An introduction of sorts…
I am Jessica. I have always been, but then again, I haven’t. Outwardly I have been someone else for the last 40 some odd years. A guy named James. That’s starting to change.
When I was young, I was Jamie, and life seemed okay. I don’t have a ton of memories from this part of my life. I do remember, very fondly, playing with my grandma’s wigs and a hoop skirt she had. I played with that skirt quite a bit. It was big enough to be a dress on my 4 or 5 year old frame. I also remember being taken for a girl quite often – as a result of the longish hair I had.
My parents had divorced when I was 4, and I only have one memory from the time they were together, but it’s not a memory of the two of them. It’s just a single memory of making grape (yes, grape) popsicles with my Mom in the kitchen. My Dad got custody of me, and I spent time with my Mom over the weekend.
This arrangement seems good on the surface, but it’s terrible from a social standpoint. My Mom lived in a different city, close, but still away from my friends. So, I’d spend my weekends pretty much friendless. Family wise wasn’t much better, as I only saw my Mom’s side of the family occasionally on these weekends, whereas I saw my Dad’s side of the family almost daily. This led to a disconnected feeling on one side.
When I was 8, my Mom was pregnant with my brother. It was at this time that I started to ‘cross dress’. Started to do something that I knew was wrong based on my obviously being, physically, a boy. Before this time I don’t think I really realized, consciously, that there was anything amiss. I played how I wanted to play, and I didn’t have any female (or male for that matter) family members that were of my generation. I was the only one, and was for 8 years.
Later in life, I rationalized the cross dressing as a means to be closer to my Mom. Not as any inherent wrongness in me. I was a boy. Duh. It was just something I did, not something I was. I think, now, looking back, that it was comfort I was looking for, a comfort in myself. And I was finally of a size to fit some of my Mom’s things (the only female around at this point where I had access to clothes). The sexual feelings I was having at the time confused the issue greatly.
Something about that first pair of pantyhose I put on affected me. It was probably the tight, encompassing feeling, coupled with the scare I got when my Mom came in to kiss me goodnight. I was already under the covers, but my heart was racing as I worried she might notice. This experience led to a great deal of confusion.
From age 8 and up, I would find myself having a desire to be a girl. Sometimes the feeling was all I could think about. Sometimes it’d take a back seat as other things occupied my mind. It was always a ‘want’ in my mind. Or a question of, ‘why can’t I be a girl?’ Or a prayer to a God I know doesn’t exist, to make me a girl. It never occurred to me that I simply was a girl. I felt resigned to being a boy. I could do things that I liked, as a boy. And those things made me happy. But I was never happy just ‘being a boy’.
I wouldn’t say I was overly depressed growing up. I have a lot of happy memories from high school. But a few sad ones too. I never had a girl friend in high school. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was my own girlfriend. Not the greatest arrangement for figuring out how a relationship really works. I spent many nights crying myself to sleep about the whole girl thing.
I played sports, got decent enough grades (A- average), and LOVED to read. Still do. Almost everything I read was escapist fiction. Usually high fantasy. Different worlds, magic, dragons, unicorns, damsels in distress, demons, etc… I drew, wrote, painted. I played role playing games. It was enough to delude me into believing I was a boy, and that the wanting to be a girl thing was something else.
– Jessica