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Marti Abernathey |
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As a young boy not quite eight years old, I set
off to run away from home. My mother had made me
eat cole slaw and forbid me to watch my favorite
superhero, Wonder Woman. I had had enough, so I
started packing. I found my mom's curler
carrier. It was one of those hard brown leather
cases with the mirror attached to the top. With
my mom's curler box emptied of all her plastic
curlers, I replaced them with all my Star Wars
action figures, my Evil Kenevil and Fonzie
dolls, and a few other prized possessions. I
fixed a PB&J sandwich, and then hit the door
running.
I was so upset with my mother for forcing me to
eat that nasty slaw. As I walked towards the
drainage ditch, it hit me. Who would feed me?
Where would I sleep? How would I get to school?
I sat at the ditch and ate my PB&J and
contemplated my future. I realized, even as a
small child, that I was running from problems
that weren't as large as the ones I was running
to.
That episode happened 27 years ago. That boy at
the drainage ditch isn't quiet a boy anymore. He
isn't even a man. That boy is a woman, or at
least she is on her way.
I had to go through an alcoholic father and his
death at age 11, two divorces and custody
battles and a long internal battle accepting my
transsexuality. My second ex-wife, Lynn, denied
my visitation when it was clear that I was
transitioning and wasn't going to hide it.
Last year it became apparent that I wasn't going
to be allowed to see my kids. I sank further and
further into a horrid depression. I didn't leave
the house for weeks. One Sunday, I put my resume
on Monster.com and came home to 15 calls from
recruiters. One call was from the DC area. The
recruiter connected me to a job not far from DC
in Fredericksburg, VA. In an all too familiar
scenario, I packed a suitcase and flew to DC to
interview.
The interview went great, and I rushed a move. I
threw my sound equipment, computers and my
clothes in my rented 2002 Mustang and drove away
from Indiana feeling free. The company paid for
everything, and finally my life seemed to be
leveling out again…or so I thought. The $4,000
sign on bonus turned out to be $2,600 after
taxes. My recruiter forced me into buying a car
from them. Unfortunately, it wouldn't pass
Maryland inspection, and I was somehow coned
into a lemon. So goes my second attempt to
runaway.
Again, my world was beginning to unravel. The
only difference was I was 600 miles from my kids
and I left any support network that I had, back
in Indiana. Waves and waves of questions hit me.
How would I work things out from 600 miles away?
Why did I move so quickly? Did I leave people
that love me to run away from the greatest pain
in my life? There’s no drainage ditch close to
my apartment, and I no longer eat PB&J’s, but
the questions hit me just as hard.
My life is different, but not any better.
Running away to Washington DC hasn't solved any
of my problems. Like that little boy standing at
the drainage ditch, I have realized I need to go
back and face my problems…not run from them. No
one else is going to solve my problems for me.
If I don't, no one will. My heart hurt so badly
at the trauma of my divorce and the ensuing
drama that began once my transition was
announced. Sticking my head in the sand isn’t
going to get me any closer to transitioning
fully, having FFS or SRS, or gaining closure to
this part of my life.
As a child, I swallowed my pride, and walked
back into the house and learned to live under my
moms rule. As an adult, im moving back to
Indiana to deal with the issues I buried when I
left. Lynn has agreed to working on a resolution
to seeing the kids, but that can only go forward
if I move back. I have made contacts within the
t-community in Indiana and hope to help them
lobby local politicians for trans-inclusive
legislation. I will continue to do my radio show
“The T-Party” and write. The difference from
before the move will be in my outlook and
attitude. Some lessons really are worth learning
twice.
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