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 to me or someone close to me. 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 One

I almost hate to admit it, but I liked Susan Hood from the first time I met her. Things were going rather troublesome for me on the home, school, and work fronts. My wife, Lynne, had just decided to leave me after I had made a flippant remark (obviously in poor taste) about wanting to rock our child, Bethany, to sleep -- with a real rock. I meant it only in jest, of course, as my daughter IS my life, and I would NEVER do anything to harm her. Lynne, however, didn't see it that way, and cried foul -- all the way to a battered woman's shelter (with my daughter in tow), claiming mental and emotional abuse.

I tried to convince her joking, and pleaded for her to come back -- all to no avail. The people (and I use the word VERY LOOSELY here) that ran the shelter had somehow twisted her head around to make me look like a two-headed dragon, out for the kill, rather than the usually kind, long-suffering Southern gentleman that I was. I petitioned the courts for visitation, and found one of the best lawyers in the Carolinas to assist me, Marilyn Penson. Unfortunately, she advised me, it would be an uphill battle -- "he said, she said", but with my wife being in a woman's shelter, and South Carolina a Maternal Rights state -- not to get my hopes up.

It was Marilyn who advised me to seek counseling, as she said it would reflect well with my case. I knew I had some problems -- everyone does, at times -- but I balked at the idea of getting my head shrunk. She recommended me to her counselor, a Ms. Susan Hood. I gave Marilyn a quizzical look.

"YOU go to a counselor? But you're always so ... together. I never would have guessed."

"How do you suppose I manage to STAY together? Some of my cases get quite rough, and sometimes they get to me."

"Is she any good?"

"You don't see ME in a rubber room, or babbling incoherently, do you?" Marilyn said with a wry smile. "Just try it once. If it doesn't work out, there's always Plan B ..."

"And that would be?" I asked. Nothing could be worse than going to a shrink ... or so I thought.

"We dress you up as a woman, get you in the shelter, and you take Bethany back."

"I'm sorry I asked. And sorry I told you my 'secret'. Anyway, isn't that just a little bit illegal?"

"Hey, I never said it was the PERFECT plan," she laughed. "Seriously, though, with the issues you're facing, I think counseling would definitely help. Besides, what have you REALLY got to lose?"

"About a hundred dollars an hour, I'd say," I shot back.

"She DOES take insurance, you know ..."

And with that, I found myself, on a drizzly Monday afternoon, standing outside the office of Susan Hood, Ph. D., LCSW. With my stomach in knots, I gingerly knocked on the oaken door -- and sealed my fate.

~~~---===o.0.O.0.o===---~~~

I heard a melodic, lilting Irish brogue call out, "Come in."

I stepped into the outer office, and found myself standing on a lush, velvety crimson carpet. A rather handsome woman, in her early twenties, rose from her cherry and mahogany desk to greet me. As she warmly held out her hand, she greeted me.

"Hi. You must be Dr. Hood's four o'clock. Mr. Daniels? I'm Tiffany Samuels. Please take a seat. The doctor will be right with you."

I gently shook the proffered hand, then headed towards the chaise settee where she was motioning.

"Can I get you something while you wait, Mr. Daniels? We have coffee, tea, hot chocolate. bottled water, or juice."

"Please, call me Geoff, Ms. Samuels. And coffee's fine. Black."

"One coffee coming up, Mr. ... uhh., sorry. Geoff. And you can just call me Tiff. Everyone does."

I smiled at her faux pas. She was nothing if not charismatic. I hope Bethany can grow up to be a fine young lady like her, I thought.

As I waited for the coffee to brew (unbeknownst to me, she had started a fresh pot. Just for me? I thought. How charming. Lynne never made FRESH coffee. All she ever brought was that freeze-dried, instant crap.

Just then, I heard a woman's voice coming from the other side of the door.

"God, what a day. Is there any coffee, Tiff? I need a tall, strong one. You know how I like it."

"Light and sweet? I'll bring it in when it's ready. Also, your four o'clock's here. Mr. Geoff Daniels."

"Thanks, Tiff. Send him in, Please."

Tiffany motioned to the door. "I'll bring the coffee service in soon. So sorry about the wait."

"No need to apologize. I enjoyed the company."

Tiffany tried -- hard -- to conceal her ever reddening cheeks as she blushed. Not wishing to make her feel more awkward, I quickly turned the door's handle and headed into the doctor's office.

"Good afternoon. Mr. Daniels. I'm Dr. Hood. Please have a seat wherever you'd like."

I scanned the posh surroundings. So this is the kind of treatment a hundred dollars an hour gets you. I could get used to this REAL QUICK. Too bad it's just once a week ...

I noticed the Louis XIV behind her ebony-inlaid teak desk and headed for it before Dr. Hood could stop me.

"You did say ANYWHERE ..." I teased, trying to lighten the mood -- and praying she didn't notice how out of place I really felt ...

She made a "tick mark" in the air. "One point for you, Mr. Daniels. I left myself wide open for that one."

She went to sit on the couch, notebook in hand, just as I spun around.

"That looks a little ...odd. Perhaps we should trade places. And please, call me Geoff. Mr. Daniels is my father."

She just grinned as she rose, smoothing out her skirt in the process. "If you think that's best, Mr.... sorry. Geoff."

We quickly exchanged places. Sensing my nervousness, she began calmly.

"I take it this is your first time attending a counseling session?"

"That obvious, huh?"

"You have nothing to fear, Geoff," she reassured me. "I don't bite -- much."

She flashed me a smile that even a blind man could see.

Damn, she's hot .... Down, boy. Remember Lynne? ... Lynne, the reason why you're here in the first place?

I chuckled nervously, unconsciously wringing my hands as I did so. Dr. Hood just jotted down something in her notebook.

I gave her a questioning look.

"Just your name, today's date, and the time, Geoff. But I WILL be taking notes during the session. Don't worry. Nothing you say will go any farther than this room. Unless ..."

Here it comes. Here's where she -- like every other woman in my life -- screws me over ...

"Unless I determine that you wish to harm yourself or someone else," she finished.

"Oh, OK," I stammered. "So telling you my plans for world domination is out, huh?" I gave an uneasy chuckle. Am I blowing this? Does she think I'm crazy?

She smiled back at me, almost as if she read my thoughts. "There's no reason to be so nervous, Geoff. And no, you're NOT crazy. A LOT of very famous people deal with SERIOUS mental issues, and have openly come out about their illnesses, in an effort to put an end to the stigma and stereotypes."

"Really?" I shot back, dripping with sarcasm. "Name twenty!"

With that, she held up her hands, and began to count them off. As she began her litany, I immediately regretted my snide comments.

"Clinical Depression: Abraham Lincoln, Alanis Morrissette, Angelina Jolie, Anne-Margaret, Benjamin Disraeli.
Bipolar: Adam Ant, Axel Rose, Ben Stiller, Brian Wilson,Burgess Meredith.
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder: Cole Porter (suspected), Donald Trump (suspected), Howard Hughes, Howard Stern, Howie Mandel.
Social Phobia: Barbara Streisand, Donny Osmond, Steve Sax.
Attempted Suicide: Halle Berry, Marilyn Monroe.

Not to mention the recent passing of Robin Williams. (Yeah, I know. This example doesn't fit in the time frame. My story, my rules ...) Add in ADHD, substance abuse, dyslexia and other learning disabilities, and eating disorders and the number jumps into the THOUSANDS. And I'm just getting warmed up."

"Wow!" I tried to backpedal, quite dumbstruck. "That many. I never knew."

"When I said you're NOT ALONE, I meant it. Believe it or not, even I have to undergo a complete psychiatric evaluation every six months, according to Federal mandates."

I just stood there, my jaw on the floor.

Just then, we heard a gentle, yet firm knock on the door.

"May I enter now?" Tiffany called from behind the closed door.

"Please do, Tiff. I assume my coffee's ready?"

"Yes, Doctor, just as you requested -- light and sweet. And a strong black one for Geoff," she smiled, offering each of us a cup while pushing the cart into the corner. "Just buzz me if you need anything else, OK?"

She turned and walked back to her desk, closing the door behind her as she did so. I heard a faint clicking sound as she began typing something.

Dr. Hood noticed me eyeing -- with longing -- the spot where Tiffany had been.

"She's quite the charmer, isn't she?" the doctor said as she took a sip of the caramel liquid. "And she makes one helluva cup of coffee. Glad my brother made me hire her."

"B-B-B-Brother?" I stammered, as coffee sputtered onto my shirt.

"Yes. Colonel Matthew Samuels, ASOC. Just so you know. Team Delta," she said with a HUGE grin.

ASOC? As in Army Special Operations Command??? Holy SHIT!!! And Team Delta? Jeez, I hope I haven't done anything to piss Tiff ... I mean Ms. Samuels ... off. Last thing I need right now is for a goddamn Delta Forces agent to storm my house, thinking I took indecent liberties with his daughter ...

"Now, Geoff. Do you have any other, VALID reason that we can't BEGIN our session now? I AM on the clock, you know..."

"Umm ... no. You SEEM to know your stuff. I just wish I knew where to begin," I stated as I slowly slumped to the couch. Her knowledge of celebrities had floored me -- and left me quite speechless. Not to mention the fact her brother could take me out on a whim at any moment ...

"To quote Glinda from The Wizard of Oz," she stated rather matter-of-fact, "It's always best to start at the beginning ..."

