Authors: Cindi Jones
Big brother turned in her chair watched us for a moment and then turned back to her notebook and wrote something down.
How boring her job must be.
We split up and went to our rooms.
I brushed my teeth and spent some time channel surfing, looking for a news program.
But they had ended.
My energy was drained.
The day had been grand, even though it started in the depths of pain and suffering.
I was very tired.
I cleared the items from my bed.
I hung my clothes and put my personal articles in the drawers.
“I’ll just lay down here for a few minutes and I’ll feel better,” I thought to myself.
A sound in the darkness woke me up.
I had clearly fallen into a deep sleep.
I still had on my wig and very likely a very messy face.
I did not like to sleep without cleaning my face.
I got up and removed “the wig”, with reverence.
I dedicated a drawer to it and carefully laid it there.
I washed my face and brushed my teeth and then properly went to bed.
I lay there with my eyes wide open reviewing the events of the day.
I recalled the depths of despair and the rise of my spirit.
I realized that I had probably made some new friends too. And then I it came to me that I hadn’t told them my deep dark secret.
And I knew that in my first group session with them, it would be THE most interesting thing that they had seen or heard while there.
I tossed and turned.
Worry about the impending group session was
all-consuming
.
How would I present this?
I did not know.
I tossed and turned some more.
I flipped on the television but could not find anything interesting.
Finally, I dressed and went out to get something to drink.
In the dining area sat the only male in our lock up. I glanced up at the digital clock on the wall.
It read 3:10 AM.
I opened the fridge and found nothing to my liking.
I wanted a cranberry juice.
I wanted comfort.
As I closed the door in dismay, the fellow at the table looked up at me and said “there’s no beer in there if that’s what you are looking for.”
I turned to him and noticed his features.
He was older and bore the marks of a hard life. His face was wrinkled. His hair was a dirty dark color with specks of coming gray. He wore a light blue plaid cotton farm shirt.
The open buttons at the top showed a clean tee shirt.
“I was looking for a fruit drink, not a soda” I replied.
I secured a Styrofoam cup from the dispenser and filled it with water from the cooler.
I sat down opposite him.
“I’m Cindi,” I announced as I extended my hand.
“I’m Jim,” he said as he waved off my extended hand.
He exuded a complex air of frustration, tension, and rage.
“So what’s keeping you up late?”
I asked him.
“Aren’t you the one who started the happy fes
t this afternoon in the common?
” he asked.
I answered “yes, that was me.”
“You know that this is a very dreary place Cindi. I haven’t heard laughter or seen anyone talking outside of group sessions,” he explained.
“I got a sense of that,” I said as I noticed big brother’s night time replacement taking notes.
“You don’t want to talk to me,” Jim offered.
“Why not?” I asked.
“I have an anger management issue.
I hurt my wife.
I hit her. I hit her more than once.
Does that scare you?”
Oh, crap, I felt to myself, this guy is a wife beater.
I was very scared. “Yes Jim. It does,” I answered.
“That’s the first god damned honest answer anyone has given me in this place,” he said.
The big brother replacement turned and took more notes.
“What are you here for, Cindi?” he queried.
I had not been asked this question before from my newly formed friends.
I hesitated to answer his question.
“Now come on, I’ve told you mine, you can tell me yours.
You don’t have to wait until tomorrow’s group session,” he said.
I rolled the thought over in my mind.
If I can tell someone this tough and gruff, it might make it easier for me tomorrow.
“Jim, I’m a transsexual and I’m here on suicide watch,” I told him.
He looked me squarely in the face, rolled his eyes back and forth and up and down as he scanned my every feature.
He stood up slightly to see if he could extend his vision beyond the lip of the table where we sat.
“Are you a man or are you a woman?”
He asked.
“I
haven’t had surgery yet, if that is what you are asking
.” I timidly responded as I felt a glaring look from the nurse’s desk.
“Well I’ll be god damned.
I’ll no longer be the black sheep in this bunch.
Thanks sweetheart for coming to the party.
This is going to be a fucking good time in group tomorrow morning.
Holy shit.
I never thought that some queer would be helping me, I’ll tell you that!”
We talked some more and I was able to
explain to
him that I indeed was not queer, that I was no drag queen, and that my problem was not based on sexual desires.
We talked for a couple of hours as I further explained some of the harassment and hate thrown my way
during previous months
.
He told me about himself and how terrible he felt about his problem.
“I just don’t know what to do,” he said as tears filled his eyes.
“Jim, we have something in common.
We don’t know what to do.”
And so, we wiled away the early morning hours sharing stories and sharing each others shoulder to cry on.
“Cindi, I don’t care what anyone says,” he started as we saw the breakfast carts arrive “you are one brave little gal.”
I’ll be rooting for you in group this morning.
As the clanging of the breakfast trays moved into the common, Jim hurriedly got up and returned to his room.
And my 3 new friends joined me at the table.
“Good morning Cindi!” Andrea exclaimed.
