No no, nothing that drastic, heheheh
I'm published now, a piece of my work is going up on an online journal soon, and I'm doing a public reading tomorrow at a book launch, and taking my writing, my message, my story further has always been a bit of a pipe dream to me.... and it looks like I'm getting a shot at it.
Because of this, I've obtained my own proper domain, and will be leaving Blogspot behind. My marketing genius love has been quite adamant that this needs to be done, and ya know what?, I'll listen to the expert dammit :)
If you are interested in following my story, you'll be able to find everything here, and future writings at YetAnotherTransBlog.com.
This one is going to stay alive as long as blogspot doesn't nuke it, it's been a good home to me, it's helped me find my voice and it's been a lot of fun learning the ways of the web (even though at a basic level), but it's time to move on
Love you all, and thanks for making me feel like this has been a success, over 13000 views since I've started, makes a girl feel loved
see you on the other side
Sunday 14 December 2014
Tuesday 25 November 2014
I float
The following is an attempt at visualizing a possible event in a vague and obfuscated way due to the subject matter. Does that make it fiction?, I'm not sure. I'm trying to pull a surrealistic approach with words as opposed to with visual art, I think this would be an interesting piece to be turned into a visual medium along the lines of the animation in Pink Floyd's "The Wall"
anyway..... here goes
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I float
Yet I float within something, some enclosure, and the enclosure is shrinking. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, but it's shrinking
It moves, I rock gently within. Sometimes I get thrust up against the walls of my enclosure as the movement becomes rapid, agitated, violent. I rebound, I learn that the walls are soft, malleable, I can press into them and they embrace me and slowly push me back to where I rest.
Sometimes the walls push in, almost to touch me, searching for me, I draw away from that, it..... scares me
At one point my world changes color, there was nothing before, only the rocking motion, the warmth, yet now, there are things, things to see. The world becomes brighter at times, as the rocking increases the world becomes rosy, then, after a while, the world becomes dark again, the rocking slows, then is no more.
I wait, feeling the rhythm that has been with me since I can remember.
Then even that changes. I hear.
Sounds from outside my world penetrate the stillness. As with the rocking, when the world is bright, the sounds are more prevalent, when the world darkens, the sounds subside, disappear.
The rhythm is now more than a feeling, I hear it, it sinks within me, and it soothes me. I feel a part of me responding in kind, as though I am the enclosure, and it is me
Time passes, my world keeps disappearing, I have less and less room to float, my cage envelops me.
A new feeling grips me, something wrong, something that should not be... pain...fear.... felt for the first time
My cage rattles, a fierce cry sounds out through the walls, I feel it within me, all around me
The brightness of the world disappears, the sounds disappear, I no longer feel the cage, the world, the floating. There is simply nothing
so I wait
and wait
Time passes
there is someone in here with me, I don't know how long I've been here, I don't know where I am, but there is someone in here with me
we examine each other. We drift together, twirling, experiencing, I revel in no longer being alone. But the other feels.... different.... it doesn't feel like I feel.
The other retreats into something, there is not just someone in here, but there is something, a new something. I can no longer feel my world, I simply... am... but I can sense the other, and where it is, and it is in something that seems very familiar, but I can't place it, but I want it, I don't know why, but I do
I try to go where the other went, but something stops me, pushes me back, a current, keeping me away.
so I wait
I know the other is there, but it is hidden, it waits within, and as time continues to pass, the something grows. I can feel the other, but it no longer is interested in me, it no longer leaves the thing, the growing thing, the expanding thing
so I wait
I feel nothing. I see nothing. Yet I know my world is once again shrinking.
and I wait
As suddenly as the other appeared, it is no longer.
I don't know where it went, where it could have gone, but then, I didn't know where it came from, where I came from.
I let myself drift closer to the something, it feels empty now, the current that was there before has vanished as well. I let myself curl around it, and I find that there is a small current, almost imperceptible, and it isn't pushing me away.
I give myself to it
I am within the something, not with the something, and I realize, I've felt this before.
although....
something about it feels different, I'm not entirely part of it, I feel forced in, like I don't fit
all those ideas leave me when I feel it again, the rhythm, the soothing, calming, rhythm. I feel the floating, I see my world again, I hear my own rhythm
and while something still feels.... off.... I am thankful that the darkness is gone, that I feel again, that I am somewhere.
I float
Yet I float within something, some enclosure, and the enclosure is shrinking. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, but it's shrinking
And when once again the enclosure begins to envelop me, to hold me tight within it, I feel fear. I remember the darkness, the nothingness, I don't want that again.
But then, I hear that cry, I feel the pain, but this time, something new happens. A gash of light appears, my enclosure, torn open, the cries are louder, frightening. Things appear, enormous, terrifying, mind shattering noises, colors never seen before burning me, the sense of panic, sensations unknown, pain from within, pain from without
and I scream
anyway..... here goes
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I float
Yet I float within something, some enclosure, and the enclosure is shrinking. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, but it's shrinking
It moves, I rock gently within. Sometimes I get thrust up against the walls of my enclosure as the movement becomes rapid, agitated, violent. I rebound, I learn that the walls are soft, malleable, I can press into them and they embrace me and slowly push me back to where I rest.
Sometimes the walls push in, almost to touch me, searching for me, I draw away from that, it..... scares me
At one point my world changes color, there was nothing before, only the rocking motion, the warmth, yet now, there are things, things to see. The world becomes brighter at times, as the rocking increases the world becomes rosy, then, after a while, the world becomes dark again, the rocking slows, then is no more.
I wait, feeling the rhythm that has been with me since I can remember.
Then even that changes. I hear.
Sounds from outside my world penetrate the stillness. As with the rocking, when the world is bright, the sounds are more prevalent, when the world darkens, the sounds subside, disappear.
The rhythm is now more than a feeling, I hear it, it sinks within me, and it soothes me. I feel a part of me responding in kind, as though I am the enclosure, and it is me
Time passes, my world keeps disappearing, I have less and less room to float, my cage envelops me.
A new feeling grips me, something wrong, something that should not be... pain...fear.... felt for the first time
My cage rattles, a fierce cry sounds out through the walls, I feel it within me, all around me
The brightness of the world disappears, the sounds disappear, I no longer feel the cage, the world, the floating. There is simply nothing
so I wait
and wait
Time passes
there is someone in here with me, I don't know how long I've been here, I don't know where I am, but there is someone in here with me
we examine each other. We drift together, twirling, experiencing, I revel in no longer being alone. But the other feels.... different.... it doesn't feel like I feel.
The other retreats into something, there is not just someone in here, but there is something, a new something. I can no longer feel my world, I simply... am... but I can sense the other, and where it is, and it is in something that seems very familiar, but I can't place it, but I want it, I don't know why, but I do
I try to go where the other went, but something stops me, pushes me back, a current, keeping me away.
so I wait
I know the other is there, but it is hidden, it waits within, and as time continues to pass, the something grows. I can feel the other, but it no longer is interested in me, it no longer leaves the thing, the growing thing, the expanding thing
so I wait
I feel nothing. I see nothing. Yet I know my world is once again shrinking.
and I wait
As suddenly as the other appeared, it is no longer.
I don't know where it went, where it could have gone, but then, I didn't know where it came from, where I came from.
I let myself drift closer to the something, it feels empty now, the current that was there before has vanished as well. I let myself curl around it, and I find that there is a small current, almost imperceptible, and it isn't pushing me away.
I give myself to it
I am within the something, not with the something, and I realize, I've felt this before.
although....
something about it feels different, I'm not entirely part of it, I feel forced in, like I don't fit
all those ideas leave me when I feel it again, the rhythm, the soothing, calming, rhythm. I feel the floating, I see my world again, I hear my own rhythm
and while something still feels.... off.... I am thankful that the darkness is gone, that I feel again, that I am somewhere.
I float
Yet I float within something, some enclosure, and the enclosure is shrinking. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, but it's shrinking
And when once again the enclosure begins to envelop me, to hold me tight within it, I feel fear. I remember the darkness, the nothingness, I don't want that again.
But then, I hear that cry, I feel the pain, but this time, something new happens. A gash of light appears, my enclosure, torn open, the cries are louder, frightening. Things appear, enormous, terrifying, mind shattering noises, colors never seen before burning me, the sense of panic, sensations unknown, pain from within, pain from without
and I scream
Sunday 23 November 2014
AMAB / AFAB
These terms started being used maybe a year or two, or at least, that's when I first came across them.
I've never been one for overt politeness, I prefer raw truth, and therefore always had an internal resistance to the whole concept of political correctness. The age that I am, I saw this phenomenon in my mid teens and how it galvanized people into groups, either for, or against.
Recently, I heard / read / something which stated that political correctness isn't about whitewashing ideas or words, it's about accuracy, an accuracy that many people can't see, or don't want to, it's easier using the terms we were raised with after all, be damned those who have problems with it.
AMAB / AFAB means Assigned Male / Female At Birth
First time I heard it, I admit, I rolled my eyes.... oh sheesh.... why do we trans people have to be so picky about everything, c'mon. If you were born male, you were born male, yes transitioning into female is true, and accurate, but fuck, admit it, you were born a boy.
I see it in a different light now
I've mentioned before, if not here, then in speaking with others, how the longer that I spend as myself, I come to realize, that I was never actually a boy, never a man, never male.
This knowledge has been gleaned from becoming closer to women, being allowed deeper into their circles of trust, hearing their stories, drawing parallels to my own feelings. Yes I was socialized male, but I never took that socialization to heart, it never stuck. As I started dating men as my new true self, I also came to realize, more and more, that I was never one of them
Yeah, I have a lot of insider information that cis women don't have, but it doesn't mean that I was ever one of them.
My old name was used on Friday, that shitty day, and it cut me to the bone. Telling Andrea about this later that evening, she commented on how even though that is no longer me, it still is part of my past, part of my reality, and while it may hurt, I should acknowledge that.
No I said, it never was part of my reality, I know this now. I've always been Dawn, whether or not the world has seen or accepted that.
