Hate is but a Dream?

The other night I had a semi-recurring dream. I say semi because it’s the theme, not the exact events that are the key here.

I have an older brother. We didn’t get along at all. He used to blame everything on me, especially the stuff I didn’t do. And he’d get away with murder. We would fight a LOT. And I would always be the one punished.


Yes, I’m still bitter.


So: the dream. I was back in the house where I grew up. In the bathroom. My brother, I’ll call him “Jerk,” breaks the door in as I have it locked (having just showered.) He barges in, looking like he did in his late teens with a greasy mullet.

After breaking in, he said “You’re going to have to replace the door after I tell dad you broke it.”

I said “It was locked for a reason, asshole!”

“So? I wanted to come in. And what I want goes.”

Then he smiled his “I know I can get away with anything” smile as he began with the usual insults. “Faggot.” “Wuss.” You get the idea.

And here’s the part where it’s a repeater- I hit him as hard as I can, and he just smiles and laughs. And I hit him again and again while he just smiles, completely unaffected by anything I do. In previous dreams I have hit him with a baseball bat, run him over with a car, you name it- I’ve done it. Never even scratched him. NOTHING wipes the smile off his face. Sometimes he laughs. Sometimes he fights back. But I can never hurt him. Never stop the insults or the pain. He always wins.


So that’s the theme- helplessness. Frustration.


Helplessness and frustration seem to be themes in the lives of many TGs. But there’s more to it than just that. See there’s one mega thing he ALWAYS held over me.

He caught me dressed once.

When I first started dressing, I was in my early teens and very slight. Having no sisters, I wore my mom’s stuff- dresses, skirts, blouses. She had a red wig as well (she had auburn hair). And eventually I started experimenting with her makeup.

I would usually only do this when EVERYONE was away, like down at the beach. I stayed home as I had to work. But one time I got brave. Parents were away for the weekend, but Jerk stayed home. He was staying at a friend’s place- or so I was told.

So I got totally dressed, used water balloons for breasts in the bra. Even did my makeup. Badly, but I did it. I was looking in my parent’s full length mirror. I was wearing a pink blouse, a burgundy skirt, and pumps. I think they were black. Pantyhose that were tan. I never said I knew how to dress then! Anyway, so there I am, fully dressed as a girl, when I hear the downstairs door unlock and open. Oh Shit! There was no way I could get even the blouse off in time. Maybe whoever would stay downstairs long enough…

I stepped out of the shoes and ran to the bathroom… the only bathroom. Locked the door. Pulled off the wig and frantically started unbuttoning, unzipping…

And I heard Jerk running up the stairs… and he started pounding on the bathroom door.

“Hey I gotta use the bathroom, get the f*ck out!” he shouted.

“I just got in!”

And he kept banging on the door. I tossed the girl clothes into the hamper where I hoped he wouldn’t look. But there was the matter of all that makeup I was wearing. Mascara, foundation, lipstick, eye shadow. Hmmm. The hallway is always dark during the day. Maybe if I…

Then he kicked the door in, and he saw me. And he started laughing.

Here my memory blurs. Hey, it was thirty years ago! I remember how it ended though. I had to bribe him with my next two paychecks. All of it. That was over $300 total. In 1982, that was a bit of money for a high school kid! Especially since I was trying to save for college. (Inflation adjusted, that’s $668. More than I make in two weeks now.) And he held it over me big time.

Forever it seemed.

By the time I finished college, he seemed to have forgotten. I doubt that he did though.


Now he and I just don’t talk. He’s married now and has a daughter. I think she’s thirteen. She met my daughter when mine was an infant and not since. So that’s over four years since I last saw her. His wife is a highly educated woman and could’ve done far better than him. She has self image issues due to being heavy, but still. I’m cordial with her on the rare times when we encounter each other. I’m sure she has a low opinion of me. Then again, my wife has a low opinion of my brother, so…

Right, so we don’t talk. He’s in the past. So why do I still get these dreams? Why am I still bitter?

I have no idea.

What would he say if I told him about being Sophie?

Think He'd Understand?

Well, I really don’t know. I think he’d start in with the insults and tell my parents. And then back to not speaking as always.

But, as has been seen, I could be wrong. For all I know, he’d be really supportive. Doubt it though. It’s never been in his nature.  Or maybe he'd prefer having a Sister.

I think I’ll hold off on telling him. Like forever.

You know, for as long as I’ll be bitter.