~~~---===o.0.O.0.o===---~~~

"OK, here goes," I started, gathering a deep breath. "I met Lynne in the fifth grade. She was a new transfer student, and I was a rather troubled kid. I had a very pronounced speech impediment, and stuttered as well. Because of that, I was often the victim of various torments by bullies -- only I always fought back, usually winning. I had gotten into yet another fight during recess, and was sent to the office -- and a date with the 'electric paddle' -- you know the one. Anyway, I was coming out of the office just as she was coming in."

"The office had this huge, solid oaken door, with brass fixtures. It must have been a good two inches thick -- and heavy! I never thought to duck as she came in, and the door hit me -- hard -- upside the face. When I came to, and the stars faded away, I thought I was looking into the face of a goddess!"

"Am I dead?" I asked. "''Cause you look just like an angel."

She blushed -- which I found quite cute at the time -- and said, "No, silly. You just dinged your head a bit. Are you OK?"

"Yeah. Teachers always said I had a hard head. Guess they were right. I'm Geoff, by the way."

She extended her hand in an effort to help me up.

"Lynne. Lynne Sparkes. Nice to meet you."

~~~---===o.0.O.0.o===---~~~

"And from that point on, I told everyone how she was an absolute knockout. It became our little inside joke."

"Hmm ... I see," Dr. Hood mused as she wrote something quickly in her notebook. "Please continue."

"Well, we were pretty much inseparable after that. We became 'an item'. We attended the same church (I didn't know it at the time) and began sitting together on the van. We dated all through junior and senior high -- up until the drill competition, that is ..."

"Oh? What happened? Did something change?"

"I'll say. We were in Air Force JROTC together, and were both staff sergeants. We were on the basic drill squad (We couldn't join the precision team until our junior year, due to the rifles and bayonets used, even if they just were replicas made of styrofoam and wood ...), and had just returned from Shaw Air Force Base, which always hosted the branch competitions in March (the state competitions, which comprised all four branches, was held at a different university each year, of the governor's choosing. The award for it was, quite naturally, the Governor's Trophy, which the winner hosted for a year.)"

"Anyway, our squadron had won the competition, and we were celebrating during the entire three-hour ride back to the high school. Couples were paired off, doing the usual couple things -- holding hands, kissing -- we were teenagers in love after all!) or just cuddling up next to each other, trying to sleep amid the den of cheering. I was watching some of the juniors and seniors with interest (as was Lynne), and she kept making some not-so-subtle hints that if I wanted to kiss her, it would be OK. Unfortunately, being shy, I wasn't quite ready for my first kiss. I wanted it to be a private, intimate moment, just between the two of us. Having fifty or so adrenaline-filled, sex-crazed peers watching us was definitely NOT in my plans."

"So, we make it back to school. Everyone leaves, either in their own vehicles, with their cliques, or with family, and it's just me and Lynne -- alone at last. I decide to -- FINALLY -- make my move. I hold her close, close my eyes, and give her my first ever adult kiss. And ..."

"And?" Dr. Hood prompts.

"She just stands there, completely lost -- a deer looking at the headlights of an oncoming car."

"Well," Lynne says, confusion evident in her voice, "That was ... unexpected."

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked, my fear escalating to a near-fever pitch. God, please don't tell me I messed up my FIRST kiss ...

"No, No. It was ... OK?" she questions, in a vain attempt to try to piece together my now completely shattered confidence.

You couldn't cut the tension and awkwardness with a diamond-tipped chainsaw -- it was THAT thick ...

"Your mom's here. I'll call you later. We'll ... talk. Or ... something."

~~~---===o.0.O.0.o===---~~~

"Wow! That's pretty ... harsh. How did you feel at that point?"

"I felt like a complete and utter failure. Just another in the long line of rejections that has plagued my life."

"Another?"

"Yeah. The first one was in the seventh grade. I was a 'gifted' student' (my way of compensating for my profound speech impediment, shyness, and loneliness, I guess. Academics was about the only thing I've EVER been good at -- that, and trivia."

"I had the opportunity to take the college-level SATs back then. I was twelve, and the state had measured my IQ at that time to be in the high 160s (possibly higher, but that was as high as THEIR scale went at the time.) Anyway, when the results came back, I had done quite well for myself -- a combined score of 1150 out of 1600. 720 in the math portion (in the 99.9th percentile of college bound seniors), and 430 on the verbal (95th percentile). My parents didn't really know what to make of the news, as they were both blue-collar textile workers, and their firstborn son was, in the eyes of the state, a 'certified genius'. That was in January of 1980."

"Amazing. I notice you are, INDEED, quite well-spoken."

"Seven years of FORCED speech pathology, courtesy of the state. They gave me the best therapist money could buy. Told me I should be THANKFUL of the opportunity afforded me." Yeah, Thanks for PERMANENTLY OSTRACIZING me from my peers. Don't know how I'll EVER repay ya for THAT ...

"Anyway, they congratulated me, and told me how proud they were of their baby boy. I soon all but forgot about it. Until ..."

"Until?"

