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5:00 a.m. - 2002-01-24
Ms Leslie loves a little girl

> I wish you could see how loveable you are.

There! See? She did it again.

My older son, Eric, loves birds. Even when he was young, he could tame the meanest cockatiel, and pet the scariest looking parrots. Somewhere, he learned a trick.

He would move his left hand in front of and above the parrots head. The bird would be all defensive; snapping his beak and making dangerous sounds. Eric would hold his hand justout of reach and then just move it gently back and forth. Then, while the bird was busy watching that hand, he would slip his right hand around and gently scratch the back of the birds neck. The poor bird didn't know what to do. He dare not take his eyes off of the one hand, while he was getting a good feeling from the other. It was a gentle trap.

I'm no bird. I'm that junkyard dog. But the principle is the same. Get me thinking about something else and slip in with one of these pats on the nose. She's mistaken, of course. I'm not loveable at all. If I were, I'd love myself, and I don't. But it feels good just the same. It draws me to her. It scares me away from her. It does both. Why?

Let's face facts: I'm a hideous freak. Unattractive in every sense. I'm a fat middle aged woman with a penis, beard, receding hairline, hair growing full blast out of her ears and nose, deep voice, with no sense of fashion or grooming. I've forgotten how to smile, much less laugh, and I am cynical and skeptical about every facet of the world. Inside, I am seething with grief, guilt and anger. Not necessarily in that order. And under extreme circumstances, I know I can even be dangerous. I really do have no place in society. I'm an alien.

Nobody knows.. and no one is ready to see that way down underneath all of that is this little girl. Like a trapped survivor of a building collapse, she's crushed under tons of debris. Paralyzed and stunned, she holds not much hope of survival. That little girl migh have been lovable once, if given the chance. But she was rejected totally. First by everyone else, and then by me. NOw she is just filthy and broken. And disfigured. She can't even see herself in a mirror. No one can see her, except maybe Lynn. And I don't know if she can see her or not. I can't really tell. I know for sure that no one else can see her. Those who allegedly care for me are only going along with the game to whatever extent they are willing. They still see what they want to see... a guy pretending to be a woman. They wonder if I will always be crazy, and how far I will carry this game. I think they all hope I will be cured soon and gt back to being a guy, where I belong... where they want me.

And so, if they can see what they want to see, why can't Lynns see what SHE wants to see? Does she see the little girl just becasue I am claiming she is in there? Does she "see" her as just another way to offer support and to gain trust? Or is there some little thing that she can clearly see? Do I have some kind of girlish behavior that shows through? If so, I don't see it. Mostly, I only feel it. I seldom see the girl myself. How can Lynn or anyone else see her at all?

I do see her sometimes. When I get my hair fixed, if I look in the mirror and turn a blind eye to my face.. focusing on my hair.. I can see that it's pretty. And for a brief, self deluded moment, I feel pretty. I love the way it falls, or the curl of it. Even the smell of it. And if I can ignore evreything else, I can feel like there is a pretty part of me.. and that's the little girl. I think that's why I like to have my nails done. I can see them all the time. When they are nicely done; smooth and polished with a pretty color, I can look at them, screen out everything else, and I see something pretty there. I see the girl... but just her fingernails.

Letting myself see the girl is maybe one of the few really independant things I have ever done. I really tried hard to avoid it most of my life. I think I've talked about how I grew a mustache just as soon as I was able.. and about how before that, I would paint a mustache onto my fuaay lip with a tube of colored mustache wax. I kept that mustache all my life; and it was not a subconscious act. It was a conscious one. I kept my mustache in order to preclude any possibility that I could ever see myself as a female. Even in a dress, my mustache would keep me grounded in maleness. I could olny se me as a guy in a dress.

But I found other ways in spite of myself. Little ways. Like when I was spending my last useless months waiting to get out of the army at Ft. Lewis. Along with some other GIs, I fell into a local buddhist group. ONe of the members was a beautiful young Japanese bride of a sergeant who was away in Korea. Sumi was her name. We would go over to her house and she would make breakfast for us, or lunch. Whatever. We were just hanging out. But when she showed us herhusbands kimonos, I asked if I could try one on. It was beautiful. And from that day on, I would wear her husbands kimono every time we went to her home. Why? Well... you figure it out. The point is, I found dozens of ways to have secret feelings of femininity. Whiloe in Germany, I discovered men's underwear in nylon. They were bikini briefs and undershirts, both in bright designs. I wore them every day and enjoyed them immensly. When I worked as a part-time pizza delivery man in the winter, I would wear my wife's panty hose under my pants "because they kept my legs warm". Long johns would have owrked fine. Why did Iwant to wear pantyhose? Yep. I loved the way they felt. I loved the way they looked. Even if no one else could see.

But back to the subject. Lynn says I am loveable. It feels good, but is she right? I don't think so. I don't think I cna be loveable until I am love-able. And that needs to happen from the inside outwards. If I am ever able to love myself, maybe I can become able to love another. Not romantic love, but human love. If I can accept myself with my mukltitude of warts,, then I can accept another human with their warts. Being love-able will someday let me be loveable.

I'll tell the truth.. I do love that little girl. I have just been hiding that love for a long time. I let myself be shamed into hiding it and her. Isn't that sad?

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