I've been saying for decades that diabetes is curable and has always been curable. Ignore the doctors who tell you otherwise. Ignore me if you choose. I'm no doctor, but if I had it to do all over again, I would become a doctor in spite of what I was taught -- marry a doctor because you can only get there by marrying a man.
I'm sure in time my mother would've come around to my way of thinking, in spite of her belief that women -- like children -- should be seen and not heard. I never obeyed her rules about girls and boys and suffered for it. She enjoyed the accolades she got from my talents and hard work, but she believed she had guided me in my endeavors. What she believed was that men were of paramount importance and women were made to serve men.
Don't get me wrong. I like men -- boy-crazy Mom called me from an early age -- and she worried I would turn out like my biological mother -- a tramp, a whore -- someone she would've traded for a boy if that was possible and she never would havve looked back. I wasn't what she wanted; she wanted a son, a boy, anything but what she got -- me.
It took me a long time to get used to the truth in spite of what she told me when she revealed I was adopted. She said she chose me; she wanted me. I wondered what was wrong with me that my own mother gave me away without a second thought. Mom handed me a file full of articles about adopted children and how I was wanted and should be grateful I hadn't been born to her like her own three children. She had to accept what God gave her. In this case, I fulfilled what I had been adopted to achieve -- being the catalyst in producing children for her. The only problem was that I was born a girl. What a horrible outcome -- for her.
I started out with two strikes against me -- not a boy and born from a woman of questionable morals. No matter what I did after that -- which was fine by me, but less than optimal by my
loving mother's views. No matter what I did, it was getting up to bat in baseball with two strikes against me. It would be nearly impossible, at least not by her standards, to make a run or hit a home run.
Turns out I not only made a hit, but I hit a home run. Shock! Dilemma! Horrifying! Unheard of!
I was born a wax doll, just like the wax doll in
David Copperfield -- his mother. Maleable. I could be shaped and molded
into what Mom wanted. She proceeded to do just that, mold me into a form she could use, in any form except a boy because I was born a woman. That was long before the day of surgical changes that could turn me into a boy. Long before hormone therapy and the kind of surgery they now do in Colorado and in Sweden to change a person born a woman into a boy.
Even if the techniques, hormones, and surgeries had been available then, I wouldn't have fit the profile. I liked boys -- boy crazy remember? Being homosexual would not have been in my mother's plans either, not after putting all that money out to make me into a boy. Remember? Mom had her views of the fitness of things. Boys would be boys and girls would be girls. Never the twain should meet. It might have helped her plans if I had been a lesbian. She could have at least worked with a lesbian since I already would have been girl crazy. The physical change would have fit the form she planned for me. She could accept a lesbian changing into a boy because the mental programming would have already fit.
She couldn't reform me as much as she needed. Besides, I wasn't born a boy and she couldn't reform me physically by paying enough money to change my physical body into the form of a physical boy.
She thought at several points that I probably was a lesbian, but I would have been disqualified by my boy-craziness. I was too much like my biological mother -- a tramp, a whore, a boy-crazy female. Too much like my biological mother and too little like the wax doll she could mold into any form she preferred - a boy.
I learned early in life that boys had it all -- everything I wanted to be, everything I could be. I prayed each night as I knelt by my bed to change me into a boy and every morning I woke up a girl. I didn't mind so much. I played baseball better than most of the boys my age, more proof that I was in the wrong body, a girl in a girl's body who never learned how to be just a girl. I liked clothes -- at least the clothes Mom bought or sewed for me, but I wasn't girly enough for Mom's view of me. I wasn't frilly or girly enough. I played with the boys, often beating the at their own games because I couldn't believe that I wasn't supposed to be better than boys because boys didn't like girls who bested them in studies or in games. It was a lesson I refused to learn. I told Mom that if God created me then everything I did with what talents he gave me would be just fine with him -- and with me. And so I excelled at the talents God gave me and I bested boys whenever I excelled. Oftentimes, it seems to me that Mom liked it better when I lost to the boys, except I didn't lose often enough for Mom.
I could've been and often was molded, like a wax doll, into the shape Mom wanted, but the molding didn't stick. I didn't stay molded -- long enough to please Mom.
She molded me in many ways, so I was enough of a wax doll to be temporarily molded, but then I would revert to type, or remember myself and revert to type. I think that was Mom's worst fear -- that I would revert to type, become more like my biological mother, and end up fat and alone and would die alone.
She died alone. All her manipulations and molding left her alone and she died alone. I have forgiven her for her abuse of me and for her mistakes. She was who she was meant to be. I am who I was meant to be, and I'm reverting to type. I don't need a man and I never did. I like men, but I am no longer boy crazy -- or man crazy come to that. I have left boys and men behind me, and good riddance. I am what I make of myself and those who follow still in Mom's footsteps will have to deal with that.
I practice drawing and writing and what will come out will be my own -- as they were always my own. I am who I was always meant to be -- now that I am putting the wax doll behind me -- unmolded by anyone but myself.
Can a wax doll mold herself? I guess I will find out.
That is all. Disperse.