My old name was part of the assignment I received at birth. A child was born, the child had a penis of appropriate size for a newborn infant, and simply to that quirk of birth, she was assigned male. Along with that assignment came a male name, a male upbringing, male socialization, and a constant hammering from the world that I was male.
But it was never true, it was never me, never who I was meant to be.
No wonder the suicide rate for trans people is so terrifyingly high
My old name is a vestige of that mistake that society forced upon me, as is my bone structure which was allowed to develop through a testosterone fueled puberty, my lower voice, my larger hands which give me trouble buying nice bracelets
It fills me with joy now that children who were mal assigned have the chance (and still only if they're lucky) to not be forced to go through that, the false puberty, the wrong path. If only I had been born 25 years later, but that was not my path
AMAB is not a term to whitewash anything, to ignore reality, it is, in fact, the most accurate description of a trans persons history possible. This isn't political correctness, this is truth, confusing yes, unusual perhaps, but truth, absolute, undeniable, truth
I was born female, but assigned male, and it took me 35 years to shed that
nothing more
nothing less
I've never been one for overt politeness, I prefer raw truth, and therefore always had an internal resistance to the whole concept of political correctness. The age that I am, I saw this phenomenon in my mid teens and how it galvanized people into groups, either for, or against.
Recently, I heard / read / something which stated that political correctness isn't about whitewashing ideas or words, it's about accuracy, an accuracy that many people can't see, or don't want to, it's easier using the terms we were raised with after all, be damned those who have problems with it.
AMAB / AFAB means Assigned Male / Female At Birth
First time I heard it, I admit, I rolled my eyes.... oh sheesh.... why do we trans people have to be so picky about everything, c'mon. If you were born male, you were born male, yes transitioning into female is true, and accurate, but fuck, admit it, you were born a boy.
I see it in a different light now
I've mentioned before, if not here, then in speaking with others, how the longer that I spend as myself, I come to realize, that I was never actually a boy, never a man, never male.
This knowledge has been gleaned from becoming closer to women, being allowed deeper into their circles of trust, hearing their stories, drawing parallels to my own feelings. Yes I was socialized male, but I never took that socialization to heart, it never stuck. As I started dating men as my new true self, I also came to realize, more and more, that I was never one of them
Yeah, I have a lot of insider information that cis women don't have, but it doesn't mean that I was ever one of them.
My old name was used on Friday, that shitty day, and it cut me to the bone. Telling Andrea about this later that evening, she commented on how even though that is no longer me, it still is part of my past, part of my reality, and while it may hurt, I should acknowledge that.
No I said, it never was part of my reality, I know this now. I've always been Dawn, whether or not the world has seen or accepted that.
My old name was part of the assignment I received at birth. A child was born, the child had a penis of appropriate size for a newborn infant, and simply to that quirk of birth, she was assigned male. Along with that assignment came a male name, a male upbringing, male socialization, and a constant hammering from the world that I was male.
But it was never true, it was never me, never who I was meant to be.
No wonder the suicide rate for trans people is so terrifyingly high
My old name is a vestige of that mistake that society forced upon me, as is my bone structure which was allowed to develop through a testosterone fueled puberty, my lower voice, my larger hands which give me trouble buying nice bracelets
It fills me with joy now that children who were mal assigned have the chance (and still only if they're lucky) to not be forced to go through that, the false puberty, the wrong path. If only I had been born 25 years later, but that was not my path
AMAB is not a term to whitewash anything, to ignore reality, it is, in fact, the most accurate description of a trans persons history possible. This isn't political correctness, this is truth, confusing yes, unusual perhaps, but truth, absolute, undeniable, truth
I was born female, but assigned male, and it took me 35 years to shed that
nothing more
nothing less
Friday 21 November 2014
You're actually doing wonderfully
Had a very rough day today, one that left me in the bathroom crying again
I felt the spiral coming on, I reached out to a number of friends, knowing that Mara was busy with the inlaws tonight, and unfortunately, no one was available.
Texting with her on the way home, feeling sad, angry, lonely, just wanted to go home and self destruct, get some green from my neighbor and smoke myself into oblivion. That is a huge warning sign for me, I can partake socially without ill effect, but these feelings?, no, they weren't going anywhere good.
I needed love, I needed some care, I needed to weather my ship against someone else rock for a little bit, draw upon their strength, give me time to mend my sails and tar the hull.
It wasn't coming easily
So I simply asked, if I could partake in dinner with them, and the answer was yes. She even thanked me for asking. She isn't woo, isn't introspective or analytical, she didn't calculate this, forcing me to ask, not knowing that was exactly what I needed to do to get myself out, but that's what happened in the end.
Reaching out can be so hard to do.....
We all had a little dinner, didn't focus on any of the bad, just ate, talked, and shared companionship and love. Then I walked home, declining the offer of a partial lift to my place, knowing the walk would do me good.
Waiting for the red light to change, staring aimlessly across the street, I see a woman catch my eye, her face breaks out into a huge grin. She waves
I realize who it is.... Andrea.... faithful readers will remember the impact she had upon me during the summer of last year, but since then we had essentially drifted apart, no longer parts of each others lives.
We greet each other, share a long hug, and she quickly takes my offer to check out my condo with me just for a bit and catch up.
Of course, we ended up chatting for almost two hours
I tell her about my new relationship, the woman I've fallen in love for, the challenges that it has awoken inside me, the aspects of myself that I had left to deal with, the fears and anxieties I've been feeling for the past while, my stresses, my spirals, my dark shadow. She understands the shadow, she understands depression, panic, anxiety, and the destructive force it can have upon you. She draws parallels, ones that make sense, that work, and we share.
I make her sad with the pain that I've felt, my panic attacks, but again, she understands, she lives this as well. She had wanted me to fill her with happy stories, how wonderful everything is, and I begin to focus on that, and I share those stories.
Meeting Mara - such a wonderful story.
Our lives together.
My new family.
The support and love I receive.
Who I've become, my body, my smile, my truth.
The small joys I can experience.
My dreams, our dreams.
And through all the darkness that I have trouble not focusing on, she says something beautiful, something I need to remind myself of more often.
I'm in a wonderful place.
I have love.
I have support.
I have friends that care and look out for me.
I have someone by my side willing to fight for me, for us, for who and what I am, the truest ally anyone could ever be.
I have my own truth.
I felt the spiral coming on, I reached out to a number of friends, knowing that Mara was busy with the inlaws tonight, and unfortunately, no one was available.
Texting with her on the way home, feeling sad, angry, lonely, just wanted to go home and self destruct, get some green from my neighbor and smoke myself into oblivion. That is a huge warning sign for me, I can partake socially without ill effect, but these feelings?, no, they weren't going anywhere good.
I needed love, I needed some care, I needed to weather my ship against someone else rock for a little bit, draw upon their strength, give me time to mend my sails and tar the hull.
It wasn't coming easily
So I simply asked, if I could partake in dinner with them, and the answer was yes. She even thanked me for asking. She isn't woo, isn't introspective or analytical, she didn't calculate this, forcing me to ask, not knowing that was exactly what I needed to do to get myself out, but that's what happened in the end.
Reaching out can be so hard to do.....
We all had a little dinner, didn't focus on any of the bad, just ate, talked, and shared companionship and love. Then I walked home, declining the offer of a partial lift to my place, knowing the walk would do me good.
Waiting for the red light to change, staring aimlessly across the street, I see a woman catch my eye, her face breaks out into a huge grin. She waves
I realize who it is.... Andrea.... faithful readers will remember the impact she had upon me during the summer of last year, but since then we had essentially drifted apart, no longer parts of each others lives.
We greet each other, share a long hug, and she quickly takes my offer to check out my condo with me just for a bit and catch up.
Of course, we ended up chatting for almost two hours
I tell her about my new relationship, the woman I've fallen in love for, the challenges that it has awoken inside me, the aspects of myself that I had left to deal with, the fears and anxieties I've been feeling for the past while, my stresses, my spirals, my dark shadow. She understands the shadow, she understands depression, panic, anxiety, and the destructive force it can have upon you. She draws parallels, ones that make sense, that work, and we share.
I make her sad with the pain that I've felt, my panic attacks, but again, she understands, she lives this as well. She had wanted me to fill her with happy stories, how wonderful everything is, and I begin to focus on that, and I share those stories.
Meeting Mara - such a wonderful story.
Our lives together.
My new family.
The support and love I receive.
Who I've become, my body, my smile, my truth.
The small joys I can experience.
My dreams, our dreams.
And through all the darkness that I have trouble not focusing on, she says something beautiful, something I need to remind myself of more often.
I'm in a wonderful place.
I have love.
I have support.
I have friends that care and look out for me.
I have someone by my side willing to fight for me, for us, for who and what I am, the truest ally anyone could ever be.
I have my own truth.
Wednesday 19 November 2014
The bubbles of society
We may do our best to determine who we are, our gender, but at the end of the day, it's society that truly determines it for us.
We're always told to be ourselves, to not give a damn what other people think, it's not always that easy unfortunately. You see yourself through the mirrors of other peoples eyes, the reflections in their actions and reactions to us. I'm not talking about big serious interactions here either, this is every person that walks by you on the street, the person that makes your cup of coffee in the morning, the person sitting next to you on the bus.
Many of us, no matter what makes us different, will submerse ourselves in worlds that match us, entering a bubble of safety, maybe we'll live in an area predominantly filled with those of our culture, or of our visible race, or even our sexuality.
When it comes to gender, unfortunately, there is no bubble waiting for us. There are support groups, there are friendly venues that we can visit from time to time where we may see someone in whom we see ourselves, but for the most part, we exist within our own bubbles, and it gets lonely in there, and bubbles pop so easily.
Our existences depend upon the kindness of strangers, and the acceptance and support of friends. No one lives in a complete vacuum, and even if they do, it's not a life I would wish on anyone.
When we step out of our homes, and enter the world, it is so often an event. Makes me think of the joke that gay folk use in gaining acceptance, they go shopping, they don't go gay shopping, they take vacation, they don't take gay vacation, they get married, they don't get gay married. For the trans folk, it often feels that the joke doesn't fit, we don't shop, we shop while trans, we don't go to a bar to have a drink, we have a drink while trans, we don't even just walk down the street, we walk the streets while trans.
