Written by Dauphin
A boy loses his mother to cancer. Now he has to survive the hatred and jealousy of his father
"A story about abuse and hope. A dark story that is full of pain" Diana
"I wanted to shock and let people know about the pain that some have experienced. The story stops at the worse place, making one come to own conclusions." Dauphin
Those were the days.
We can all remember a time when things were like being in Utopia. When life was so good, we never thought about being sad. For me, this was when my Mum lived here. Then we were a family.
Mum was the happy one in the family. She was always cheerful and making pies and things. I know this sounds a bit corny, but that’s the way she was. At least that’s the way I remember her. I remember when she read me bedtime stories and tucked me into bed. She would always smile and say I was sweet.
Then we have my Dad. He was always trying to teach me sport. He used to come home with toys that all boys would love to have. You know, like race car sets and football game and PlayStation 2. I would jump up and down when I saw them, but it always ended that Dad played the games more than I did and I would play with my sister. Her toys were far more fun and she didn’t mind if I used them. In fact, she encouraged it.
That was my sister. She was 3 years older than me, but I think that she considered me her little sister. The old family story goes that she used to tell Mum when I was in her stomach that I was a girl, and when I was born she could see I was a boy, but she was not sad, she just said that I had long hair for a baby and I could be her baby sister. Mum tried and tried to tell her that I was a boy. After some time, my sister accepted it. Well somewhat.
She still dressed me in her old clothes and we played with her toys. I will not be like others that write stories and say that I was a girl in a boy’s body. I was not. I was simply a boy that played that he was a girl once a while with his big sister. I do admit that I loved the pretty dresses and felt like a girl with them on. I was young, I didn’t know the difference. But I loved playing with my sister.
It is said when we miss a person, we only think about the good times that we had together. We remember it as a time of smiles and laughter.
Then when I was 7, tragedy entered my life. Mum got cancer. I didn’t like that Mum was sick. I would always ask her to play or if we could do something together. Mum knew that I was confused. She spent as much time with me as possible. I heard people say that Mum didn’t have that much time left, that she would die. At that age, I didn’t know what death was. Death was something that just happened to older people. It wasn’t supposed to happen to my mum that was so beautiful and young.
Even as the cancer was eating at her, and Mum started to lose weight and look all skinny like a skeleton, I always remembered her as beautiful.
I remember once that Mum was in bed. She was tired and very sick. I didn’t really care. I wanted to be with her. I told her I could make her beautiful. I started putting makeup on her face. I was quite good at this because I did it so often with my sister. I showed Mum what she looked like in the mirror. She smiled and started crying saying that she never felt as beautiful as she did now. Then I started putting makeup on myself. I rushed into my sister’s room and put on one of her old Church dresses and white tights. It was a white frilly dress with a pink ribbon. Needless to say, she always hated it. When Mum saw me in it, she laughed and said that she should have bought the dress for me, “Her sissy son,” This is the first time that I heard the word, sissy.
Mum spent most of her last time with me. Looking back, I think that Dad made her think that she was dying. He would ask her about the funeral and things like that. He would feel sorry for himself and would curse life. My sister would also just cry. Sometimes she would sit on the end of the bed and just watch Mum and me play. My sister understood the situation much better than me. I think that when I was with my mother, it was not about her cancer. It was about enjoying the moment. Mum felt like a mum; she felt alive. I didn’t know that my Dad was jealous because I was spending more time with Mum. As I said, I didn’t know any different, and Mum did feel more alive when I was there.
But she died.
Life would never feel the same again.
After Mum died, everything changed. The only thing that was the same was my sister. She loved me, as I was the only thing that was left in her life caring about.
On the other hand, Dad ignored me. The jealousy that he felt when Mum was in her sick bed and used most of her last days with me was just too much. I don’t think that Dad hated me at this stage. I think that I reminded him too much of Mum.
The same was with my sister. I remember that I looked at a family picture. It was then I realized that she looked like Mum. She has the same eyes as Mum. When she smiled, she looked like Mum. I don’t know if this made me have a closer connection with my sister, or was it just because we had it all the time?
The first fall out I had with my Dad was Saturday a month after Mum died. I was so bored. My sister was playing with her friends. I tried to ask Dad should we play something and he just grunted something. He obviously thought that I was invisible.
So I turned on the TV. There were all children’s shows. I liked some shows like The Little Mermaid and Care Bears. I wouldn’t normally look at these, but today something caught my eye. It was ballet. I was just staring at the way they danced. It was so graceful. The men wore tights and soldier jackets that looked a bit funny. I wore tights before. I wondered if I could do ballet and look just as pretty as them on TV. Then Dad started getting mad.
