at least you're losing weight. What are your plans when you get out of here?"

I couldn't answer what I would do when I got out there. It didn't seem like I really cared. I wanted to live and fight, but something wouldn't let me look past that little area of living and fighting. Was there really any more to life than that?

"I don't know." I fight for my life, grades in class, my right to individuality. Was simply "Live and fight." a proper answer?

"Do you know the problem that caused you to get so depressed is?"

This one was easier to identify the answer to. I told the nurse about my Gender Issues, and she seemed to comprehend. She made sure I was aware of the pager and reminded me to call if I needed anything. Then she left.

Once she had left, I felt like getting out of bed. I noticed that my clothes were neatly folded on another of the grey chairs, sitting there waiting for me to get dressed. Slowly crawling out of the covers, I looked down at the white hospital gown I was in. It is funny, but if it had been in another place, wearing any type of gown would have been great, but in this place, it just seemed to remind me I was in a hospital. I hated it.

I slowly dressed while looking around the tiny pink and white room I would be calling home, at least for the day. It was strange seeing a dirty kind of pink in a hospital. It didn't really make me like the place either, even though pink is a colour I love. It didn't match the grey furniture that stood in the room. I smiled at the thought of sacking the person who painted the room. This room looked stupid.

I laughed. It felt good laughing at the stupid colour scheme of my room. Some pressure in my chest seemed to dissipate for the first time in over a week, I found something genuinely funny. I found something to take joy in, even if to mock the Hospital's pitiful attempt at relaxing their patients.

Slipping into my clothes and still amused at the décor, I actually felt ready to start the day properly with a nice cup of coffee. It was always the first thing on my morning list. I can't think how people operate without at least one cup of coffee in the morning. After the coffee, I knew I would have to call Duke and Lisa and tell them what had happened. I wondered if the crisis team had contacted them at all. The coffee suddenly became second on the list. Shit, I hadn't thought of them. Would they know that I was at the hospital? For all they could have known, I may have gone missing.

Panic filled me as I rushed into the hallway and caught myself. I stood there for a minute, calming myself down. I couldn't let the nurses and doctors see me running around like a chicken with its head cut off. I had to get out of here at some point over the next few days, and if they saw me panicking, they would have kept me in for longer. I looked down the hall and saw the sign that said "Office". Walking to the office, I knocked on the closed door and waited.

And waited

And waited.

I could see a male in there, through the small window on the door, but he just ignored the knock. I knocked again, this time more forceful. And waited.

"MY GOD…" I muttered under my breath. He was still not coming to the door. He hadn't even bothered to call, "It's open." This was stupid. I took hold of the door handle and opened the door. "Excuse me, I did knock," I said to the man sitting in a chair and chewing on something.

He snapped, sounding like one of those bimbo secretaries, speaking rote phrases with no concern. "What do you want?" He hadn't even turned to see me, his attention still on the magazine he was reading.

"Some manners to being with." I snapped back, my mind now set on making this nurse's job a bitch. "Just remember who pays your wages. Thank you."

The man turned to me and finally faced me. "Don't talk to me that way, you mental freak."

Oh, if there's one thing I can't stand, it's people who think they're better than others. It just makes me angry that people can be so cruel. Slowly, methodically, I pushed open the door and stepped into the office. This brought about a quick defensive reaction from the male nurse, and he jumped from his chair and stepped towards me, his fists drawn.

A smile came to my lips as I looked up at him. "You touch me, and you'll be hearing from the police," I informed him while I stood my ground in front of him. "And don't think I will not be reporting your attitude to the head nurse when I see her." I hadn't felt that forceful in a long time; it was like another valve had been released, allowing me to vent some of my pent-up anger and tension this time. "Now sit back down, read your magazine, and just tell me where I can find a phone!"

The man stopped in his tracks and looked like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I had suddenly felt terrible inside like I shouldn't have lashed out at him. Another rush of frustration overcame me, and I started to question myself again. Was that what a female would have done? Would a woman have flared up like that?

I felt like backing out of the office and running back to my bedroom crying. I had hurt this person's feelings, and that had hurt me. As he stood there, in dead silence, just staring at me, I felt like a ten-year-old who had just shouted at my father. I felt weak and sick inside.