When things go well, is it because the world is slowly becoming a better place?, is it because people didn't realize, or didn't see what we are?, is it that they simply don't care?. Unfortunately, it's impossible to tell, and due to that, it's difficult to gain strength from it, and, in my experience at least, the strength gained from it gets smaller and smaller as time goes by. Unlike for everyone else, we often come to forget who we were, and what we are, so why wouldn't a walk to the corner market be uneventful, I'm simply a <insert personal gender identification here> going to the market, what could be more banal than that?
But then it happens, it always happens sooner or later. The double takes, the screwed up foreheads as people investigate you, the reminder that you are not like us. And it can appear from anywhere, from anyone, and it can cut to the bone if you're not ready for it, and seriously, who should be forced to be ready for it all the time. Then, even worse, are those that see what we are, and go out of their way to make sure we know it, they misgender us on purpose, they snicker, they wave their privilege in our faces.
You come to feel on edge. Quicksand under your feet. You become more and more sensitive to things. The strength depletes leaving you a husk if you're not careful, and it's so hard to refill that reservoir of strength.
And you want to leave
And you want to run
And you want to scream
And you want to lash out
And you want to hide
But in order to live, you can't hide, no one can
So you go on, and you take your lumps, and you do your best to live with the knowledge that so much of the world sees you as less than, other, not-entirely-human, an untouchable. Even those that have no problem with us, can be our friends, ask them, would you date someone like me?, would you sleep with or love someone like me?, would you take me home to meet your parents?, too often, the answer is a look of fear, a look of shock, like they've been found out, and you have your answer, and they don't need to say a thing, and no matter who that person is, or what they mean to you, all of a sudden, they have become one of them
and it hurts
but sometimes we get lucky, we find a person who doesn't see what society sees, they see what we see, they see who we really are, and that doesn't mean seeing the old within us, but only the new, the truth, who we are. I don't think it happens very often, and even within their worlds the cuts still happen, but they are there to love, to support, the true definition of an ally. They represent what the world should be, but unfortunately, through our eyes, they often get to see what the world really is. They learn the sad aspects of our world, they see how it affects those who are truly looked down upon, they learn new aspects of privilege that they never needed to know, and often, that hurts us as well, we never want to bring pain or doubt to the heart of someone that special. And if we're truly lucky, and truly blessed, they will stand by our side, strong and proud, and share their strength with us even as we show them the rotten underbelly of our realities.
it's not easy being trans, it's still better than the alternative, being.... him.... wrong.... but it sure as fuck aint easy
We're always told to be ourselves, to not give a damn what other people think, it's not always that easy unfortunately. You see yourself through the mirrors of other peoples eyes, the reflections in their actions and reactions to us. I'm not talking about big serious interactions here either, this is every person that walks by you on the street, the person that makes your cup of coffee in the morning, the person sitting next to you on the bus.
Many of us, no matter what makes us different, will submerse ourselves in worlds that match us, entering a bubble of safety, maybe we'll live in an area predominantly filled with those of our culture, or of our visible race, or even our sexuality.
When it comes to gender, unfortunately, there is no bubble waiting for us. There are support groups, there are friendly venues that we can visit from time to time where we may see someone in whom we see ourselves, but for the most part, we exist within our own bubbles, and it gets lonely in there, and bubbles pop so easily.
Our existences depend upon the kindness of strangers, and the acceptance and support of friends. No one lives in a complete vacuum, and even if they do, it's not a life I would wish on anyone.
When we step out of our homes, and enter the world, it is so often an event. Makes me think of the joke that gay folk use in gaining acceptance, they go shopping, they don't go gay shopping, they take vacation, they don't take gay vacation, they get married, they don't get gay married. For the trans folk, it often feels that the joke doesn't fit, we don't shop, we shop while trans, we don't go to a bar to have a drink, we have a drink while trans, we don't even just walk down the street, we walk the streets while trans.
When things go well, is it because the world is slowly becoming a better place?, is it because people didn't realize, or didn't see what we are?, is it that they simply don't care?. Unfortunately, it's impossible to tell, and due to that, it's difficult to gain strength from it, and, in my experience at least, the strength gained from it gets smaller and smaller as time goes by. Unlike for everyone else, we often come to forget who we were, and what we are, so why wouldn't a walk to the corner market be uneventful, I'm simply a <insert personal gender identification here> going to the market, what could be more banal than that?
But then it happens, it always happens sooner or later. The double takes, the screwed up foreheads as people investigate you, the reminder that you are not like us. And it can appear from anywhere, from anyone, and it can cut to the bone if you're not ready for it, and seriously, who should be forced to be ready for it all the time. Then, even worse, are those that see what we are, and go out of their way to make sure we know it, they misgender us on purpose, they snicker, they wave their privilege in our faces.
You come to feel on edge. Quicksand under your feet. You become more and more sensitive to things. The strength depletes leaving you a husk if you're not careful, and it's so hard to refill that reservoir of strength.
And you want to leave
And you want to run
And you want to scream
And you want to lash out
And you want to hide
But in order to live, you can't hide, no one can
So you go on, and you take your lumps, and you do your best to live with the knowledge that so much of the world sees you as less than, other, not-entirely-human, an untouchable. Even those that have no problem with us, can be our friends, ask them, would you date someone like me?, would you sleep with or love someone like me?, would you take me home to meet your parents?, too often, the answer is a look of fear, a look of shock, like they've been found out, and you have your answer, and they don't need to say a thing, and no matter who that person is, or what they mean to you, all of a sudden, they have become one of them
and it hurts
but sometimes we get lucky, we find a person who doesn't see what society sees, they see what we see, they see who we really are, and that doesn't mean seeing the old within us, but only the new, the truth, who we are. I don't think it happens very often, and even within their worlds the cuts still happen, but they are there to love, to support, the true definition of an ally. They represent what the world should be, but unfortunately, through our eyes, they often get to see what the world really is. They learn the sad aspects of our world, they see how it affects those who are truly looked down upon, they learn new aspects of privilege that they never needed to know, and often, that hurts us as well, we never want to bring pain or doubt to the heart of someone that special. And if we're truly lucky, and truly blessed, they will stand by our side, strong and proud, and share their strength with us even as we show them the rotten underbelly of our realities.
it's not easy being trans, it's still better than the alternative, being.... him.... wrong.... but it sure as fuck aint easy
Sunday 2 November 2014
Cyclical meanderings....... part 7...... telling stories
Those that know me, or have read my words, have often called me a storyteller. It's something that not only do I enjoy hearing, or knowing about myself, it's deeper than that, it's how I see life, it makes up a big part of my perception of reality, we are all stories, partially written, partially unwritten, and none of us knows when our last page will be written.
Some of us can fill hundreds of pages a year, others remain in the same chapter for most of their lives, circling, cycling through the same experiences, patterns, connections, both with themselves and with others.
I don't know how long I've seen the world this way, but I've always told myself stories, I remember doing so as a child, but it's impossible to say why I did it, or why I still do it now, what it means.
Reality is strange, let's face it, that's why religions are so powerful, they give people the story that they should live by, they take away the fear that one day, our story will end, the lights will go out. We often wonder what will happen after we die, I do as well, will the story continue somehow?, but there is something else even more important to wonder, what happened before our story began?. Billions of years have passed before any of us got to start our story, write our first page, say "I'm here, I've arrived". That's pretty freaky, at least it is to me
One of my favorite authors wrote once, "God is the book of the universe". That hit me hard when I read it, especially as an atheist, I don't have that predefined story, it's always been up to me to write it for myself. To me that line means that our stories are all intertwined, twisted up with each other, with our pasts, with our ancestors, with our future, the people whose stories have made ours possible, right back to the beginning, of time, of existence. God is the summation of all of this, the ultimate story, as though we are all part of an incredible story of reality itself, and any part of anyone's story can ultimately affect the universe as a whole.
weird stuff
I'm adding this piece to my cyclical meanderings posts because as usual, none of this is what I wanted to write about, happens a lot to me......
What I wanted to get at are my own personal stories, the ones that live within my head. Not necessarily the ones that become true, in fact, almost none of my personal stories have ever come true, as if they all exist within parallel universes, parallel realities. I've always loved the multiverse concept, strikes me as true. Anyways.....
Like everyone, I have desires, wants, fantasies of what I want my life to be, what I think would be my perfect existence. These manifest within me as detailed stories, without any conscious effort I'll find that my mind is living through a scenario, an encounter, perhaps a conversation with someone, detailing a possible future truth. I see it, I hear each word spoken, I see where it occurs, the catalyst that creates the situation, the outcome, the emotions that go with the entire event. I feel feels that don't actually exist, haven't happened, essentially, it's all in my head. Makes me sound a little nuts doesn't it?
I remember being in high school, college, university, wondering where my life will go, wondering if the person I'm currently romantically involved with with will be the one. That's always been big in my mind, who am I going to share my life with, who will be the warrior, the lover, the partner, that will face this reality with me, will share my story, will change my chapters as I change theirs. Change me, as I change them. My catalyst, as I catalyze so many others.
I would live these possibilities within my mind, imagine them, feel them, and yet, life always surprised me as the story I ended up living was never once, not one single time, what I expected to happen, what I had foreseen. I often read other peoples futures, I see where they are going based on where they are now, and for others, I am so often right, it's as if I can read their minds, read their wants and desires, and see what is in store for them. Again, weird as fuck. But when it comes to me, as introspective and analytical as I am about myself, I'm never right.
This has actually had a pretty negative effect on me in the long run. While I've experienced many absolutely wonderful things in my life, loved and been loved in return, it's never happened as I dreamed about, and due to this, I found that over the years I've stopped dreaming of the good things, the good possibilities, the true desires I have, because if I never foresee what actually happens to me, then each time that I see something that I want, or dream of a future that I want, it's as if I'm cancelling out that possibility. Every single wonderful thing that has happened to me in my life has been a complete surprise, so if I keep dreaming of wonderful things, I almost guarantee that they will not happen.