"I received a letter in the mail just before my birthday (April 17th) from Furman University. They wanted me to come during the summer and take a few courses -- Algebra, Trigonometry, Calculus, Physics, and Chemistry, along with English Lit and Computer Programming (a field JUST starting up) -- for college credit! They were impressed with my SAT scores and my academic achievements -- which, up until that point, I was a straight 'A' student. (What can I say? Except for the bullying, forced speech therapy, and food, I LOVED school!) They were willing to give me a FULL SCHOLARSHIP, including room, board, meals, and a per diem. All I needed was my parents' signature and a Bill of Health from my doctor."

"Impressive. But I don't see where that would have been a problem."

"It wasn't -- for me. It was a dream come true. Unfortunately, my parents DIDN'T agree. You're too young, and it's too far away. Besides, we were planning to go see your grandfather and Uncle Price in Michigan. Our answer's 'NO!' and that's final."

I finally get REWARDED by someone for all my hard work, and THIS is what I get for it? Screw this. And screw THEM as well. See if I bust my ass any more ... for ANYTHING!!!

"Incredible! And they really had no VALID reason to reject such a LIFE-ALTERING experience for you? I could understand if finances were involved, but, as you said, it wouldn't cost them anything. I understand that sometimes parents have to make tough decisions for their children. Unfortunately, they sometimes make the wrong ones."

"They NEVER cared about what I did academically. They just kinda 'expected' it -- expected me to 'show off' or 'perform' at their whim."

