Reparative Pal Program five

While I ate, I tried to not overthink everything that has happened today. But without anything to distract me it was difficult. My brain wouldn’t quiet as I sat on that damned foam mattress. Eating food that was so bland and unsatisfying. At least so far it hasn’t hurt my stomach like the last meal I ate. Maybe it really did have to do with going from liquids to eating solid food again? If I had my phone, I would finally be able to look it up. Something that would also help keep me distracted from my thoughts. I wonder where my phone was put in a place like this. Maybe it’s in the administration office?

Though it might have gotten destroyed by John.

I can imagine he took my phone out of my pocket while I was out. Possibly throwing it into a trash can with my favorite clothes or smashing it. My money is that it was probably destroyed by this asshole. Never really thought that I would miss my phone so damn much while I sat on the foam mat. It was something that I realized I used a lot more in my day-to-day life. It really sinks in how much I used it when I don’t have it anymore. Soon as I finished eating my food, I set the tray down next to the bed. Feeling better than the last food that I had gotten to eat. Maybe it really was my mood that helped too? As I am a whole lot better than I had been before. Despite how terrible everything is I felt fine. Well compared to earlier I feel a whole lot better in comparison. As my stomach wasn’t feeling as tight or painful. And my thoughts drifted to what they could have done to me while I was out. What exactly had gotten me down to this weight for? Something tells me that it couldn’t have been liposuction. Since they never really do a large portion during such a short amount of time that I was out. No matter what they did to bribe a surgeon. Though I get the feeling it had to be stomach stapling. That was the only thing that made sense to me as I sat on this stupid foam mat.

It explained the portioning and why I got sick so easily.

While I sat there my thoughts drifted from my own stomach to that other person. That one person in the group that was like me. Sitting in a wheelchair while being so thin and weak looking like I am. They seemed to look as tired as I felt. Maybe more so. I sort of wondered how much either of us weigh right now. Mostly how much I weigh right now as compared to five months ago. As no one I knew had ever been able to easily lift me ever. John had lifted me without much effort. I wondered if he could lift that person from the group as easily too. If I could ask them without being rude, I would try to find a tactful way to do so.

Then I started to think about their hair. How closely shaven to their scalp it had been. And I started to wonder how long their hair had been before this. Was it as long as my hair is now? Was it shorter than that? How did they style it before the buzzcut they got now? Hell, was it a natural color like it is now? If not, then what color had they had it before this? My thoughts drifted to how their eyes looked as well. They were a little sunken in but not as bad as mine probably are. I wish that I could see myself in a mirror. Just to get a better look at my face. As I was very curious as to how I looked without being fat anymore. Especially with how John has been ‘complimenting’ me since I woke up from whatever I was in.

It also made me realize that we looked odd compared to the others. Who were a whole lot healthier than we are. Still skinny but not to the same degree me and this mystery person are. In fact, they looked a little fatter. This was probably thanks to the fact that they were allowed to eat whatever they wanted. Or rather they were allowed to have more portions than we are. I hope that we could possibly have more portions in the future. Mostly because I’d like to have a little control over how much I can eat. Just like I would love to not have the stupid I.V stuck in my arm anymore. It was something that rather annoyed me while I stared at it. Wondering when they were going to remove it from me.

And that person from group. I wish that I could know their name. Maybe I can next time we go to the group therapy session.

I also wonder when I’m going to be able to wear something more than a hospital gown. Other than that other wheelchair person, the others in the group wore normal clothes. They wore things that were nice and beautiful. Stuff that I sort of wanted to wear when I was in my teen years but couldn’t thanks to my weight. Though I don’t really want to now a days as it makes me really uncomfortable to wear remotely feminine clothing. I’d love to be able to wear a pair of pants with a loose-fitting t-shirt. Then again, I highly doubt that the Woodrow Clinic would allow me to. As I realized that the women in the group session weren’t wearing pants. They were either wearing dresses with long sleeves that went down to their ankles. Or ankle-length skirts of varying fabrics. Mostly khaki and denim. Also wearing long sleeve blouses with high necklines that showed no amount of cleavage as possible.

Just like dresses.