This has led my internal stories to become darker, instead of dreaming of the good, I dream of the bad, I try to find every possible shitty thing that will happen to me, live it within my own mind, feel the pain and loss, in hopes of cancelling it out, to guarantee that it wont happen. After all, if all the good things that I dream about don't end up happening, all my hopes get rejected by the universe, if I dream of the bad, maybe the same thing will happen to those. I feel happy stories, stories of the direction I truly want my life to take, and I consciously stop them, and turn them dark instead.
The end result of this is that I often live in a sad place within my mind, expecting the worst, feeling emotions based on fear instead of hope. My personal demon of anxiety uses this against me, throwing worst case scenarios at me time and time again. Bringing me lower, deeper into fear. And it sucks
but there is still this belief in me that if I allow myself to dream of beautiful possibilities, that I am destroying them, making sure that they wont happen.
Lately though, the good stories have been coming back, what I want, where I want to be, and they feel good. And it's scary for me to allow them in, allow myself to live internally within a happy place, my self programming is fighting against it, telling me that I'm fucking it all up. We need hope to live, we all do, we can't live in darkness and expectation of things to go bad, it's such a weight to carry.
I think a big problem that I have with all of this is that I focus on those happy realities a little too much, as I am a storyteller, the dreams and possibilities that I see are precise, exact, as if I'm directing a movie within my head with everything perfectly controlled, so if the reality doesn't match exactly, I don't feel the happiness that I wanted to, expected to, and I take it as a loss. Kind of self defeating isn't it?, yeah, I know.....
For my own personal well being, I need to allow myself to have these dreams of beauty, let them override the dreams of darkness and loss, yet at the same time, I need to learn how to not need for the good stories to actually occur exactly for me to feel happiness. I need to see them as lovely dreams, while still accepting the beauty that occurs to me so often, without any regret that it isn't exactly what I wanted, but knowing that my own story is getting brighter, more beautiful, that the possibilities truly are endless
And for every dark possibility, there is a bright one. I will never be able to think of them all, and every now and then when something works out just as I had hoped, or exactly as I had feared, then so be it, just means that particular roll of the dice hit snake eyes, or double sixes, nothing more, nothing less.
but it's a hell of a lot better to live with beautiful possibilities for the rest of my story isn't it?
I'm sure there's a term in psychology for all of this, lol.
Some of us can fill hundreds of pages a year, others remain in the same chapter for most of their lives, circling, cycling through the same experiences, patterns, connections, both with themselves and with others.
I don't know how long I've seen the world this way, but I've always told myself stories, I remember doing so as a child, but it's impossible to say why I did it, or why I still do it now, what it means.
Reality is strange, let's face it, that's why religions are so powerful, they give people the story that they should live by, they take away the fear that one day, our story will end, the lights will go out. We often wonder what will happen after we die, I do as well, will the story continue somehow?, but there is something else even more important to wonder, what happened before our story began?. Billions of years have passed before any of us got to start our story, write our first page, say "I'm here, I've arrived". That's pretty freaky, at least it is to me
One of my favorite authors wrote once, "God is the book of the universe". That hit me hard when I read it, especially as an atheist, I don't have that predefined story, it's always been up to me to write it for myself. To me that line means that our stories are all intertwined, twisted up with each other, with our pasts, with our ancestors, with our future, the people whose stories have made ours possible, right back to the beginning, of time, of existence. God is the summation of all of this, the ultimate story, as though we are all part of an incredible story of reality itself, and any part of anyone's story can ultimately affect the universe as a whole.
weird stuff
I'm adding this piece to my cyclical meanderings posts because as usual, none of this is what I wanted to write about, happens a lot to me......
What I wanted to get at are my own personal stories, the ones that live within my head. Not necessarily the ones that become true, in fact, almost none of my personal stories have ever come true, as if they all exist within parallel universes, parallel realities. I've always loved the multiverse concept, strikes me as true. Anyways.....
Like everyone, I have desires, wants, fantasies of what I want my life to be, what I think would be my perfect existence. These manifest within me as detailed stories, without any conscious effort I'll find that my mind is living through a scenario, an encounter, perhaps a conversation with someone, detailing a possible future truth. I see it, I hear each word spoken, I see where it occurs, the catalyst that creates the situation, the outcome, the emotions that go with the entire event. I feel feels that don't actually exist, haven't happened, essentially, it's all in my head. Makes me sound a little nuts doesn't it?
I remember being in high school, college, university, wondering where my life will go, wondering if the person I'm currently romantically involved with with will be the one. That's always been big in my mind, who am I going to share my life with, who will be the warrior, the lover, the partner, that will face this reality with me, will share my story, will change my chapters as I change theirs. Change me, as I change them. My catalyst, as I catalyze so many others.
I would live these possibilities within my mind, imagine them, feel them, and yet, life always surprised me as the story I ended up living was never once, not one single time, what I expected to happen, what I had foreseen. I often read other peoples futures, I see where they are going based on where they are now, and for others, I am so often right, it's as if I can read their minds, read their wants and desires, and see what is in store for them. Again, weird as fuck. But when it comes to me, as introspective and analytical as I am about myself, I'm never right.
This has actually had a pretty negative effect on me in the long run. While I've experienced many absolutely wonderful things in my life, loved and been loved in return, it's never happened as I dreamed about, and due to this, I found that over the years I've stopped dreaming of the good things, the good possibilities, the true desires I have, because if I never foresee what actually happens to me, then each time that I see something that I want, or dream of a future that I want, it's as if I'm cancelling out that possibility. Every single wonderful thing that has happened to me in my life has been a complete surprise, so if I keep dreaming of wonderful things, I almost guarantee that they will not happen.
This has led my internal stories to become darker, instead of dreaming of the good, I dream of the bad, I try to find every possible shitty thing that will happen to me, live it within my own mind, feel the pain and loss, in hopes of cancelling it out, to guarantee that it wont happen. After all, if all the good things that I dream about don't end up happening, all my hopes get rejected by the universe, if I dream of the bad, maybe the same thing will happen to those. I feel happy stories, stories of the direction I truly want my life to take, and I consciously stop them, and turn them dark instead.
The end result of this is that I often live in a sad place within my mind, expecting the worst, feeling emotions based on fear instead of hope. My personal demon of anxiety uses this against me, throwing worst case scenarios at me time and time again. Bringing me lower, deeper into fear. And it sucks
but there is still this belief in me that if I allow myself to dream of beautiful possibilities, that I am destroying them, making sure that they wont happen.
Lately though, the good stories have been coming back, what I want, where I want to be, and they feel good. And it's scary for me to allow them in, allow myself to live internally within a happy place, my self programming is fighting against it, telling me that I'm fucking it all up. We need hope to live, we all do, we can't live in darkness and expectation of things to go bad, it's such a weight to carry.
I think a big problem that I have with all of this is that I focus on those happy realities a little too much, as I am a storyteller, the dreams and possibilities that I see are precise, exact, as if I'm directing a movie within my head with everything perfectly controlled, so if the reality doesn't match exactly, I don't feel the happiness that I wanted to, expected to, and I take it as a loss. Kind of self defeating isn't it?, yeah, I know.....
For my own personal well being, I need to allow myself to have these dreams of beauty, let them override the dreams of darkness and loss, yet at the same time, I need to learn how to not need for the good stories to actually occur exactly for me to feel happiness. I need to see them as lovely dreams, while still accepting the beauty that occurs to me so often, without any regret that it isn't exactly what I wanted, but knowing that my own story is getting brighter, more beautiful, that the possibilities truly are endless
And for every dark possibility, there is a bright one. I will never be able to think of them all, and every now and then when something works out just as I had hoped, or exactly as I had feared, then so be it, just means that particular roll of the dice hit snake eyes, or double sixes, nothing more, nothing less.
but it's a hell of a lot better to live with beautiful possibilities for the rest of my story isn't it?
I'm sure there's a term in psychology for all of this, lol.
Tuesday 28 October 2014
Strength..... part 2
Not really a followup to the last post entitled "Strength", but that's what this is all about
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Mara says that I'm the strongest person she knows, and that is a big part of her love for me
I don't often feel that I'm very strong, I'm me not because I feel strong, but because I needed to survive, and that other version of me wouldn't have lasted too much longer...... is that strength?.... I don't know
At the beginning of this year I was dating a man, and socially, it was easy. People saw us, and unless they remarked on our height (he was 6'3" or something like that, I'm 5'10" flat footed so even when I wore heels I was still shorter), we were essentially invisible. We fit the expected narrative, a man and a woman, they had no need to look at us closer. It was easy to feel like we fit into the world.
I thought back then that it was a possibility, and I know quite certainly now, that this was / is a large factor in my attraction to men. When I spend time with a good male friend of mine, who is also quite tall, I also feel that cloak of invisibility upon me. People take us for a couple, because after all, that's what men and women are if they are spending time alone aren't they?, and never look twice at us. And it soothes me, helps me feel like I fit in this world
I sometimes feel like an imposter....
But I'm in love with a woman, and I hope to spend my life with this woman, and I never in a million years thought that her gender could have such an effect on me
When we're together, we're a lesbian couple. People look longer, or look twice, at non traditional couples. Then they notice me, as if they are seeing through me. They see her, clearly cis, clearly.... normal.... so they expect to see a man next to her, and they look deeper at me, and they stare, and they wonder, and I feel it all
even she is starting to notice it, and it brings her pain for me, because she loves me
she feels I'm strong for living my truth every day. I feel she is the strong one for voluntarily entering my truth, supporting me in it, going through it, seeing this darker side of the world through my eyes and my pain, something she never needed to see or to know. It may affect the way she feels about people close to her, it may affect the way she connects with some members of her family as our lives intertwine more and more and she finds that perhaps, some of them will not accept me, will laugh at me, at us, behind smiling eyes. I don't feel right in affecting her this way even though it is her choice, and she does choose me, choose us
"not loving you is not an option" she says to me
she is remarkably strong, she has to be to be visible with me, and it seems that I need to find a new strength as well
because being with a woman, as a trans woman, can often be a reminder of how the world still doesn't see me as an actual woman. Especially when it comes to men, and how they interact with us. I have to put up with so much less shit than she does in many ways, I'm not objectified in the same way as she is, subjected to drunken pick ups, men don't automatically assume I'll sleep with them if I talk to them. All of this of course assuming they know I'm trans, and if they don't, well, then there is real danger and fear for me, they treat me like they would treat any other woman they are sexually interested in, then they *figure me out*, and anything could happen at that point, including death.
