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Date Posted: 19:42:11 09/21/11 Wed
Author: Michele
Subject: Becoming Michele Part 3

I continued to to get into serious trouble more and more frequently. What I remember of my attitude is that I was angrier and angrier, but not at something I could explain. The anger was like an acid rotting through me. That I was miserable doesn't even come close. I began to realize that I was only a joke to boys that actually allowed me to hang out with them. I had no real friends and no respect from anyone. This is the point I was at when Mom asked the fateful question about what I didn't like about Michael. It was sometime early February. I've said that these talks with Mom were draining. This one was the ultimate in emotional release and it was really only a start for me. When I screamed at Mom that I hated Michael she wasn't as shocked at the statement as she was at its vehemence. The dam broke and I verbalized everything I had been feeling and that had been building up in me for the last six months. I am sure it wasn't at all coherent, I was only 11-1/2, but Mom got the idea. I cried that afternoon in a way that I had never cried before as Michael. It was a jag like after meeting my father. Mom held me for a long time after ward. She just listened.

Two days later I had just gotten home from school and Mom came into our room. I was changing into Michele and was apprehensive when I saw her. In her arms she had some of my favorite clothes. She asked if I would like to wear some of those instead. Of course I said yes and she gave them to me and left.

Now most days kind of worked like this: I would get home angry and miserable, I'd go into my room and change out of my school clothes and put on shorts, a top, maybe a skirt. That's what I had and that's what I did – I didn't really think about it. There wasn't a magical instantaneous change. I was still angry and miserable. Then I'd sit at our mirror and brush out my hair usually for several minutes, it was relaxing and helped dissipate some of my anger. Some days I would play with it and try something new, but most days I would put it in a ponytail and maybe use the curling iron on my temples. I'd get my chores out of the way and if it was a good day I would start to play with Sis for while before doing homework. At some point, usually half way through my chores or after a few minutes of play, I'd stop being miserable. I would enjoy just being Michele. I would be Michele.

So that day I was happy to put on one of my favorite dresses and things went along as usual, if anything better than usual because I liked my outfit so much. After dinner Mom said she needed to talk to me. In her room she took my hands and looked me in the eyes and said “Michele, I need to ask you a favor, I need you to help Michael.”

It would be really great to say that this short conversation, and it was short, changed everything. It didn't. But it did plant a seed. She spoke a little bit about how she loved me, the whole me and how me being hurt and unhappy as Michael hurt her. She told me she knew that Michele was happy and asked if I could try to think about things as Michele before doing something. I don't think I quite understood what she meant. Then she started something a few days later that went on for more than a year. Every couple of days or so she would wait until I completely in Michele mode and quietly ask me if I had tried to help Michael at all. She never pushed me or criticized my my initial negative answers. It was all very gentle, as I said, she would reiterate how Michael needs my help and that would end it.

After four or five times of Mom asking it sunk in a little deeper and I would occasionally think about it during the day. The first time I actually had something positive to say to her was about two weeks later. I had been asked to skip out of school at lunch with a group of my regular non friends. For once I thought to myself that I wouldn't do this if I was Michele. I actually wasn't too hard, over the next many months there would be plenty of times were it would be both easier and harder. Remembering to think that way was a breakthrough. Mom's reaction when I told her was not a generic “I'm proud of you” it was genuine gratitude. Very serious gratitude, the kind a kid doesn't see very often.

Some time before the end of that March is when Mom started giving me a vitamin for breakfast. I didn't know for years what they actually were so any changes that took place in me I took as just the normal changes of growing up. Fairly quickly I noticed my acne cleared up. I'm sure it must have affected my moods for the next several months I could cry easily and many things could touch me as sad that wouldn't before. I even remember a couple of instance where I started crying in front of my non friends. That, combined with the gradual reduction of my nutty behavior, pretty much ended them overlooking my social failures. By the end of the school year I was back where I started. No social status with the boys, drifting towards the girls, but surprisingly not waking up quite every night.

Michele

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