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Date Posted: 19:40:27 09/21/11 Wed
Author: Michele
Subject: Becoming Michele Part 2

Just a few weeks later Mom came to me and said I needed to change so we could go shopping. I was confused because there had been no shopping as Michael since the fair. She saw my look and told me not to worry, Michael needs to pick up a few school things. We got a couple of jeans and dockers and three new shirts. The first new boys clothes I had gotten in almost a year with the exception of a couple of things for Christmas. It wasn't a fun shopping trip. Not because of anything Mom did. It wasn't satisfying the way my trips out as Michele were. There really is no challenge or adventure in buying boys clothes. One stop does it all. Jeans are jeans, dockers come in two colors, and there are three acceptable shirt styles. There were some choices in tennis shoes. I could get white shoes with black laces or white shoes with white laces. Of course the decision between blue trim or black trim was tough. I remember looking over at the girls selection and seeing twenty feet or more of display with dozens of styles, colors and combinations. Of course I'm exaggerating but I was really disappointed, sad even. Later on I looked at this through the lens of my insecurity and kicked myself over what a sissy I was.

Sixth grade was the last grade in our grammar school and we didn't change for gym, so that hurdle was for next year. But what the school had that I hadn't really thought about was lots of boys. I just spent almost the entire summer not being a boy. Even though I couldn't and wouldn't admit it to myself I was very good at not being a boy. In fact, another thing I couldn't and wouldn't admit to myself, the only way I could fit in with the boys was to resort to the behavior that got me in trouble in the first place. In other words acting out so they would overlook that I was different. The first couple of weeks or so I was pretty good, Michele in boy mode. I found myself drifting to the girls at lunch or recess. Talking mostly to them in the halls and whispering to them in class. I quickly realized that I didn't relate very well to the boys. I was very quiet, not good in 6th grade boy society where everything is hierarchical and each boy is finding his place in that hierarchy and struggling to rise in it. I had no desire to do things that scared me. Also not good in 6th grade boy society. And when I was with a group of boys I really couldn't relate to or get into the banter. This is the kiss of death in 6th grade boy society. For any of you that don't know what I mean, boys in that age group do not have conversations. If you see a group of boys talking together don't be fooled. What it is, is a series of random sentences: a put down, a sports fact, a personal insult, another random sports fact, random sentence about how he got this scar, another put down, something about farts - (interlude, half the boys in the “conversation” start a farting contest), something about a car accident where there was a lot of blood, another personal insult, random sports opinion that almost leads to a fistfight that ends the “conversation”. I AM NOT EXAGERATING. What this is all about is a highly ritualized dance that moves a boy up or down the social hierarchy. Trying to fit in by saying a put down where a random sports fact belongs drops you down the ladder fast. Saying a random sports fact and getting it wrong is a double demerit. Its all in the boy handbook, chapter six. Oh right, I didn't get a boy handbook.

Kidding aside, after just the first two weeks I had already hit rock bottom on the social hierarchy scale. Sure I had cool hair, but by now, whatever my residual reputation was last year, it had faded into ancient history and my hair was considered girly. I truly went into crisis. Its difficult to try to find words that convey the absolute and utter despair that consumed me night after night. The pattern was that I would get home from school exhausted from the days social failures and escape into Michele. My afternoon and evenings were great and I would fall asleep content. Sometime during the night I would wake up and start to stress about the coming day at school. This happened almost every night. Every night I would condemn myself for becoming Michele that afternoon. I would swear that I wouldn't do it tomorrow. I'd sob into my pillow about what a sissy I was, and how I couldn't fit in and everyone would know. Its important for you to know that no one was forcing me to become Michele each day, I hadn't been forced since the day with Dad. I did it myself everyday, happily and without thought. Except for the afternoon shopping for my school clothes and that wasn't much fun. So instead of talking to my Mom about it and probably getting good advice and assistance, I made the wrong decision. I was the boy from heck before, now I became the boy from hell.