"I sense some deep-seated resentment (not completely unfounded, I might add) there. We'll have to address that at a later time, though, Getting back to Lynne, and the kiss ..."

~~~---===o.0.O.0.o===---~~~

"Yeah. About that. I have never been able to handle rejection well. I felt confused. Lost. And for the first time since I met Lynne, completely and utterly alone. I barricaded myself in my room for about a week. I only came out to eat, bathe, use the bathroom, and go to school. I cried so many tears that I ran out. I just felt numb. And I wanted the pain to go away. My parents, working swing shift at the plant to keep a roof over our heads, didn't even notice my change in mood. That was the SECOND time I tried to commit suicide. I was fifteen."

"Wait a minute. Second?" Dr. Hood asked, floored.

"Yeah. I was a loner up until I met Lynne. I had NO friends. Zero. Even the guy that I went to speech class with barely spoke to me (he also stuttered). One day, while being taunted during recess, I decided just to give up. I was tired of always fighting. It didn't do anything anyway. The school bordered a major highway, and didn't have adequate fencing around it. So while (I thought) the teacher wasn't watching, I casually threw my ball into the street. I started to go after it, knowing I would be hopelessly (and mercifully, I hoped) crushed by the oncoming traffic. The teacher pulled me from harm in the nick of time."

"What happened? Surely someone MUST have done something. At least told your parents or something?"

"Nope. I just got scolded by Sister Margaret and told to be more careful. (Even though it was a public school, we called her Sister Margaret because she used to be a nun ...) I shrugged the whole thing off, and it was casually swept under the rug, completely forgotten -- just as I felt I was ...

"I'm so sorry," she said apologetically. "The system has failed you in so many ways. I'm beginning to see now why you have trust issues."

I just nodded, as tears began to form in my eyes, which I no longer cared to fight. NO ONE had EVER acknowledged that fact -- at least not openly -- to me.

She glanced at the clock on the wall, which now read 5:15. "I'd love to continue this, Geoff, but it seems we're out of time for today. Shall I schedule another appointment for next week, same time?"

"I-I-I'd like that. Please do."

She handed me an appointment card with the time and date of my next appointment. Then, she did something I didn't expect -- she dabbed a Kleenex at my eyes, gently wiping away my tears.

"Two things before you leave," she said, reaching for her purse. "First, I want you to keep a journal for me. You can write about anything you wish -- with one exception. At the end of each session, I will give you a topic to think about during the week. Sunday night, you are to write your thoughts about that topic. It doesn't have to be anything elaborate, but I want more than just a cursory statement. Really put your heart -- and SERIOUS EFFORT -- into this one assignment. Next week's topic is rejection."

"I'll try," I squeaked out, "But writing's never really been my forte. And what's the second thing?"

She then handed me a crimson business card, with gold embossing. What IS it with this lady and crimson? "This is my home number. If you need me for anything -- and I do mean ANYTHING -- call me. I'll try my best to answer you within ten minutes. I care."

"Thanks. I appreciate that."

"Well, Geoff, it was a pleasure meeting you. See you next Monday,"

"Oh ... right. Monday."

I stood there transfixed, as the most remarkable lady I've ever met walked out of the room ...

Works Cited

Amanda Green. "300 famous people & celebrities who have suffered with mental illness, mental health or learning issues help highlight the stigma in our society". Retrieved from http://amandagreenauthor.co.uk/300-famous-people-celebrities... 03-May-17

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

There. I had done it. I had completed my "homework" for the "good doctor". As I finished, I debated whether or not to throw that goddamn little black composition book I had brought into the trashcan. It would be so simple. Just forget the whole thing. Forget counseling. Forget about fighting for what should have been mine all along. Forget Lynne and Bethany. Just blow everything off -- as I'd done so many times before -- and move on with my sorry life.

I mean, what's the f*cking point, anyway? She's just another in the long list of people in my life that has royally screwed me over. Just walk away. Let her rip my heart out and trample upon it as so many others had done in the past. RUN. AWAY. FAR AWAY.

I reached for the bottle of Jack I had brought just for this occasion. I poured a HUGE shot into the tumbler. I hesitated, then threw the bottle against the brick wall -- hard. It shattered into a million pieces, splattering the dark amber liquid all over the freshly painted wall and dribbling onto the snow-white carpet. F*ck this! I thought, as I got up to pour the shot down the sink. What the HELL am I doing?

I was tired -- so tired. Tired of being rejected. Tired of fighting. Tired of always running. Just tired...

I reached in the utensil drawer under the sink. I grabbed the largest butcher knife I could find. Taking it with me to the can opener on the kitchen counter, I began to sharpen it to a keen edge. I ran my finger slowly and carefully across the blade, drawing a thin trickle of blood on my naked, exposed finger as I did so. That SHOULD be sharp enough. I hope...

I took the newly sharpened blade with me to the bed, thinking. Should I leave a note? And if so, just what should it say, EXACTLY? I wonder if I will feel any pain. Having no more tears to cry, I thought, It would be nice to feel... SOMETHING. I'd hate to think I cut myself just to watch the blood flow...

Just then, the phone rang.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Yeah, man. This is John Hoode. Put that bitch Susan on the phone!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yeah! I know you're the PRICK screwing her. Put that cheating slut on. NOW!"

"Look, you idiot. You've got the wrong goddamn number. I don't know who the HELL Susan is, but if she's with a DICK like you, I DON'T BLAME HER FOR CHEATING! GOOD-BYE, ASSHOLE."

I slammed the phone down so hard it shook the walls. Just what I needed. Here I am, just trying to DIE, and that prick calls. What was his stupid name again? HOODE. That's right and he was looking for SUSAN. Hmmm... Hoode... Susan... Those names sound familiar. I wonder why???

Then it hit me, like a bolt out of the blue. I started smiling, then chuckling, and before long, I was braying like a donkey in heat. The knife fell silently out of my hand onto the bed.

I looked up at the ceiling.

"You've got one helluva sick sense of humor, you know that? But I get the message. I'll give her a call." I just hope she's awake at THIS hour.

I reached into my wallet and took out the distinctive crimson card. I walked over to the battered phone, and picked the receiver up off of the floor, where it had fallen after my tirade with the jerk. The jerk who -- unknowingly -- just might have saved my life. I just hoped it still worked.

I picked the receiver up off the cradle, ecstatic to hear a familiar dial tone. I quickly dialed the number.

After what seemed like an eternity, I heard a groggy voice answer silently, "Hello?"

"Yeah, Hi. I'm sorry to call you so late, but this is Geoff. We need to talk."

"OK," she replied. "Can you be at the office in say... half an hour?"

"Uhh... yeah. That works, I guess."

"Good. I'm on my way. Oh, and Geoff? Things WILL get better. Just trust me, OK?"

Trust. The ONE thing I no longer possessed. At least she's making an effort. I'll go... I at least owe her a good-bye, after waking her up at... I glanced at the clock on the wall, DAMN! It's only 2:45 in the morning? I am SOOO screwed...

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

I threw on some clothes rather quickly, but KNEW that I still looked disheveled. What did it matter, REALLY? I'm in a hurry. I have an excuse for looking haggard...

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

It's remarkable how few people are out and about at this hour. I hit every light green, and made it to Dr. Hood's office in about twenty minutes. As I was getting out of my car, I saw a newer red sedan pull into its designated spot. Crimson, of course! What IS it with this woman?

"Geoff?" a sultry feminine voice questioned.

"Yeah, it's me, Doc."

"Give me a minute to open up. I need to disarm the alarm and turn on the lights. Shouldn't be long," she said, fishing for her keys. Finding them, she quickly opened up the door and hit the light switch. She walked over to the far wall, punched in the alarm code, then motioned for me to come inside.

"I'll just be a minute. I brought some coffee and donuts. Black and strong, right?"

I can't believe she remembered THAT... It was a VERY MINUTE detail of our last "discussion".

"Need some help?"

"Nah. I got this. Just make yourself comfortable on the lounger. Or would you rather wait for me to unlock the main office?"

"Here's fine, I guess. I won't be keeping you long, anyway."

She noted the extreme sadness in my voice. How could she not? I wasn't exactly hiding how distraught I was, anyway...

"We'll see... Now, just what's going on?" she said, pulling up a chair and taking her notebook and a pen out of her purse.

"Well, I know we have an appointment later today, but I just felt this couldn't wait until then. Here!" I said, thrusting my journal at her.

She looked quizzically at me, as she took the proffered journal.

"My journal for this week. I ALWAYS try to keep my promises. I thought you might like to read it, before..."

