Sorry I haven't had anything to say for awhile. A long while. Been doing a lot of mind and soul searching.
I need to say up front...this post has been extremely difficult to write and very time consuming. If anyone else has had even a similar experience ( oh please Lord, I hope not! ), my prayers go out to you.
With that said, here goes.
Now that I am being honest with myself in order to move ahead with some clarity, memories of my childhood have begun to slowly come up to the surface. Believe me when I say, I'm happy that it is only slowly and hasn't been like a flood gate opening. I've shed enough tears to make me believe it has been like the great flood of Noah's day.
It's been difficult on one hand to accept some of the things that I have remembered, while at the same time, offering me a new found freedom. Freedom! I have been freed to find and learn more about Cynthia. About how and when she...we...I...came to be. About her dreams, her desires, what she's been doing with her life. And oh yeh, I found out she...we...I...cry a lot! A whole lot more than me...the other me, one of us anyway. Girls, can I cry! I've come to accept and actually enjoy my time crying. What better way to get to know someone? Now I almost never did before, cry that is. My crying as Cynthia is really stirring up some childhood memories and for that I'm eternally grateful. I'm not sure how, but at least it seems to be working that way, so far.
Dang it already, where are my tissues?
Now the more I remember things that happened to me and things that I did when I was very young, more and more details start coming back to me. So much of my memory has been buried for so long that it doesn't come back very easily. Too much, too fast, just might be disastrous. So, as I said before, slowly is working well for me right now ( praise the Lord! ).
I will start out remembering something, and the next thing I know, Cynthia is whispering in my ear about something else. Talk about rabbit trails. It gets a little frustrating, but I'm trying really hard to trust Cynthia and remember all the things that happened to her back when, and I need to get all of these buried thoughts and memories out in the open where I can deal with them. Writing it all down here is helping...a lot!
I started remembering this incident from my childhood about a year ago, but only in bits and pieces. I had no idea what was coming. It took me a long time to sort out all of the details so I could make sense out of it. I just kept writing down these bits of information until I could put the pieces of the puzzle together and have it sound rational. Did I say rational?
As I have said before, I had, what I can remember of it, an okay childhood. Mostly. Along the way there were a few bumps and less than terrific incidents, as I'm finding out. But this one long lost ( buried ) memory of something that happened when I was very young was extremely traumatic ( then and now ). But I felt that I needed to write it down in order to get it out of my system. It has been eating at me for a while now. I think if I remember any more like this one, I may need to see a shrink.
I have wanted to remember, for quite some time now, when I first learned how and why I believed I was different. Most of my memories seemed to center around me mostly feeling different. But, why did I feel so different inside? I always thought I was a girl, ( even though I was referred to as a boy ), and that was all I ever remember believing I was! I seem to remember thinking that I should have been wearing a dress, and had longer hair, definitely not wearing boy clothes, and short hair. But I never really understood why I believed that. And why couldn't I wear a dress? I know now it's because I didn't know the real difference between boys and girls back then ( please, I was only 4 or 5, and naive, and I had never seen that real difference between boys and girls ). But...Girls...was I ever going to get an education! I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.
I hope you don't think this next part is silly, because, believe me, it wasn't!
One day, I was playing with a few of the girls in the neighborhood ( after all, I was a girl...and didn't really like to play with boys. I mean, girls were nicer to play with than boys anyway, or so I thought ). I don't remember exactly what we were doing. I think we were playing with dolls ( I do remember, I loved to play with dolls ), but then the other girls decided they wanted to play Doctor instead. I had never played doctor before, so I didn't know how to play it. It sounded a little scary to me anyway. I mean, who likes to go to the doctor? Needles and all that stuff! Yuck! Well, I found out what it was all about...and...that I was at the other girls' mercy now. I think these girls were a little older than me and knew something that I didn't.
Well, here I am, learning how to play doctor. We're examining each other, like listening to each other's heart beat and we're putting bandages on each other's injuries, and checking reflexes with a hammer ( that can hurt ). Some memory, huh? Now, I seem to remember I was having fun. I mean, it seemed like a fun game, but as time went on, things got very interesting.
The girls I'm playing doctor with, along with probably being older, and smarter than me, now decided to add something to the game. They say this part of playing doctor is called...are you ready?...*I'll show you mine if you show me yours *. OOOKAY...now what's this all about? I think they had some ulterior motive behind this new introduction. Yeh, I think they knew something all along. Well, I have no idea what this is about either...until they explain! OH NO! GIRLS! Have any of you ever played this?
Well...here we are...and on the count of three, we all pull our panties down and show each other what we look like......... I can't believe what I see! This just isn't right! Is this what girls really look like? Not like me? Every one of them looks the same, but I sure don't look like them ( and I'm a girl too, Right?, Right! ). Now, as I remember, I kind of thought girls were different than boys ( though I really didn't know why or how ), but uh oh, I think I just found out. I couldn't believe how much different girls really were, especially down there that is, as compared to what I am showing off to everyone ( Ewww! ). And here I thought all along that I was a girl. Maybe I was just an average girl, but a girl just the same. Or so I thought.
Now I know they already knew something! And I get this awful feeling that maybe I am not a girl ( impossible?! ), and I realize that now I'm sure that I really don't like what I have between my legs ( honestly...I don't remember ever really liking it...but why?). Now I've found out that I don't look like them and I'm supposed to look like them ( I'm a girl! ). And now I'm really confused and starting to think in my tiny little girl brain that something is very wrong. And I'm scared. Scared that somebody must have made a big mistake when I was born ( does anybody believe a little girl can think this is possible at this age? ). But how can that be? How can you be born a girl but have boy parts? This just isn't possible. Now, who says kids aren't smart? I think this is pretty darned intuitive for a 4 or 5 year old.