Then he spoke, and as he opened his mouth, I thought of all the nasty things he could say to me, making me feel even worse. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have taken my bad mood out on you. I shouldn't have called you a mental freak." He looked uncomfortable and like someone who knew he had done wrong, or at least knew he could get in trouble for it. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. There I was, questioning if I had done right or wrong, and all along, this man had wanted to say sorry.

"It's okay. Just tell me where the phone is." I asked, not trusting myself to push the matter any further.

"Up near the games and music room. In front of the games' room door." He told me, smiling. He must have thought it was over, that my "It's okay" signalled my willingness to let the matter drop. I thought about all the things I could do to hurt him. I stood there thinking of all the nasty stuff that would come from my complaining. Yet deep inside, I knew I wouldn't tell. I would let the whole thing go like I did with everything that caused confrontations in my life. I was too weak for long draw out fights; that was something I knew I would have to deal with later. But not now.

"Thanks," I muttered as I left the office, glad to be out of that situation. I closed the office door behind me and walked towards the sign, "GAMES / MUSIC ROOM."

As I reached the sign, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled my nostrils. I stopped dead in my tracks and suddenly found myself wondering whether calling my friends or having coffee was more important. There I was, in the middle of a hall in a mental ward of a hospital, and I was fighting between calling my FRIENDS or drinking bloody COFFEE! WHY COULDN'T I THINK STRAIGHT!!

I must have been looking really strange standing there frozen in the middle of the hall because as I stood transfixed there, a woman stepped up behind me and touched me on the shoulder.

I JUMPED…

I spun around and had come face to face with the nurse who had woken me up that morning. She was smiling at me and nodded. "The smell of the coffee?" she had asked with a cheeky grin on her face. "Don't worry; it does it every time, to everybody."

I nodded, but I didn't like how I felt. I didn't like this non-thinking state. I was someone who could make up my mind when I wanted to. When had this thick fog come over my mind, making it hard to sort out what I was thinking?

"I'm standing here debating if drinking coffee or calling my friends is more important. This is stupid. I can't make up my mind." I said in frustration, clearly distressed over my problem.

"Well, why do you want to ring your friends?" The nurse asked.

"So they know what happened to me, and so they can bring me some things," I replied. I remember feeling then that I was losing control again. I felt somehow panicked; I felt like this simple thought process was causing me more pain.

"You don't need to call Lisa. I called them this morning and explained you were here for a little while, and she told me she would bring some extra clothes and toiletries down for you also." The nurse said while placing her arm around my shoulders. "So, I suppose you'll just have to come and have a cup of coffee with me, then, won't you?"

I stood there blank-faced. The nurse had just solved my whole problem in one sentence, which made me feel like an idiot. It had made the situation seem so small, and maybe it had been. The problem now was. Why couldn't I think for myself? Why wasn't my mind working correctly, making choices instead of letting others do it? I nodded to the lovely nurse and let her guide me towards the lounge, where the smell of coffee was the strongest.

As we walked into the lounge, I noticed the colour scheme changed from pink to a light blue colour. Now, this colour scheme I liked better. The white top and blue bottom were more peaceful to me. Yet, I couldn't help but think that if they followed the principle that blue was for boys, and pink was for girls, the person who had painted this room was trying to make a silent statement that this room was meant for males only. I found myself smiling at the stupidity of that idea.

"What are you smiling at?" The nurse had asked while she took two cups from the shelves, above the metal bench that the coffee maker was on. I watched as she poured me a cup of hot brewed coffee. She pointed to the milk, and I nodded, then she pointed to the sugar, and I shook my head.

"The paint scheme in this place is... interesting," I said, taking the cup of coffee from her offering hand. "Thanks."

"Yes, when they did the pink rooms and halls, I wondered if they could get worse. Then I came in here, and they answered yes for me." She laughed, taking me over to one of the large sofas. I looked over the battered sofa; its grey and brown colour didn't match the blue and white walls and the orange and reddish carpet.

"I would sack the person who did the décor in this place." I now felt more relaxed. More at ease.

"I think they did." She laughed, and I followed with laughing also. It was like another break of the tension I was feeling. I could have shown I could feel my muscles in my neck and shoulders sighing and relaxing. I hadn't even realised I was feeling so tense and tight.

I took a sip of the coffee and felt the intense Brazil flavour tickle my taste buds. "Nice," I commented, taking another sip. "I didn't know mental wards had freshly brewed coffee. If I did, I would have got in here a long time ago."