"Before?"

"Before I leave," I finished. "I just can't deal with all... this. This..." I hesitated, running my hands over myself. "Me. I just wanted to say... Good bye!"

I turned to get up. Her gaze held me firm. Transfixed. Frozen.

"Are you REALLY running. Geoff? Or do you want something... BETTER?. This time. Please, don't run..."

I stood there for a moment -- or was it an hour? I just don't know anymore -- pondering her remark.

"Better?" I responded meekly.

"Yes. Better. As Lao Tzu, the great Chinese philosopher once said, 'A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.' You've already taken that first step. Will you allow yourself to take another?"

I just stood there, dumbfounded. Dr. Hood slowly eased me back on the settee.

"Give me a few minutes to actually READ your journal. It might provide me some insight into why you're feeling so..." she stopped, hesitation evident in her voice.

What is she thinking? I wondered.

"Forgive me," she said. "I just needed to get my thoughts together. I guess I'm not at my peak at..."

She glanced at her watch.

"Three thirty in the morning?" she finished, the alarm evident in her voice.

"I -- I -- I'm sorry," I stammered.

"No, it's OK. Really!" she assured me. "As my father always said, 'You can sleep when you're dead, Sue. Now GET UP!'."

I grimaced.

"Oops... sorry," she apologized. "Poor choice of words, I guess?"

You THINK??!!

"Anyway, I DID say say call ANYTIME. And, like you, I try to keep my word, too."

She smiled, sat, and opened the journal.

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

When she had finished reading, she became eerily quiet -- TOO QUIET.

"Wow!" she exclaimed. "I see..."

"What?" I asked, exasperated, concern in my voice.

"You have some deep-seated issues going on here. Issues we SERIOUSLY need to address. And quickly..."

She reached in her purse and took out her phone.

"Excuse me a moment, Geoff," she said. "I just need to make a quick call. I'll be right back. Promise."

With that, she got up and unlocked her office, leaving her door slightly ajar.

I honestly tried NOT to eavesdrop, but I did manage to catch snippets of her conversation.

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

"Tiff? Sue. Yeah, sorry. With a patient now. Yeah, possible Baker. Yeah, witness. In thirty? OK, see you then. Thanks. Bye."

I quickly sat back on the settee before she came out of the office.

"I must say, Geoff. Reading the journal entry, and seeing you like this has me... concerned. I just called Tiffany. She'll be here in thirty minutes. We can discuss things until then."

Did she just ADMIT to everything I just overheard? Why?

She gazed at me in surprise as she noticed my jaw hit the floor.

"What is it, Geoff?"

"Umm... nothing," I lied, hopefully convincingly. "And you really didn't have to call Tiffany in. I'm OK. Really."

"She was MORE THAN happy to come in. I think she likes you," the doctor teased, good-naturedly. "Besides, a friendly face is always welcomed in times of crisis. Now, about this journal, and I assume the reason for your call..."

The atmosphere in the room thickened with tension as I began.

"You said write about rejection. So I did."

"I can see that much. But there's also so much pain. And anger. You mentioned something... ominous. Do you remember what that was?"

"I wrote down a lot of stuff that was on my mind. You'll have to be a little more clear."

She opened the journal, and pointed to some quickly scrawled (and quite large) words in the middle of the page. "Read them, please. Out loud."

I just KNEW she wouldn't let THAT slip by. The words were just too obvious.

I hesitated, looking into her pleading eyes, begging for a reprieve.

"Go on," she prodded. "You HAVE to read them. ALOUD."

I stuttered.

"It's alright, Geoff. I know this is going to be difficult for you, but please. For me. For your wife and daughter. For YOURSELF. Please read them," she begged.

A hush filled the room. I felt the words strangling me, as all the air left my body. I CAN'T do this...

But you MUST!!! a voice answered back, from deep within my inner psyche.

I began again, this time with a renewed determination.

"I... hate...," I hesitated, drawing in a deeper breath than I ever thought possible. Then, almost imperceptibly, I whispered,"... me."

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

"Why, Geoff?" the doctor asked. "Why do you hate yourself so much?"

"Can't you see?" I started, as the tears began to fall uncontrollably. "I'm a FAILURE. A NOTHING. I work a dead-end 9-to-5, my wife's left me, taking the ONE THING that meant the most to me -- my daughter -- along with her. All over some damn stupid-assed joke. I've NEVER had many really close friends, I was denied the education I COULD have had, and worst of all, I've never gotten the love I DESERVE. From ANYONE. I'm just tired of all this crap. I KNEW it was a mistake coming here. I knew it was a mistake calling you. But still..."

"Still?" she asked.

"I ALWAYS try to pay my debts. I OWED you. I don't know why, or how much. I just do, OK? So I came to pay my debt. One final HURRAH for 'The Loser'. So Good Bye!"

With that, I turned to leave, just as Tiffany was coming through the door.

I collided with the opening wooden door -- hard -- and felt myself slipping away as the stars encircled me and my world went dark.

For only the second time in my life, I had been totally knocked out by a girl. When I came to, I was resting on the couch in the doctor's office, my feet propped up and a cold washcloth on my forehead.

"He's finally awake!" Tiffany squealed. I loved the lilt in her melodic voice!

"Welcome back, Mr... umm... Geoff. I thought you had left us there for a moment," the nervous doctor welcomed me.

"Uggh... Ya...," I replied groggily, as I tried to sit up. Tiffany quickly pushed me back down to a reclining position.

"Please, relax, Geoff. I called the medics. They'll be here shortly. You need to be looked after, especially since you were out for a few minutes there. You may have a concussion. And there are other things to consider, too..." she trailed off.

Other things? I thought, as my head suddenly cleared fully.

"I want you to go to the hospital for a little while -- for your own safety. They'll take good care of you, and you'll have time to heal -- both your head and your heart. When you're ready, we'll talk again. But for now, you just need to rest -- and get better. I do care about you, you know."

Tiffany wiped my pulsing temple. "So do I," she echoed. "And I want a chance to get to know the REAL you," she whispered in my ear, almost inaudibly. She gave me a quick smile as she tried -- hopelessly -- to hide her growing blush.

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

I was smiling as they strapped me to the gurney for my short ride to Piedmont -- and what would begin my twenty-one year foray in the mental health system.

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

Author's notes:

* Yes, the phone call REALLY happened. The names may have changed a bit, but the events are all 100% real. God has a VERY WARPED sense of humor some times, especially when dealing with ME. But He made His point... *

* In South Carolina, as in many other states, Mental Health laws are on the books to dictate how clients should be treated, and the conditions by which they may be admitted for treatment -- either voluntarily or involuntarily. In South Carolina, this is called the Baker Act, and it states, in part, "..if a peace officer, after accessing the situation, determines the individual in question poses imminent or immediate harm to him/herself or others, s/he can be placed in protective custody for a period of no more than twenty-four hours at a hospital or mental health / crisis intervention facility. The individual MUST be informed, in writing if necessary, that s/he is NOT under arrest, just simply being detained for his/her own safety." It also empowers lay people, such as teachers, employers, family members, or clergy to act as agents of peace under these circumstances -- provided a witness is present at the time of detainment, and is willing to swear an affidavit stating that s/he believes the individual in question poses said harm to him/herself or others. The same power extends to medical professionals, thus the NEED for Tiffany to be present. *

* The attached journal entry, and the song, are included to provide color to the story, and as such, are COMPLETELY OPTIONAL for the understanding of this story. It is my intent that each chapter be able to stand alone on its own merits. Each of the following chapters will contain a journal entry. A warning, though: This is my darker side, and as such, may contain scenes, language, or situations that may make some readers squeamish or uncomfortable. If you have a delicate constitution, then I beg of you, PLEASE DO NOT READ THEM... *

* And finally, I beg of you: Please comment after you read. It's the ONLY way I can truly gauge reader reaction -- what I'm doing right, and where I need improvement. *

*Kisses Always*
Haylee V

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 (Continued)

The EMTs had placed me in a very uncomfortable neck brace upon loading me into the back of the ambulance. They did all the routine things an EMT should - take vitals, get medical history, start an IV, etc. -- and before long we arrived at the hospital.

The nurse came in and said they had ordered a CAT scan of my head -- just as a precaution -- to make sure nothing serious had happened when I lost my fight with the door. They had also had me strip bare and change into "the gown from Hell" -- you all know the one ...

About an hour after the scan completed, the doctor shared the results -- normal. I started to get dressed, only to be stopped in my tracks by the charge nurse.

