It was different then, for all of us. Including the people who were raising us. I have done all of the programs, all of the steps even forgiveness, but more than anything I wish that I could forget.
What is abuse? After my older brother and I had grown we talked about it, in a way you just never do when you are living it. He said that it was a good thing that we were raised by our grandparents, in a way that is undeniably true, but in a way it was sooooo much more true for him. Life before was ah... not great. Neither parent wanted us and was not quiet about it, physical abuse, well there was more but what's the point. What he never understood was that maybe half of the abuse that I suffered then was him, he was lashing out and I got as bad from him as he had from anyone else. Much worse than I had gotten from anyone else in that time. Probably worse than he had gotten too, I don't think anyone ever broke any of his bones. I don't blame him, I was there and saw what they did to him. For him though the abuse ended that day my parents walked away forever in 1974. Mine didn't. He wasn't sent to live in the middle of nowhere with our aunt and her husband and all of the lovely abuse that year brought. He wasn't put into a mental institution because he said that he was a girl. It doesn't matter. He was there until my grandparents died though and they didn't treat him like he was twisted. Not when he stole a car when he was 13, not when he threatened to hit my grandpa. I am glad that they treated him that way, he needed that unconditional love. I guess the point is, we lived 2 completely different lives and I don't think he sees it that way. So we are back to what is abuse.
I could go into the physical, mental or sexual abuses. I don't know, it's bad right? I was always able to block most of it though. Want to know the times I remember the most, the worst pain?
The day my mother drove away and this time I knew she was never coming back. My father had already left the month before to live 3,000 miles away and now she was leaving for good. It didn't matter that we had lived with aunts and uncles almost as much as our parents until that time, our parents were close always now they were gone. That was painful.
The day less than 3 years later, when my grandparents pulled me out of summer camp because I wore a dress and stayed with the girls for a while. My grandfather pulled the Volare station wagon over on the way home next to the orphan home that they had threatened my brother with in the beginning and my grandfather said the only thing that he ever said directly to me, "No more! No more girl friends, no more dolls and no more goddamn dresses! You are never bad like your brother, but this is wrong. I don't think we can fix you like we did him and this is where you will have to go." That was terrifying beyond anything I had know until then. I had always been with family but more importantly, I had always been with my brother.
My first day in my new school in my year of hell. Physical, sexual, verbal, all that I had endured that summer could not have prepared me for that day. It wasn't that I was younger than everyone else in my grade, I always had been. Not that it was a new school or that it was the first time I had ever gone to school without my older brother. My father had died earlier that year and whoever was my guardian got a good size social security check so money should not have been a problem but... I was only allowed to own two pair of pants and two shirts and one pair of work boots. The one shirt and pants were only for church so I lived in one set of clothes on a farm that I had to start working in at 4:30 AM school or no school, I literally stank all of the time. It was in the middle of nowhere and everyone was poor but none of those kids looked or smelled like me. It was not cold enough so I didn't have a long sleeve shirt yet, so the bruises on my arms were showing, I tried to scrape and spray all of the crap off my boots but they still smelled and were wet all day every day at school my clothes were stained and smelly. They were poor, I wasn't even human to them. In the worst year of my life by far, that day stood out. I hurt then more than I thought that was possible.
Two years later I tell my grandma about me being a girl and I didn't think that I could be a boy anymore, I wasn't really expecting joy but not what happened. The next day I was strapped to a bed in the hospital, none of the nurses would talk to me, they acted like I had the plague. Only the shrinks and one of the orderlies who like to play with me under the covers would get near me. No one in my family ever visited, no one called. I won't go into all that happened there, it wasn't fun for me. That wasn't the worst part. Not even the pure hatred for myself I had then could compair to what was to come. When they did come for me and took me home it wasn't surprising that no one but my brother even knew that I was in the hospital, but they were able to surprise me. Less than a week after getting home they put me in the back of the now Escort station wagon and drove through several states to a revival. Kind of an ultimate church get together. I thought they wanted to pray for help or to ask their advise what to do with me, I was wrong. They drug me up in front of maybe two thousand strangers and asked the preacher to exercise my demons or to kill this evil child. I don't have words for how I felt.
So what is abuse? I have heard every definition, but I still don't know. Why do I find those moments the worst in my life? My brother doesn't consider them abuse, for him it was what he experienced when we were very young.
What we have had to go through as trans children is brutal, but was there intent. Like okay, my mom. My mom had some mental issues, not crazy but there were a lot of things she could not handle. Ask any of my siblings, or even her when she was alive, I was her favorite, the only of her 4 children conceived and born in wedlock. So why would she leave me and not one of the others? She had no idea how to deal with me, didn't know what to do with her little boy who thought he was a girl. I have seen abuse, I am not sure that was. Was it wrong, painful, yes it was but was it abuse?
I don't know. I have worked on this my whole life and I still don't know. More than anything I want it to go away forever but it doesn't. The only thing that I am sure of is that holding onto it, or worse holding it in, only hurts us.
Are the people today abusing children by doing what they think is right? Maybe.
I don't think I have an answer and I don't think that we can change it anyway.
I hope tomorrow is better for us all.
Sorry for making this so long.