Becoming Myself: The True Story of Thomas Who Became Sara (17 page)

But ultimately, I knew that I had to return to Dublin and to reality and so I braced myself for the trip. Before heading back, Maria and her husband Doney said they hoped we would both come down for the holiday in August, but that even if Barbara opted not to come, I should still have my holiday. They felt that I really needed the break. They were right.

During my visit to Maria she told me about Reiki healing, a Japanese technique for reducing stress by the laying on of hands. She was a practitioner and offered to do a session with me. I accepted, although I was very apprehensive and sceptical. The next day Maria did a session with me in the parlour. It was a truly amazing experience and not at all what I expected. What shocked and intrigued me was Marie’s ability to feel my pain and from that pain to identify some of my most secretly held experiences of personal suffering. It was an intensive experience but one that brought me tremendous release from pain. The benefit of the session lasted a couple of weeks, at which time the pain returned.

As I approached my birthday in June, Maria sent me a gift token of a meal for two in the Green Isle Hotel. Of course, I asked Barbara to come with me. She looked the best she had for a very long time and the evening was genuinely pleasant, no doubt helped by the fact that I had now accepted that we no longer had a marriage and never would have; that we were to be nothing more than friends thereafter. But inside, I was burning with the pain of rejection and was at a complete loss as to what to do next. I had to come to terms with the reality that I was never going to experience any meaningful love from Barbara and that she had, in fact, made a momentous mistake in marrying me. I also had to face the equally difficult truth that I had married her for the wrong reasons. I was
so terribly desperate to get away from my mother and father that I would have done anything and loved anyone in order to escape. This was wrong, just so, so wrong in every way.

And yet, even though Barbara and I were no longer ‘married’ in the true sense, I persisted in putting on a front, especially for the church. This, too, was wrong, but I was at a loss as to what to do. I was a practising Christian and I had a duty to God to be a good witness in every aspect of my life. I was prepared to do my duty as a Christian, no matter how high the price. This meant carrying the cross of suffering which was my false marriage.

It was also in June, a Wednesday afternoon to be exact, that I came home from work early because I had been feeling very low and unable to concentrate. I arrived home to find Barbara sitting in her rocking chair. I went over and stood by the window and asked her how she had been that day. She said that she was feeling fine and asked how I was. I told her that I felt very strongly that I was reaching the end of the road, that I simply could not go on for much longer and that I truly felt I was dying inside, that it was only a matter of time before I ended my life. Her response still affects me to this day. She simply rocked back and forth in her chair and said: ‘Well, you know I don’t love you, don’t you?’ There really was nothing more to say after that. The only two things I had to look forward to on the horizon were entering into membership at Grosvenor Road Baptist Church and my long-awaited holiday in Limerick.

By the time I got to Limerick, following my difficulties back in Dublin, I have to admit to being far nearer to the edge of reason than I had first thought. It really didn’t take anything much finally to push me over the edge. I never saw it coming, but when it did, it was truly horrific.

It was a Thursday morning and Maria was out of sorts. For some strange reason she started going on at me about my family and railed at me because I wasn’t getting on with my parents. I was completely shocked by this, not realising that that was to be the straw that would break the camel’s back and become the catalyst for what followed.

She left the house to go up to town on some errands. I was alone and was thinking about what had happened earlier. The more I thought about it, the more foolish I felt at having taken her into my confidence about my childhood and what had transpired. The more I did this, the more stupid I felt and began calling myself names. The rush of memories and feelings that overwhelmed me was like a tsunami. I was caught in a barrage of voices shouting and screaming at me:
You stupid fucker! You stupid idiot! You useless bastard! You fucking spa head! You’re nothing but a fucking troublemaker! When will you ever learn, you bleedin’ retard?
All of these voices, were screaming at me while I punched myself all over my face. And the louder the voices the more vicious the punches became. The blackness came ever nearer with every verbal and physical assault. I was now pummelling my face and shouting the vilest names at myself; except that it wasn’t me calling myself these names. It was them; my mother and father, my brothers and sisters, my so-called friends, the teachers, the nuns, the Christian brothers, my so-called workmates. It was all of them together.

As I punched my face with both fists I shouted all manner of obscenities at myself:

‘You stupid fucking bastard!’

‘You fucking retard!’

‘You are nothing but a spa head!’

‘You’re stupid!’

‘You’re an antichrist!’

‘You’re nothing but a fucking nuisance!’

‘You’re nothing but a mistake and you shouldn’t be here!’

And so I went on, abusing myself verbally and physically and it was awful; so awful, in fact, that my mind started to go; literally. I entered into a phase where I was blacking out mentally. It was as if I was entering a mental black hole; oblivion. The best thing I could do was enter the hole, not that I had a choice, as it began to engulf me, and as it did, I allowed myself to be drawn into it. And as I was drawn into this black void, my mind began to lose its consciousness. I was entering the mental abyss and there was nothing to stop me.

That is, until Maria came home and heard my screaming from downstairs and rushed up to see what was wrong. The sight must have been terrifying for her and, in fact, she froze for about five minutes without knowing how to deal with the situation. Here was this man of six feet, standing on his bed, beating himself to a pulp and in terrible convulsions and this woman of just four feet something not knowing what to do, except to reach out her hand and call out to me.

I barely remember her touching my hand and ever so gently getting me to step down from the bed and sit down. She called my name over and over: ‘Tom, Tom, Tom. What is the matter? What’s wrong with you, Tom? What’s happened? Tell me what’s happened!’ But I couldn’t. I was unable to answer. Her voice seemed to be coming from a distance and I was unable to respond. I really don’t know how long this went on for, but I do remember her getting me to say my name over and over again. ‘What is your name? Thomas, tell me your name. Please say your name.’

More time passed and as it did so I gushed floods of tears as my body began to shake violently. But Maria kept calling
me and, as she did, she held my hands more tightly and refused to let me go. It was as if she, too, could see the engulfing darkness and was determined to stop me from being swallowed up. Had she failed then, that would have been the end of me.

The darkness receded and her voice became clearer, and, as it did, I began to respond by saying my name. Slowly but surely, the convulsions stopped and I was left with the tears flowing freely down my face. Maria got me some tissues and began stroking my hair in order to soothe and comfort me, something I had not experienced in all my life. I was in an emotional twilight zone. She got me into bed and left me to rest, coming in at regular intervals to check on me. I can’t remember anything else until I woke up the next morning. Maria insisted that I stay in bed and rest while she brought me up some food, but I was barely able to eat it.

Later that day Maria came to my room and told me she had arranged for me to go on a three-day break to Lahinch, after which I was to be taken to a psychiatrist for a consultation. The consultant was based at Barrington’s private clinic in Limerick city. I was completely gobsmacked at this level of generosity. It was quite beyond me and I simply did not know how to cope with it or how to respond.

We arrived in Lahinch on the second Tuesday after my arrival to Newcastle West.

On our first night in the hotel, Maria was on the phone speaking to someone — it turned out to be my mother. Concerned for my welfare, Maria had made the decision to contact her. I told Maria that I did not wish to speak to her, but Maria insisted and so with great reluctance I did.

What my mother really wanted to know was why I was going to see a counsellor and what I was going to discuss with
him. I told her it was absolutely none of her business and that I did not wish to speak to her any longer. She then threatened me that something would happen if I dared to reveal anything about what my father had done to me or to my sisters. I was trembling and could not wait to hang up the phone, which I did with great relief.

I received another call about ten minutes later; this time from my brother, Fred, who to put it mildly, expressed his deep displeasure. I hung up the phone and tore into Maria for making contact with them without my prior knowledge or approval. Only after doing so, did she realise how terrible my family were to me. She was shocked and could not comprehend how they could be so completely unloving towards me. It made no sense to her. But the damage was well and truly done by now and I was terrified of what would happen next. I reached a point where I felt I must do the only thing that was left open to me if I was ever to have peace. I decided to end it all there and then.

I told Maria that I was going for a walk, that I needed to be alone. I left the hotel and walked down to the beach. It was midnight and there was no-one around. I went straight into the sea and walked until the water was up to my waist. I just stood there thinking about what I really wanted to do, but also thinking of Maria in the hotel on her own and what would happen to her if I let myself drown. I felt it wrong to do that to her and so returned to the hotel.

When Maria saw me, she freaked out. She screamed at me that she was terrified of anything happening to me. Somehow, we got through the next three days and returned to Limerick. I was then taken to see the consultant in Barrington’s. He asked me how I had come to be in Limerick and so I told him the whole sorry story. About the years of
abuse, the abuse of my sisters and how that was affecting me. I told him about the phone calls and the threats and about my breakdown a few days earlier. I also told him of my ‘cross-dressing’ — as I thought it to be at the time. He could not have been blunter with me: ‘If you stay in Dublin, you will die. I cannot treat you from there so you will have to decide if you want me to treat you. If you do, then you will have to decide to move to Limerick.’ I told him I was prepared to do whatever it took to get the help I needed. He then told me that the hardest decision I had to make was whether or not to leave, and harder still would be carrying out that decision. He certainly wasn’t wrong about that.

I returned to Dublin on the following Saturday, determined to sort out my situation once and for all. Barbara was pleasant enough and she said she had missed my company. I was careful not to misinterpret her meaning. I told her about all that had transpired and she responded with her usual indifference. I then proceeded to tell her of my decision to leave Dublin in order to receive treatment from the consultant and of his advice to me about leaving. She told me that it was the right thing for me to do. She then said that she would miss me, which I found surprising. The next day I put my plans into motion and began sorting out my affairs

On the Friday before I was due to leave, I called into Tesco to say goodbye to one of my sisters, Rachel. I told her that I could not tell her all the reasons for my leaving but that I would miss her. We had once been close, and I used to sit on the bed and listen to her as she confided her boyfriend troubles to me. Now, she was very hostile and tried to ignore me. It was a very difficult moment and I left knowing that I might never see her again and that the situation between us would never be resolved. But at least it wasn’t for the want of trying on my part.

Friday arrived and I began packing my car with my clothes, computer and a few books and some other bits and pieces. The few days prior to this were completely awful: as bad as the situation was between us, I really did feel sorry for Barbara and felt the pain of our final separation, to the point that I was traumatised as I drove down the long road to Limerick. What made it worse was the fact that she never actually believed that I would do it. She tried to wish me well but I could see that even she was in a distressed state, which merely made me feel even worse. I had to remind myself of all that she had done and of the affairs, the leaving me for other men, the endless arguments and her indifference to my sufferings and feelings. And then there was Charlie and Dino, our two dogs. It tore at me so much to have to say goodbye to them. There is no denying that they knew something was wrong and they kept a very close eye on me.

As I left the house, I gave Barbara a hug and wished her well. I was determined that there was going to be no acrimony on my side at least. I thought there was to be none on her side, but was to be woefully disappointed later on. As I was leaving, she began to cry, but it was far too late for tears.

I
had a breakdown. I didn’t ask for it, plan it, welcome it, or enjoy it — who would?— but I did have a mental break-down and it very nearly cost me my life. There now, I’ve said it and the world did not come to an end, my true friends have not deserted me, and I am not alone in the world. But it really could have been so awfully different. It seems incredible but in so many ways I’m grateful for that breakdown, simply because it saved my life at that crucial period. It made me wake up and do something about my situation with Barbara and with my family. It had little to do with my gender identity at that time as I was still repressing that part of my
self
. But there is no doubting that the breakdown and all that subsequently emanated from it started me on a journey that has brought me to where I am now. It is so sublimely wonderful to be where I am today because of nature’s intervention, and, as I’m now learning, the spirits who have been looking after and protecting me all this time. I should be dead so many times over, but I’m not; in fact I could not be more alive!