So...now what do I do? Here we all are with our panties down to our knees, and they are all pointing at me and giggling and laughing. Now they're saying..."You're not a girl!"..."You're a boy!" And I yell back, "No I'm not!" I try to tell them they're wrong, that "I am a girl!"..."I was born this way and...I am too a girl!" How does a small innocent child think like this? Where does it come from? Talk about being traumatized. I didn't know why God would want a little girl to feel that kind of shame and humiliation. But that is exactly what they made me feel. At least at that time. I finally realized later, quite a bit later, that it was those girls who were so cruel to me! It wasn't God. ( I have since forgiven all of them. )
I quickly pulled my panties up and I ran away from those girls and cried and cried. I seem to remember that I couldn't stop crying. I found a place to hide, where nobody could find me. I wanted to curl up and just go to sleep so I could get rid of the boy parts and wake up with all the right girl parts. Either that or die. I really remember wanting to die if I couldn't be a girl. Now the pain starts!
Well...I didn't get rid of the boy parts...or get girl parts...and I didn't die ( praise the Lord ). But I definitely believe now that this incident is why I buried so many memories so deep, for so long, and made them so hard to remember ( definitely not a good thing, but better than dying ). I think this was the last time, or almost the last time, that I remember playing with girls. Not by choice, by shame and humiliation.
Where did I put my tissues?
Ahh, the indomitable memory...and I found my tissues. Indomitable: adjective; impossible to subdue or defeat, a woman of indomitable spirit. Isn't that what all of us are? I did have a change of heart later on and decide to like girls again and not hate them all for what those few girls did to me. After all...I'm a girl! That's right, I'm Cynthia!!!
Over this past year or so during which time I spent remembering this one incident, no longer is it maybe. I now strongly believe it was responsible for my playing boy from then on, at least for some of the time ( because in my heart, I was still a girl ).
Then a few years went by and Cynthia showed up again. I think this is when I wished more than ever that I was a girl. I wanted so badly to be a sister to my brother and sister, and not be their brother. I so wanted to be like her. Play with her and her friends, not the boys in the neighborhood. Wishful hoping and praying, but not to be. Mind you now, I'm still very young and still don't understand who or what is going on inside of me. I simply believe I'm a girl inside, at least most of the time, but I know I don't look like one on the outside. This is all beginning to hurt again. Now, little girls wouldn't have any knowledge of GID or trans-anything back then. Still too young. I wouldn't even know to look for information or help. Not until many years later.
So, now what do I do?
I seem to remember thinking that my parents wouldn't be able to help me. I doubt seriously if they would have a clue as to what is going on inside of me. This is back in the mid '50's after all. So, I keep it to myself, pain and all.
The next phase, I become a teenager, and like earlier, look out! Cynthia is back again...even stronger...and periodically throughout my teen years. I did write a little bit about my teens, but I'm going to leave the rest of that for later. I still have a lot more to remember about that time in my life. There are just too many holes in the picture still, but it's been getting a little clearer.
For the following years, until now, I have been in boy or man mode. Eeewww! Yeh, great expectations. But periodically, Cynthia would come back into my life. I used to wonder why each time she came back, I always seemed to feel different, good, better, the best I would ever feel until now. She always presented me with some very good feelings and some strange feelings, but I always seemed to feel oh so much calmer and at ease when she was with me. Like I was finally experiencing the real me. I'm learning now why I felt those things. I'm truly learning to love this journey.
This has been, to date, the hardest thing in my life I can remember having to deal with. There may have been some others ( I don't remember them right now ), and there may very well be others to come ( I pray not ), at least not this traumatic. I can't tell you how many tears I've shed during the writing of this. It has taken me, off and on, the better part of this last year to put this together. Even before this blog. That's why I started this site. I had to have somewhere to store this saga.
Now I realize, these memories are always there, they aren't lost, only misplaced, or buried, mixed up for sure, and you never know when they are going to surface. As I accept more and more of these facts about myself, I seem to be able to remember more. I mentioned it earlier, it's called Freedom. Freedom to believe and accept that I really am a girl ( I have a lot of growing up to do ), no matter what any one else thinks or says. I really don't care what the label, I don't care what the term, and I don't give a rats behind what word or acronym is being bantered about and debated today. I REALLY DON'T CARE! I AM A GIRL! I AM CYNTHIA!!! And I praise my Lord Jesus for what and who He has allowed me to be born as, and for the memories He is giving back to me, however joyous or painful they may be. I'm a better girl for it.
So, with that said, I'm going to get another box ( or 12) of tissues...and I think I will buy some stock in Kimberly Clark or Kleenex, if these tears keep coming.
This brings me up to my previous post in the chronology of Cynthia. This may be a little difficult to follow as it's a little out of order, so please bear with me. Things are a little foggy still and out of sinc, but they are getting clearer all the time. I have to keep writing down these events as my memory digs them up from down there in the dungeons of gray matter. I'll try to put things in better order from now on, but don't hold your breath. After all, it keeps you all on your toes, doesn't it?
Wow!!! I can't believe how long this post has become. It's got to be a girl thing. Oh well, we girls just take longer to say what we want to, or in this case, need to.
Remember I said at the beginning that this was extremely difficult to write? Well, after I finally got it all written down and read it through from start to finish, I felt so much relief. I got some of that pain out that I spoke of. I am finally beginning to find my heart and soul in Cynthia. One little memory at a time. This is certainly proving to be a most cathartic journey.
Bye for now, and hugs everyone,