[WP] tell me about a true conflict from your life, but, it must be from the other persons perspective

God. Why did he do it?
Why couldn't he just be gay or hide it like everyone else?
Why me? Why did I end up with the kid who was the tranny freak?
It seems so unfair. I took this kid in and I raised him. I put clothes on his back and a roof over his head; got him a decent education and tried to guide him through life.
Yes, I knew when he hit his teens he was probably going to be a homo. I spent years coming to terms with that and I had finally found a sort of peace with that. He was trying to be straight and I was proud of him for that, for denying those pervert urges and making a go of things with women. That was my tough, brave boy - fighting against the sickness inside him and doing the right thing.
He joined the army and boy was I proud. He was never going to be GI Joe or Action Man, but he quit that faggoty art course and put himself in a place that would sort him out for good.
But it wasn't to last.
I don't know what I did wrong. I guess I should have worked harder to encourage him to stay in the army. I should have reminded him of his responsibility to his parents. He owes me for adopting him and he owes us for all the money we poured down the drain raising him, paying for school, paying for books paying for his stupid hobbies.
Maybe that was the problem. I should have come down harder on him for reading so many books and getting into that roleplaying bullshit. I knew he wanted to be a girl since he was three years old. I should have banned him from anything that wasn't male and red-blooded. I should have forced him to play rugby and sent him to fucking therapy to straighten him out.
And now the family name is going to die with him, because he went and got some slit-eyed Thai butcher to cut off his penis and make it into some perverted fuckhole. I can't believe it. It makes me sick thinking about him mutilating himself like that.
I feel like he did it just to get at me, to prove some kind of point, to rebel against me.
When he first called and said he was 'changing genders' I broke down and cried. But I knew it was just a phase, a step in figuring out he was just gay. All I had to do was not encourage it and it would go away.
But the stubborn little shit kept it up. Told everyone in the family.
Made us a laughing stock.
My husband was so ashamed he didn't leave the house for months. That selfish fucking kid ruined his father's name in the community - as well as mine. I could barely show my own face when people found out. But at least I wasn't related by blood, so I could claim it wasn't my defective genes.
From there my husband slowly spiraled into a pit of depression. Six years after that fateful phonecall from my 'son', I found my husband hanging in the garage by a rope, blue and lifeless, the embers of his dying spirit finally gone.
I blame him for that - the filthy fucking transgender.
He is responsible for his father's suicide.
And then he had the audacity to turn up at the funeral, dressed like a fucking prostitute, with his sicko, trannyloving boyfriend and friends.
It was all I could do not to drive home, get the rifle and shoot the lot of them.
But I've promised myself this; if that twisted piece of shit ever comes into my life again, I will kill him - and damn the consequences.

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