I should be happy that I'm not subjected to the same patriarchal bullshit shouldn't I?, but I'm not. Each time the the world treats me differently than it would any other (real) woman, and now that I'm with a (real) woman I'm reminded more often, that the world doesn't actually see me as a woman. The world treats women like shit in so many ways, and many of those ways are not applied to me, because I'm not actually a woman in their eyes, I'm "other", or worse, a man dressed as a woman, pretending
something to be feared
it's a (real) woman's cisgendered privilege to suffer true misogyny, how fucked is that?, and how even more fucked is it that I want to feel what she feels, what all the other (real) women feel.... so I can be reinforced by society that I actually am.... a woman
I want to be able to flirt and accept flirting without fear for my safety, or my sanity. I want to be able to make light jokes about sexuality, without having people recoil from me as they picture themselves actually *touching* someone (something?) like me. I don't want to be the only woman in a circle that a man shoots his hand out for a handshake, when he has given all the other woman our classic french kiss-kiss thing that we do (and this has happened too often to me), or have the only other girl in a group that I happen to be in referred to as the *only* woman present. I want to be able to feel safe and accepted in a sexual space, especially a queer one, yet even in the queer spaces, I'm still othered. I want to be able to have everything that she has, that I see her enjoy, yet, I can’t. Even though she accepts me fully as a woman, and truly and honestly knows me to be one, the way that the world treats the two of us differently, especially when we’re together, is a reminder that I’m not the same as her, a recurring, gnawing, reminder. A slap in the face, a knife to the heart
I want to be completely accepted as a woman, for who I am, and what I am, in all situations, but let's face it girl, that's never going to happen in your lifetime. Maybe one day, and maybe I can do what I can to get us to that point, but I'll never get to benefit from it
For the first time ever this morning, I felt dysphoria about my body. I am firmly in the camp of genitals do not equal gender, yet when I looked at my naked body in the mirror, I winced, I didn't like what I saw. But this is a symptom of all the microaggressions I've been experiencing lately, as the tall somewhat-more-masculine part of a visible lesbian relationship. After all, if I got that surgery, it wouldn't make any difference in the end, people don't look in your underwear before deciding how to gender you, but seeing myself in the mirror this morning was kind of tough, and I didn't like that feeling. I could sink tens of thousands of dollars into facial feminization surgeries, yet there would always be that person that could clock me, could remind me that yes, I am different, wrong, to be feared, an other. Plus, my mental and spiritual well being would become tied into not being seen as trans, and as soon as I'm seen as trans, I fear it would destroy me
That's not the strength I want, because it's not strength, it's hiding, it's avoiding the problem all together, which is entirely my right to do so, but it's not the path I want
but at the end of the day, even with the extra challenges that it brings, I love being her girlfriend, and she loves being mine, and she's there for me as much as I am for her. Neither of us will be able to hide, and my truth will affect her, and change her, and she knows this, and yet, she still chooses me
chooses us
and that makes me one of the luckiest girls in the world
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mara says that I'm the strongest person she knows, and that is a big part of her love for me
I don't often feel that I'm very strong, I'm me not because I feel strong, but because I needed to survive, and that other version of me wouldn't have lasted too much longer...... is that strength?.... I don't know
At the beginning of this year I was dating a man, and socially, it was easy. People saw us, and unless they remarked on our height (he was 6'3" or something like that, I'm 5'10" flat footed so even when I wore heels I was still shorter), we were essentially invisible. We fit the expected narrative, a man and a woman, they had no need to look at us closer. It was easy to feel like we fit into the world.
I thought back then that it was a possibility, and I know quite certainly now, that this was / is a large factor in my attraction to men. When I spend time with a good male friend of mine, who is also quite tall, I also feel that cloak of invisibility upon me. People take us for a couple, because after all, that's what men and women are if they are spending time alone aren't they?, and never look twice at us. And it soothes me, helps me feel like I fit in this world
I sometimes feel like an imposter....
But I'm in love with a woman, and I hope to spend my life with this woman, and I never in a million years thought that her gender could have such an effect on me
When we're together, we're a lesbian couple. People look longer, or look twice, at non traditional couples. Then they notice me, as if they are seeing through me. They see her, clearly cis, clearly.... normal.... so they expect to see a man next to her, and they look deeper at me, and they stare, and they wonder, and I feel it all
even she is starting to notice it, and it brings her pain for me, because she loves me
she feels I'm strong for living my truth every day. I feel she is the strong one for voluntarily entering my truth, supporting me in it, going through it, seeing this darker side of the world through my eyes and my pain, something she never needed to see or to know. It may affect the way she feels about people close to her, it may affect the way she connects with some members of her family as our lives intertwine more and more and she finds that perhaps, some of them will not accept me, will laugh at me, at us, behind smiling eyes. I don't feel right in affecting her this way even though it is her choice, and she does choose me, choose us
"not loving you is not an option" she says to me
she is remarkably strong, she has to be to be visible with me, and it seems that I need to find a new strength as well
because being with a woman, as a trans woman, can often be a reminder of how the world still doesn't see me as an actual woman. Especially when it comes to men, and how they interact with us. I have to put up with so much less shit than she does in many ways, I'm not objectified in the same way as she is, subjected to drunken pick ups, men don't automatically assume I'll sleep with them if I talk to them. All of this of course assuming they know I'm trans, and if they don't, well, then there is real danger and fear for me, they treat me like they would treat any other woman they are sexually interested in, then they *figure me out*, and anything could happen at that point, including death.
I should be happy that I'm not subjected to the same patriarchal bullshit shouldn't I?, but I'm not. Each time the the world treats me differently than it would any other (real) woman, and now that I'm with a (real) woman I'm reminded more often, that the world doesn't actually see me as a woman. The world treats women like shit in so many ways, and many of those ways are not applied to me, because I'm not actually a woman in their eyes, I'm "other", or worse, a man dressed as a woman, pretending
something to be feared
it's a (real) woman's cisgendered privilege to suffer true misogyny, how fucked is that?, and how even more fucked is it that I want to feel what she feels, what all the other (real) women feel.... so I can be reinforced by society that I actually am.... a woman
I want to be able to flirt and accept flirting without fear for my safety, or my sanity. I want to be able to make light jokes about sexuality, without having people recoil from me as they picture themselves actually *touching* someone (something?) like me. I don't want to be the only woman in a circle that a man shoots his hand out for a handshake, when he has given all the other woman our classic french kiss-kiss thing that we do (and this has happened too often to me), or have the only other girl in a group that I happen to be in referred to as the *only* woman present. I want to be able to feel safe and accepted in a sexual space, especially a queer one, yet even in the queer spaces, I'm still othered. I want to be able to have everything that she has, that I see her enjoy, yet, I can’t. Even though she accepts me fully as a woman, and truly and honestly knows me to be one, the way that the world treats the two of us differently, especially when we’re together, is a reminder that I’m not the same as her, a recurring, gnawing, reminder. A slap in the face, a knife to the heart
I want to be completely accepted as a woman, for who I am, and what I am, in all situations, but let's face it girl, that's never going to happen in your lifetime. Maybe one day, and maybe I can do what I can to get us to that point, but I'll never get to benefit from it
For the first time ever this morning, I felt dysphoria about my body. I am firmly in the camp of genitals do not equal gender, yet when I looked at my naked body in the mirror, I winced, I didn't like what I saw. But this is a symptom of all the microaggressions I've been experiencing lately, as the tall somewhat-more-masculine part of a visible lesbian relationship. After all, if I got that surgery, it wouldn't make any difference in the end, people don't look in your underwear before deciding how to gender you, but seeing myself in the mirror this morning was kind of tough, and I didn't like that feeling. I could sink tens of thousands of dollars into facial feminization surgeries, yet there would always be that person that could clock me, could remind me that yes, I am different, wrong, to be feared, an other. Plus, my mental and spiritual well being would become tied into not being seen as trans, and as soon as I'm seen as trans, I fear it would destroy me
That's not the strength I want, because it's not strength, it's hiding, it's avoiding the problem all together, which is entirely my right to do so, but it's not the path I want
but at the end of the day, even with the extra challenges that it brings, I love being her girlfriend, and she loves being mine, and she's there for me as much as I am for her. Neither of us will be able to hide, and my truth will affect her, and change her, and she knows this, and yet, she still chooses me
chooses us
and that makes me one of the luckiest girls in the world
Friday 24 October 2014
houses and rings......
Kind of a followup, a part 2, to two other unrelated posts.
Please note this occurred last weekend, before my anxiety shitfest
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It happened, I'm still unsure as to why, I've been trying to process it but my mind often wanders off in over analysis, twisty paths, and I forget the point of what I was trying to get to.
I'll start from the beginning
Still having trouble selling the house, so we decide to fix up the basement, the room that we fear is turning people off. Half of a 20 year old carpet directly on the foundation, torn at one edge, old and ugly, stained, gross. If the room had furniture in it, maybe it wouldn't have been so bad, but we work with what we have don't we?
Mara and I return to the house, and I'm tense, I don't know how I'll feel while being there. Our first visit, over a month ago now, tore at me, made me see how stuck in the past I still was, the mail that had piled up for Becca hurt me deeply, being in that place, standing within his story, no longer being a part of it or even wanting it, but feeling it leak out of the pores of the house and smothering me.... it was a lot to take
We pick up our supplies at the hardware store, and while tense, I'm greatly enjoying myself. I've been through these actions before with past loves, and again, this time it felt different, everything feels different with her, more.... real.... is it her or is it me?, I think the truth is somewhere in the middle
We pull into the driveway. Enter the house. Bring the supplies into the basement and get to work.
