That poor man. Gods. That sort of thing breaks minds. I look back and all those normal life passages, proms and graduation and college and so on, first job, everything was twisted and distorted. Nothing, no part of my life as I look back on it wasn't in some way burned by it.
I went through way too many years and heartbreaks before I understood that if I had to lie to someone for them to love me, they didn't love me. It got better after transition. After transition, my friends were my friends as long as I didn't tell them anything about my past. At least then if they were with me they were with me, not making up some sort of weird fantasy in their heads that had nothing to do with who I am or what I do or what I want in life.
Good luck to him. A lot of people take their time on transition and what he's doing may mean some of his loved ones can get over it and still love him. I hope they do. I hope they can handle it. If they can't, at least he's got the education and they can't repo his brain for it or something.
I remember when I first moved to New Orleans and got a job there, was taking a bus to work and walking from the bus stop to the building. These rednecks drove past in a pickup truck and yelled "Hey bitch, where's your titties?" They laughed at me and drove away slowly with a lot of hoots and cat calls.
I didn't answer them. I was in stark terror. I knew they'd get away with it if they stopped and beat me up or tried to kill me. I knew once the cops found out what I was they'd just get a slap on the wrist if that. Back in Chicago, some guys liike that had picked out a gay man and thrown him into the Chicago River while he screamed that he couldn't swim and they got off. Ted White got off with the Twinkie Defense after shooting the Mayor of San Francisco because he also shot Harvey Milk, the gay Supervisor.
I kept my mouth shut and plodded along, humiliated, aching, and I don't think it's something that I'll ever forget. It's a good thing I didn't own a gun. If I'd had one, I'd have wound up murdering them and getting the death penalty, because if it goes the other way it's the Unspeakable shooting a Nice Bunch of Kids who were Just Having Fun, Boys Will Be Boys.
They used to say that to hippies when I was a teen. You can't tell if it's a boy or a girl, boys with long hair.
I wish him luck. Transition is hard and finding out who loves you and who never knew you and doesn't want to, that's going to hurt no matter who falls on which side of the line.
More good news, the block busted and I spent 9 1/2 hours last night editing "The Sword of Arkatyr," which is the one I'm putting into print first. Huge personal victory. I live here now. It doesn't matter what the themes are or what anyone I live with thinks about it or about my being a writer at all because right now the only person I live with is my cat.
He approves. He likes my being a writer because my work time is good solid lap time for him. He can see right where I am and he can settle in my lap for a good long snooze whenever he wants, since I have no problem typing over his back. He has no problem sleeping through my typing over his back as long as I don't jiggle the chair or move around too much.
He is now officially an Emotional Support Cat! I signed the service animal paperwork and got my therapist's signature on a letter explaining that he's a service animal. Very specifically NOT giving the name of a service animal so that when he dies of old age there's no problem with my getting another cat. Ari isn't the first cat I've loved, but he is 12 years old and we've been together since he was six weeks old. We are close, me and my Prescription Strength Cat.
He's glad I'm home. He always gets a little miffed when I go out for appointments, he worries. He'd probably like it if I got out the cat bag and brought him with, something a lot easier now that I've got the letter. They'll send me a tag to go on his harness too once they get the paperwork my therapist filed.