“Wow, you are looking fine for first thing in the morning.”
I told her that I had been up for some time talking to Jim.
“Oh, you were talking to Jim?”
She asked with surprise. “Did you know that he beat his wife?
He might hurt you Cindi,” she cautioned.
“He did tell me about that Andrea and no, I am not afraid of him,” I responded.
“But he is evil Cindi, how
could
you
talk
to
someone like that
?” she asked.
“Andrea, I don’t know.
It was happenstance that we struck up a conversation and I know now that he has his own demons to deal with.
He feels a deep sadness for what he has done.
He’s really tearing himself apart from what I gleaned in our conversation. Andrea, our lives are different, but I have to say that in the depths of our souls we are both trying to come to terms with our lives and make them worth living,” I explained.
“Wow, Andrea said with wonder.
“That is very deep.
Cindi, you are a very nice person.”
“Yes
,” I
thought
,
“At least for another hour or so
.
”
Group session was 57 minutes away.
Andrea came to my room.
“Cindi, it is time for group,” she said.
“I’ll be right with you,” I replied as I laid my brush down in front of the mirror.
She took my hand as we walked across the common to the room where we would hold our group therapy session.
A couple of others were there including the two women who had not been part of our “happiness fest” the evening before.
Spirits were good as we talked and laughed and welcomed in the remaining members.
The group moderator arrived as we were settling ourselves.
She wondered in amazement at the jocularity and chattiness she saw.
“Before we begin,” she started, “I’d like to know what has happened here.
Yesterday this session felt like a funeral.
Today, everyone is happy.”
Everyone looked at me with a grin.
The moderator, a slim woman with dark hair dressed in a hospital smock, looked at her notes.
Her eyes darted around the circle and then landed on me.
I could see what she was thinking from the look on her face and the light in her eyes.
Jim sauntered in and took the last seat.
The hush was immediate.
Everyone stopped what they were saying.
The effect was that of a light switch.
Lightness then
bleak
darkness.
Still, most everyone conveyed in their facial expression that spirits were holding up.
“Let’s get started,” the
moderator
said.
“First of all, I’d like to introduce you to Cindi Jones our newest member.
Cindi, what we do is discuss our problems.
Each of you will take a turn to briefly explain your problem and the issues you are dealing with. We will then go around the group to give everyone a chance to offer their advice, opinions, or whatever. Cindi, for the benefit of others I would like you to give us a brief background so that we can understand you better.
However, I will not call on you first.
We’ll have a couple other members start off our session so you can see how we do things. Okay, who will be first?”
No one volunteered.
“Jane,” the moderator said as she faced the one of the women who I had not met, “would you please start our session?”
“Okay” Jane replied.
Jane went on to briefly explain that she had been in therapy there for 5 days now. That was 5 days that she had been clean.
She explained the terrible
anguish
she was experiencing as the drugs left her body.
Once she said her piece, we went around the circle and each offered a brief response or opinion.
The happy mood was spoiled as each member uttered some bland opinion or response. It was easy to see what was going on here.
We were going through the motions.
No one was really participating. Now I understood what Jim had told me the night before. The moderator looked at me and asked if I would like to contribute something.
“Yes, I would like to.”
“Jane,” I started, “I don’t know you.
I can’t fathom what you are going through.
I have no idea what it is like to come down off drugs.
I do know however that there are people in the world who love you.
I hope that I can get to know and love you too.
From the bottom of my heart I want to offer you my support.
I know that I
cannot
help you with your problem.
But I will be your friend.”
Jane lifted her chin and turned her head to face me.
Her mouth was partially open and her eyes
filled with tears
.
“Thank you Cindi,” she replied as she turned and looked for something to dry her eyes.
She quickly received a Kleenex passed to her from the moderator and she wiped her eyes and then the rest of her face.
I had not noticed the quivering of her lips and the perspiration on her face.
But now it was undeniably clear.
She was shaking and shivering with the DT’s.
After two people had shared their stories, the moderator turned to me. “Would you like to go next Cindi?” she queried.
“Well, I’m going to have to do this sooner or later,” I answered.
“I am here on suicide watch,” I started.
“But my real problem is in all likelihood the strangest thing that you will encounter in your lifetimes.
Before I tell you these details, please know that I am a real person just like everyone else here.
My problem is mine to deal with but I can assure you that is just as difficult to deal with as those that you face.”
I went on to briefly describe that the classification for my mental problem was gender dysphoria.
“It is more commonly known as transsexualism.”
The shock wave hit the room.
The mood clearly changed.
One woman shifted in her seat to face the moderator. Andrea sunk her face into her hands as she bent over.
Jim smiled at me.
I further explained how the events of the weekend had unfolded.
How I had been beat down and conquered.
How I had my hair cut.
How I had met with my ex to strike a deal to see my children.
How I had gone to work dressed as a man.
Jim’s facial expression turned to a face of compassion, feeling the intense emotion that I was attempting to express.