We kiss and hug each other often
and I realize that I'm feeling pretty good, the weight that I had felt last time I was there wasn't as prevalent, in fact, I didn't notice it most of the time, a twinge here and there, but other than that, it's just a house, one that needs work, and we're doing it.
after yet another run to get missing supplies, I check the mailbox, junk, flyers, but finally, nothing for Becca
I smile, and I give her thanks
We take a beer break, sitting on the front porch. I look out over his old world, feeling the feels, seeing how distant it all is to me now. What I'm feeling inside is simply calm, knowledge that the work is worth it, and a deep love for the woman sitting by my side.
we connect, we open up, show our souls to each other. This is not new for us, our love is .... somewhat .... unique .... the type that hits you like a truck, and not just once in a while, or when you first meet, but this truck, it seems to hit us fairly often, even now, a couple months in.
the energy in the space changes
something inside me changes
and I'm still not sure what
I look down, my heart is heavy, I feel tears behind my eyes struggling to be released. She places an arm around my shoulder, her hand resting on my neck, she sees something has occurred, I see the concern in her eyes. She asks me, what just happened?, are you OK?
I don't reply
unknown to her, I'm removing my ring
I say yes, something has happened, and I hold up the ring to show her, the ring that is no longer on my finger
she doesn't know what to say, neither do I, and the tears slide down my face, not tears of sadness, or even happiness, just emotion, raw and unfettered
I hold the ring between my fingers, looking at it as though it's the first time I've done so....
I kiss it gently
and I thank the one that gave it to me
she pulls my body against hers and holds me, and I allow myself to be held
and a part of me lets go, of the past, of that story, of Becca
the house becomes just that, a house. We put our love into it, we shift the energy of the place, I firmly believe that places hold specific energies of the past within, and now, we take a step towards banishing the old, replacing it with the new
we do more work, we sit in the front and drink and talk, dreams of our future, we've started making promises to each other, using words like forever, always, we chat with our neighbor, we revel in the love we share, bringing light into such a dark place
then we are done what we can for the day, with plans to return soon to finish the work
and it was a beautiful day
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I still hold guilt towards what she went through with me, and maybe I always will. I still have a penance to pay. Amazingly, Mara helped me through that as well and guided me in finding what I must do, and I will
Please note this occurred last weekend, before my anxiety shitfest
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It happened, I'm still unsure as to why, I've been trying to process it but my mind often wanders off in over analysis, twisty paths, and I forget the point of what I was trying to get to.
I'll start from the beginning
Still having trouble selling the house, so we decide to fix up the basement, the room that we fear is turning people off. Half of a 20 year old carpet directly on the foundation, torn at one edge, old and ugly, stained, gross. If the room had furniture in it, maybe it wouldn't have been so bad, but we work with what we have don't we?
Mara and I return to the house, and I'm tense, I don't know how I'll feel while being there. Our first visit, over a month ago now, tore at me, made me see how stuck in the past I still was, the mail that had piled up for Becca hurt me deeply, being in that place, standing within his story, no longer being a part of it or even wanting it, but feeling it leak out of the pores of the house and smothering me.... it was a lot to take
We pick up our supplies at the hardware store, and while tense, I'm greatly enjoying myself. I've been through these actions before with past loves, and again, this time it felt different, everything feels different with her, more.... real.... is it her or is it me?, I think the truth is somewhere in the middle
We pull into the driveway. Enter the house. Bring the supplies into the basement and get to work.
We kiss and hug each other often
and I realize that I'm feeling pretty good, the weight that I had felt last time I was there wasn't as prevalent, in fact, I didn't notice it most of the time, a twinge here and there, but other than that, it's just a house, one that needs work, and we're doing it.
after yet another run to get missing supplies, I check the mailbox, junk, flyers, but finally, nothing for Becca
I smile, and I give her thanks
We take a beer break, sitting on the front porch. I look out over his old world, feeling the feels, seeing how distant it all is to me now. What I'm feeling inside is simply calm, knowledge that the work is worth it, and a deep love for the woman sitting by my side.
we connect, we open up, show our souls to each other. This is not new for us, our love is .... somewhat .... unique .... the type that hits you like a truck, and not just once in a while, or when you first meet, but this truck, it seems to hit us fairly often, even now, a couple months in.
the energy in the space changes
something inside me changes
and I'm still not sure what
I look down, my heart is heavy, I feel tears behind my eyes struggling to be released. She places an arm around my shoulder, her hand resting on my neck, she sees something has occurred, I see the concern in her eyes. She asks me, what just happened?, are you OK?
I don't reply
unknown to her, I'm removing my ring
I say yes, something has happened, and I hold up the ring to show her, the ring that is no longer on my finger
she doesn't know what to say, neither do I, and the tears slide down my face, not tears of sadness, or even happiness, just emotion, raw and unfettered
I hold the ring between my fingers, looking at it as though it's the first time I've done so....
I kiss it gently
and I thank the one that gave it to me
she pulls my body against hers and holds me, and I allow myself to be held
and a part of me lets go, of the past, of that story, of Becca
the house becomes just that, a house. We put our love into it, we shift the energy of the place, I firmly believe that places hold specific energies of the past within, and now, we take a step towards banishing the old, replacing it with the new
we do more work, we sit in the front and drink and talk, dreams of our future, we've started making promises to each other, using words like forever, always, we chat with our neighbor, we revel in the love we share, bringing light into such a dark place
then we are done what we can for the day, with plans to return soon to finish the work
and it was a beautiful day
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I still hold guilt towards what she went through with me, and maybe I always will. I still have a penance to pay. Amazingly, Mara helped me through that as well and guided me in finding what I must do, and I will
dark shadow
it really is
as was made obvious by my last post, it's been a tough couple of days. Said party that I've been invited to by my family triggered the everloving fuck out of me (yes by the way, that is how I talk, mm'kay?)
anxiety is a voice in my mind, a voice that I've never quite learned to control, or shut off, or even embrace and say "that's OK" to, like I've learned that you need to do with negative emotions.
In fact, many of the negative emotions that I feel often circle down into the bugbear of anxiety. Jealousy, insecurity, feelings of abandonment, being alone, they all seem to wake it up, wake up that demon, that dark shadow that always seems to be there, even when I'm doing well, I know it's there, taunting me, waiting for me to slip up in any way so it can lunge out and take my soul in it's filthy claws and drag me down in this neverending spiral of panic, fear, hell.
It digs it's claws into my brain, slowly, so I feel every millimeter of tearing, of twisting. It holds me in it's thrall, it's hot breath at my ear, black saliva from it's lips dripping on my shoulder, it's tongue, swirling, throat, gurgling, rasping, as it prepares it's onslaught
it can take any small thing, whatever happened to trigger me, even if the trigger was barely noticeable, and it will repeat it to me. Quietly at first. I feel the thought, raise an eyebrow, shake it away. Then the words change, slightly, and the thought hits me a tiny bit harder. This continues, ever worsening, and my resolve starts to crumble, I hold on as best as I can, but it always wins in the end
and it laughs, as it crawls into my brain, grabs a glass of nightshade, and continues it's work
it makes me doubt everything, feel panic over situations that have never occurred, nor are likely to occur, yet in every story it tells me, there is the possibility of it occurring, and that's what makes it so powerful. Similar to how they say the best lie is mostly truth with just one twist, the demon uses this against me, and once I've accepted one small lie as truth, it piles on another one, and another one, until every single decision I've made in my life feels like a mistake, that I'm a fool, that I'm horrible, terrible, stupid, worthless
In the past, this demon has shut me down, for days, or even months. When it gets inside me, I withdraw from the world. I usually am not fond of being alone in any way, I'll put up with it, but ugh, I feel like I'm wasting my time when I'm killing time alone, but when it's living within me, I want to do nothing else. I pull away from friends, I stop communicating with people, my emotions slowly disappear and I become cold, robotic even. I sit in my place, I stare at the TV that I'm not watching, play the music that I'm not listening to, not caring enough to care one way or another. I play games that don't actually require any thought or attention, just to make the time go by, and to have something to click on.
Eventually I begin to break down, and I'll reach out to someone, and as soon as that choice is made, the little fucker throws everything it has at me. I often change my mind, put the phone down, turn off chat on gmail or facebook, but eventually, I manage to make that contact, and that my friends, that is the only thing that can quell the demon, expunge him.
It's not as simple as talking to someone about how the day is, no, I need to bare myself, I need to open myself up to allow true light in, light of love, of support, of understanding and empathy. Each of those rays help burn it out of me, sometimes it's quick as someone manages to give me the key to the door it's barricaded behind, sometimes it takes longer as the light keeps chipping away at that door, but either way, at one point, after tears, fear, worry, pain, it leaves.
But it's never far away
Over the past two days, as I was going through this, even though it was a terrible assault (that had actually been building since last weekend even though I didn't realize the little bastard had found me again), I wanted to shut myself down, I wanted to hide, cancel all the wonderful plans I had over the next week, and just curl up underneath my bed and stare, turn off, disconnect
but I didn't
I talked to Mara even though I was terrified she would see me as weak, or lose love for me. I reached out to a couple of friends who surprised me with their support, and last night, thankfully, I was handed the key by a wonderful man that I'm still getting to know at a deeper level, even though he is truly part of my family and I a part of his, we have a long road to travel he and I, and while we have spent time together, I think that yesterday was the first real step of what may be a wonderful journey. He quelled my fears, accepted my anxiety (insanity) and told me that it is not something that needs an apology for, showed me more realistic future events, discussed our weird and unique life together, helped me feel more at one with everyone.
and it was quite beautiful, and I love him and thank him for it, and I feel like myself today
but.....
it's still there, it's always there, and it doesn't like it when someone hands me a key, and I've felt it crawling around just behind me, in the corner of my eye, looking for another way in, waiting for me to slip up, so it can once again dig itself into me, cackling, screeching, laughing.
I leave you with a simple breakdown of the word fear that I saw recently as a status update on a friends' page, think about it, it's quite powerful.
