Not Max: It never ends

I have no life.

I disappeared from this blog for a long time. I wanted to make blogging my thing, but I felt really good just plugging into my life as Max it would be weeks between times where I'd think "I could blog about this" or update you on my life... It was so great just to feel like a normal guy. I didn't want it to end.

I'm a person who lives by his/her word. I promised Fletcher... Beatrice... I'd give Roger Max's body. It was my fault he was trapped in a little girl's body, and I didn't want that little girl to have to grow up like I did, and I definitely didn't want Roger to think his only future was as Fletcher's daughter. I wanted forgiveness.

I followed through with my promise, though. I went back to Maine. Fletcher brought Roger to Maine after that. By now they should be settled in in New Brunswick, and I'm here, crying my eyes out. Once a girl, always a girl. I used to be tougher, I swear, even when I was Sam.

So you want to know... where is here? Who am I? I mean, maybe none of you will ever know who I really am... maybe even I don't know by now... but as for who I look like, who I have to be...

I wish I could tell you I couldn't sleep a wink in Maine. I wish I could tell you that knowing what was about to happen to me made me restless and anxious but the truth is, unlike last time, I slept like a lamb, even though I shouldn't have. After a day of activities, I would crawl into bed nice and early and just drift off. And I'd wake up in the morning disappointed I was still Max, and happy I was still Max, and wondering if I had it all wrong, if I was delusional and no change was going to happen this time.

It did. It was a stormy night, although it was before Irene hit. There are telltale signs, which night it's going to happen. You do an informal headcount of occupied room. Your skin feels irritated in a way that could be sunburn but isn't. I was asleep and then I felt something pushing against me. It was happening. I sat up and looked at my hands. I made it across the room to turn the lights on, then felt my legs buckle beneath me... I had gone from young to mature, from female to male, and now... I was going back.

Everything rippled through me. I wasn't a huge guy, but all the mass rearranging itself, thinning out, congregating in new places... forming little folds of flesh on my chest that grew slowly into breasts... it was unpleasant, but if I'm being totally honest, the feeling of becoming a man was much worse and left me a lot sorer.

In the darkness, I pulled myself back up onto the bed. I slipped back under the covers and curled up until it finally stopped.

The next day I crawled back out of bed and examined my new self. She's pretty and thin, but I was suddenly crushed by the weight of how wrong this all felt. To be a girl again. To be young again. She's only 17, she's in school, she lives at home... I've seen and done and been so much, I didn't feel like I could be this person.

I combed over her clothes, mostly modest and mostly feminine. I grimaced at the thought of squeezing myself into a bra or a pair of panties again, after a year of boxer shorts, but you take what you're given. There are upsides. At least I'm not unfamiliar with any of it. I just feel so weak and helpless in all the trappings of girliness.

Naked, I felt like a dirty old man looking at a nubile young girl. I felt terror. I felt a burden. I wanted to go home and never do this again, but I'm on this ride and it's never going to stop. But why does it have to be this body?

I have no life because I never had my teenage years, I'm not used to living like this, so on a Friday night I'm holding up in my room finally writing on this blog and putting off studying geometry. Because I don't want to live the life I've inherited.

Her name is Elyssa McClay. Ellie. She's 17 years old and she lives in Connecticut. It wasn't long before I found out this was not her first trip to the Inn.

I couldn't understand why someone would go back after finally getting their body back. I don't know how it happened. But that's not the worst part.

I'm feeling so stupid. I feel like such an awful person.

I made a huge mistake.

I didn't come here alone.