Ten years ago I wrote my very first story for Big Closet. The culture was different back then and the site was much, much smaller. It was a busy day if four stories got posted and Erin read each and everyone of them before posting (Congrats on not going crazy).

The story, How Life Can Change, created quit the stir way back then. I think it grew in popular because there wasn't really anything like it. At the time, there were only 5 stories dealing with transgendered kids (Erin named them in a blog) and none dealing with it on such a psychological level as I was. It grew quite the following and then a lot of bad things started happening in the story.

First off. I really didn't know what I was doing. I admit that. Second off, I was in a real bad place mentally at the time. I was going through a lot of pain of my own as I was dealing with the sexual abuse I suffered when I was young and I had just moved into the bedroom of one of the assailants.

But I used writing as a way to medicate and get things out on paper (or screen) and the horror and despair I was feeling transferred over, as well as the anger, the hate, and the ugliness. But instead of suffer because of the raw emotion I was feeling, the story prospered that I still have people asking about it today.

So, on to today's post.

I knew it was controversial. It was controversial back then and may be one of the most commented stories in BC history (52 individual comments). Back then comments didn't get pulled as they did today and there was quite the to do about what I wrote. That's why I blogged yesterday. But everyone encouraged me to post, so I did, hoping that the climate changed. In 10 hours I got one comment and it was not kind. I think the lack of comments said more to me, but the lone comment drove a nail in the coffin.

I am not a pedophile and I do not like being called one. I write mostly from my own experience and have gone through some stuff that I rather not have. It spilled over into my story and people didn't understand what was happening.

Here is the real story of why chapter 13 happened.

I was 8. I was living with my biological mother and Ritchie, her husband. Ritchie had a secret that he kept from the world, but not from me. Ritchie had a sexual attraction for young boys and I was readily available. The abuse I suffered did have a side effect, it made it for when I needed to excrete, I could not feel the need to go and would soil myself. One of the humiliations I suffered from soiling myself was being put in my sister's diapers. It was a horrible experience and probably the reason I can't connect with the adult baby/adult little girl scene though I've tried. I told my aunt about not feeling the need to go(I got a beating for that "what goes on in this house stays in this house") and she set an appointment for Dr. Leonard my pediatrician (cool how we had the same last name so it's easy to remember). So, on the day of the appointment, my mom is walking me there. All the way there she is telling me all the horrible things the doctor is going to do to me. He's going to shove huge metal rods as big as my arm in there to see what's wrong. He's going to cut me open to fix it, and other various forms of torture. By the time I got there, the condition set in and I had an accident and the doctor was unable to examine me. On the way home, my mom continued the horror stories. Stories about drills and big machines and just typing it I still get scared. I was magically able to feel the need to go even though the accidents continued and so did the peculiar punishment.

So today I get 1 comment on the story. The title calls me a pedophile and the body says EOM (which I guess stands for end of message). It bothers me for several reasons. First, the story is not pedophilia and actually is against it. Second, as a victim of such a crime I find the accusation particularly hurtful. Third, I am not the same person I was 10 years ago. I'm not even the same person I was six months ago.

I wanted to port this story over because people kept asking for it. I also wanted people to see how much I've grown in the craft. I see a lot of young, talented writers who might see that things do get better.

How Life Can Change was all over the place and very loose. I wrote a new version of it and called it A Different Kind of Life. It is the same premise, but you can see where I improved. But you take those two stories and look at Wrestling Against Myself and tell me if you can't tell the difference. Not only technical, but also with voice and mood. I am no longer that angry lost soul crying out for compassion. In my new stories there is a hope for the future that earlier pieces lacked.

I am going to take a step back and let my mind clear. I am in no shape to write on "Just Friends" and have learned that lesson the hard way many times before. I don't want to force something that isn't there.

Though my initial response was to take my pen and go home, I am only going on a short hiatus. There are still stories in me (lots and lots). And even a non fiction book with the premise that Transgender is not sin (an apologetic work to counter the christian right). I appreciate the support. Erin turned off comments to the story. I am going to make egg salad, come over if you want some.