False Evidence Appearing Real
as was made obvious by my last post, it's been a tough couple of days. Said party that I've been invited to by my family triggered the everloving fuck out of me (yes by the way, that is how I talk, mm'kay?)
anxiety is a voice in my mind, a voice that I've never quite learned to control, or shut off, or even embrace and say "that's OK" to, like I've learned that you need to do with negative emotions.
In fact, many of the negative emotions that I feel often circle down into the bugbear of anxiety. Jealousy, insecurity, feelings of abandonment, being alone, they all seem to wake it up, wake up that demon, that dark shadow that always seems to be there, even when I'm doing well, I know it's there, taunting me, waiting for me to slip up in any way so it can lunge out and take my soul in it's filthy claws and drag me down in this neverending spiral of panic, fear, hell.
It digs it's claws into my brain, slowly, so I feel every millimeter of tearing, of twisting. It holds me in it's thrall, it's hot breath at my ear, black saliva from it's lips dripping on my shoulder, it's tongue, swirling, throat, gurgling, rasping, as it prepares it's onslaught
it can take any small thing, whatever happened to trigger me, even if the trigger was barely noticeable, and it will repeat it to me. Quietly at first. I feel the thought, raise an eyebrow, shake it away. Then the words change, slightly, and the thought hits me a tiny bit harder. This continues, ever worsening, and my resolve starts to crumble, I hold on as best as I can, but it always wins in the end
and it laughs, as it crawls into my brain, grabs a glass of nightshade, and continues it's work
it makes me doubt everything, feel panic over situations that have never occurred, nor are likely to occur, yet in every story it tells me, there is the possibility of it occurring, and that's what makes it so powerful. Similar to how they say the best lie is mostly truth with just one twist, the demon uses this against me, and once I've accepted one small lie as truth, it piles on another one, and another one, until every single decision I've made in my life feels like a mistake, that I'm a fool, that I'm horrible, terrible, stupid, worthless
In the past, this demon has shut me down, for days, or even months. When it gets inside me, I withdraw from the world. I usually am not fond of being alone in any way, I'll put up with it, but ugh, I feel like I'm wasting my time when I'm killing time alone, but when it's living within me, I want to do nothing else. I pull away from friends, I stop communicating with people, my emotions slowly disappear and I become cold, robotic even. I sit in my place, I stare at the TV that I'm not watching, play the music that I'm not listening to, not caring enough to care one way or another. I play games that don't actually require any thought or attention, just to make the time go by, and to have something to click on.
Eventually I begin to break down, and I'll reach out to someone, and as soon as that choice is made, the little fucker throws everything it has at me. I often change my mind, put the phone down, turn off chat on gmail or facebook, but eventually, I manage to make that contact, and that my friends, that is the only thing that can quell the demon, expunge him.
It's not as simple as talking to someone about how the day is, no, I need to bare myself, I need to open myself up to allow true light in, light of love, of support, of understanding and empathy. Each of those rays help burn it out of me, sometimes it's quick as someone manages to give me the key to the door it's barricaded behind, sometimes it takes longer as the light keeps chipping away at that door, but either way, at one point, after tears, fear, worry, pain, it leaves.
But it's never far away
Over the past two days, as I was going through this, even though it was a terrible assault (that had actually been building since last weekend even though I didn't realize the little bastard had found me again), I wanted to shut myself down, I wanted to hide, cancel all the wonderful plans I had over the next week, and just curl up underneath my bed and stare, turn off, disconnect
but I didn't
I talked to Mara even though I was terrified she would see me as weak, or lose love for me. I reached out to a couple of friends who surprised me with their support, and last night, thankfully, I was handed the key by a wonderful man that I'm still getting to know at a deeper level, even though he is truly part of my family and I a part of his, we have a long road to travel he and I, and while we have spent time together, I think that yesterday was the first real step of what may be a wonderful journey. He quelled my fears, accepted my anxiety (insanity) and told me that it is not something that needs an apology for, showed me more realistic future events, discussed our weird and unique life together, helped me feel more at one with everyone.
and it was quite beautiful, and I love him and thank him for it, and I feel like myself today
but.....
it's still there, it's always there, and it doesn't like it when someone hands me a key, and I've felt it crawling around just behind me, in the corner of my eye, looking for another way in, waiting for me to slip up, so it can once again dig itself into me, cackling, screeching, laughing.
I leave you with a simple breakdown of the word fear that I saw recently as a status update on a friends' page, think about it, it's quite powerful.
False Evidence Appearing Real
Thursday 23 October 2014
why is this getting harder?
This may come out as a victim puke, so be it, and fuck you if you have a problem with it
Why does it feel like being trans is getting harder?
Last year I'd have fucking strangers come right up to me and ask me about my gender, I knew it was wrong of them to do so, but I could take it, I would educate them, and go along my way shaking my head at them but still smiling
Now, one simple misgendering will set me off
and it just happened for the second time this week, and I felt so good about myself this morning in my gorgeous outfit, first time I've worn a dress in a few weeks, and this motherfucker calls me Mr
I wanted to cause him pain, pure, excruciating pain
why do things like this hurt me so much?, I'm usually such a powerful person, but now, any one little thing can pull me down. I can't give that power to others, but fuck, I'm fed up of feeling like a freak, like an other, an abomination, an abnormality
I wouldn't wish being trans on my worst enemy
I often forget that I'm trans, I forget I used to be him, male, guy, dude, asshole
and these little situations bring that back to the forefront of my mind, of my anxieties, and little by little, they slice my soul to bits
death of a thousand cuts
I have a costume party to go to this weekend with my new family, one in which I wont know anyone, and I'm terrified of being taken as a guy in a dress, a tranny, a faggot, a freak. I have no idea if this will happen, but my mind is making it happen over and over again, last night calmed me, then this morning, one little fucking thing happens and the fear is back, the anxiety
I feel disgusting now in my beautiful outfit, I want to rip it off and hide in jeans and a heavy sweater, hiding my body, they refuse to see it, why bother. I feel like an imposter, a man in a dress trying to fool the world, and they see through me, and laugh at me, at us, at all of us
the freaks
the sickos
the liars
the insane
and now I hate myself for feeling this way
Why does it feel like being trans is getting harder?
Last year I'd have fucking strangers come right up to me and ask me about my gender, I knew it was wrong of them to do so, but I could take it, I would educate them, and go along my way shaking my head at them but still smiling
Now, one simple misgendering will set me off
and it just happened for the second time this week, and I felt so good about myself this morning in my gorgeous outfit, first time I've worn a dress in a few weeks, and this motherfucker calls me Mr
I wanted to cause him pain, pure, excruciating pain
why do things like this hurt me so much?, I'm usually such a powerful person, but now, any one little thing can pull me down. I can't give that power to others, but fuck, I'm fed up of feeling like a freak, like an other, an abomination, an abnormality
I wouldn't wish being trans on my worst enemy
I often forget that I'm trans, I forget I used to be him, male, guy, dude, asshole
and these little situations bring that back to the forefront of my mind, of my anxieties, and little by little, they slice my soul to bits
death of a thousand cuts
I have a costume party to go to this weekend with my new family, one in which I wont know anyone, and I'm terrified of being taken as a guy in a dress, a tranny, a faggot, a freak. I have no idea if this will happen, but my mind is making it happen over and over again, last night calmed me, then this morning, one little fucking thing happens and the fear is back, the anxiety
I feel disgusting now in my beautiful outfit, I want to rip it off and hide in jeans and a heavy sweater, hiding my body, they refuse to see it, why bother. I feel like an imposter, a man in a dress trying to fool the world, and they see through me, and laugh at me, at us, at all of us
the freaks
the sickos
the liars
the insane
and now I hate myself for feeling this way
Tuesday 16 September 2014
Rings
For whatever reason, rings have always had a very strong symbolic power to me. They are more than jewelery, in fact, I don't really consider them accessories like bracelets, or earrings or necklaces, rings are different. You'll never see my hands covered in rings, my fingers are naked, except for the symbol that is currently part of me.
They are statements, indicators, announcements, memories, and they can even be chains, they mean something more than just making yourself a little more bling....
I've worn many rings in my life, and I've also given a couple to people I've loved. As they mean so much to me, the act of me giving one to someone bears the same weight as me receiving one. This doesn't always match with how they feel about the symbol, but that's OK, we can't all be the same after all.
I remember when my family moved back to Canada in '87, my parents had put a ton of furniture into storage when we left for Europe, which was now the family furniture in our big blue house. I was in the basement one day poking through stuff, opening unfamiliar drawers, examining the papers, pictures, albums, memories, slices of my parents lives before I came around. I've always been interested in peoples stories, how they came to be, their influences.
I remember opening a drawer in a wooden desk, enjoying some pictures of my hippy parents when they were just married in their early 20's, and my fingers stumble upon a chunk of rust. At first I thought it may be some old rusty bolt, yet I didn't discard it, something about it felt different. I brought it up to my mother who knew what it was immediately, it's your fathers old ring she tells me, hold on, I know how to clean it.
Within moments she presents me with a gleaming silver band, almost a centimeter wide, edged rounded down, and I immediately put it on the middle finger of my left hand. Aside from my life as a child in Europe, I've never had a strong or close relationship with my father, even though I've always wanted one. Wearing his old ring gave me a sense of being connected to him in a special way.
That ring stayed on my finger for a few years, we had it resized for me as I continued to grow, then at one point it simply cracked along the seam that was created while resizing it. I don't remember why, but I decided to retire it instead of trying to fix it, it sat in a drawer for years after that.
I showed the remnants of the ring to a girlfriend I had after having moved to Montreal. She saw how special it had been to me through my words and my eyes, and she gifted me with a new ring one day, almost exactly like the old one, and I loved her for it, and wore it proudly, it was a link from my past to my present. It reminded me of the connection I had been trying to create with my father via the original ring, and at the same time solidified my connection to her.
