In my continuing re-read of my old diaries I just came across one describing my experience with conversion therapy. Not as bad as many people have experienced, but it still hurt me in ways that have been with me for decades. It taught me not to trust people, something I still have trouble with even today.

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April 20, 1996, Saturday

…I have never dealt with my own experience with the medical communitys attempts to “correct” my gender “aberrant” behavior.

When my parents found my stash of clothing when I was – I don’t remember exactly how old I was – in junior high, they took me to see M. A. the first time.

I don’t remember much about the time that I saw him except that I was scared. I didn’t trust M. or Dr. P. and all I really wanted was for the “treatment” to end.

So I ended it.

I told them that I would never “crossdress” again.

As I spoke the words I knew that it was a lie. Mother had come into my bedroom to ask me if I thought I was ready to stop seeing M. She said that I could stop if I wouldn’t wear women’s clothing anymore. So I immediately saw my escape and swore that I would never wear women’s clothing again.

Of course, as I said this I was wearing a pair of Mother’s socks.

That night is burned forever in my mind because I learned two very important lessons: trust no one, and lying works. By foreswearing to things that I value so highly now, I was able to end the psychological torture to which I had been subjected.

They made me hate myself!

They put shame into me and tried to make me forsake my true identity!

They told me that what I was doing was wrong and that I had to stop. They told me that if I didn’t stop that I’d have lots of problems and people wouldn’t like me because “they wouldn’t understand”. They told me that I wouldn’t be able to get a job when I grew up and that my life would be miserable.

I don’t remember a lot about my sessions with M. except that he took notes on a pad and that he (sometimes at least) sat between me and the door, making me feel trapped.

I was forced to attend those sessions against my will; all I ever wanted was to live my life in the way that made me happy, the way that let me be my true self, as a woman. For although at the time [I] usually would deny that I wanted to be female (the thought of being so different scared me) I would have been wearing women’s clothing all the time if I could have. I would have lived as a woman even while denying that I was one, until one day I would finally accept myself.

But instead my parents – and M. and Dr. P. – gave me the gifts of fear, mistrust, and self-loathing.

And I’m still trying to recover.