Hope Almost Lost

After 1st period, I went to the restroom, cause I was itching really bad where mamma stuck me with a needle. Like last week, it would get red, bumpy and it would bleed. Not sure if it's a normal reaction, but my heart feels that it isn't. I wash it out, put paper towels on it and go right back to class. Then towards the end of the day, which I have English class, we have a portfolio assignment to write about what where would we all be in ten years. Now, there's a topic I like to get into. I can get all girly and say that I would be married and have kids, but in reality, could that even happen? So here's what I wrote.

Where would I be in ten years? That's a thought. Considering how my life is at home, I probably wouldn't be alive by then. So, here is my sad story as to why that is. A story about my life, hidden from the world. I was born Twisty Jane Ellison. I'm a girl and I deal with physical and mental abuse from my own mother. Since I was born, she made it her mission to subject me into becoming the son of her dreams. No, not just beating me for wanting to do girl stuff, but would give me therapy shots for a sex change before my 18th birthday. That's right, I'm trying to be the woman I am through my mother's sick and twisted ways into making me the boy I dread of becoming. As a woman, I want what most women want. A dream to be happily married, kids running around and me being the one to make sure that the house is clean and my husband and kids are fed. Now, I don't think I'll be seeing that. I have an allergic reaction to the hormone shots and I think I must be slowly dying. Now if I don't make it to my 18th birthday, I want someone to make sure my headstone says "Twisty Jane" and not the "Twisty James" my mother wants everyone to believe. That is my story and it feels good to actually say it.

If that wasn't heartbreaking, then I don't know what is. I don't know what I would give to be sitting with a group of girls my age, talking about whatever girls talk about. Makeup? Boys? Going to the mall? Jewelry? Prom dresses? I wanted to know, so I went up to a table full of girls during lunch one day and they all looked at me like I was some kind of gay pervert. But there is no table for transsexuals and it's a lonely place to be. When I got home, I got an early surprise from my mother. Apparently, my Christmas present came early. I guess she wants me to have the sex change a lot quicker.

A package, I open it and pretend to be excited about it. It's the prosthetic penis of her dreams and she wants me to try it on. So in my room, decorated as a boy's room, I stand in front of the mirror and waits for me to take off my pants and help me put it on. There's a long tube that goes up to my bladder and and straps so it wouldn't fall off. When she leaves the room, to go get her camera, I stood there and saw my fake penis in the mirror. I never felt so much shame in my life and felt sick to my stomach. This isn't me and I wanted to take it off and throw it across the room. I know I like dick, but that doesn't mean I want one of my own. My mother comes in, starts taking pictures of me trying on my fake penis, which is humilation at its finest.

"My son's first peepee," she said proudly, "Now you can pee standing up and no more wearing a sock." I just wanted to cry. I wish I could stand up to her, but I'm just too scared to do so. I mean, if she can slowly torture me, who knows what else she's capable of. And while my mom goes to bed early, I sneak out of the house, through my bedroom window and sneak over to Mitchell's house. It's after 6 and I hope he's home. It was night and hard to see, but I think I found his house. It was white on the outside and he wasn't lying about it being a doublewide trailer on wheels.