“What is it that you are looking at some puffy faggot Ballet? Is that what you think is fun? Do you like looking at men with tights on and acting like a pack of queers? You do know that all Ballet men are Queer?”
“How do you know?” I asked confused. Dad was using a lot of words I didn’t even know. I was just looking at some people dance, and I didn’t quite understand what he was on about. He just stormed out and I continued watching ballet.
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew was Dad was screaming at me again.
“What? Wake up and answer me! Look at what you have done. You have wet yourself! Is the toilet too far away? Look at your clothes! What are you, a baby now?”
I felt embarrassed as I realized that I did wet myself. I fell asleep when watching ballet and didn’t know that I peed myself. I stood up while Dad abused me with words and changed my clothes. Deep down I believed what he said. I just peed myself. Dad only thought that babies wet themselves.
That was life with Dad now. Every time he saw me, he would get mad and call me names such as girlie or baby. He never smiled at me or anything like that. He never asked me if I had a good day. He was like a stone with me, or some military sergeant, that just screamed and yelled all the time. I didn’t mind, because my sister was there to give me a hug after he was so mean. She just said that I reminded him so much of mum and that he was jealous that I used so much time with her before she died.
Sometimes my sister was not enough. Once I was playing with my sister. We were playing the game that we always did, where she would dress me as her little sister. It was usually one of her old summer dresses and panties. Then she would put my hair in a ponytail or something else. We would just play with her old dolls and toys. For me, this was the some of the happiest times in my childhood. I would feel like a sister and escape the world without a dad that always got mad at me.
Of course one day, Dad caught me playing the little sister. He was outraged. My sister kept telling him that it was just a game, but she was told to go down and start dinner. Then he looked at me, and I knew it was time to be called many names.
“What do I see here? My son is dressed as a girl! You are one weird boy. You are just a sissy, and that is one thing this world can do without. What am I to do about you? How am I going to make you normal? You might as well stay in that dress if you want to be a girl."
“I don’t want to be a girl!”
“Then look in the mirror.”
It was like I couldn’t do anything to please my Dad. He just always yelled and me. He would never smile and it looked like his eyes were red as the devils. Around this time, I started wetting the bed. I think it had something to do with mums death, but who knows? Instead of taking me to the doctor, Dad would get so mad and say I was a baby. To tell you the truth, I was sad around him. I really missed Mum more.
It was a week later when one of my friends Michael asked me was I still sad about Mums death, It was when school was over and Dad usually picked me up later, as if he nearly forgotten me. I told Michael what life was like at home. I said I don’t know how I would survive if it was not for my sister.
Then he gave me a hug and told me that he liked me more than a friend, and he would pray for me. The hug was a long one, and I felt confused. Did he like me more than a friend?
It didn’t matter, the next thing I experienced was my father taking my arm and dragging me back to the car. I was waiting for him to say something and call me names like he always did. The only thing he said was:
“So now you have a boyfriend. A few weeks ago, we were invited to a house. It is a group of people that believe in God and have made their own cult where they can live as Jesus and do, as he wanted. We are packing and we are going there. I think that they can sort your strange personality. In this house, you cannot be a girl, have a boyfriend or be a baby”
God is on holidays
It was the first evening in the house. It was like a little hotel where a lot of families lived. Father Steve that thought God spoke directly to him and he was a new prophet ran it. Everyone else believed it, otherwise, why would they be here?
The first evening we were in a prayer room. We said a load of prayers. I thought if I was God, I would fall asleep. We just mumbled and mumbled.
Then he said welcome to my family. I smiled and thought maybe this cult would make Dad smile again. Then Father Steve called me up to stand next to him:
“My fellow people, this boy are troubled by many demons. I have had a long talk with his father that told me that this boy annoyed his mother so much when she was dying, that she had no strength to live. He also dresses in girls clothes and plays like a sissy. A few days ago, he was seen by his father giving another boy a hug. To make things worse, he pisses himself often. I am convinced that demons are controlling this boy. It will take our prayers and hard decisions from his father to make things better.”
I was crying. The prophet said I was to blame for mum’s death. He also said that I had demons in me.
This was also too much for my sister. The next day when we woke up, there was a letter.
I will not live here where people are so mean. I will not live in a place where my father lets some priest say that my little brother is possessed by the devil. I will not live with my father that does not show his love for everyone in the family.
I love my brother. He reminds me so much of Mum. He is not afraid to show himself. He does not wear dresses because he is a sissy or gay. He wears them because he thinks it’s funny. I love him for who he is and I hope this place does not destroy him.