Michele


Some of you reading this may be wondering how the heck I could ever think that becoming a horrendous troublemaker would solve my problems. First, at eleven, things don't necessarily need to make a lot of sense. Second, a little known fact – this may not even be in the boy handbook – if a boy can consistently raise the adrenaline levels of other boys, all other social failings are overlooked. Not forgiven, just overlooked. It works like this: if you are the kid who climbs the water tower, jumps off roofs into dumpsters, vandalizes the school, mouths off to authority, etc. then other boys want you around so they can get the rush just by watching. Not all boys, but a good enough portion of them. They don't need to participate in your foolish activities, though some might depending on what it is you're doing. These other boys are not your friends, they won't be inviting you to their birthday party, or over to their house to play video games. But they will overlook that you are quiet and reserved most of the time and that you don't have a banter decoder ring, or that you have girly hair. They will let you hang with them and they will, when bored, come and invite you along in the hope that you will do something nutty.

My sixth grade school year was the worst year of my life. Future years had their challenges, but mostly they were me allowing myself to feel embarrassed or humiliated by who I was. In sixth grade I was miserable and angry with pit in my stomach all the time. I was punished a lot and it wasn't fun punishment with Sis. The worst punishment I ever received was during this time and it was the only punishment that Mom ever felt the need to apologize for. The times I was sent off to my sadist cousins all happened this year, when I was so bad that Mom couldn't take having me around over the weekend.

I can't give a good reason why having some of the boys at least seem to like me was so important. By this time a large portion of my psyche was fully aware that I was a sister. I knew that the I had the most fun, was more content, and secure when I was Michele. There was a barrier I had put up in my head that wouldn't allow this knowledge to be fully realized. There was a portion of me that in my weakest moments would scream at me that there there was something wrong with me. That I hated being Michele, that I was a boy and I needed to be tough and liked by other boys. It wasn't until I finally broke down and told Mom how I really felt about being a boy during one of our sessions, that things began to change and that voice started to get quieter and less frequent.

I'm not going to go into a recital of everything I did or every punishment I received. That wouldn't be much fun to write and I think it would be redundant. This is about how I came to be Michele not about what a jerk eleven year old me could be. A big part of what made that year miserable is that I wasn't allowed to enjoy being Michele very often. Home life became very tense and for me mostly consisted of homework, chores, and early bedtime. I was dressed a lot at home but Mom had packed away most of my favorite clothes. That's right, part of my punishments was having my favorite blouses, skirts, and dresses taken away from me, and I hated it. Boy was I mixed up. The worst punishment I ever got? The one Mom apologized for? Mom was called to school because I had mouthed off in class to a teacher. She was furious and when we left the school she drove directly to the mall. She had a hold on my arm like a vise and stormed, half dragging me to the Claire's outlet. There wasn't even a pretense that this was my idea or very much talking at all. The college age girl running the shop that day just followed Mom's instructions and pierced my ears. I started crying right there in the shop. I cried all the way home and was almost hysterical when I ran to Sis. I practically fell to my knees telling her how sorry I was. She was shocked and she cried too. Why was that the worst? Because Sis and I were so excited about getting our ears pierced together. We had talked about it for months, we would even cut out pictures of ear rings and hold them up to ourselves modeling them together. We were supposed to get them pierced together as a Christmas gift. We were looking so forward to that day. I had ruined everything. Mom took Sis out to get her ears done about two weeks later, they made a day of it. I had to stay home and do chores. I didn't get much done, I spent most of the day crying into Angelbear.

Michele

As I've said I am very close to Mom. We have spoken of these years many times. I'm sure you are all wondering what was going through her head while all this was going on. I'm pretty sure I can answer that because we talked it through over the years.

From the time I got into first grade Mom says I always seemed to be in some type of trouble. I behaved badly in school all the time. When I got to be nine and ten years old it ramped up considerably. Not only was I getting into trouble more frequently, the things I was doing were far more dangerous. Not only that she felt the group of boys I hung out with only were there to get me into trouble and I never seemed to do anything normal with them. Naturally Mom loves me very much and she was really fearful that I would hurt myself or worse. In fact I had broken fingers and my arm (twice) before she made her decision to actually try something she had been thinking about. It seems that when she was a little girl she new of a family that used petticoat punishment to get their sons to finally toe the line. She doesn't know much about them it was just something she was aware of. If you ask Mom she'll tell you she tried everything short of selling me off to gypsies before she resolved to give this a try.

