The biggest anxiety of man is loss of control. For some, this extends to control of others.
The great majority of my life has been spent under someone's control. When I was a child, I looked up to my parents as models for who I should be, because they were the only ones who paid attention to me. They sought to mould me into their ideal. Regardless of the consequences, and regardless of Truth. Any signs of mental illness were swept aside. The loss of creativity, drive, motive, dismissed as simple laziness. To them, I was supposed to be the perfect blank slate, to be the perfect sum of themselves. And for years, I sought that. (Was it I? Or someone wearing my skin? Or perhaps I'm wearing His?) For years, what I wanted was what they wanted.
At the beginning of *my* life, three years ago now, that world was raptured and fell. It all changed. Not in a gradual acceptance of who I am, but in an apocalyptic storm that nearly caused the end of everything.
It was in those times, that Truth revealed her cruelty. The memories of neglect and abuse burst forth from the broken damn of my psyche. I was disgusted by it all, and when I confronted the one who birthed me, told her these memories of mine, I saw the look she gave. The one of confusion. She believed everything they did to me was for my own good. That their control over my life was for my benefit, not for their comfort. She believed her own lies. As I screamed and cried in agony, as it felt like my flesh was being rended from my skin, as it felt like my mind was destroyed piece by piece, one sentence would spew from her mouth, and it has forever changed me.
'Why don't you just...get over it...? You're making me out like I'm a bad mother...'
It was a Spring day. Two years had passed since the Rapture. One year since I began my physical change. It was the morning I told her. She knew it was something important. As she drove somewhere quiet, she blasted music to silence her anxious thoughts. My eyes were focused on the floor, thoughts bouncing and colliding around my mind like shrapnel.
Sitting in the grass, she told me what I was doing was against God and his Plan. But God is a proxy for humankind to project themselves. And so, what I was really doing, was against *her* and *her* plans. I had finally released myself from her control. And the loss of control drives mad those who had become comfortable with it.
The drive back was in silence.
Now, when she sees my changed face and body, she sees her own hubris. I have torn apart everything she had tried to make me, and I am happy. My joy is also my revenge.