“How I Became a Girl” — A Confession of a Frustrated Man
Having probably lived most of my life in suffering and general misunderstanding, I finally found peace of mind. Today, looking back, I”m horrified by the fact that all this time I had to balance death and the threat of survival.
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This may seem like complete nonsense to many. But I”ve long been accustomed to this attitude. But if my “confession” helps even one person find themselves, I believe it was worth it.
How it all began
I was born 40 years ago as a little boy in a town deep in the mountains. I was a long-awaited and much-desired child. My parents adored me and denied me nothing. After my father”s return from a conflict zone in 1979, my mother gave birth to me at the age of 37. My father was an officer in the army, which led to everything that followed: wounds, decorations, a love of order, and a stern temperament. He dreamed of preparing me for military service with distinction, raising me to be a true man who would defend our vast country. Unfortunately, I did not live up to his expectations. As a child, I was more attracted to my mother”s beads and earrings than my father”s orders and medals. I distinctly remember how much I loved trying on her dresses and shoes when I was three and a half years old.
According to the first, my parents didn”t scold me for such pranks. I remember my father looking at me in confusion when I put on my mother”s dress and entered the room where he was relaxing with his colleagues. No, he didn”t shout or curse—he was silent and motionless. For some reason, I was very scared. I wanted to run away, but I got tangled in the hem of my long dress and fell. And my father, my beloved father, didn”t help me up. For the first time, I felt afraid. I realized that something was wrong with me. A few days later, I turned six. For my birthday present, I received a set of toy soldiers and a huge gray tank with a remote control. A month later, my father took me to a sambo sports school. From that day on, playing dress-up was strictly taboo. One day, I overheard my parents arguing about my odd behavior. My mother was crying, and my father was smoking and yelling. That”s when I realized what loneliness was.
The only outlet was my grandmother. She taught me to pray and seek protection from the Almighty. I remember desperately asking God to turn me into a girl, holding a small icon in my hand, tears rolling down my cheeks onto the pillow. And yet I was still very different from my peers. I didn”t like boyish interests and preferred to play with girls. It is not surprising that such eccentrics turned sideways. However, the physical impact did not cause much discomfort. After all, in training they were taught to endure pain and fight off criminals. Mental anguish brought much more suffering.
First attempt to take my own life
I looked like a small, hunted animal. None of those around me understood what was happening to me. And my knowledge as a child was not enough to explain to adults that I was not a boy. In fact, I am a fragile girl who, due to someone’s evil intent, turned into a man’s body. The older I got, the more I hated this body. At the age of nine he decided to die. I wrote goodbye letters to my parents, prayed and began cutting the veins on my hands with a knife. Oddly enough, I felt no pain or fear, only an uncontrollable desire to end this nightmare. For some reason, I was convinced that after death I would definitely ascend to heaven in the guise of a woman. While the cold blade slid and cut through the thin skin, and drops of scarlet blood flowed in thin streams, I waited for the transformation to begin. Unfortunately, the transformation did not begin — my mother entered the room. That”s why I first went to a psychiatric clinic. The treatment was long, painful and ineffective.
Self-hatred
Puberty brought even greater suffering. The first erection caused unspeakable horror. I wanted to cut off this disgusting organ, and I dreamed many times of cutting it off with a sharp knife. In reality everything was different. After an unsuccessful suicide attempt, many psychotherapy sessions yielded results — now I was afraid of harming myself by cutting things. But a solution was found — rubber bands. I tied a stiff black rubber band around my penis, hoping that sooner or later it would fall off. Naturally, this didn”t work. When I no longer had the strength to endure the discomfort, I had to remove the tourniquet. However, as soon as blood circulation was restored, the gum returned to its place. Soon the pain became a constant companion. Thus, switching to physical pain at least partially drowned out mental pain.
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Nevertheless, my student years were not only suffering but also great pleasure. One day, after watching a film about Jesus, I decided to dedicate my life to God. I began attending Sunday school and church services. He even considered my entering seminary. For a while, I even managed to control myself, but then everything returned to normal: hysterics, depression, apathy, attacks on myself and others.
God”s punishment
Sometimes, to relax, I would put on women”s clothes and wander the streets at night. These walks were more effective than therapy sessions, hormone treatment, and church attendance combined. Unfortunately, I couldn”t keep this secret. I usually left the house through the window and returned the same way. One day, my father saw me. We had a very unpleasant conversation. I slammed the door and left. In the morning, my father was gone. That evening, I went to a psychiatric clinic. They wouldn”t let me go to the funeral. During my three months in the hospital, I was able to completely rethink my life. The first day I was discharged from the hospital, I put on a dress and went to the cemetery. Then, hello, Father. It”s me, your daughter Nadezhda. I miss you. I”m sorry we never talked. How sad you never got to know me. I love you, Father. It hurts me so much to be your greatest disappointment. Forgive me, if I could. After that, I left my hometown and never returned.
Life from a fresh start
I decided not to apply to seminary. I submitted my documents to a prestigious university in the capital, passed the entrance exam without a problem, and was accepted into the first year. Life in the big city had many advantages. Now I could become absolutely anyone at any time. I enjoyed wearing dresses, going shopping, visiting cozy cafes, and experiencing the world through a woman”s lens.
Became a girl! A complete transformation! Parents” reactions, girls, coffi, buster, evelone
9 circles of hell
However, it turned out that everything was just beginning. Having collected enough, I turned to a sexologist and psychiatrist for help. Unfortunately or fortunately, only after passing a special medical commission can you receive permission for gender reassignment surgery. And this is not just a meeting of several general practitioners. It is a collection of consultations with doctors, including at least ten specialists. Sexologists, psychiatrists, endocrinologists, psychologists, geneticists, surgeons — everyone must come to a conclusion and render a verdict. The Commission”s problems began from the very beginning. I knew exactly who I was. And even sexologists, after numerous tests and examinations, confused me that, despite the presence of male genital organs, I was still more a woman than a man. The endocrinologist was the first to sound the alarm. Disturbances in the functioning of the adrenal glands. At that time I did not yet understand how wonderfully this pathology fit into my life. Additional tests revealed a malfunction of the pituitary gland. The doctor spoke for a very long time, softly and completely inaccurately. His voice came from somewhere far away, and everything that happened in the office with white walls seemed to happen to other people. This simply couldn”t happen to me. . Violation of intrauterine development. Adrenocortical. Excessive amounts of androgens. Parts of the brain. Enlargement of the clitoris. The labia are enlarged and resemble a scrotum. What? Have I always been a woman? Due to someone’s medical error, due to the doctors’ ignorance, they not only simply did not perform plastic surgery on my genitals on time, they did not prescribe the correct treatment, and my life went downhill. I left the endocrinologist’s office and picked up the geneticist’s referral. Tears rolled down my cheeks, I remembered myself as a little boy, clutching a tiny icon in one fist, and a little boy in the other. Genetic testing confused the endocrinologist”s guesses — I am the owner of a female karyotype. I have a female set of chromosomes. I”m not even a hermaphrodite, I”m a woman with damaged genitals. If I had had surgery as a child and been treated correctly, this would not have happened. Perhaps my father would still be alive.
The end of my suffering
I spent several weeks in the hospital, went through a commission and received permission to have a “gender reassignment” operation. Now I have a new document and a new life. All that remains is to tell my old mother about this.