So, this means that I clearly won’t be wearing pants anytime soon. Or rather I won’t be wearing pants ever again. No matter how much I would love to. Or how feminine the pants are, I won’t be allowed to. Thanks to being a ‘gender-freak’ as John puts it. Something that really pisses me off the more that I think about it. Being forced to wear those clothes will make me super uncomfortable and dysphoric. I also know that it will make me look more feminine than I already do right now. I really wish that I had a mirror at the same time I wish I didn’t. Mostly because I’m terrified of what I’m going to look like. The hair was curled and blonde from what I could tell. And mostly seeing it makes me so concerned about how feminine I look now. Compared to when I was fat with short hair. It wasn’t super long right now as it was just a little bit below my shoulders. Its color makes me think of my mother. This also made me realize that when I see myself in a mirror…that I would be seeing my mother staring back at me. Something that I never wanted to do ever again since I started taking testosterone.

All this just reminds me of my childhood. Wearing dresses or other such girly girl clothes to make my mother happy. Looking like a mini clone of her. Forced to wear a dress that I never really felt comfortable in. Along with having make-up put on me to make me look like a ‘pretty young lady’ for church. And to make me acceptable to all my mom’s friends and other folks. What it did to me was make me feel like a sad clown. An ugly one at that. But I sucked it up to the best of my ability to make mom happy.

During the time I was in church I despised myself. How I felt so wrong in the make-up and clothes that mom forced on me. And I didn’t understand why I didn’t like any of them. Weren’t girls supposed to be like this? Weren’t we supposed to like wearing dresses or other such feminine stuff and make-up? I didn’t understand why I felt so wrong. During my whole childhood and through my teen years I thought I was broken. Or that there was something was wrong with my head to make me not like girl clothes. As I was a girl back then. That I didn’t get why I liked boys’ clothes more than I liked girls’ clothes. And that I felt much better in a pair of boys’ pants than I did in the skirt that mom gave me.

Along with some other stuff.

My mom had tried to set me up on dates when I was a teen. And I felt nothing towards the boys that were put on dates with me. I don’t know why I started thinking about this. But I couldn’t help myself as I thought that over. Before I knew that I wasn’t only a trans man but asexual and aromantic, I thought I was wrong. I kept trying to like the boys that mom brought over. None of them were bad guys perse. I just didn’t feel anything for them. And I wasn’t entirely certain why I didn’t like any of them either. Then when I moved out at the age of nineteen into my first apartment, I had a way to find out without mom knowing. It took a few months after moving out and a lot of saving up to get access to it but, I did it.

I found it on the internet.

Sure, the internet wasn’t the greatest place to look up stuff like this. But it helped me in the right direction. Helped me realize why I felt the way that I felt about everything. Why did I feel so much more comfortable in boys’ or men’s clothes than being in women’s or girls’. How having short hair after I moved out of my mom’s place made me feel so right. And never having to wear make-up when I didn’t want to was good as well. As this was something that other trans men had gone through before their transitions. A few were from a similar background to me. Which helped me feel less like I was alone in this.

The information made me feel so free and happy.

After that I found out about asexuality. And that it was normal to have no interest in sex or dating. It also helped introduce me to the term ‘aromantic’. When I found out it was possibly one of the reasons, I felt no love for someone. I felt whole. No longer did I feel broken or worried that I was a freak of nature. This helped me feel so normal and so happy when I learned about it about ten years ago today.

While I sat there, I wondered if that person in the group ever felt that. Wondered if they felt the way that I felt too?

In the back of my mind, I felt that I shouldn’t be dwelling on them for so long. That I really should be thinking of how to escape this dreadful place. What methods I should be using to get the Hell out of here. It could mean that I would need a layout of the whole clinic. If only I could get my hands on a map without anyone noticing. That way I wouldn’t be found out or punished for trying to escape this Hellhole. I had to know where most of the exits in this building were. Along with some of the windows that existed in this building. If there was any possible way of me opening them up and getting out. They could possibly be locked or have bars on them. I highly doubt that this place would allow us to be near easily opened windows. Or rather wouldn’t allow some of us near the easily opened windows. Considering that in the state I am in right now, I doubt that I can get out a window without issue. Especially with how weak my legs are now and with this I.V in my arm. There wouldn’t be any way that I could get far even if I managed to get out a window. At least not by myself, I couldn’t do it.