Now I was without my sister when I read her letter, I started crying. What was I to do? She was the only one that knew how I felt. She was the only one that I could get support from when Dad was being mean, and now she’s gone to live with my aunt. She went without me!
After she went Dad became even meaner. He loved to call me sissy and baby when someone else was listening. He made me wear diapers all the time because I started wetting more, even at daytime. Around him, I felt like a little Baby.
I didn’t go to the same classes as the others my age. Dad said I could go to the nursery until I learned how to grow up. I cried when he said that I would be going to the nursery. The first day was extremely hot. Dad said that babies only wear diapers when it was hot. So crying and with a pacifier in my mouth, he took me to a room in the house that was used as the nursery. I could see the other children that were going to a normal school look at me and whisper or laugh.
Other days, I had to go to the nursery in a short baby dress. I think Dad wanted to drive the devil out of me. Or he just wanted to humiliate me.
Forced to Salvation
I was now dressed fulltime as a girl. I was now a baby girl. I had diapers, pacifiers, and crib. I also had as many dresses as any other girl. Mary Jane Shoes, leggings, blouses. My hair as even looked like a girl.
I was not a sissy. Before I only wore my sister’s clothes just to play with her. I liked my boy clothes. I only felt like a girl when I was playing her sister. Not when Dad made me dress as a girl, and a baby girl at that.
One day, I was sitting watching TV with a light blue summer dress on. Dad invited all his religious mates to drink a beer.
“Look at him, “Dad said, “Or her. I make him wear dresses. He even has a diaper on. It is good that I can dress the devil as a sissy baby. I know he is my son, but I really hate him. Wait until I make him play outside with slut girl clothes or just a diaper. I love humiliating him”
This was the first time that I heard my Dad say it. He hated me. All he wanted to do was to humiliate me and make me more and more into a baby and sissy. It was like my heart stopped when I heard my own father say he hated me. I thought also that he would take me downtown just in a diaper or dressed as a girl. It was humiliating and I would not do it. I did not want a Dad that hated me.
My heart felt like it was dead
My mind went blank
Slowly I stood up. I walked into my dad’s room; I opened his drawer and took his gun. I could hear him shouting and telling me to come back. They were not finished talking about me.
I came into the sitting room. I pointed the gun at him. The other men hid behind chairs and sofas. Dad just stood there. Deep down I wanted him to reach his hands out for a hug. He just stood there like a stone. There was no love in his eyes. Maybe he was possessed by the devil.
I shot 3 times
I was now an orphan.
No story is a fairy-tale in real life.
Here I was in the lake. I tied a stone around my leg and jumped in. I wanted to be with mum.
How did I get here? After I shot Dad I was arrested. I had to go to court. Everyone felt sorry for me. I was abused by Dad and made to wear girl clothes. Because I wore diapers so long, my bladder was very weak. So the doctor told me I would have to continue wearing diapers and exercise at the same time until my bladder would work.
I was not sent to prison or any children’s home. My aunt said that she was taking care of my sister and she could also take care of me. The court agreed and said I could live with my aunt and get some professional help at the same time.
I thought things would be great now. I would be living with my sister now. The only problem is that she hardly talked to me. She would always tell me to go away because she was on MSN. When she wasn’t on MSN, she would say that she had no time for me anymore.
Then I tried to wear her old clothes, so we can play sisters again. She didn’t even notice this. I was going to beg her to play with me until I read what she just wrote on MSN. She wrote, “I know that Dad was a moron and I know that my brother was sad because he was treated like a sissy. But I hate him because he shot my Dad.”
After that, I walked out the door. I didn’t care who seen me in a dress. I went down to the lake and tied a stone around my leg. I jumped off a place where others usually dived. Everything was so blue down there. I was dying.
Then I saw my Mum. She was an angel. “Don’t give up” she said, “I know how much you suffered because of your father. I know that you think your sister hates you now. After you read that she hates you to her friend on MSN, she also wrote that’s not true. She just was afraid that you would be taken away from her and she would miss you a lot. So have courage, my son. Play sisters once in a while and be proud of who you are. You can do great things in this life. Have courage. I am always with you”
I tried swimming up to the surface, but could not manage it. The stone was too heavy. Then I could see Mums' hand and I held it as she helped me up to the surface.
I was lying down on the side of the lake when some ambulance men were trying to make me breathe again. I started coughing and gasping for air as this worked. The last thing I remember before they drove me to the hospital was that my sister hugged me
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