Personal Details
My Resume
Details
Experience
References
Skill Sets
Employment History
Strengths and Weaknesses
My Diary
Purgatory
Paradise
Paradise Lost
Paradise Regained
Links
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Part I - Purgatory
1923 to 1956 and August 1956 to July 1997 |
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- 1970-1973 Ages 14..17
- We have moved to Perth now. We stayed in lots of houses before we moved to
Darlington. The house in Darlington is in the bottom of a small valley and has a
stream through it that only runs in winter.
- I try to stay invisible and stay in my room a lot. I don't have a proper
bed. It is a camp bed and has sharp wires. I managed to keep my clothes secret
for ages. I have them in a box in my wardrobe. I have managed to steal some
skirts and some tops. The doors don't have locks on them so I have to very
careful. I lay in bed waiting until the house is quiet and everybody is asleep,
then I dress up and do my hair.
- Some of my friends used to come around to our house. I don't like that,
because my dad makes them sit down and talks to them so much that I never get to
be with them. I go to my room and just sit on my bed. Eventually they leave and
I never get to see them. Once a girl I knew came round to do homework with me.
We were sitting on my bed and looking at a book together and my dad just walked
into my room. He looked at the girl, then at me. He pointed at the girl and said
"You. Out." She left quickly. I stood up and ran after her. He grabbed me in the
front room and hit me across the face. She stood at the doorway watching. He
then shouted at me "How dare you have a girl in your room! You are a sick little
boy. What are you?" I looked at the girl "Don't look at her! Look at me! What
are you?" "A sick little boy" I whispered. "Louder!" "A SICK LITTLE BOY!!!!" I
shouted and ran to my room. The girl never spoke to me again.
- I don't like what's happening to my body. I feel awkward and ugly and the
boys at school call me a poof a lot. I get very jealous of the girls at school
because they get to go on dates and have boyfriends. Sometimes I think I would
like a boyfriend too, but I know I'm not supposed to think that and go for a
walk in the forest or hit myself to stop the thoughts. Sometimes I run at trees
and just smash myself into them until I am covered in bruises and cuts. I just
sit and cry and wonder why my life is like this.
- I'm sixteen and went to see the doctor on my own. He asked me in and asked
why I wanted to see him. I told him I don't want to be a boy and was there any
way I could grow up to be a girl instead. He went very red and pushed me out and
called me a pervert. When I got home, my dad grabbed me and said the doctor had
called. He pushed me into my room and whacked me across the face and said I
should stop this silly obsession. I know I must tell no-one about what I want,
but sometimes I just get so crazy I can't stop the thoughts no matter how much I
hurt myself.
- I let my hair grow long and it is great washing it and playing with it in
the mirror. So many times I am on the bus and someone behind me will say "What
gorgeous hair dear", then realize I am a boy. They look shocked and I feel both
sad and very happy at the same time.
- I go to a high school now. It is a very violent school. Kids have killed
themselves, teachers brawl with students, and many of them have knifes. One time
Glad-Wrap was banned and the teachers formed a cordon around the school making
everybody remove the wrap from their lunches. They thought kids were using it as
a makeshift condoms.
- There are lots of floors in the school but at lunchtime and breaks, I go to
the end of the second floor and sit and watch the girls who gather near the
toilets. I try so hard not to cry but sometimes I can't stop. No-one comes to
this floor on breaks except that once a teacher saw me sitting alone and came
over. She sat next to me and kept asking me what was wrong. I know I can't talk
about what I want so I just cried and said nothing.
- Once I missed the bus and walked home. It is about 5 miles and all uphill.
As I walked along the road, I got hot and tied my sweater around my waist. I
liked the way it swung back and forth as I walked, just like a skirt. A car
drove slowly past and some older boys whistled at me and shouted "Cutie!" I
couldn't help smiling and feeling good.
- I found that my dick feels good sometimes but I hate to touch it. So I just
cuddle my pillow and imagine being held and move until the wonderful feeling
happens. One day my mother came in, saw me and was shocked. My father took me
aside and started to explain about sex. He said "When a man and woman really
love each other, they use the mans dick to make a baby inside the woman. That
feeling you get is what happens when you put your dick inside a woman. You
really shouldn't do it unless you're with a woman." I was revolted by the idea
of doing that to a woman. I asked if it hurt for the lady. He laughed and said
that it shouldn't, but sometimes it was important to make a baby and that was
the most important thing. I thought for a moment and said "So when my brother
was born, you did that with mum?" He said yes and I thought a bit and said "And
you are only supposed to do it when you love the lady and want to make babies?"