Maybe, and I don’t know if they would want to, convince the other wheelchair user to escape with me. As much as I would like for them to escape with me, I don’t know if they can. Or if they would want to if they could. Since I’m not entirely certain how deep into this ‘therapy’ program they are right now. Or if they’re even going to be able to in the future. I don’t know what medical ‘treatments’ they’ve done to them. Hell, even if they’re not deep into the program I’m not sure if they want to leave. As I have a feeling that they might be too scared too. I can’t entirely blame them for being afraid of leaving this place. But there’s a good chance that they could possibly want to escape the facility as badly as I want to. That they want to live their own life and be the person that they want to be. Since I’m certain they’re in the beginning stages like I am. Which is both good and bad in my opinion.

Good as I feel they would be interested in leaving like myself. Possibly could make a friend in this terrible place.

Bad because this means they’re a little too weak right now. From whatever the Hell they did to the both of us. Which I still don’t know what it could be.

To find out, all I must do is talk to them. Which shouldn’t be difficult in the slightest bit. They’re not going to bite my head off if I do so. In fact, they’re probably friendly and might want to talk to me too. But the idea of speaking to them sort of makes me uneasy. And makes me rethink the idea of doing so. What if it isn’t the best idea? What if they get suspicious of me wanting to talk to them at all? They tell one of the orderlies or someone in charge that I was acting off. I’m not sure what they do to escapees if they figure out, I was planning on escaping. But I’m very sure that I don’t want to ever find out. It would be probably the worst punishment in the world. If I had to guess it would probably be ‘humane euthanization’ or something like that.

Mulling it over, I try to think if I had heard of people escaping this place or not. And what happened to them when they failed to. When they were caught by those in charge of this terrible ‘medical’ facility. I was failing to remember for a few minutes and then it hit me. It turned my blood to ice in my veins as I thought it over. Those stories that I heard about on the news and read on Twitter before I left that site. When they caught the potential escapees, they had several methods of dealing with them. One was to keep them isolated from other people for about a year. Quite possibly two years if needed. The second was to give them a procedure that dealt with an ice pick or something like an ice pick. And their eye socket.

A frontal lobe lobotomy if I remembered it right.

I hoped I was entirely wrong but that might have been it. As I could vaguely remember reading it on Twitter three years back. Maybe. It was sometime before the autarch came to power fully. Either way whatever happens to me will be horrific. That’s if I fail that is. If I fail, I will essentially be experiencing death. And as much as I want to help this other person, I don’t know if I can. Helping them would be the right thing to do. I know this. It might not be possible to get this person out alongside myself. With a sigh, I stared down at my lap trying to think of what the best or right thing would be to do. Taking them with me would probably be the right thing to do. But would it be the best thing for me to do? After all I barely know them and don’t know if they would be more of a help than a hinderance to my plans. They could possibly squeal on me or be unable to walk. Either way wouldn’t be something I can help with. Rubbing my thighs, I felt so annoyed with myself as I wished the right thing to do wasn’t so hard. Why the Hell does doing the right thing have to be so damn hard?

Especially when it comes to a situation like this.

Then again, as my dad would often say to me when I was younger. If it were easy, then everyone would do it. And as much as I think it’s a bad idea or hard, I should try to see if they’ll want to leave or not. If they could be my partner in crime or not. And I hoped they would be as interested in escape as I am right now. Since they had made prolonged eye contact with me more than anyone else in group. I also felt a whole lot safer looking in their eyes than I did with the others in that group. Who seemed to avoid looking at me in the slightest bit. And something in their expression made me feel that they wanted out as badly as I do. I’m really hoping that they do want to escape this place like I do. I need at least one person in this terrible place to be on my side. Not just because I’m worried that I can’t escape on my own. This really terrifies me. But because I don’t want to be alone in this feeling.

