Forced Out

Everyone has that one exact moment, in their life, which they are forced, to face a reality, before they feel, that they are ready to do so, like being tossed, into the deep end, of a local swimming pool, by a friend or a family member, struggling, to keep their head afloat, while still regaining control of the situation around them. Hoping, someone will help them, out of the kindness of their heart, instead, getting pushed back underwater, into the deep end, a hand holding their head down, in the water. Sadly, I experienced the hand holding me, into the deep water, from my mom, as I chronicle, in the following monologue.

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Forced "Out"

What have I done wrong, to deserve, this type of special treatment from you, mom? For seven and half years, since dad's death, I have placed my life on hold, by meeting your every single need, or tried to. Never once, did you have the courtesy, to ask me, what my own needs and desires were, did you, mom. Any time, I tried to express them, you would turn upon me, playing hardball, by accusing me, of being an ungrateful and selfish child, flashing your guilt card, before me. Damn it, mom, would it have kill you, to allow me, just one long freaking weekend, alone by myself, to be spent, however I want? Even if, this means, thinking things over. Or, is this, asking too much, from you, especially, when you agreed to this, over the telephone, the previous day.

Sigh.

I should have known better. Mom, you would break your word, to me, the very next day, on Canada Day, July 1, 2006, by showing up unannounced, knocking on my apartment's door. Should have left the door unanswered, but you would have found another way, to see me, that day. Whether or not, I wanted to see you. Damn you, mom, to the darkest Hells that you can think of!!!!

Not sure, who was more surprised, you or me, when I answered the door, wearing a red t-shirt, navy blue floral skirt, my legs, recently shaven for Toronto's 2006 Pride celebration, both of my toe and finger nails, painted in Revlon's "Vixen" red nail polish. My ears were just recently pierced, for the first time, part of a gift to myself, for attending my first Pride Parade. Before we go, any further, I have to admit, my apartment, is not always, the cleanest of places, at times, as was the case, when you made your surprised visit. A causality of my working extremely long hours, which my body so burnt out on the weekends that I just want to sleep, them, away. Adding depression anxiety, to the mixture, didn’t help me, either.

Mom’s face, a frozen mask of stunned disbelief and anger, greeted me, as she stepped, into my apartment. Silently and desperately, I tried to figure out a way, which I could explain myself, without sounding like; I was panicking and had something to hide from her. Sadly, everything went downhill, from there, for me.

Nervously, I began, stuttering, as my original plans, were soon tossed out the window, with your arrival. Blathering out, I began that I was a woman trapped, inside a man's body, while I gave out various definitions; I knew they flew way over your head, but I did not know what else to do. Mercifully, mom put me, out of my misery after five minutes with a promise, to return on Monday, to help me, in my apartment clean-up. Should have known better, you would break this promise, as well, by showing up late Sunday morning, instead of Monday, offering to take me, out for brunch, first.

Wonder, if the Gestapo had ever offered training sessions to mom, in her blunt interrogation techniques, regarding her questioning me, while trapped inside the close space, of her moving car, on our way, to a Sunday brunch. Talk about a captive audience, to her very personal questions, concerning my sexuality, usage of illegal drugs and do I, want to be "cured" of my "illness”.

Giving her, an honest response of, no, no and yes, but, not in the way, she would expect of me.

If I had answered, "yes" to her, that I am gay; mom would have jumped to the conclusion, in which my preference, in my sexual partners, was male over female ones. I do not think she could grasp the nuance that I was parting to her, with my answer. And your accusation of me, abusing drugs, whether legal or illegal, almost made me, want to laugh out loud, in your face. Stupid b***h, I have never abused my body with drugs, and never will I start doing so. Only during the darkest days of my anxiety attacks, did I use marijuana, to calm myself, down.

As for the magical "cure", there is only one way, this could happen and I know, beyond any reasonable doubt that you would be extremely unhappy, at the thought, of witnessing my transitioning, into a woman. A sad reality, I come to borne witnessed to, in the following years, since I outed myself to you. Besides, mom , your hollow offer of financial aid, while a kind offer, we both know that you could not afford to, offer any serious financial help, being retired and living off a pension, to cover the medical expenses, involved with my transitioning.

Call it, a child's intuition, given our long and often very painful battle, over the past year, of growing my hair out, from a short conservative male style, to a more feminine length and style. Lasting several months, before you, mom, grudgingly, accepted my new look. But only, after my upstairs neighbours, got sick of answering your repetitive calls, did they intervene, on my behalf. Often phoning me, a long distance call, least two to three times, every week, leaving a pleading message, in the vain hope, I would agree to her offer, of letting her pay for a haircut. After a while, in abject frustration and fatigue, I just ignored her calls and turned off my phone's ringer. Only, increasing her desire, to fix this perceived wrong, with my hair.

After returning from the brunch, we spent about five minutes together cleaning before, I politely asked her, to leave my apartment. Felt, the longer, she was, in my apartment, greater the tension would build up between us, in a very unhealthy and possibly explosive way. Later on, that afternoon, I phoned mom, asking her, to leave me alone, as I needed time, for healing, and would phone her, when I was ready, to deal with her. Which, she replied, “that Hell would have to freeze over, first, and I would have to come crawling on my hands and knees, before she would, even think of forgiving me”. To which, mom says, she has no memory of, ever saying, those words to me, but I will never forget them, as long as, I live. How they scarred me, in a very emotional and physical way.

Since July 2, 2006, until September 30, 2012, I have seen mom, about eight times, always fitted around her time schedule. Never once, has she asked me, to see my new apartment, on the two times, which she has driven into Toronto. During one of my visits with her, I handled over some information, about a support group, called PFLAG(Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays), the belief that they might help her, to accept and understand the facts, which she will have to face, in the new reality of, having a daughter and a son, instead of two sons. In my hearts of hearts, I know, she will never contact them, but I needed to make the effort, to educate and expand her limited perspective, regarding the transition that I am undergoing. Late October 2012, I told mom, our relationship is over, and I wanted nothing to do with her, ever again. So deep and treacherous, had the chasm grown between us. As I realized that she never can get over her transphobic attitude towards me, her eldest child. Cutting off my last remaining tie, to either side of my family tree, as I progress, with my transitioning and healing.

Did that ever feel good, to release this pent-up anger, which I have been holding back, for far, too long. Only wish that things could have been different between my mom and me. But, I refuse to continue, living a lie that was slowly destroying me, from the inside out, as I tried to become the person, my dad was.