This post is PART 8 in a guest blogger series following author Rachael's transition from an A.M.A.B (Assigned Male at Birth) individual to that of a self-identified trans woman.
If you are just discovering Queer as me, start the story from the beginning here.
This part of story, is always one of the hardest to speak of. The things that I did and said while being on testosterone therapy still haunt me. I became verbally abusive, yelling and swearing as my temper became shorter and shorter. Anything could set me off, a simple accidentally spilled glass would send me over the edge. Toys taken away, TV privileges being revoked, not allowed to go play. So many innocent simple things that my autistic grandson did were met with scorn and derision. Someone who I loved so very much, from the day he was born, was treated as someone who I didn’t want to spend time with.
Before this, we used to spend hours talking about so many things, playing computer games together, and watching him play his Wii. Now I had no time for “silly” things, and if he asked why? Woe be it to him for speaking out of turn. My wife fared no better, I was curt, abrupt, and tired of hearing her voice “whine” about things. Oh yes, no one was spared the monsters point of view. Crying was something that was starting to become the norm in the household.
A little over a year into this “therapy” I had gotten a call from a friend while doing dishes. The phone call seemed to start out good, but as with everything else, my friendship with others had slowly become strained with my new-found trust in my rages as ways to get things done. I no longer tolerated any other opinion but my own in almost all things. To this day, I’m still not sure what it was that set me off that time, but something he said made me think that he was a serious threat to my family’s safety.
So, I told him that I had to go and finish with my chore, but I might be able to see him later. No one, not even I, suspected what was about to happen. My testosterone addled brain told me that I had to protect my family and that the only way to do so was to take out the threat. So, I finished the dishes and then picked up the large knife I had been drying and hiding it in the back of my pants. I told my wife that I was going out, of course no one asked me where I was going anymore, never smart to ask me much of anything by this time, they knew better.
Parts of these few minutes are hazy at best, I remember getting into my car, so that I could go and kill my friend, and I had to think of ways to dispose of the body. Not only that, but also how I had to deal with the aftermath of his teenage son. Since I live within walking distance of the interstate, I was on my way to his place in no time. You see my brain told me, I had no choice, I had to protect my family, and this was the safest and quickest way to do so. I was now completely a monster… or so I thought.
Editor’s Note: To read Queer as me – Part 9: Shattering thoughts and secretive things, click here. Or click here to read the previous blog post Queer as me - Part 7: Breaking of a mind. For the latest LSOP blog posts and so much more, make sure to add us on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram.