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 Review #4755227 |
 |  | My Girdle Is Killing Me!  [18+] Memoir. A quiet teenage boy struggles to cope when school bullying takes a sadistic turn.  |
| (3.0)| 20240527 - Chapter 6: Panic In The Streets - Dave Ryan ****************************************************************** My Girdle Is Killing Me! by Dave Ryan (154) Rated: 18+ · Book · Biographical · #2294117 Memoir. A quiet teenage boy struggles to cope when school bullying takes a sadistic turn. Intro Rated: Non-E Size: 10 Entries Created: April 16th, 2023 at 4:59pm Modified: April 5th, 2024 at 6:27pm Location: Memoir Genres: Biographical, Personal, Experience Access: No Restrictions Chapter 7: A Cure Worse Than The Disease? So there I was, halfway through my first year at university, and instead of freeing myself from the obligation to wear corsetry, I'd doubled down on it. This is how I now dressed from first thing in the morning to last thing at night, seven days a week. It's inevitable that anyone reading this will sneer and assume I was a fetishist getting off on my own peculiar kink. (Lone Cypress Workshop) A provocative and illuminating self-observation. I say that as a positive thing. I am not sure why you made the comment, but it shows that there is an inner conversation going on, and I would argue that it may well be a misinterpretation. We (the readers and myself) would love to hear these intimate and inner throughts. Again, I am no expert in these issues and yet I hear real inner turmoil, perhaps for the first time. I like it, not for the fact these events happened but because it sounds more ‘real’ and honest, and true. There is understanding in the self-criticism. There is no blame for the degenerates that initiated the chain of events which brought us here. There is a certain acceptance and a degree of ‘ownership’ in admitting that there is a ‘doubling down’ as it were on the whole paradigm, I am not sure I agree with the conclusions made, but it shows a realization of a simply concept, that being the ability to make a decision. Probably not a good one, and there is no reason to believe that he recognizes this, but there is no direction from another tormentor. He has made a decision but unfortunately, he must accept a good amount of responsibility for the determination made within his resolution. No matter how ill-chosen or decided, he is volitionally making choices about these issues. Highly debatable as to rationality or appropriateness, and yet decisions made without coercion, notwithstanding his own manufactured personal imperatives. I strongly take issue with the comment of some ‘inevitable’ assumption on the part of the reader that it is a matter of a kinky fetish. It is for the author to 'tell' us what is going on, especially within the mind of the main character. It may well be, but anyone who has read to this point has to have some understanding that there are much deeper issues that are involved with what is going on. To this point I am not sure I accept that it is a matter of personal choices without the acknowledgement that outside forces have been an oppressive pressure on his every thought and action. This is not a confident and competent individual that is making a life choice. The truth is that it may well end up as a life choice but it is not a normal transition or logical development that has brought him to this point. I have only your own comments to base any speculations or assumptions, and they are well guarded, even hidden, from the reader and in all probability from the focus of our memoire. Anything is possible because no clarity has been offered. It is a difficult environment that we find ourselves, as readers, as we try to discern a reasonable narrative from a dearth of information. It's hard to explain my state of mind at this point in my life, but let's give it a try. *Bullet* Part of me was ashamed, disgusted, mortified. It was my schooldays all over again – back in the victim role. Every morning, as I fastened myself into all this crazy clothing, the normal teenage male in me looked on in a state of appalled disbelief. What the hell was I doing? (LCW) I can well imagine. The first question that jumps to mind is who do you think is responsible for all of this. Initially, it was a bunch of degenerates, but now, are they still the only reason for this or are you perpetrating this debacle against yourself? I am no therapist. It may take years to understand, with a professional, and yet that doesn’t seem to be the case, so comprehension is more a hope or simply a personal desire, and not a path to factual and empirical clarity. There seems to be a certain ‘comfort’ in being the ‘victim’. It removes the responsibility from David for what is going on. I find it much more obscure and indecipherable as we see him making decisions, normally equated with strength, and there is no definitive information as to who is driving the bus. His reality is undefined. I don’t know why I haven’t thought of it before this point, but the question of Schizophrenia does not seem an unreasonable possibility. Again, totally out of my wheelhouse. It would be nothing but guesswork, especially with the lack of information we have going forward. But he does keep jumping back and forth between aspects of his own psyche. He vacillates between forceful intent (in thought if not in action) and at other times is completely without confidence or insight. *Bullet* Another part of me was vindictive, filled with self-loathing, convinced it served me right. I was now also the bully. I knew myself to be a pathetic weakling, lacking in any semblance of self-respect. I hated myself with a vengeance and revelled in my self-inflicted discomfort. I deserved to live like this. I totally deserved it. (LCW) I realize that we are not talking ‘reason’ here, and I acknowledge that many with cognitive issues blame themselves for their own challenges, even when no culpability is apparent, as in this case. I fail to understand where this self-loathing is coming from, except perhaps from the fact that he has been led and directed to act without his own volition, although that seems to be changing at the moment. Self-respect is probably one of the most complicated concepts that an individual has to deal with as they follow whatever path they have chosen (or not). I hate to be a broken record (not really) but self-worth and self-respect come directly from that deeply intimate set of conversations that we have with ourselves, at least from my own experience. If the individual can come to grips with the concept of ‘value’, then the objective becomes to understand, possess and implement those values into their lives. When that happens, it becomes second nature to recognize worth and inevitably to exhibit these qualities or attributes in their own lives. The inability and lack of strength of those that become a ‘pathetic weakling’ is a real challenge to confront and address from a personal perspective. I know what I have had to endure in my own experience, but have no real knowledge how other individuals deal with it. I keep mentioning that I have no expertise with these issues, and want to give some credit to those professionals that work in the field of mental awareness and health, but I find it difficult to not question much of what they do as well. It is an almost insurmountable pressure on the individual to comprehend what is going on, and it doesn’t seem fair in many respects, but it can only be the individual themselves that can eventually create a personal environment where they can deal with whatever reality they have chosen to follow. No one deserves what he is going through, at least not from my perspective, which only points to the issues that he has no ability to deal with on his own. There has to be a personal narrative where he has convinced himself of all of these self-destructive self-judgments, and it needs to be made clear, not just for the reader, but for himself, then and now. *Bullet* I was confused, scared, terrified at the thought that this was going to be my life from now on. Was I really going to be doing this crazy shit next year? Five years from now? Ten years? The rest of my life? (LCW) There is a certain legitimacy in the questions he offers, and yet he really has no specific answers of any kind. When he does, there is no evidence or explanation, which means nothing at all. *Bullet* And, deep down in my psyche, part of me was somehow at peace. The panic attacks were a thing of the past. I was now “properly dressed” and so I could relax. Pete could have appeared in a puff of smoke like Aladdin's genie and slapped my backside, and I'd have had nothing to worry about as I was wearing my girdle like the “good girl” I'd always been. (LCW) This is probably the most scary and threatening aspect of his ‘peace’. His self-indoctrination comes across as delusional. Nothing has changed, but he has lulled himself into a false sense of comfort and stability. His challenges remain, and are simply being pushed even further into the recesses of his troubled mind. I was all these things, and all at the same time. In short, I was a total bloody mess. How I managed to function at all, let alone keep on top of my studies, is one of the seven wonders of the world. I'd get home after a long day at lectures or lab work or the library, my restrictive underwear driving me crazy, yet I'd resist the urge to take it off until it was finally time to go to bed. I'd simultaneously hate, and yet take satisfaction from, the shame and discomfort. (LCW) This masochistic sense of ‘need’ is disturbing as well. Pete and his cohorts did not coerce him to play his part until bedtime, only during school hours. This extras punishment is again self-inflicted. The dichotomy of his emotional see-saw of love/hate for himself points to something much more serious than some fetish. A fetish is something that does not to have all these dark and harmful aspects that are continually related. I must admit, though, that