I didn't look at my situation as any sort of abuse. It just seemed to be the way things were in a world at war with itself. I never questioned why my brother was accepted, but I was an embarrasment. It just seemed natural that I had to hide. You get used to the four walls in your little world, and it even seems cozy and secure. Still, it seemed so lonely all by myself. If only I could have had friends like other kids, or my brother...

As a young child I remember reaching out, beginning to express myself and my feelings. To my surprise, my parents seemed ashamed of me, and I quickly learned not to venture out into the world, but to stay hidden. Why it should be that way, I couldn't fathom at that young age, but that very definitely was the way it would remain. At times I sensed some degree of support from my mother, but my father was adamant that I must never be acknowledged.

In my room, hidden away, I could be myself, pacing the four walls, with furtive glances out the window, or listening for footsteps outside the door. I would look at myself in the mirror, and in my imagination I could do all the things normal people do. A drum majorette proudly leading the high school band, or a figure-skater doing a spiral or a triple lutz. Or perhaps as a beauty queen waving from a float in a parade. Or even just strolling down the streets of the town I could see from my window through parted curtains.

It didn't matter much where I let my imagination take flight. All those things were forever denied to me, and fantasy was my only existence. In the dark, behind the closed door, I can't count the places I imagined going and the things I imagined doing. And as the sadness of this existence closed in tighter, I many times through supreme mental effort tried to will myself out of existence.

I buried my clothes one night, alone in the darkness, and swore before God that I no longer existed. That my parents would at long last be free of this wretched embarasment. I cast my soul off into the windy night, and longed for quiet oblivion. I slept the sleep of the dead, hoping never to awake.

But alas, the sleep always ended. God would not erase my existence, despite my fervent pleas. I would always wake up after a long sleep, with the four walls still around me. And in my loneliness I would wish for someone-- a friend who could understand me. But this secret was too dreadful. I would never actually be able to talk to anyone. I would always be alone...

And so time rolled by-- long hopeless years. How long I can't recall. Furtive sex by myself in the darkness, then guilt and frustration. Several times in those long years I begged God to snuff me out if existence, and willed myself into nothingness... But I always awoke, hungry.

Now an adult, but with no social experience, I saw the contradictions of my situation. Despite the dreadful secret, I must be able to talk to someone. Perhaps my brother's wife-- she seemed so nice. I tried, but she was shocked by my very existence, and I fled again to my room.

But sometimes she came back and talked to me in my loneliness, like a ray of sunshine briefly shining through the storm clouds. She didn't seem to like me, but she would talk. And at last, I was not alone! Each brief visit was like a breath of air after being underwater for too long. And the visits even became more frequent. I remember trembling in fear the first time I showed myself to her. She laughed, but didn't run.

I began to look forward to our more frequent visits. She even brought me occasional gifts. But, of course, she was in love with my brother, and could never love me. For me, however, there could be no other. At least she tolerated me, which no one else would do. It was much better than being alone.

Then one night she came to me crying, telling me that the bishop said she must never ever see me again. I gasped in panic at the thought that my hiding place was known (to who knows how many people), and there was no other place to hide. And then the realization began to sink on me that I would again be alone...

I stayed alone for two more months. But I could no longer hide in my room. The bishop and others came forward threateningly, backing me up against my window. They thought I would not jump, but would submit under their control. I jumped...

I limped out into the world, and found another room in which to hide. But in fleeing, I found support in unexpected places. My parents, though not proud of me, did not reject me, and even showed some acceptance. And, to my astonishment, there were other people like me. Many were hiding, but some were proud of who they were, and even dared to walk the light of day!

Others like me healed the wounds I got in jumping from my window. And over time, even the sadness from the long years of deprivation began to disappear. And there were lots of people like me! It was astounding to talk to others whose past lives seemed such a mirror image of my own. And as I began to emerge into the light of day, I (who had been nameless) gave myself the name: Aere.

There are so many things I am now experiencing for the first time. I've gone to many shows put on by women like myself. I've even gone dancing. Though I haven't yet been able to go figure-skating, I was able to go roller-skating. With a friend I climbed the volcano above the countryside where I grew up in hiding, looking down on my former prison. I even rode in a parade in my best dress, waving to the crowd of welcoming faces, and wandered around downtown for most of that day!

I went camping, swimming, and hiking in the desert with other women like myself, sunning myself under the vast open dome of the sky. I've gone shopping in the malls & other stores in the city. I hiked and climbed to a high peak overlooking the city (a favorite of my brother's). I have a photo album with pictures of myself with my new friends. I've spoken in church, enjoying the beautiful sunny day in my favorite dress, and at the same time felt God's presence (that others said could never be).