Deep Thought Personal

The hardest thing I’ve ever had to write

Good morning Gorgeous… xx

Most of you in the UK are sleeping soundly; while others, in different parts of the world will be enjoying (or not) various parts of your day. For those of you that are awake; “Hello from england; and I hope you are enjoying your day :)”.

Before I go any further; I must warn you, what you’re about to read is graphic. I mean really graphic. I have shed a lot of tears over this but none more so than writing this post – I have cried tonight and cried a lot, but it was worth it.

So, if youve read the last two posts, you’ll have seen that I’ve hit that brick wall again. The emotional brick wall that for some insane reason I struggle, very badly, to get past. It sits there at the end of this emotionally destructive road I travel down whenever I need to ask for help; and I find I’m too proud, strong, stubborn or just plain obstinate to ask for it.

I tell every one that I’m fine and I can handle the sitution around me, when clearly I can’t. Most people would have either given up, requested and gained help, lost the plot or just plain cried. But me, no. Stubbornass old witch in the corner over here ask for help! Ha ha, not on your life. The worst point in my life (and the one point I know I have difficulty dealing with), was the rape. There are others that come close; but I’ve never felt more alone than at that one single point in time. Right there, in that moment, it was up to me. No one heard my screams, no one came running to help, no one listened. I was alone…

Alone, with my head underwater; struggling to breathe. All I can hear is the rush of water around me, the cries of laughter from my abusers, the shouts of the boys around them screaming; “Do it again, flush his head down the toilet”. All I can feel is the pain of something entering me from behind, hard flesh pulverising me from behind; and massive, massive pain.

I’m being held down, I don’t think I can move. There’s hands on my shoulders, my hips, my feet and my head. I can’t move; yet I must, if I don’t I’m sure I’ll die and I don’t want to die. I have a life to live, there’s things I have to do.

And then, from nowhere; it came. There came a strength I’d never known before (and have only known since, I don’t know anything else), the strength to fight emotionally, the strength to get up; to beat the bullies, to survive. The strength to fight.

And that is what I did, I fought; and not only did I fight, I won.

I made it out alive.

Not only did I make it out alive, but I survived to tell the tale today – Thirty Six years later, I can tell the tale of what happened in that cubicle AND how I felt. That’s the bit I’ve had trouble with all these years, my feelings. How can I describe my own feelings to others when I don’t know what they are myself? And how can I deal with my issues when I can’t deal with my emotions? And, finally, how can I deal with my emotions when I can’t describe them to myself???

Well now I can. I can tell you. I tell you now I was hurt. I was abandoned, tortured and abused. I was alone, and I was going to die. Yes, I can put my mind back inside that toilet bowl and tell you, I was going to die. You see it in films when someone is trying to torture another person for information, or to gain control, or whatever. And you see them drag the persons head into the bathroom and over to the toilet by their hair; then push their head down the toilet and flush it, and they flush it and they flush it again. In extreme cases, the person is drowning or does, in fact drown. Well Imagine a 10 year old boy in that persons place, and the group of perpetrators are also 10 years old – sick isn’t it? That 10 year old boy, in his school uniform; with his trousers around his ankles; was me.

There is no way I would be able to describe this level of detail if that wasn’t true.

Why did they do this to me?… Because I was different. I was quiet, shy, preferred the company of girls rather than boys. Kept myself to myself. Preferred the feminine rather than the masculine. I was Vikki, trapped inside Bert and waiting to come out.

To them, however, I was gay; and epileptic (as they’d heard from my brother – another story entirely) and they wanted to prove it. They wanted to prove to themselves that they could make me do what they wanted, when they wanted and how they wanted.

They didn’t.

So now, 36 years later; and finally the pain (and a massive brick wall) have been broken, at last, and I can talk about it and how I felt at the time. How do I know this? I know this, because when I exhale, I exhale fully. I’m not scared to exhale, I’m not scared to breathe; and I can feel my stomach when I do. And another thing, I’ve just looked in a mirror; naked and smiled – I don’t ever remember being able to do that.

I need to find help, help to deal with this permanently. I’ll never be able to move on untl I do. But I also need to be able to use this when I need to, like when I was recently attacked for defending a friends property from her abusive ex. I need to learn to focus this strength and use it to my advantage, to resolve a situation; not to engage in a fight as what eventually happened then. I need to regain control.

So there’s only one thing left to do, and I want to do it; although at first you may think it doesn’t make sense – Trust me, it does. And that’s to list the one thing that prompted me to write this. It’s a famous quote, by a very famous guy. Someone who I wish I’d have had the opportunity to meet; but never did.

The man in question is Professor Stephen Hawking and the quote is below. If you want to hear it in the context I have, then find an Album by Pink Floyd called “The Endless River” – it’s recent; so shouldn’t be hard to find, and listen to Side 3, Part 7: Talkin’ Hawkin’. It will all make sense then, I’m sure…

“Speech has allowed the communication of ideas; enabling human beings to work together to build the impossible – Mankinds greatest achievements have come about by talking. Our greatests hopes could become reality in the future and the possibilities are unfounded. All we need to do is make sure we keep talking.”

And there you have it, that’s what made me who I am today. Gave Bert his strength to continue unabated and Vikki her strength to be free; when finally she was allowed to do so.

That’s what made me who I am.

Much love,

Vikki xx

By Vikki Kinsella

My name is Vikki, and I’m a Transgender Female living and working in the UK.

I’ve started this blog purely as a way of writing down my thoughts and feelings, as I now start my journey through transition from living life as Male to becoming Female, and beyond. You see, I spent 45 years of my life living as, what is now known as, a cisgender Male - With almost no idea that I could even consider being Female, let alone consider corrective surgery. But I must admit I did have a tendency to THINK like a woman sometimes... But doesn't every Man think like a woman on occasion? Don't try and hide it boys, you know you do, lol...

3 replies on “The hardest thing I’ve ever had to write”

It was a hard sad read , but it’s showing the light at the end .
You have endured such pain and now you have the life tools to show others the way . Thankyou for sharing it .


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