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Hours later, I’d just opened a second bottle of wine and was staring at my reflection the window, listening to the sound of the rain, as I considere... my options. First, if I did chemo, in six months, I’d be lying in some hospice, likely in a d**gged induced c***, waiting to die. Or, if I refused the chemo, after a few months I’d still by lying in a hospice bed, in a d**gged induced c***, waiting to die. Shuddering at the thought of dying like that, I suddenly realized there was a third. By the time we got home I was sobbinguncontrollably. Later that evening I talked to my mom. I told her thesame stuff that I told my brother. I could tell that it was killing her on the inside. I felt so ashamed ofmyself and didn't know what to do. I turned to drinking over the nextfew months to try and escape the issues. After confessing to my mom, Istarted going to a psychiatrist and psychologist. They both diagnosed mewith OCD and said that my reasons for crossdressing was that myoveractive. More

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