transabled.org

I’ve just ordered a copy of this for myself. If it ever gets here from Canada I’ll try to write something too. Meanwhile Chloe there’s so much in your post tha I can relate to – I need time to process it before I can say more.

Chloe, thank you so much for writing this. You are brave indeed. I’m too fucked up right now to try to make some sense out of the maelstorm in my thoughts when reading your post, but I have a few days off work coming up, I’ll take the time to do my thinking.
In any case, your account of The handless maiden *is* up to the point, thank you again for sharing this.

I myself found this to be a pretty amazing story about yourself and it really brought up a lot of relations with my own life.

My Parents too made it clear there thoughts on children who were physically or mentally disabled and how it would have been better for the child and the family if the child had died at birth.

I had a distant family member who had a boy who was born mentally challenged and was a water baby. My dad espectually, made comments about him over the years about how it would be better off if he was dead. Well…he did die tragically when he was around 10 I guess. My dad’s comment “Well, it probably was for the best because if he had lived to be into his teens then he would have become violent towards others and would have been hard to really care for them to take care of him.

When I first realized my attraction to disabled people, it was after another classmate in my class made a comment about a kid in our school with CP and wore AFOs. His comment was, “Woo…what’s wrong with that kid?” to witch instantly my teacher jumped all over him while the rest of us kids looked to see what he was talking about. I continued to find this kid at other school functions and constantly would find myself looking at his legs and his gait.

When I started pretending, it was out of interest at first. Wanting to know what it was like being in braces…and then eventually in a chair. But at the first time I did (with both of them) the feeling of contentment, calmness, and happiness was amazing and I just had to continue to do it over and over even though deep inside I was even screaming at myself (what in hell are you doing you sick purb!)

The more I did it the more I began to see myself in braces and in a wheelchair…the more I felt I was supposed to be viewed as a wheelchair and brace user and to be addressed as such. I felt more acceptable and more able to be cared about and loved in a wheelchair and braces. I felt like I was…different.

The abuse I had in my life was not sexual…even though there was a stage in my life when I was about 3-5 when me and my now gay cousin became sexually experimentive. He was about 5 to 6 years older than me. To me…I was just playing a game with my cousin as we always did. The odd thing was…I really enjoyed it and even though I was kind of grossed by what he did to me…I wanted it done…I liked the fantasy and the dream.

It basicly involved us playing doctor/patient of sorts…except I was more than a patient. Both me and my cousin were SCIFI people and as such…we played out a futuristic medical fantacy except that I was a test subject for a experiment being done on my body by machines under the control of the scientist (being him) and him ordering me around and telling me what to do while he prepared me for the test and experiments to be preformed on me.

Eventually I would be told to lay down on the exam table after I had been removed from my holding cell (usually a box completely closing me inside for a period of time in isolation but also sometimes putting me into luggage bags and even once into a clear plastic cloths bag with a zipper. After I had been placed on the exam table he would put things across me to symbolize straps (I wasn’t actually strapped down…I could get up if I choose) then he would proceed to make machine noises around me while poking me with things until eventually he would actually do it to me with his mouth.

Once the procedure was done I was removed from the table and then ordered back into my holding cell for a period of time until he had arranged another experiment for me.

All of this went on over a period of years each time we were together and it was never something we forgot and as we got older after having been apart for a long time, we both reluctantly talked about it…we both said we still enjoyed it and that he was something that had kind of taken it’s place in our lives as to what we enjoyed.

A few times we exchanged roles with me being the doctor and him the test subject. We only did it about twice though because we both said we didn’t enjoy that near as much. I liked my role as the test subject and the experiment…and he liked being the doctor.

Looking back on that today…it is amazing how that from back then is still what I dream up and wish to have today and always have. Only today it is more alive and more fired up because I have actual things and knowledge that this dream/fantasy can actually become true…there is the possibility…making it happen is another matter.

Back to Abuse…again…my abuse was not sexual…my abuse was emotional, physiological, and vocal. Being raised with my dad’s strong belief in physical punishment being a spanking I never felt that I was physically abused as it was never more than that…even though there was one time when I was in my teens when my dad was drunk that he tried to physically attack me when he misunderstood something I said.

My Mother was actually the one who provided most of my abuse growing up. Like others here…my mother’s view on life was that we had to be perfect and that I had to be the prefect child that she could show off to the other families in the church and be the “perfect family.” Because of have Asperger’s my social life has always been very poor and when I was young I was actually very violent to others and to myself. What few friends I made my mother would never allow me to have. Shortly after I would become friends with them, when I would bring them home to hangout…after 1 time of having them over…after they left I would get the speech, “Andy, I don’t think this person is a good friend for you, and I don’t want you to be friends with them anymore.” Then I would be forced to not be friends with them. It happened with every friend I had. Meanwhile my mother would find other “goodie two shoes” type friends from church and she would try to converse me into being their friends.