"The doctor said everything's fine, so I can go home now."

The scowl on the nurse's face told me immediately that I thought wrong.

"Sorry, Mr. Daniels. We're not QUITE done here -- yet," came a rich baritone voice from the hall. I looked to see a rather imposing figure standing there - all 6' 3", 250 pounds of him. His name tag read Dr. Peter Saulk, Staff Psychiatrist.

"It seems that we may be detaining you just a while longer. At least that was Dr. Hood's recommendation. I just need to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind ..."

And the screw job I had been expecting began ...

"Dr. Hood impressed upon me that she was quite worried about your mood as of late -- and your overall safety. We'd LIKE to have you stay here and let us do a complete psychiatric workup on you."

"And if I refuse?"

Dr. Saulk just pointed to the hall, where two rather beefy looking police officers stood guard. "Refusal -- at this point -- is no longer an option. You can do this voluntarily -- which will afford you certain 'amenities' -- or we can petition the judge to commit you. Judge Bennet's on call this morning, and he's usually in a VERY FOUL mood until he's had at least two cups of coffee ..."

With no other options, I slowly nodded.

"Good," Dr. Saulk said, not even trying to hide his patronizing tone. "You'd actually be surprised at how many people WILLINGLY choose Option Two. Glad to see YOU, at least, have a modicum of common sense." Damn, I HATE this prick. Wonder how long I'd get for killing the bastard? After all, they DO think I need "psychiatric evaluation", so I COULD, in theory, cop an insanity plea...

I grinned maniacally. Perhaps a bit TOO maniacally...

Dr. Saulk was taken aback -- momentarily -- but quickly noted something on my chart, before regaining his composure -- and condescending ways again.

"Ahem...," he choked out, fumbling with his collar. "Ah, yes. The questions. Do you know exactly WHY I'm here, Mr. Daniels?"

"Humor me," I sneered, all the while struggling to get out of my restraints. I REALLY want to strangle this self-righteous bastard...

"It seems that you made some rather ... disturbing ... remarks earlier to Dr. Hood. Remarks that lead us to believe you pose an imminent threat of harm to yourself. We simply can't allow that. Fortunately, you've chosen the wiser of your two options, to self-commit, so we don't need to get others involved. Nurse Francine will draw up the necessary paperwork for you to sign. Until then, just relax a bit. Here, you can watch some television while you wait."

He turned on the set to some mindless drivel -- Jerry Springer, I think. I scowled, sickened by his choice of "entertainment".

"I'm sorry. The set's broken, and that's the only channel that comes in clearly."

I made a motion as if I was gagging, and he quickly shut the damn thing off. Not too quickly for my tastes, unfortunately. If I wasn't already f*cking insane, ten minutes of that crap would have surely done the trick...

"I'll leave you be, then," he said, mechanically, as he left. In his place, though, came in a somewhat beautiful Haitian (Jamaican, perhaps?) nurse.

"I be Mafala, mon. I be watchin' you now. Sees you no harm nothin'. You be good, and I tell you 'bout the islands."

I simply ADORED her accent. Besides, she was MUCH BETTER to look at than the prick -- I mean "doctor".

"Why you be here, mon? You no looks crazy. Mafala done seen some crazy, I tell you."

"I don't know anymore," I admitted. "Really. Things just kinda went shitty..."

I saw her wince at my choice of words. "Sorry. Things went bad?" I corrected, as I saw her smile and nod quickly.

"It be OK. I be used it now. Some, though, they's dunna how talk proper to lady like mon. All foul up da moufs. You, tho. You be OK my book."

"Thanks," I whispered, giving her a weak smile. "Anyway, my wife left, taking my daughter with her. I guess things went downhill from there. This morning, I ..."

As the memories of my morning came flooding back, I found myself shaking violently. The sobs that wracked my body were unending.

"It be good, no? Sometime ... Sometime man ... He need cry. Problem get too big," she comforted.

As my crying jag subsided, I looked into her smiling, understanding eyes and whispered a "Thank You".

"No, mon. Is OK. You be better soon. Doc -- he really good man -- he make you better."

THAT overbearing, pompous, egocentric (and a few other things I dare not mention) PRICK? I doubt it..., I grinned.

"There. You smile now. Cry make better. Mafala knew. Cry always make things better."

This mild-mannered woman -- dare I say LADY? -- was beginning to grow on me.

"About the 'islands'?" I questioned.

"Aah. Mafala, she be from Trin-E-Dod. Times good there. Good food (here she patted her ample belly), good friends, good life. Until ..."

I could see the tears welling in her eyes. What could POSSIBLY make this energetic, bubbly young woman cry? I wondered.

"Mafala sorry. The bad times she remembers -- too good. Yasin Bahr. He no good, though. He try overthrow gov'ment. Six bloody days. Mafala lose whole family. February 27, 1990. Da and Brer be in da Red House, ma be at 'Trip T'. They no survive. Mafala come here March 5. Start new life." (1)

"I'm so sorry," I said, the comfortEE now becoming the comfortER.

"You good man. You no change, 'K?"

I handed her the tissue box. She dried her eyes and blew her nose.

"Life...," she stated, "She be bad us both. But Mafala -- she no give up. Fight on. Make world better place. You -- why you no do same?"

Her words stung me to the core. Accent, broken English, and all, her message of wisdom to me was clear: "Why can't you do the same? Make the world BETTER. Don't be happy simply existing, aimlessly plodding through. Do something to IMPROVE the world around you. Become a PARTICIPANT, not a SPECTATOR. A CATALYST, not a VICTIM."

She had, unknowingly, given me quite a bit to think about, and done it quite succinctly, too.

As she finished, the nurse walked in with my paperwork.

"You can go now, Mafala. He's almost ready to transfer to Bull Street, so he no longer needs a guardian. I'll wait here until he's properly transferred. It shouldn't take too much longer."

With that, Mafala gave me a quick, warm smile and left. I guess it actually IS possible for a woman -- no a LADY -- I quickly corrected myself -- to like me without having an 'AGENDA'.

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

The nurse quickly revived me from my thoughts. I looked over the paperwork -- standard boilerplate -- then hesitated. With the stroke of this pen, I'm sealing my fate, forever exposing myself to stigmatization, ostracization, and stereotyping.

What the hell? I thought. Nobody's ever treated me like a "REAL" person anyway. I'm just removing all doubt now...

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

Notes:

(1) On Friday, February 27, 1990, members of the Muslim militant group Jamaat al Muslimeen attempted a coup of the government of Trinidad, supposedly as retaliation for a police raid of their compound in 1988. Forty-two insurgents stormed the Red House, the seat of Parliment, taking hostages, while seventy-two more raided Trinidad and Tobago Television (TTT). Twenty-four civilians died in the coup attempt, which lasted from February 27 until March 4, 1990 . -- Wikipedia. "Jamaat al Muslimeen coup attempt." Retrieved May 8, 2017.

Da and Brer are, as you might have guessed by context, Dad and Brother. (I had a dear friend from Trinidad in college. I hope I did her accent justice, without mocking or being insulting. It was just so beautiful, like her...)

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 (Continued)

Signing the papers would seal my fate. I would slowly become dehumanized - a non-entity.

As I slowly handed the completed forms back to the nurse, she read over them to insure everything was in order. She turned and nodded to the officers guarding my door.

"Everything's ready," she said, clinically. "Just let the doctor sign off on the paperwork, and you're free to transport the patient."

The patient... I thought. Not Mr. Daniels. Not even an informal Geoff. I have become "THE PATIENT". The dehumanization process begins. Thanks for making me feel LESS HUMAN than I already felt.

=== === ===

The doctor came in about five minutes later, to inform me where I'd be "observed". He checked my heart, lungs, and reflexes. He had the nurse check my vitals, then motioned to the officers.

The officers slowly walked in, pistols at the ready.

"We're going to have to handcuff you, sir, before we transport you. You ARE NOT under arrest -- it's strictly a safety precaution - to protect you (and the officer traveling with you) from harm. They'll be removed once you're at the center."

I shirked back from him. I'd never been in trouble with the law, and the fact that they wanted to handcuff me - A COMPLETELY INNOCENT PERSON -- had me extremely agitated.

"Handcuff?" I shrieked. "I'm not wearing any damn handcuffs. I've done NOTHING wrong!"

I barely felt the needle as the nurse jabbed it in my arm. I took a step backwards, towards the bed. I almost made it, before everything went dark. Fortunately, someone caught me before too much harm was done.

=== === ===

When I awoke, I was in a sickening green room. The stench of decay, antiseptic, and urine? filled my nostrils. I found myself securely handcuffed to a slab of wood with a sheet haphazardly thrown over it -- my "bed", I was informed. I had been stripped completely naked (all I had worn was "the gown" anyway, so I didn't have much to lose) and deloused, and my head had been shorn to the scalp.

