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Continued
I started wearing my mom and my sisters’ underwear because it wasn’t part of the abuse and so it was safe. It went from one time and just became a habit, my escape. After school, I’d run home just to remove my school cloths and shorts to wear theirs. One day, one of my sister’s friend walked in on me while I dressed up in my sister’s underwear, she stared in shock and left in a hurry. Unfortunately for me, she told other kids in school and soon it spread, and everyone knew. I was called all sorts of despicable names. They’d point, laugh and mock me. Two weeks later, two older boys in school grabbed me as one of there girlfriends pulled my trousers down. I was wearing pink nylon granny panties and stockings that I had to cut to my knee, so it wouldn’t show by mistake.
The whole school was pointing and laughing at me, they held me so that everyone will see what I was wearing. After that the anxiety went from bad to worse. One day I went into the bathroom and noticed one of my sisters left her hair straightener plugged in. I didn’t even think about it, I thought if I couldn’t remove my penis maybe I could disfigure it with the flat iron. As I pressed it on myself, I sensed a relief, it was like I gained control back and as I burned myself, the anxiety seemed to slip away. The burning became a habit, another escape just like the underwear even though I really burned it to somehow make it die so it’ll be easy for me to cut off. Eventually, I started losing the sensation, but I still didn’t stop burning.
Somehow, I still don’t understand how or why but my sisters all supported me with wearing women’s underwear if it made me happy, they would tell me to be who I am and to be proud of myself. They worried about me appearing weak and not being confident enough. Sometimes I would go to a park far away from our town with my sisters and dressed as a woman. It makes me cry now just thinking about it because it helped me a lot. But one day I went to the park for a walk, but my sisters weren’t around so I went alone. I felt comfortable. I was 21 and old enough to be by myself, as I entered the park three guys and a girl walked up to me and started calling me names in their dialect, I couldn’t understand what they were saying but from their expression I could see that it was bad and disgusting. I tried to ignore them, but they became more aggressive. I appear delicate and for some reason it’s easy for people to want to oppress me.
They grabbed me and said there were people they wanted to take me to, they said if I wanted to leave there alive I’d better do what they tell me to, so I went with them to an abandoned hall, like a school but there weren’t many other buildings. There was about 8 guys and 12 women, it looked like they were having a party. The main guy said that since I want to be a woman so bad, he’ll show me what happens to guys who bring shame to manhood, before I knew it he unzipped his trouser and exposed himself, he spat on me, pushed me down to my knees and hit me hard so I’ll know he wasn’t playing.
I was so afraid, I did what he asked, and the others were screaming and laughing. It felt like I knelt there for years, like it would never end but it finally ended, and I stood up to walk away. He called me a bitch, slapped me around for attempting to leave and asked me to do the same thing to his friends. I vomited immediately. I just went numb and was so afraid, I didn’t want to do it, I swear I didn’t want to, but I did what I had to do to get out of there in one piece. Burning my penis became more intense after that. After so many years, I’m doing better but I still burn myself when I become triggered. I have PTSD, I suffer from anxiety and depression, I have chronic low self-esteem. I am plagued by memories from all the abuse, especially doing that to all those guys and sometimes it’s hard to control the pain I feel.
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