So that on top of my already poor social skills due to Asperger’s has to this day kept me from really being able to deal with people around me socially.

My mother would physiologically speak and talk about subjects in ways to get what she wanted. There was also emotional abuse…she would use my upset times and my sadness as ways of further convening me of her ways and to get what she wanted. The Verbal abuse was something I got from both my parents. My father has always had a tendency to get worked up during a disagreement and his way of reacting is to yell and to become very physically intone with what he is speaking. My mother, when her other ways were not working and I was resisting her ways, would then turn to yelling and yell at me to make me comply by making me feel inferior to her. Usually always…my parents got what they wanted out of me…even if it was just for a time.

Chloe, thank you for sharing your story. I know it takes a lot of willpower to talk about abuse.

I have undergone several forms of abuse in my past. I was sexually abused after leg surgery when I was 5 in a childrens’ hospital. I had other experiences I wish to remain in the past.

Now… I don’t trust anyone. I wonder when my partner will yell at me or tell me I am not good enough for him due to my disability… I wonder why he can’t find the faults other men in my past did. I try to push him away at times and he still fights for me… After awhile, it’s hard to understand why anyone of the opposite sex would want to be in love with me when men have made me feel like half a person…

I was on the bus downtown when a Tim McGraw song (“One of These Days”) came on the radio. If I had not been in public, I would have broken down.

I am going to be returning to college in the fall… I need something in my life I can be proud of.

Abuse never goes away. When I am happy, a memory can slither up like a hungry snake and bite into that zest for life… if I let it, that is. After the domestic violence happened 5 years ago, I was told in counseling that an abuser only has as much power as his or her victim(s) allows. If we let our pasts dominate our happiness in the present, what future will we encounter?

@Amanda. I’m sorry you went through those things. Getting out of an abusive relationship is more difficult than one might think. I was pretty lucky with the physical aspects. It was limited to shoving, grabbing, pinching, hitting, and threatening me with knives. The verbal and emotional abuse was what really hurt.

I have had long discussions about this with a friend who grew up with a disability. She talks about the “damaged goods syndrome” that left her susceptible to being in an abusive relationship because of the feeling that one is not going to do any better. Although I don’t generally classify being intersexed as a disability, I still had that same damaged goods syndrome. Once I was in that abusive relationship I felt that no matter how bad it was I would never find anybody else who would love me. I’m still angry at my stupidity for staying thirteen years.

It’s now thirteen years later and I’m still damaged by that relationship. I tend to blame myself for absolutely everything that ever goes wrong. I flinch if somebody makes a sudden movement. Even when my loving partner gently lays her hand on my arm, it will still make me flinch if I’m not expecting it.

Amanda, you already have things to be proud of. You are a beautiful and caring person. That says a lot.

Hugs, ~ Chloe

Chloe, thank you for your kind and thoughtful words. I am truly sorry you had to suffer any form of abuse at all.

Many people in my past have succeeded in making me feel like damaged goods.

Not to be selfish, but I am now doing what makes me happy. I am taking iron and folic acid pills, drinking Slim Fast twice a day, eating healthy, and exercising. I pamper myself with things that are enjoyable.

I used to be terrified whenever anyone would come up behind me. I began having accidents and nightmares. I tried counseling for a day then left.

Abuse takes one day at a time.

Hugs back.

Last night my partner badly cut her right hand and finger on broken glass. It went through to the bone on the little finger, and a chunk of flesh was missing from her hand. She said she was surprised to see her finger still attached. She said it felt like it must have been severed.

I wanted to take her to the emergency room because it clearly needed stitches, but she refused. She wanted me to bandage her up. Well, I’ve treated plenty of her wounds before, so she has a lot of confidence in me. It was a bit tricky, but I’m quite skilled at complex bandaging techniques.

As I was bandaging her hand she gave me an interesting look. I immediately smiled at her because I knew exactly what that look meant. It meant that she was enjoying that I was bandaging her hand. It also meant that she knew I had enjoyed seeing her bleeding, that I was enjoying bandaging her hand, and that I was looking forward to the scar she’s going to have.

Maybe the word “enjoy” isn’t quite right here. It makes me sound like a nasty bitch. It was a symbolic experience for both of us.

After we were done there wasn’t much she could do with her hand, though I’d left the thumb free. She was diligent in holding it up to slow the bleeding. I was about to do the dishes, and she was about to watch television. She suddenly gave me a big grin and said “Now I’m the Handless Maiden.” We both cracked up laughing.

She just sent me an e-mail with the grocery list, for me to pick up on the way home from work. Title of e-mail: “Shopping List for (Nearly) Handless Maiden.” :o)