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I occupied myself with a summer job, biking and an impending sense of dread of the start of college. I wanted my clothes back. My desires did not subside; if anything, they got worse. I held out about two months before it got to be to much for me. So, like a junkie in need of a fix, I made a trip to a dealer who set me up with what I needed so badly. I got home, got undressed, put them on and felt the warm sensation fill my body; it felt good. Soon afterwards, I was disgusted with myself for my lack of control.
And so my summer progressed...
I was all alone with my little secret. I knew of no one else like me and had no one with whom to discuss this. It was slowly eating away at me and thoughts of checking out early returned. Who was I going to talk to, my parents? (Mom, Dad - just thought I let you know that I want to die because I like wearing women's underwear?) It just didn't seem like an option.
I made through the summer, eventually replacing all the lingerie I had dumped. My mental state was, in my opinion, questionable. I am reasonably sure that I had developed an inferiority complex (big surprise.) I hated who I was and what I did. As I've always been a somewhat solitary individual, no one at home noticed. Lucky me. I hated that no one knew that I was so screwed up. In short, by the start of college, I was a mess. I finally decided that suicide was not a viable option (I was too scared to actually do it but I still wanted to) and resolved myself to the fact that my life, however long I choose to continue it, would be to be forever alone with my secret.
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