the information being released is much more open and vulnerable than the beginning chapters, and I find this to be a bit more ‘refreshing’ if that is a good word, and more indicative and illuminating as to the deeper feelings that have always been there, but not easily released. And, to add to the gaiety, I got found out. Pete and the gang hadn't made me wear a bra at school, as even teenage kids knew it'd be hard to hide the signs. But, in my orgy of self-flagellation ,I'd got blasé. I had thought I’d made a decent effort at camouflaging my bra – wearing heavier clothes and sewing up the cups to reduce the excess material, as my moobs couldn’t quite fill a B-cup. But one day in a maths lecture, a comedian in the row behind leaned down and twanged my bra strap. I then had to sit there, beetroot-faced, for the rest of the lecture and listen to the giggling behind me. Not long after this incident a girl “accidentally” bumped into me, gave me a pat on my backside, then turned back to her friends to inform them triumphantly that she had been right. So not only did everyone know I wore a bra, they would soon know about my girdle. The news spread like wildfire throughout my peer group. Walking into a lecture hall was now an ordeal, with all eyes on me as I self-consciously made my way to a seat. (LCW) The inevitability of these events were etched in stone the moment he walked into that department store not long ago. It may be inappropriate to use the term, but it was ‘insane’ to think that anything else could have happened. It was not a matter if, but only a matter of when. Suggesting that this was not only a possibility but probably an unconscious decision (or not) to have this happen and have his social ‘perversion’ become common knowledge. I can’t for the life of me answer why someone would do that, since it can only exacerbate his already tenuous grasp of reality. While some may be sympathetic, there will be a segment of his ‘peers’ that will, like Pete, never allow this information to simply disappear into time, but will keep it alive as long as he chooses to remain in this environment. “Captain Playtex.” That was my new name among my classmates. I first encountered it on a board listing exam results at the end of the second term, written beside my real name in bright red ink. Pinned to the bottom of the notice board was a cartoon. Some budding artist had created a caricature of me in bra and girdle, helpful arrows pointing to various parts of my anatomy with descriptive labels based on marketing slogans. The arrow pointing to my slack-jawed face had a variation of my sister's old taunt: “he can't believe it's a girdle!” The arrow to the bra cups: “moobs lifted and separated!” To my girdle: “strong panelling for figure control!” I could hear the sniggering of the people around me turn to outright laughter as I turned and pushed past them in my efforts to get away. (LCW) He says these things with a perceived degree of pleasure as he relates these hateful remarks. While they may be relevant, they are of interest only to those that would have participated in the degradation. It reflects badly on our already decadent species. I soon received an invite to see a student counsellor. This should have been the time I asked for help, as my attempts at secrecy had been a spectacular failure. But by this time I was incapable of rational thought on the subject. I admitted to him that I did indeed wear women's underwear, and I said I did so because I preferred it. I gave no hint whatsoever of my backstory or inner turmoil. After promising I would go back to see him if I was receiving any ill treatment from any of the students over my “lifestyle choices”, I left his office and resumed my life of self-inflicted misery. (LCW) I don’t know what to say, once again. A chance to actually show some semblance of strength, and he chooses to do the exact opposite. He admits his attempts at secrecy had been a ‘spectacular’ failure, he admits to being incapable of rational thought, he lies not to rationalize his hidden life but to refuse to admit it is a problem. How does one judge him? I cannot. I am not competent to be able to do so. I make all these comments only because I am trying to offer inconsequential and impractical suggestions to a narrative that scoffs at them and rejects any and all reference to reason and professional assistance. I can’t condone, promote or even understand what he is going through. It is difficult to even speculate at times the dark narrative that he is a part of. Even his terminology, and especially when he speaks of ‘lifestyle choices’, I find myself at a complete disadvantage. I see no lifestyle in what is happening to him and while he may be making choices, I find them involuntary and self-destructive, and therefore invalid and inappropriate. It was now a blessing that I didn’t live on campus and instead had taken a bedsit in town. That minimised my contact with my fellow students. The novelty of taunting me had quickly worn off, and I was now treated as the class weirdo rather than a figure of fun, shunned rather than ridiculed. The few friends I’d made had already grown uncomfortable around me as my mood had changed so much since the turn of the year. On finding out my secret, they all drifted away. Those were dark days – Pete and Donna would have loved it. (LCW) Once again, inevitable to anyone except David. Again, who is paying for his ‘bedsit’ in town? Can you blame his friends for feeling uncomfortable? Does not a sense of personal preservation come into play in social environments? Should they be willing to remain a friend if you have never made the effort to confide in them in any way? It may not be his fault for the fear and secrecy but it takes an intimate friend to do anything but run away and show a reluctance for interaction in the future. He has been the source of his own demise in many ways, but to what extent is impossible to even speculate. I stayed on in my bedsit over the summer, only going home for a two week break. But I packed my corsetry, hosiery and lingerie in case I needed it. (I'd stopped wearing my usual underwear under my girdle and had started wearing panties instead, figuring there was no point in half measures. The self-loathing monster was infinitely more sadistic than the bullies at school.) I only wore it the once though – the masochist in me had to let my sister see what I'd become. The first time out parents were both out, I put on my panties, open girdle, lace-top stockings and bra, covered it all with a dressing gown, walked across the landing and knocked on her door. “What do you want?” she said as I entered the room. “I thought I'd give you a treat as you enjoyed the crap Pete put me through at school – let you see what it's done to me.” I opened my dressing gown and her jaw dropped. For once the little bitch was speechless. “Well, don't you have anything to say?” She finally regained the power of speech. “What the hell are you doing? Have you lost your mind?” “I guess I have at that. This is how I live now. Are you happy?” “I knew it! I knew you got off on it, you pervert! Get the fuck out of my room!” I re-fastened my dressing gown and went back to my room. She hardly spoke another word to me for the rest of my visit. Back in England I returned to my solitary existence. Occasionally one of the girls would try to strike up a conversation with me. (The males treated me as a pariah.) But inevitably these overtures would sooner or later get round to fishing for an explanation of why I wore women's underwear. They weren't interested in being my friend, they were simply being nosy. So, as soon as the conversations headed in that direction, I'd shut them down and that would be that. (LCW) I am surprised in any attention at all. And there he goes again coming to conclusions with little or no real information. Would you not expect any rational but open-minded person to have some interest in learning about his issues? I would not expect praise or admiration for what he is doing but they might have had questions, as educated students often do, about the choices and challenges of other individuals. I would guess they would have to ‘fish’ if you were not open and honest to begin with, which I would presume was the case as per your own words. One day in my third term I was sitting at lunch when this other student I'd never seen before asked if he could sit at the same table. I told him it was fine, and he sat down opposite me. He tried to make conversation, which was hard going as I had retreated into my shell so much I was little more than monosyllabic in my replies. Eventually he got to the point and asked me if I'd like to go to a party with him that weekend. It was only then that the penny dropped. He was asking me out on a date! I guess some people had put two and two together and come up with the answer five. Shocked as I was, I somehow managed to be tactful and point out I wasn't gay. He glanced down at my body and didn't have to speak - his implied question was so obvious. All I could do was shrug my shoulders and give him an embarrassed smile. (LCW) Not an unreasonable assumption, although not borne out by the facts. Fetishes and cross-dressing, especially with drag queens, has nothing to do with homosexuality at all, albeit that would not be an absolute. Once again, he jumps to conclusions about the judgments of others but has no real understanding of himself. He ‘didn’t have to speak’? Why is that? His own insecurities are being reflected in his interpretations of the words and mannerisms of total strangers. How does one communicate with someone like that without embarrassing them or initiating anger if the slightest attempt at communication makes him think the worst? What a horrible experience for him. What an uncomfortable experience for almost everyone else. I did take him up on the offer to go to the party. Recent months had been a solitary existence, so the chance to socialise was too good to turn down. Back in those days there was still