He said yes. "So does that mean you don't love mum any more because you don't
make babies with her?" He looked very angry and walked out.
- I only have one friend. His name is H and he is a 6' Dutch boy and I just
love to sit and talk for hours with him. I catch myself sometimes liking H too
much and then immediately try some stunt to prove I'm not gay. One time, we
stole some Sodium and made bombs with it. Just small ones. We dropped them into
the grates in the main quadrangle and the resulting explosion would send showers
of dirty water over everybody within ten feet. It got to the point where the
teachers were watching too closely and so we decided to get rid of the stuff in
one big bang. So we threw it into the river in a large tin. The bang was so loud
that windows broke and the headmaster called the army bomb disposal team in.
- That stunt achieved a lot. For some time afterwards, I was liked and admired
as a macho guy. I felt as if I was cheating though.
- My English Literature teacher thinks I am very special and spends a lot of
time getting me to write. At first I did. Then one day we were sitting in the
classroom while everybody else had gone off for recess. She told me she wanted
to have some of my work published and I should write something romantic as I had
a talent for it. She added: "And if that bothers you, we can use a girls name
for you as the author.." I shook with rage and went berserk. I demanded all my
writing back. I then ripped it up in front of her. I shouted and screamed that I
wasn't allowed to be a girl. It wasn't fair. I was supposed to be a boy and
would do anything and everything to be one no matter what. She looked stunned. I
ended up sobbing on the floor. She sat with me and hugged me and said it was ok,
she could help. She told me I didn't have to be a boy if I didn't want to be. I
was talented, intelligent and I should just say damn them all and do what I
wanted. I just thought of what my father would say and just said "No. You don't
understand. My father wants me to be a boy. I can't change that. I can't fight
him. The answers no." I walked out.
- In the next week she got us all to do assignments where we had to write a
romantic story. I avoided her gaze and just sat consumed with fury. I started to
write a story at home and got so involved I found I was enjoying it. I just
imagined how it would be like if I were a girl and H liked me and we went out.
The words just came so easily.
- When I finished it I packed it up and went to school. When the teacher asked
for the assignments to be handed in I suddenly went cold. Where had my resolve
gone? Why had I not just written a dumb story? She came around and when she got
to me she put her hand on my arm and said "I will especially like to read
yours.." I hung my head and glanced sideways at the others. Several were
giggling. I was furious with myself for being weak.
- The next session she said that the story I had written was excellent and
would I come up to the front and read it out. I just about fainted. I stood up
shakily, picked up my bag, went to the door and walked out. She ran after me and
asked me to stop. I just sat on the bench and tried to hold back the tears. She
asked repeatedly and pleaded with me to come back. I said I was never, ever
going to write anything again. It was just too dangerous for me. She just hugged
me and said "Well, I think the story is superb. I am going to read it to the
class and I think you will be pleasantly surprised at the reaction."
- I sat and coldly stared across the quadrangle.
- I could just hear her reading. I felt so sad. I couldn't do anything right.
If my father found out about this I was dead.
- When the siren went, the kids came out. The boys all looked at me very
strangely (all that work with the dangerous stunts ruined in one crazy moment),
but I was mobbed by the girls who kept saying how good the story was. I started
to feel much better and was just starting to actually get happy when I suddenly
realized what was happening to me. The girls wanted me to be with them. I wanted
that so much and and found I was slipping into laughing and joking with them.
But I couldn't. I would start to make mistakes and forget how to act like a boy
and my father would get angry again and hit me again. I just stood up and said
"NO!" loudly and walked off.
- I spent the rest of the term avoiding the class and everybody really. When
the teacher left to return to the world of journalism, she sent me a lovely card
and some flowers and asked for me to call her when I was ready. I cried, but
knew the danger of having her phone number. I burnt them.
- Once I was asked to go to a beach party. I had never been to any sort of
party before as nobody ever invited me. We went in one of the older boys cars.
It's a station wagon and I was in the back with one of the girls. She kept
leaning against me and playing with my hair a lot. We talked a lot until we got
to the beach. When we were there we had a barbeque and sat and watched the
sunset. She sat next to me and held my hand and we cuddled. It was really nice
but felt a little strange as well. We went for a walk and over one of the sand
dunes we saw another boy and girl doing 'it'. The girl was moaning a lot and I
felt myself get very confused. The girl I was with suddenly grabbed me and
pushed me down and started to kiss me. She kept trying to undo my jeans, but I
kept stopping her. I thought about what my father had said about doing 'it' and
felt a bit sick. She stopped after a while and we just lay there kissing and
cuddling. I liked the kissing and cuddling and we did it for a long time. After
a while she got really excited and gripped my hair, hugged me tight and groaned
in my ear, then lay still. She kept saying how nice I was and we sat and talked
for a long time. She asked me if I was straight or gay and I said I didn't know.