"I see you're FINALLY awake. About time. My name's Dr. Voss. We've taken the liberty of making sure you have no contraband, and have prepped you for integration with the other patients. IF you behave, you MIGHT find things go a little easier for you. If you cause trouble" -- he strongly emphasized the last word -- "like you did with transport, then you'll WISH you had the luxuries you have now. I'll be unchaining you now. Boris and Rufus here will make sure you don't give me trouble. UNDERSTAND?"

I nodded slowly, looking at the two gorillas beside him as they snarled. Are they even HUMAN? I thought.

Dr. Voss unlocked the first cuff, twisting my left arm into a VERY uncomfortable position as he did so.

"What the f*ck??!!!" I screamed in pain. "That's my arm you nearly broke off, dipshit!"

Boris just stood there with an evil grin plastered on his face. Rufus just growled -- loudly.

"Sorry," the doctor said. "Maybe the next one won't be quite as painful..."

He turned the key to the other cuff, bending my wrist back as far as humanly possible -- and a little further for good measure. I think I actually heard a bone snap...

He threw my limp arm on the bed. "Now, we have an ... UNDERSTANDING. You're the patient, and I'm the doctor. You do what I say, when I say."

"Oh, and one other thing -- That 'dipshit' comment. Cursing is verboten, as is a lack of respect. Read the handbook," he said, throwing a well-worn, dog-eared book on my bed. "You just earned a night in 'the tank'."

=== === ===

"The tank", as I would find out, was a sensory deprivation chamber. No light, no sound, no smells, nothing. Not only that, but as another measure of cruelty, they had not fed me in the 16 hours I had been there. Nor would they be feeding me -- until my punishment was up. And then, only if the doctor and his goons thought I was "behaving properly".

I wonder what a sadomasochistic dick -- tator. Yeah, that's it. Dictator -- and his two brain-dead louts consider "proper behavior"?

I was awoken about midnight for my "punishment". The lunkheads held me while the doctor tore my gown off. They then dragged me to "the tank", completely naked, and threw me in, locking the door behind me. I saw the doctor fiddle with something that looked like a timer, then the room went completely dark.

=== === ===

How long have I been in here? An hour? A Day? A YEAR??? Time just stopped for me. I drifted in and out of consciousness -- at least it was SOMETHING. Strange thoughts ran through my mind. Nightmares. Hallucinations. I wanted -- something. I just couldn't remember what. I saw visions of happier times -- with my mom and dad, my siblings, Lynne and Bethany. There was so much joy. So much ... FREEDOM. That's IT! FREEDOM. I wanted to be out of this goddamn hellhole. I wanted to be free.

=== === ===

My "perfect" world faded again from my view, replaced by the encroaching darkness. Stillness. Silence. I was alone -- so alone.

But then again, you've always been alone, Geoff. You've never REALLY let anyone in to the inner recesses of your psyche -- the deepest cockles of your soul. Have you?

I felt nauseated, my stomach churning bile. Everything was spinning around me. Faster and faster it spun. Then... Nothing. I blinked at the blinding lights. I startled as the lock on the door loosened, the sound like a million cannons to my noise-deprived ears.

Was it, at last, over? Would I once again walk among the living?

"You are free, number 3731. For now... Let's see how long you remain so."

I emerged -- slowly -- from the tank. Weary, but wiser. If I'm going to survive here I'm going to HAVE to play by this bastard's rules. It'll leave a horrid taste in my mouth, but it won't be the first time I had to kiss ass to survive. Just hope I can find some decent flavored lip balm...

=== === ===

Notes:

The mental health system in the United States (especially in the Deep South) is fraught with problems -- overcrowding, abuse and neglect, apathy, and overworked and underpaid staff. The situation HAS gotten better since the late '80s - early '90s, but still has far to go.

The abuses I describe here ARE real -- I actually suffered through this torture, and it has made me incredibly strong-willed as a result. I may never forget the horrors I endured at the hands of these monsters in the guise of "medical professionals". Sadly, some police officers, doctors, and the like still get away with these atrocities, but usually, it's much more benign -- and insidious, and begins by subtly dehumanizing the individual --ultimately making him/her into a non-entity.

As for the handcuffs, yes, I'm afraid that mental patients are, indeed handcuffed during transport to a facility -- if the police are involved. Policies differ if the facility itself provides transportation -- as most now do -- but the patient is either sedated beforehand, or strapped / bound tightly to a gurney so that hands and feet are completely immobile.

For those of you worried about Geoff, fear not. I assure you, help is coming for Geoff -- in a totally unexpected way. Sometimes, angels are found in the most unlikely of places. -- Haylee V

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

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. *

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

Chapter Three

I winced in pain as I was tossed roughly in the back of the van. The handcuffs bit deeply into my wrists, still tender and not quite healed from the tortures of "The Baron" and his Neanderthals. The jostling of the van didn't help to allay my fears as we sped away from my Auschwitz. What new kind of Hell were they taking me to now??

The doctor(?) beside me saw me wince and slowly moved towards me.

"Give me your hands," he said, kindly.

When I hesitated, he dangled the keys in front of me. "Unless, of course, you're Houdini or something," he grinned. "It's okay. Dr. Samuels got your letter."

"D-D-D-Dr. Samuels?" I stammered.

"Yeah, that's why we're here. I'm Tom. Captain Tom Strong, codename 'Jiyuu' (freedom). Your nurses are Lieutant Tanya Charles," he said, pointing to the blonde, "codename 'Yuuki" (bravery, ghost), and the brunette's Sergeant Hillary Blake, codename 'Chikara' (strength, resources). The Colonel's driving. You can meet him when we get you back to base. Eventually, you'll be able to go back home, if you want to."

Home. Did I really hear him correctly? Had I really escaped?

"Of course, we'll have to take you under our wings, for a while at least, just to keep you safe. I can only imagine the Hell you've been through. I just wish ..."

With that, he allowed his thoughts to drift.

"Unfortunately, this IS the USA, and even vermin have rights. Wouldn't mind sending him AND his goons to Gitmo for awhile, though. On a special 'Friends of the USA' tour..."

"Umm... If you don't mind me asking, where is this 'base', exactly?"

"North. That's all you need to know -- for now."

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

After Tom freed me from those accursed shackles, he gave me a quick debriefing of their mission to free me, and their reasons for sequestering me instead of taking me directly back to Rock Hill. Seems they were... interested... in some of my skills, and more "unique" hobbies, and were willing to put them to more... beneficial... uses, if I were willing.

I figured what the hell? Didn't have too much left to lose, anyway. Just my freedom and sanity. Oh, yeah. Right. I'd already LOST my right to those -- according to the state, at least.

With my arms now free, I could move around more. At first, I winced in pain, as I had been confined too long, and the restraints had taken their toll. I ached all over, the tenseness and tension in my muscles palpable. What I needed was a nice, long soak in an ice bath, followed by a lengthy massage.

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

As if reading my thoughts, Tanya soothed, "We'll be there soon. We have full medical on staff, and once they have you iced down, and give you something to ease the stiffness and pain, we'll talk. Just try to rest now. If something comes up, we'll let you know."

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

For the first time in weeks, I actually willed -- and even allowed -- myself to fall into a deep sleep. Although restful, it was fraught with remnants -- evil and terrifying -- of the tortures I had so recently endured.

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

After what seemed like an eternity (Doesn't time seem to stop when you're sleeping?), I was awakened by Tom.

"We're here," he said, a little too cheerfully. "Welcome to Alpha Base 7. Let's get you settled in."

Someone (I assumed Captain Mike) came around and opened the doors to the van, and Tom and I helped the ladies out. As we did so, Tanya waved a small black composition book at me.

"Thanks for the tip. My 'bed check" proved useful after all. Looks like the Baron's days are numbered, I'd say."

Next, Tom exited, and helped me down, giving me a salute as he did so.

"Umm... Thanks. I think?" I mumbled, shocked, as he just stood there stoically. Tanya and Hillary did about faces and saluted as well. "But why the salutes? I'm just a civilian, after all," I said, quickly returning their salutes.

"Because," Tom began, "While you are on base, even in civilian attire, you have the honorary rank of Major. As such, you outrank me. The colonel's taken a particular liking to you, and you'll be bunking with him, if that's ok. He'll brief you at oh six hundred. Until then, just relax, and enjoy the perks afforded you at the officer's club."

With that, he handed me an ID card, saluted again, and excused the team.

Just what IS going on here? I wondered...

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

I was shown to the officer's club, where the colonel sat waiting at a corner table.

"Colonel Mike Samuels, I presume?" I asked, remembering to salute.

