Author Topic: The Secret  (Read 3902 times)

Offline Cyril Keir

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The Secret
« on: April 26, 2011, 06:10:33 PM »
The Secret
By Cyril Keir

  Everything feels wrong. It always has. Ever since I was young, a prepubescent child. I didn't understand it fully at the time, I just knew this wasn't who I was supposed to be. I was obsessed with changing myself physically. I wanted higher cheekbones, smoother skin, longer hair... I was torn between who I was, and who I knew I was supposed to be.

  I would dream about it. I'd see myself standing in front of a marble statue of a beautiful woman. I knew she was trapped and that I had to release her. I felt a heart wrenching sadness at her fate... Forever locked inside a representation of who she really was. I did not know how to free her, and that tormented me each night as I dreamed about her.

  Over time as I got older, I hit puberty. I felt my body changing, shaping itself as the newly introduced hormones flooded my system. I grew taller, too tall for my liking. I wasn't supposed to grow this tall. Interestingly enough, my face shaped itself with higher cheekbones, grew longer, smoother, androgynous. I grew thin... lithe.

  But something was still horribly wrong. I could never shake that nagging feeling. The dreams continued, until I finally freed her from the statue. When that happened, I disappeared. I was now her. Suddenly I knew.

  I was not meant to be what I was. I was not meant to be male. Ironically enough, I was not interested in other males in a sexual way, as I despised everything male. I presume this is because it represents what I am, not what I should be. I was attracted to females. As I grew older and had my first sexual experience, it felt wrong, it felt weird. Often when I'd pleasure myself, it felt like the wrong way. As if I was supposed to be inserting something, instead of what I was doing. I started calling myself a lesbian, which was received by friends as a ďjokeĒ.

  I noticed that whenever I gained a little weight, it wound up in my hips and thighs. I noticed that my lips grew fuller. I grew out my hair and dyed it black. My mother asked me if I was gay because I looked like a female. I said no, I'm a lesbian. But inside I was flattered she even asked. It meant I was starting to look more how I should.

  Frustration mounted the more and more I looked at myself in the mirror. This was not done. My transformation was not complete. This is not how I was supposed to look! I was dissatisfied with my nose most of all. It was one of the few things that gave away my gender. I would post modeling pictures of mine on websites, and people would say I was a cute girl... Until they noticed my nose. I secretly took pleasure in each compliment I received depicting me as a female.

  For the longest time I lived with my secret. I kept it close to myself. No one else knew. It wasn't until I was 20 that I first told someone. My best friend. He took it rather well, and admitted that he wasn't very surprised by the news. It was apparent in my actions, speech, and mannerisms. I grew a little more bold after he accepted my secret, and treated me no differently. I told one of my female friends. She wasn't surprised either.

  At the time I was dating a girl, and she benefited from my feminine perspective. Everyone I've ever dated, said I was the nicest guy they knew. I always knew what they wanted, how they wanted to be treated, and so much more. Some of them even went so far as to say ďI love dating you, because it's like dating a gay guy, only you're straight!Ē.

  Heh. Correction, I'm lesbian. Not straight. But sure, we'll go with that.

  After a mutual breakup with my girlfriend at the time, we stayed close friends. I wound up telling her my secret. In fact she decided to help me feel more like myself. She took me back to her house, brushed my long hair, put a headband on me, and put me in her clothes. I then proceeded to fashion make-shift breasts using one of her bras, and socks. While this was a one-time thing, it felt closer to how it should be.

  We wound up going back out again for a while, and it was wonderful to be with someone who knew ME, not the facade I had to put on for the rest of the world. It was a relaxing atmosphere, and I could be myself.

  Eventually as relationships tend to, we went separate ways again. But by this point, I had a core group of a few friends whom I was around all the time, who knew my secret. They didn't care, in fact they made good use of it.
  ďDoes this dress suit my body type?Ē
  ďDo these drapes look good with the curtains?Ē
  ďShould I say this to a girl, or this?Ē

  I was somewhere I felt accepted, and loved for who I was. Not who I had to pretend to be. I was myself. Albeit, I still had the betraying nose, no breasts, and was too tall. But at least I felt comfortable with being able to be myself.

  But then I moved. I moved 980 miles south, to be with family. I left my friends behind, and left myself there with them. I had to put on the mask again. And everything once again felt wrong.

  I lived like this for a while. I even tried to tell my new girlfriend, who later became my fiancee, my secret. I tried to slowly take off the mask. But when I started to allude to the truth, she took it rather poorly. She started trying to explain it away. Since it was obvious this was going to go poorly, I agreed. I refastened the clasp that held my mask on.

  After a growth formed under my right nipple that very much resembled the way a breast starts growing during puberty for a woman, she said that if it grew to be a breast, I should get it removed, and if I so much as think about wearing a bra, she'd leave me. I'm sure she was semi-joking in her mind, but those words killed me inside.

