Transvestia

a lovely talk and she understood my poor tormented mind, but that was not the case. She did ask what was the meaning of the outfit, but I just looked at her and started to cry. Before I could close the door to my room, she was inside. Even now, after twenty years, it's very difficult for me to recall this memory without getting a lump in my throat. I never knew my mother knew such terrible words. She told me to get out and never come back, but take her things off first, which I was in the process of doing. When her slip came into view, she almost choked. As I took off each garment, my mother took it and ripped it up. I finally managed to get the makeup off betw ween tears and blows and put on male attire. I just looked at her with all the hate I really felt and said good-bye.

She had changed her mind by this time, how or, and didn't want me to leave, even though I wanted to. I guess I had obeyed her for so long that I didn't rebel and walk out. She called my father at work and told him the whole dirty story, and then called the family doctor. He promised to come right over and talk to me, which he did. We were very fortunate to have such a brillant physican as he. He asked me very revealing questions, such as, do you like girls, etc. After giving my poor mother a sedetive, he told her that I would grow out of this silly habit. I just hadn't passed out of the narcisisstic stage of life yet. Marriage would surely remove any such silly notions. He suggested that I should go to a psychologist. My father was rather disappointed with me but actually gave me the only help and the courage. to keep living. He reminded me that I had a very lovely girl who loved me and with proper help, I would be fine.

At the time, it sounded wonderful and I quickly sprang back to the living. I visited the psycholo- gist and assumed that I would be getting helpful ad- vice and my troubles would be behind me. Before my first visit was half over, I should have realized that

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