"That's only for 'the brass'," he whispered, as he hastily returned my salute and ushered me to a seat. "We'll have you fitted for your dress blues at oh nine hundred, then do lunch at twelve hundred. At thirteen thirty, we'll meet back at my office with the team. I'll brief you then. Dismissed."

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

Well, I didn't cotton too well to all the stuff shirt stuff, and being kept in the dark worried me to no ends, but he HAD freed me from that stalag, so, I guessed I owed him -- just a little. Besides, I look good in oak leaves...

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

I went for my uniform fitting promptly at 9:00. I heard the supply sergeant mutter sleepily under his breath, as he reached for my requisition and the proper uniform. "Damn officers. Always got to be prompt, rigt to the minute. As if waiting a few minutes would kill them."

I turned away from him, trying to stifle a laugh and remember the rank I now carried. I tried -- hard -- to look miffed when I faced him again.

"What was that, AIRMAN?" I responded.

"Uhh... Nothing, Sir!" he quickly stammered. Tears were forming in my eyes at this point, and beads of sweat were runnung down my brow from the sheer exertion of holding my laughter in. I quickly excused myself and went to the latrine. As soon as I entered, I checked to make sure it was empty, then completely lost it. Being an "officer" just might be fun after all.

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

I had my lunch (not bad for something lovingly referred to as "chow"), and proceeded to the Colonel's office. I arrived with ten minutes to spare, only to find everyone else already there.

"Sorry about that," they all exclaimed, sheepishly. "You're not used to it yet, but when the Colonel says thirteen thirty, he means by HIS watch, not base time. In the field, not being properly prepared could get any one of us killed, so we usually meet up thirty minutes early, to prepare. That way, we're always at the ready when the time to act actually comes."

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

They quickly brought me up to speed with what was transpiring on my case. My "secret" journal had been transcribed as I slept, and forwarded to the National Institute for Mental Health, for investigation. The Colonel had called Tiffany to tell her I was now safe in their care, and to arrange the continuation of my counseling sessions. My court hearing had been allowed a change of both time and venue, to accommodate me better. They had also found out that my dear, sweet Lynne had fled the state with Bethany, and were last seen in Maryland.

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

Upon hearing that news, my jaw dropped. I knew EXACTLY where they'd find her, for there's only one reason she'd go there -- Charles Leon Young, Jr., her biological father, and the biggest swindler I'd ever met. But I can deal with that later, if I need to. First, I want to know why I'm here, and what's so bloody important that they need to sequester me so...

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 *

=====
SPECIAL WARNING
=====

This story, and the accompanying journal, contain scenes of an intense sexual nature, and some dialogue that may be construed as racist to some people, thus it may not be suitable for everyone. While reading of the journal is not required for the understanding of the overall story, it does provide valuable insight into the inner workings of Geoff's mind. If you are easily offended, please skip the journal.

=====
End of Warning
=====

* And now, on to the story. *

"So," the Colonel began, "You're probably wondering why you're here of all places, and why all the cloak and dagger stuff, right?"

"I must say, the thought did cross my mind. What gives?"

"Well, Tiffany told me what happened to you, and being a concerned parent, I ran a check on you. It seems you've had a rather... interesting life, Mr. Daniels.."

"Geoff," I interrupted.

"Uh, right. Geoff. You have a rather lengthy and unusual set of skills as well. You're sort of a Jack-of-all-trades. We can use those in our current assignment. That's why you're here with us. We want to offer you a chance to change your life, and do something useful with it. I'm not going to give you the whole 'Your country needs you' speal, You've been through enough of that already in your life. Suffice to say, with the skills Baba taught you, you'd make a valued member of my team."

"Baba?" I questioned. "What does she have to do with anything? She was just an old crone I hung out with in my teens. She's innocent, and I wish you'd leave the dead in peace. She did nothing to threaten this country. She was just an old gypsy I befriended. Nothing more."

"Oh, but she was, Geoff. Much more than you realize. Your beloved 'Baba' was a former KGB agent. She knew several of the top brass on a first name basis. You still have the tarot deck she gave you, right?"

"That old thing? Sure, but I haven't used it in a few years. Why?"

"The pictures on the cards, especially the Major Arcana. They're all the higher-ups in the KGB. Mob bosses, etc. She wanted to make sure she couldn't be found with such incriminating evidence, should they ever find her. And she did teach you Russian as well, right?"

"Yeah, I guess. Baba was always slipping back into her native tongue when we would talk. But I haven't used any of that since she passed, over ten years ago. I'm rusty at best, and a complete novice at worst. I highly doubt I could carry a decent conversation now."

"But you know the subtleties. The idioms and slang. The double and triple negatives, and how to use them properly. We can retrain you to get your fluency up, but you know things about the language that books can't teach you."

"OK, let's say I'm even remotely interested. What's in it for me? People have been using me all my life, to further their own agendas, usually at my expense. This time, I want something back."

"How about your country. Don't you have any pride? Any patriotism?"

"You mean the same country that classified me as gifted because of my IQ, then forced me to endure seven years of speech pathology because I had a lisp, stuttered, and had a few other, minor speech impediments? Or the one who allowed my uncle to molest me for seven years, because my story wasn't 'credible'? Or maybe the same country that would only give my mother $16 a month in food assistance while she was out on strike, while they gave her Black, childless co-worker $500 a month in welfare and $250 a month in food stamps, even after she showed up at the office driving a brand new Cadillac?"

"I'm sorry you feel that way, and that I've erroneously opened some apparently fresh and still festering wounds. Of course, your lodging, meals, and all amenities will be covered at our (or rather Uncle Sam's) expense, and you will be provided with a sizable per diem. We will cover the child support for Bethany as well. While here, you will carry the rank of an acting Major of the Air Force, and be subject to its rules and regulations, and be treated as any other military officer would, with the accompanying perks. You will be subjected to a government scanning process, and once you've cleared that, you'll carry a G-2, CRYPTO / SCI clearance, with Q- and L-level designations. I assure you, you won't ever have to worry about traffic tickets again, or obtaining a job."

"And if I refuse?"

"We take you back to Rock Hill tonight, and life goes on. No job, no wife, no security. You just go back to the same hopeless situation you came from. No harm, no foul, but no better, either..."

"What the hell. I've already lost just about everything anyway. What's freedom, or a soul, between... umm... friends?" I questioned.

"Well, in that case, Geoff, welcome to Alpha Team 7, Delta Force. You report directly to me. Any problems, I'll handle. Oh, and one other thing: We're a team here. We never travel alone. You'll be assigned a liaison while on base, and a staff car and driver. Where you go, one of them will be as well."

"Can I choose the liaison? I have a certain supply sergeant in mind..."

"If he... or she... passes muster, then of course. But your tasks here, and your association with Team Alpha, remain secret. Only 6 people know the composition of this team- the five of us in this room now, and Rawhide. You'll meet him soon. Understand?"

"Aye, Sir," I said, as I rose and gave him a crisp salute.

"And knock it off with that Sir and saluting crap. When we're assembled, we're equals. There's no rank among us. As I told you, the salutes are for brass. If there's nothing else, then?"

As everyone, myself included, nodded, the Colonel dismissed us.

"Hold up a minute, Geoff," he said, just as I was about to leave.

Handing me a manila folder, he explained.

"In this folder is your complete dossier: orders, previous assignments, CO's, achievements, promotions, etc., along with a military ID (you can give Tanya back the 'fake' one she gave you), passport, and anything else you need, as well as a chit book. Anything you need can be purchased with chits at the PX. They only have value while on base. If you need cash, see me. Any non-relevant info has been blacked out. Only those with proper clearance can read that info, thus the two cover sheets. Our password for this week is bluebird, and your codename is 'Katsu'. I'll let you know when you can meet Rawhide. By the way, Susan and Tiffany will be here in about an hour for your counseling session. All they know is you're under my wing, and assisting me. They both know not to ask questions. Dismissed!"

With the utterance of that one word, I was left alone to ponder my new situation. Just what the Hell had I gotten myself into???