a stigma about the gay scene, especially with growing concerns about a new disease called AIDS, so discretion was the order of the day for these sort of gatherings. My non-date, Rick, introduced me to various people at this gathering – this was to become my social circle for the next two years. I was quite the curiosity, being straight and a cross-dresser, and one or two were aware of my reputation. “Do you really wear women's underwear?” one of them asked, “you know, the heavy stuff? Girdles and such?” I nodded. “Go on, then...show us. We're all friends here.” (LCW) The first time he meets this ‘new circle of friends’ and he is stripping for them, after years of living in fear and secrecy? I just find it hard to accept. No transition? He may be dying for social interaction and communication, but to be able to do so this easily again makes me question the narrative. People don’t act this way. I was conscious that I now had an audience. With trembling hands, I took off my jacket, then my t-shirt. I stood there in my bra, avoiding eye contact while opening my jeans. Finally I let them slide to the floor to show my long leg girdle and tights. I braced myself for the laughter, but when it came it wasn't the usual mockery. “Jesus, Dave, you look like my granny first thing in the morning!” “Does your granny know you've been spying on her?” “Maybe he helps his granny get dressed!” I stood in silence as they exchanged one-liners. There was some gentle laughter, I got a few pats on the back and a quick slap on the backside. “Oi, you, leave him alone! Remember he's straight!” The idea of me being straight yet dressed in corsetry got a huge laugh. I was overcome with sheer relief as I dressed again and Rick went to get me a drink. Finally I had found some people with whom I could spend time, share my secret and not be seen as a pervert. And in this group I became known to one and all as Cap'n – a reference to “Captain Playtex” – and that was fine by me. (LCW) Was the laughter derision or some form of camaraderie? How could he possibly know? How could he take the chance? There is nothing that he does that I can relate to in any way. It's not too over-the-top to say that this group of people saved my sanity. I gradually came out of the shell into which I had retreated so deeply, discovered the ability to be relaxed and at ease around others...and slowly, without even realising it, began to be comfortable with my need to wear corsetry. The whys and wherefores of how the situation had come about began to fade. It was just something I needed to do, and I had started to take the first faltering steps down the path of accepting that fact. (LCW) I am, of course, glad to see that he is finding some semblance of peace in his social surroundings, but it just doesn’t ring true. It is like someone that is beaten to a hairsbreathe of death many times by someone else who one day says, ‘let’s forgive and forget’, proceeds to say ‘let me buy you a pint’, and they become the best of friends, with no transition and no explanation. It just doesn’t happen that way. The transition would take years of hard work and thought and deep exploration and introspection. This would have to be a part of the narrative for it to have any real credibility. I don’t mean any of this as criticism, although it certainly may be interpreted as such. It is only an honest reaction to the flow, readability and legitimacy of the dialogue, whether exterior or interior. This is not to say that these things do not happen, only that it stretches reason to accept that it happens in this manner. There is nothing to this point so far that has been clarified or explained in any meaningful way. I realize that a memoire is primarily about memory and personal subjective opinion, but it still has offer a reality that makes sense to the reader. Perhaps I am an outlier, and most of what I have given you is a completely mistaken interpretation, and yet to me it seems reasonable and relevant. It is not a matter of being outside the box. I have lived my entire lifetime outside those mainstream ‘boxes’ and have seen and experienced lifestyles and ideologies that are considered perverse, anti-social, self-destructive and inappropriate. I have had to confront and address all of them from my own personal philosophical perspective. Very few of them have given me the degree of difficulty that I have experienced reading your story. I continue to speak from the heart, with no intent but to offer the observations of a single individual, and the desire to give something of value and substance. You seem to be grateful for the attempt. If so, I am content. If not, I cannot apologize for my comments, but only for any discomfort that may have been the result. I continue to wish you nothing but peace. We will speak again soon. John Lone Cypress Workshop  My review has been submitted for consideration in "Good Deeds Get CASH!" .
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You responded to this review 06/05/2024 @ 9:40am EDT