"One of the bennies of the job." She said, taking a sip of her own coffee. "Oh, by the way, I'm Sue."

I smiled and nodded to her. I was glad she told me her name; I hate not including people's names while talking about them, and I don't think I wanted to know her as just "The nurse" for the rest of my stay. Also, saying their names makes them more real for me.

"Hello Sue, my name is Mattie." I smiled, took her extended hand and shook it.

"Mattie? Is that a way of kind of testing the waters?" She asked.

"Not really. My female name is Malisa. However, since I've been having so many problems with my gender, I needed a name that others would feel more comfortable with. Mattie can be a female or male nickname, so I feel more comfortable with Mattie than Matthew. Even though numerous people seem to identify it as more feminine first." I explained it slowly, wondering if it was coming out correctly.

I remember one of my lecturers asking me the same thing. It was like a tricky question to answer. "I want to use Malisa in real life, which is the name I like and feel is my REAL name, but I have to use a name that won't disturb others' sensibilities. Even though people keep saying, 'Do what you feel comfy with.', I still have to get on in society. A male named Malisa Sophia Powell doesn't sound like it would go down very well with someone who..." I didn't feel I needed to finish that; after all, why state the obvious.

She asked a question I hadn't been expecting. "Well, why not Malisa?"

"Pardon?" I asked in disbelief. Couldn't she see me? How could she ask that? I looked like a damn male. I had a balding hairstyle, for Christ’s sake.

"Why not use Malisa? It's a beautiful name." She was saying it like it was stupid to think otherwise. This didn't feel right. She was making me think again.

"Because I don't look like a Malisa," I told her. Her look changed to something more of confusion.

"So because you don't look exactly like a woman, you can't have a feminine name?" She finally said while looking to me for the answer.

I had heard it so many times before. A few of my woman's studies lecturers or classmates had said the same thing. "You are hoping for gender and sex equality, and yet you are saying that only a woman can use a female sounding name." And the same feeling I had with them saying it happened with Sue.

I shook my head and smiled at Sue. "I don't think it would work. I don't think society isn't ready for a Malisa just yet, especially one who looks like me. If I were to walk around and call myself Malisa while still living and looking male? No, I think that would cause more danger than being in this ward."

I paused a moment, taking a sip of my coffee, and continued, "I also don't know if even I am ready for a Malisa just yet." I knew inside that I wanted to be ready. Shit! If someone offered the chance to physically change sexes now, I would. But reality doesn't provide magical solutions. So, as I am right now. Could I do it? Could I start dressing like a woman? Wearing a wig?

Was it possible for me to live as a woman, with the high probability of being hurt when someone pointed me out and called, "Look, there's a transsexual"?

I want to avoid being seen as a Transsexual. I want to be seen as a woman. I knew that, and it was like all or nothing for me. Like this whole thing is not about being TS, but being a woman.

"In time, you will feel like society can screw itself, Mattie." She had started to explain. "And when you do, you'll use the name that you feel is right for you. I think your friends will back you up and help you out where they can."

I remember feeling like she didn't seem to understand, but now after really thinking about what she had said, I wonder if she did know. Could I start using Malisa? If I made it that my name was now Malisa Sophia Powell, would there be any problem? I would like to explore it, but I'm too scared to. Maybe, I'll talk about it with my counsellor. Perhaps I'll talk about it with my friends? Perhaps I will do what I usually do, ignore it and hope it will all just go away, and the pain will finally go with it.

"So, how do you feel inside?" She had asked, breaking me out of thoughts about the name issue.

"What do you mean?" I asked again.

"What is the gender you feel inside?" She asked while taking another sip of her coffee.

I felt like she was trying to make me explode with emotion. How could I answer that one? I didn't know what gender I felt inside. How could I know if I felt like a woman? I didn't have a female background, nor did I have a female body. Shit! How did a woman know if they felt like a woman or not?

"I identify with women. I identify with a female status." I said, hoping that was enough. It wasn't.

"Yes, but how do you know what you are feeling isn't just the feminine side of your being?" She wasn't making this easy on me. In fact, I was starting to wonder if coffee had been the better choice.