Not that long later, I hear those dreadful footsteps coming down the hall. Along with the sound of wheels turning. Then I heard more footsteps and wheels as I raised my head to stare up at the door in front of me. There were two people coming down the hallway. This was a bit different than whoever knows how long ago. Since I don’t remember hearing, anyone passing my door or anything like that. It made me wonder if maybe I hadn’t noticed because of how terrified I was. That this person probably passed me by when I was too deep in my thoughts. Or that they came by when I was ‘asleep’? Either way, I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of John coming into the room once more. Since being around John is about as much fun as getting hit by a truck. A thing that has happened to me and…and I need to not dwell on my thoughts so much right now. They’re not helping me in the slightest bit. Looking at the door, I chewed on my bottom lip as I watched John open the door and come in with the cart from before. Walking up to the foam mat as I realized he wasn’t alone. That the weird empty eyed man from the day I was taken from my apartment was with him. I sort of wondered where he had gone since I last seen him. My mind had been more interested in where I was and what happened to me to dwell on him. This strange man walked over to the left side of the foam mat while John picked up my tray. Smiling at me as if he were proud that I ate all that food.

Not that it was a huge accomplishment. It was just a small amount of food in the first place.

That man that probably had been driving the bus picked me up. Gently setting me in the wheelchair that he brought in. Moving my I.V as carefully as he could. That way it wouldn’t fall over as he walked me out of this room. Being careful as we turned and walked down the hallway. John walking the other way. Which I assumed the kitchen was going to be. It might be one of the few places that I can escape from. Well, if there was an exit in the place at all. I glanced up at the man wheeling me and I got a chance to read his nametag. His name is ‘Eric’ and it’s a name that I feel really doesn’t suit him in the slightest bit. As mean as the idea is, I feel his name should be ‘Jack’ instead. He has this creepy look about him that reminds me of him. Not just because of the look in those terrible empty eyes of his. It reminded me of the way that Jack Torrance looked in ‘The Shining’ for some odd reason. But it isn’t just the look in his eyes. There was something about his presence in general that reminds me of that. That really, really makes me think of Jack Nicholson’s performance in that terrible movie.

But him being like that terrible, abusive, and drunken bastard isn’t the important thing right now. The important thing right now is finding out why I’m being wheeled down the hallway like this. And where I’m being wheeled to right now. Why Eric was doing it instead of John and what for. He’s being quiet the whole time that he’s wheeling me. Walking down towards the area that we had group some odd few hours ago. Then we were moving towards the whole spot. Those chairs were still in a circle like they had been before. I’m guessing that there was probably going to be another group session in a few hours maybe. It didn’t matter. What I needed to know is where we were going, and I needed to know now. Taking a deep breath, I tentatively asked,”Umm…I’m sorry but where are we going?”

“Well, Amelia, Ms. Watts would like a private word with you about your treatment.”,Eric informs me. In a tone of voice, one would use to speak to a five-year-old who was asking silly questions. Gently patting my head in a really condescending way. Sort of like a parent would with their very young child. Clearly Eric was trying to keep me calm as we walked down the hallway. And I had a feeling that he might like how my hair is right now. Probably not as much as John seemed to love it a couple of hours ago. If going by the way he was sniffing it so hard. But he loved petting it and it strangely wasn’t too terrible. Maybe it was the lack of human contact that was making me think this. As I couldn’t understand what else it could be. Either way I stopped chewing my bottom lip as he brought me to Alya’s office. Pushing a button to open her door before wheeling me inside. My stomach does backflips as I look at her. Judging by the sour look on her face, I knew this wasn’t going to be a good visit. Her hands were holding a thick file that had a picture of my former self paperclipped to it. Alya glanced from the file then at me as she narrowed her eyes to me. I don’t know what was on that file, but I’m terrified to know.

That look on her face reminded me of some of my teachers in school when they saw me. Mostly the High School ones that were friends with my mom. Not all of them but at least three of them were. The art teacher, the P.E teacher, and the history teacher were. And they would make sure that I was on my best behavior. Doing whatever it took to keep me on the straight and narrow. Alya’s expression is almost the same as that. It makes me shrink back in the wheelchair as I stare up at her. Afraid of what she wanted from me. Eric carefully parks the wheelchair in front of her desk and locks it up. Before he leaves, he gives my hair another gentle petting. Softly shushing me as if to soothe me. Then he was gone. Leaving me with that terrible green-eyed terror that probably already didn’t like me. This just made me wish that I was anywhere else but here. Even jail. Soon, Alya’s expression changes to a much kinder one. Or rather a more patronizing one. Softly, she questions,”I suppose you would like to know why I had asked Eric to bring you to my office?”