She kept fiddling with my jeans and looking at me and smiling. I thought she was
really nice, so I decided to tell her what I wanted. When I did, she looked
shocked and got up and walked away. I sat for a long time and thought about
being stupid. When I went back to the car park, they had left me behind. I had
to walk 20 miles home because I had no money for the bus. On the Monday at
school, I saw her and smiled and walked over, but she looked at the other girls
and they all looked at me and started laughing. I stood and looked at them for a
while, then walked off and sat by myself.
- I know I have to fight these urges. I hate sport, so I thought about what I
could do that would make me more tough. Some of the boys do a lot of talking
about war and guns. I listened to them and the way they all listened and talked
about different war things. I'll do that because its hard, I hate it and my dad
used to be a soldier.
- I read everything about war and the military. I have studied every book in
the library and have started going to the big reference library in Perth. I have
also started going to old book stores and buying any book about war. I found
that the physics and calculus from school was useful in working out things like
the trajectory of shells.
- I have started making plastic models of tanks and planes. I still want to
write so I have decided to study everything about the war in Russia during world
war II and write about it. Its hurts a lot to read all about what happened and I
have trained myself to not choke and get upset when I read about what happened.
I have seen every film on war I can and make sure I know the actors, the people
they play and the subject. I don't really like watching documentaries because
they are real, and I get choked up and can't speak, but if I make my face go
hard and clamp my teeth together I can make myself not cry and feel nothing.
When the news is on and shows pictures of Vietnam I find that if I make nasty
comments and laugh it makes the hurt and pain go away.
- I have found that the boys have started to ask me about battles and wars and
stuff. Whenever they ask something and I don't know, I go to the library and
check up on it. It's really nice having them all ask me and now I have lots of
sort-of friends. They listen in groups while I talk for hours about individual
battles and are really impressed when I know exactly when, how and who was
involved. I tried correcting one boy once when he made a mistake, and I was
really expecting him to hit me, but he just listened and said thank-you. It was
great. I can feel my confidence getting better.
- I was asked to join a war-gaming club. They play games with little plastic
soldiers and model tanks. I found I could play these games and would be very
careful about keeping my soldiers alive. The older ones started getting very
wary of me as I began to win all the time. They started setting up bigger and
more complex battles for me to play with them. Once a friend and I fought a
battle that took all day and was played over a basketball court. We covered the
court with a beautiful green cloth and put pieces of polystyrene under it to
make hills. It had little trees, houses, roads, hedges and towns. I went to a
lot of trouble making the villages nice but real looking. I had made dozens of
little trees and made little woods and forests. In one tree I put a little tree
house like the one I used to have in England. I even cut out a tiny cat and
stuck it to the trunk. It made me feel sad when I looked at it though.
- I created a whole new set of rules with this boy I have met. He is the same
age as me and has jet black hair and dark eyes. He laughs a lot at my jokes. He
gets so angry about homosexuals though, and I know I can never talk to him about
me because I think that's what I must be.
- I spend a lot of time painting and detailing my model tanks and men. I make
them all as individual as possible. I look in books for photographs of real
vehicles and soldiers and make the models look like them. At one stage I had
10,000 individually painted and named soldiers, nearly 300 tanks and 100
artillery pieces all done differently from each other. They have little chains,
cans of fuel, extra armour, ammunition canisters, extra weapons and so on. Many
of my models won awards in diorama contests. When they fight I go to outrageous
attempts to keep them alive and when a tank gets damaged I modify it to look
like the damage was real for the next battle. When a tank gets blown up or has
to be abandoned I give it to the club and buy a replacement.
- I have found that this game stuff is actually really boring. I thought it
would help, but it hasn't. I look around at all the others getting so excited
about this stuff and ask myself why I'm even there. I try to be like them, but I
think the reason I'm there is just so different than them. They really like war.
I don't. I think it's stupid and these games make it like it's not real and
people don't get hurt. I think of the children and the people that have been
killed and the reasons the leaders give and just feel sick. I have decided it's
not me. I have given my entire collection to my friend and the club so they had
nearly 500 models and 15,000 soldiers.
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