"I don't. But let me throw it back at you. How do you know what you feel is like what other women feel like?" I felt better as she had nodded and sprouted another of those cheeky grins on her face.

"You are so right. So, how does it feel to you?" Oh, this one was good. I didn't know if she tried to make me think or defend myself. Either way, she had started me thinking straight again, even though I felt like I was defending myself. Defending who I thought I was.

"The only real way I can tell you how it feels is from something I read a while ago." I started to say, only to have her butt in.

"No, I don't want to hear the technical terms. I don't want to hear how others feel. I want to know how you feel, your words."

I was knocked back. I hadn't been attacked like that before. I had always included other people's words in describing how I had felt. I had always used other people to back up what I was saying. Now I had to think about my feelings myself, placing them into words I didn't know. I felt another lump form in my throat, but I answered.

"I sit here, talking to you, and even though you are making me think, making me defend myself, I feel like I am a part of womanhood. The way you talk to me isn't like you would talk to a male, maybe. It is hard to explain, but there is a difference when you are a man or accepted as a woman. I watch women in women's space at university, and I listen to them talking about issues I would love to be included in. I suddenly realise that I am a male, and they don't talk to me directly - I am just a spare wheel. Maybe this is my problem? Maybe I'm cutting myself off from them, as maybe because I don't have my history of being a woman, I am struggling to engage as a woman."

I paused a moment while staring down at my coffee. I had hoped Sue would just say she understood, but the silence was evidence she wanted me to continue. I felt like I wasn't explaining myself. How do you explain how you think you can't relate to something but believe in all your heart you are.

"I talk to people in a store, and they call me 'sir', and I feel like they have just called insulted me. I sit in my classes, women's studies and all the other classes and wish that all the others in the class could see me as a woman. Instead, I am the token male to call on when needing a second opinion. I watch how men look at women and wish I could be looked at that way. I know it undermines women, but not getting them reminds me I am not a target for that disgraceful act. I have feelings of sex, of love, of life, even my interests don't match the body I am in." I stopped and looked at Sue, my eyes hurting from new tears that were falling. "I wish I were you or any other woman in this world. No matter if she was the most unattractive or the most beautiful woman in the world. At least I would be a woman."

She nodded, lowering her eyes to her coffee cup. She seemed to be taken back from the power of the words I had used. She took another sip from her coffee mug. I placed the tip of my cup in my mouth, feeling the warmth of the coffee filling my mouth, and then I thought of something else as it popped into my mind. "If I could, I would get rid of these feelings," I said, wondering if that was the right thing to say.

"Really?" She asked, sounding like she didn't believe me.

I paused while thinking, then finally I chuckled, "No." I said, knowing full well that I had been wrong.

"I didn't think so. That would be like someone making me think I was a man. It would be like killing me." She said, explaining it just the way I felt inside. I nodded.

"You know you are the first person I haven't used other people's words to explain how I feel. I hope I explained how I felt okay." I had a feeling that I hadn't done a good enough job. I felt as if there was more than I could place into words. It felt that articulating my feelings into words made them seem small and easy to deal with. They aren't.

"You explained yourself well. I could see how you feel from those words better than if you had drawn me a picture. I feel that there is a young woman trapped inside you. A young woman who has never been able to live, grow, and explore life as a woman. She is screaming for release, and you can't hide that, Ma... lisa." I didn't know how to feel about her using that name. I felt great that she wanted to use it, but I couldn't accept that people would use that name without problems. She looked down at her watch and shook her head. "I'm going to have to go, but I would love to talk to you again. Where are you going to be in about two hours?"

I quickly thought about it. Wow, now Sue wanted me to plan... I had only just enough energy to even talk about the present, let alone think about my schedule for the day. I wanted to create something. I felt all this creative power building up inside, and there was nothing to let it out on. Then I remembered Sue telling me before about the piano. It had been ages since I had created a music piece on a piano. I knew then that I was going to create something. "Playing on the piano," I replied.

"You play?" Sue asked, a little surprised.

"If you call it playing, I suppose you could say that," I answered, finishing the remainder of my coffee. "Self-taught."

"Wonderful. Then in two hours, I'll be able to hear you." She said, getting up from the sofa and stretching. Sue turned back to me and had given me one of those warm smiles of hers. "I'll see you then." I rose from the sofa as she started away.

"It's a date." I smiled as we left the lounge.