“Yes, Ms. Watts. Have I umm…have I done something wrong?”,I asked. Trying to keep my tone soft and respectful. As I didn’t want her to be upset with me if I demanded anything of her. Or snapped at her at all. Not because I care or respect her in the slightest bit. In fact, she can go to Hell for all I care. But because of the position of power this woman has over me right now. And the various things she could do to me if I piss her off.

“Well, Amelia. I have read your files, and a few things have come to my attention that I feel need to be properly addressed.”,she stated. Holding it up for emphasis as she looked down at me. It made me highly uncomfortable. And I wasn’t too sure what to make of it. Aside from the fact that it might not be good for me. Taking a deep breath, I listened as Alya continued,”Your file says you’re diagnosed with autism at the age of twelve. And that you were transitioning to be a man since you were twenty.”

“As you believed that you were a man before coming to the Woodrow Clinic.”,she added. Her tone of voice was odd. There was this edge to it that felt as condescending as her expression was. It made my stomach do more strange flips to listen to it. And I had this feeling that if I wanted to not upset her, I would have to play along. So, I nodded my head in agreement to her stupid words as I confirmed,”Yes, I’m autistic. And yes, I had believed I was a man. It was probably just my autism and nothing more.”

There was a terrible taste in my mouth after I said this. It was bitter and oily. Almost as if I had been sucking on pennies. It wasn’t as hard to say as I thought it would be. Luckily, I sort of practiced saying that I had thought I was a man. But I hadn’t anticipated having to say it so soon. And I really hate to have to say it. But if it helps me get the Hell out of here, Then I’ll say whatever the Hell this horrible woman wants me to. No matter how disgusting it makes me feel or how annoying it will be for me.

“I see. I’m glad you can admit this about your transgenderism so soon.”,Alya praised. In a tone that reminded me of my mother. And I wondered if this was going to change anything about the program or not. I somewhat doubted me being autistic would really do much. Aside from her taking advantage of that for her own twisted gain. And as she stood up from her desk, she set my file down on it. A strange smile on her face as she walked around it to me. Kneeling slightly to stare me straight in the eye. It unsettles me was she starts petting my hair similarly to how Eric had done it. It was like they were trying to get me used to it. In a tone she believes is motherly, she explains,”Thanks to this. We’ll be adding more things to your therapy. Such as cognitive behavioral therapy that should help you heal faster.”

“Luckily for you one of our orderlies has offered to exclusively assist you with this.”,she told me. Like the idea of one of those assholes doing this to me was something to be happy about. But my stomach dropped as I stared into those cold green eyes of hers. As it dawned on me who had volunteered to ‘assist’ me. A devilish grin grew on her face as she stated,”John Reynolds was the one who graciously offered to help with your therapy.”

“He’s had such a good track record with our patients I felt it was only right to allow him to assist you.”,she continued. Petting my hair with both hands in a way that made me uncomfortable. Fixing my hair carefully as she smirked so creepily at me. The idea of having to spend who knows how long with John made me feel horrified. I couldn’t understand how he could be good with patients. Considering how he treated me not that long ago. And I briefly toyed with the idea of telling her all about it. Then I realized that it wouldn’t be wise as Alya clearly adored him. Alya added,”I feel that John will be a good influence on you. That he will help you become the beautiful young woman that God intended you to be.”

“That you will soon be out of our program and being a respectful ‘Philia Pet’ like everyone else who graduated from our program. Just you wait.”,she finished. Getting up from her kneeling position and removing her hands from my hair. Walking to her office door and opening it as I felt my stomach twist. I vaguely hear her and Eric talking about something. Barely listening until I heard her mention John’s name. Then I turned slightly to listen to her tell Eric that we’ll be needing him. And that we would be starting the C.B.T as soon as possible. Glancing over my shoulder, I frowned deeply before glancing around the room. My eyes went wide as I spotted a huge window just beyond Alya’s chair that luckily didn’t face another part of the building. It was in the courtyard leading out of the facility. There was a little booth with one of those barrier gate arms that could easily be crawled under. Hopefully the guard might be one of those lazy bastards that I can sneak past. I chewed my bottom lip as I prayed, I could think of how to escape through that window. Sneak past whomever is in the booth and to my freedom.

Please Lord please.