  I'm engaged to someone who I can never be myself around.

  Over the period of a three week depression stemming from feeling isolated and living a lie, I wound up telling my mother my secret. She took it rather well, and believe it or not, said she wasn't surprised either. She had always wondered for the longest time. She said she knew I wasn't gay, but that I just wasn't male. Something was definitely different. So when I told her my secret, it came as no surprise to her.

  While I am grateful that my mother accepts who I am, it would be easier if I was with my friends who accepted me for who I am. It would be ideal if my fiancee knew, and accepted me as well. I feel like I'm lying to her every waking moment, with every word uttered, and every action made. This isn't who I am. She's made it painfully apparent that if I tell her, she'll leave.

  I don't know if that's healthy for either one of us.

  My mother asked me if I ever planned on getting some surgery to reconstitute myself as I saw fit. I said it would cost far too much, and be extremely extensive. I need to be a minimum of 3 inches shorter. Which means my arms would need to be shortened by one and a half or two inches to remain proportioned. I'd want facial reconstruction. Nose and jawline. I'd need laser hair removal on everything below my nose. I hate hair that isn't on my head. I'd want curves.

  I know how I'm supposed to look. And unless I look that way, I will not be satisfied. I am supposed to be five-foot ten inches tall. Long black hair. Cute nose that curves upwards at the tip. I'm supposed to weigh 130-135 pounds. Hour glass figure, heart shaped facial structure. When I look in the mirror and I don't see that, it makes me very frustrated and upset.

  I don't know what to do. But that is my secret. It's been buried deeper in my heart and mind than any of my other secrets. I know we live in the ďmodern eraĒ where different thoughts are more widely accepted, but that does not make telling anyone any easier.

So what's your secret?

Velvet drapes, glowing candles
Silent whispers of words inside of my head
The night that comes, it waits for me
Lift me to the ending of another day
I'm haunted

Offline J.Grey

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Re: The Secret
« Reply #1 on: March 03, 2012, 04:52:28 AM »
Ha... 1735 views and no replies. Well I think this deserves a reply. This is a very brave piece of writing and I applaud you for putting it out there. Like you I never fitted in my own skin but not in the same way. I just look in a mirror and donít see a person looking out at me that I recognise. Something seems wrong but youíre never sure how. I used to love the Dirty Harry films as a kid, I even read the books. Somehow the endings were always wrong, they always left me feeling disappointed but thereís nothing really wrong with the films. Itís something I never figured out and thatís how this is, I just never figured out what it was that was wrong so instead I just tried to improve things so I could at least see someone I could respect.
I now live (temporarily maybe) in Thailand. My girlfriend lives there but we had serious issues when i asked her to marry me. Issues such as her family demanding a dowry of £11000 and then her brother pulling a gun. He was so drunk that when the gun jammed he pointed it at his own face and pulled the trigger to see why it wasnít firing. Where that leaves us, I donít know yet. It did get worse, but thatís another story.
The point is that sexuality is not black and white in Thailand. Itís grey and has many shades and all are accepted. Itís a far more relaxed community and shocking to a foreigner with fixed views. I arrived there the last time with a big, macho Polish guy and it was hilarious to see him struggling with the concept of men dressing as women. It was even more hilarious when he went off with a prostitute against my advice who turned out to be a man. I guess the Buddhist concept of Karma might be right after all.
Itís sad that acceptance is harder to find where you live but donít go thinking this is a paradise, itís not. Like all things in life, this is a compromise and you can live here and enjoy the benefits only if youíre willing to sacrifice other things. 
So something isnít quite right with the way youíre made and thereís nothing wrong with that at all. The vast majority of the Human race have ďordinaryĒ covered and look at the mess theyíre in. I like being different, it means I can just about live with myself. Itís lucky really, some people who are different are missing arms or legs or have only a few years to live. Iím grateful that Iím not quite the same and that Iím not so different that I canít enjoy my life.
You just have to learn to accept it. Not suspect, not feel it... you have to learn to know it. When you do then you can stop using this as a focus of your life and get on with the business of being you. I know this sounds easy and I know itís really not.
Me? Well Iím a biker, I love my bike. I rode from London around Europe last year and then through the Middle East into Thailand. I rode my bike through 19 countries and 5 warzones. I met some amazing people, I guy who married his bike (in a full wedding dress), an airline pilot who got up one morning, left and spent 5 years on the road and a host of other slightly crazy people. This year Iím going through SE Asia and next year South America (maybe Russia). This is because I just stopped caring. Ok, Iím different, so moving along... These are the hands weíre dealt so now you know who you are itís time to figure out what to do with it and one thing you learn on the road. There are a million experiences out there for you and every one of them is worthwhile.