By the time the first episode occurred Mom was really at her wits end, it was getting to the point where she was starting to not even like me any more. (do not confuse that with not loving) I wasn't listening, I wasn't stopping, I wasn't even toning it down a little. If anything, the things I was doing were getting more and more dangerous. So she gave it a shot. Once, twice, naked weekend, then she started doing it every time I did anything wrong. She says that pretty soon something amazing happened. I was happy when I was being punished and playing with Sis. She says I was always an angry and pent up kid, but after a while playing with Sis my face would change and I would be a different child. She said I was almost like two different people. When she took me out clothes shopping and stuff was reserved for when I was being punished for something real. I would be put into dresses at the slightest thing though; she saw how I would just lose all of my tension and become this new pleasant person. She thought it was amazing and remarkable. So she started to observe me closely. When I started playing with Sis on my own without being dressed and playing feminine games as well as taking feminine roles. It made her really start to think about who I really was.

I've talked about my sleepless nights, well Mom had sleepless nights too. She had them when she feared I would really get hurt. More importantly she had them after she saw how I changed with my sister. It would be a real injustice to my mother if anyone thinks what she put me through was just a whim. She has told me of the many times she expected things to go differently, where she was prepared to stop. She waited for me to either make a stand or to stop progressively becoming Michele. Going to the fair she expected that Sis would talk me into going, but she didn't expect me to completely lose myself and enjoy the day so much and so quickly. Although she half expected me to decide to go shopping as Michele, again she was amazed at how much I was a completely different person when out. The thing that stood out most was that I seemed so much happier and had a complete personality as Michele. She was amazed at how I began to become Michele without any pushing on her part. She would tell me to get dressed for an afternoon and I would stay as Michele for two or three days on my own. Mom is not a stupid woman, she has a masters in social sciences. She is very aware that the behavior she was seeing in me was way on the outside of the bell curve of typical ten year old boy behavior. She decided at the end of my school year that since I seemed to be a “more complete personality” as a girl, to allow and encourage Michele. She says that that first summer she didn't really force me to do anything, she says that all she did was gently prod. With just gentle prodding I became Michele for almost the entire summer.

When I became so abhorrent in 6th grade it was really painful for her. Even worse she got what she thinks was a glimpse of who Michael would become. According to Mom even my father has some redeeming qualities. Don't ask me what they are. She says that Michael in 6th grade had no redeeming qualities. I had taken every bad trait of my fathers and multiplied them by ten without tempering them with any good traits at all. She says she saw where my life would lead and it would be destruction and misery for me and everyone around me. She could see in every aspect of my demeanor that I was angry and unhappy. When I finally broke down and told her what I really felt inside it was confirmation that she was right.

I've said that she was an expert in directing my thoughts and she was. It was a result of her education. She told me that while always had very good answers about what I liked about being Michele, I never had good ones about what I liked about Michael. I told her that I didn't remember her ever asking about me liking Michael. This threw her for a loop. She said that she never asked about me not liking being a boy until after the first four or five sessions. She says she changed the way she asked the question because I was never able to answer it the first way. I wonder why my memory is so selective in that instance. I find that interesting and leave it there for your consideration.

I spoke to Mom just this week about some of this to get what was going through her mind. I told her about what I'm writing here and she was helpful. Mom was very afraid that my anger would eventually result in violence. I was aggressively risk taking for attention and it was escalating, she felt that I was only thin line away from fighting and possibly real crime. Shortly after me breaking down and telling what I really felt and was experiencing as Michael she resorted to hormones. She read everything she could about them. This was before many people had access to the internet but there are two large colleges with extensive libraries nearby. Her two biggest reason were, first she knew that as my T levels increased when I entered puberty I would get worse. Second she knew how happy I was as Michele. Mom decided she wanted to delay the first as long as possible and give me the opportunity to explore the second. She thought the doses she gave me at first would do no lasting damage and would reverse themselves if I stopped taking the hormones. I'm sure if that was true but it doesn't matter to me now. I'm happy she did it. I mentioned before that we spoke about the hormones when I was 16, the reason is that she wanted to explain her lie to my relatives to explain the changes. She told them all that I was intersexed, I'm not sure if that made any sense but to this day my Gramps says he knew something was up all along and Nan says its such a shame I was forced to be a boy until I was ten, I was such a pretty baby...

Michele

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