I honestly don't know what happened to that ring, in fact, I don't even remember which of my first two long term girlfriends got me it.... mists of time and all that
I recall buying myself a ring at the Highland Games festival while dating the second one, it had intriguing Celtic markings upon it. I didn't wear it long, it had no meaning to me, it was just pretty, an accessory, something to fill that naked finger that had gotten so used to having something upon it. I lost it, and didn't care.
On July 31st 2010, Becca placed my wedding ring on my finger as I placed her ring on her hand. This one meant the world to me. Again, it was fashioned similarly to my fathers ring, simple, wide, and silver. I would fiddle with this ring constantly, spinning it around my finger, staring at it, in all honesty, I think I loved my ring more than she loved hers. I would flash it to everyone, especially during our honeymoon, with my big face splitting grin, as if to say "see!, she chose me!". I loved being married, even though our marriage was doomed from the beginning, I absolutely loved it and I made sure everyone knew it.
I'm looking forward to being married again one day if the fates gift me with that honor....
now, I guess we get to the ring I actually wanted to talk about, the one that I still wear, and has only been removed three times (and each time I ended up panicking, "wheres the fucking ring!, GAH!").
Becca and I thought we could make it, right up to the end, right up to March 27th of last year, H-day. Six weeks before that fateful day, right at, or around, Valentines day, while we're both standing in his old kitchen, she looked at me with sad, but hopeful eyes. She asks me to extend my left hand to her, and she takes my ring finger gently, my wedding band already there, and she slips a beautiful, thin, feminine ring onto my finger and lets it rest next to his ring. She looks at me and tells me that this is Dawn's ring, to symbolize that she accepts the real me, and that she wants to be married to her as much as she wanted to be married to him.
I have no idea what she went through in order to make that decision, to go out and buy that ring, to get it sized for my finger, and I'll most likely never know. What I do know is that it wasn't easy for her, even though she loved me, she was losing me, the man that she fell in love with, but she was trying, oh, so hard, she was trying, right up until the last day. I'll always love her for trying so hard, she will always have a part of my heart and my soul
After we separated, I continued to wear my wedding rings, the small feminine one next to the fat masculine one. It was only when things went bad between us, a month after separation, that I removed his ring. I still have it of course, and I'll always have it, tucked away in a jewelery box.
This was the first time I removed Dawn's wedding ring.
Although I'm not religious in any way, I've learned that in certain religions, if a spouse dies, the surviving spouse will transfer their wedding ring from one hand to the other, on the same finger. I've always found this to be a very beautiful tradition, a powerful symbol.
I placed my ring on the ring finger of my right hand, where it has remained for the past 19 months.
I look at it often, and think about my past life, feeling guilt over what Becca had to go through being with me, and how it all ended. It still brings me a sense of love, a reminder of love, thinking of her, and her struggles to continue our life together. I touch it and remember, and sometimes I smile, and other times, like right now, I do my best to hold back the tears.
I know that one day I'll take this ring off and place it aside, in the box, next to his. I don't know what I need to do, or what I need to go through, or what I need to let go of, to make that happen. I don't even know if I want whatever needs to happen to actually happen, I don't think I'm ready yet, still so much more work to do. It won't be because, if I'm very very lucky, someone else gives me a ring, if that were to happen, I may continue wearing both rings for a while, I simply don't know. What I do know, is that all things considered, that time is not too far in the future anymore, it's coming closer, I feel a shift coming, and that's terrifying but it's also going to be wonderful.
A part of me wants to hold on, the rest, knows, that it will soon be time to let go
They are statements, indicators, announcements, memories, and they can even be chains, they mean something more than just making yourself a little more bling....
I've worn many rings in my life, and I've also given a couple to people I've loved. As they mean so much to me, the act of me giving one to someone bears the same weight as me receiving one. This doesn't always match with how they feel about the symbol, but that's OK, we can't all be the same after all.
I remember when my family moved back to Canada in '87, my parents had put a ton of furniture into storage when we left for Europe, which was now the family furniture in our big blue house. I was in the basement one day poking through stuff, opening unfamiliar drawers, examining the papers, pictures, albums, memories, slices of my parents lives before I came around. I've always been interested in peoples stories, how they came to be, their influences.
I remember opening a drawer in a wooden desk, enjoying some pictures of my hippy parents when they were just married in their early 20's, and my fingers stumble upon a chunk of rust. At first I thought it may be some old rusty bolt, yet I didn't discard it, something about it felt different. I brought it up to my mother who knew what it was immediately, it's your fathers old ring she tells me, hold on, I know how to clean it.
Within moments she presents me with a gleaming silver band, almost a centimeter wide, edged rounded down, and I immediately put it on the middle finger of my left hand. Aside from my life as a child in Europe, I've never had a strong or close relationship with my father, even though I've always wanted one. Wearing his old ring gave me a sense of being connected to him in a special way.
That ring stayed on my finger for a few years, we had it resized for me as I continued to grow, then at one point it simply cracked along the seam that was created while resizing it. I don't remember why, but I decided to retire it instead of trying to fix it, it sat in a drawer for years after that.
I showed the remnants of the ring to a girlfriend I had after having moved to Montreal. She saw how special it had been to me through my words and my eyes, and she gifted me with a new ring one day, almost exactly like the old one, and I loved her for it, and wore it proudly, it was a link from my past to my present. It reminded me of the connection I had been trying to create with my father via the original ring, and at the same time solidified my connection to her.
I honestly don't know what happened to that ring, in fact, I don't even remember which of my first two long term girlfriends got me it.... mists of time and all that
I recall buying myself a ring at the Highland Games festival while dating the second one, it had intriguing Celtic markings upon it. I didn't wear it long, it had no meaning to me, it was just pretty, an accessory, something to fill that naked finger that had gotten so used to having something upon it. I lost it, and didn't care.
On July 31st 2010, Becca placed my wedding ring on my finger as I placed her ring on her hand. This one meant the world to me. Again, it was fashioned similarly to my fathers ring, simple, wide, and silver. I would fiddle with this ring constantly, spinning it around my finger, staring at it, in all honesty, I think I loved my ring more than she loved hers. I would flash it to everyone, especially during our honeymoon, with my big face splitting grin, as if to say "see!, she chose me!". I loved being married, even though our marriage was doomed from the beginning, I absolutely loved it and I made sure everyone knew it.
I'm looking forward to being married again one day if the fates gift me with that honor....
now, I guess we get to the ring I actually wanted to talk about, the one that I still wear, and has only been removed three times (and each time I ended up panicking, "wheres the fucking ring!, GAH!").
Becca and I thought we could make it, right up to the end, right up to March 27th of last year, H-day. Six weeks before that fateful day, right at, or around, Valentines day, while we're both standing in his old kitchen, she looked at me with sad, but hopeful eyes. She asks me to extend my left hand to her, and she takes my ring finger gently, my wedding band already there, and she slips a beautiful, thin, feminine ring onto my finger and lets it rest next to his ring. She looks at me and tells me that this is Dawn's ring, to symbolize that she accepts the real me, and that she wants to be married to her as much as she wanted to be married to him.
I have no idea what she went through in order to make that decision, to go out and buy that ring, to get it sized for my finger, and I'll most likely never know. What I do know is that it wasn't easy for her, even though she loved me, she was losing me, the man that she fell in love with, but she was trying, oh, so hard, she was trying, right up until the last day. I'll always love her for trying so hard, she will always have a part of my heart and my soul
After we separated, I continued to wear my wedding rings, the small feminine one next to the fat masculine one. It was only when things went bad between us, a month after separation, that I removed his ring. I still have it of course, and I'll always have it, tucked away in a jewelery box.
This was the first time I removed Dawn's wedding ring.
Although I'm not religious in any way, I've learned that in certain religions, if a spouse dies, the surviving spouse will transfer their wedding ring from one hand to the other, on the same finger. I've always found this to be a very beautiful tradition, a powerful symbol.
I placed my ring on the ring finger of my right hand, where it has remained for the past 19 months.
I look at it often, and think about my past life, feeling guilt over what Becca had to go through being with me, and how it all ended. It still brings me a sense of love, a reminder of love, thinking of her, and her struggles to continue our life together. I touch it and remember, and sometimes I smile, and other times, like right now, I do my best to hold back the tears.
I know that one day I'll take this ring off and place it aside, in the box, next to his. I don't know what I need to do, or what I need to go through, or what I need to let go of, to make that happen. I don't even know if I want whatever needs to happen to actually happen, I don't think I'm ready yet, still so much more work to do. It won't be because, if I'm very very lucky, someone else gives me a ring, if that were to happen, I may continue wearing both rings for a while, I simply don't know. What I do know, is that all things considered, that time is not too far in the future anymore, it's coming closer, I feel a shift coming, and that's terrifying but it's also going to be wonderful.
A part of me wants to hold on, the rest, knows, that it will soon be time to let go
Sunday 7 September 2014
My house..... his house
So I took Mara up to the old house yesterday, I wanted to check it out, haven't been there in almost 2 months which in all honesty, isn't that responsible of me. I didn't expect the feelings that I experienced
I do own it, technically, but in a way, it's not my house, it's never been my house..... it was his.... it was the place he died
Even though my wonderful neighbor has been taking care of the lawn, the gardens have gotten overgrown, what started off as little sprouts have become saplings, the place doesn't look that great from the outside.
Junk mail had piled up, and Becca still hasn't changed her address on a number of important documents. I got angry at her, frustrated, if she still hasn't been able to do this, how must she still be feeling. It's been eighteen months now, I was praying that she would have moved on, maybe she hasn't after all....
I let us in, and the inside looked the same..... but empty..... hollow.... a thing of the past
The nickel tour as she called it
We went downstairs, I could see Becca and him sitting there on the couch, watching TV, him rubbing her feet, the shelving that caused such drama and made me (him?) lose a friend....
Poked around, realized how much I still have left to do up there
We climbed the stairs to the top floor, and it started to hit me..... I'm not sure what started to hit me, emotions, sadness, guilt, regret for letting things go so far with Becca, shame for needing her so much to become who I always was supposed to be
Mara sees it in my eyes, she holds me tight, kisses me, doesn't say anything, lets me talk as I try to, just holds me
We enter the guest room, then the room that I had wanted to give to my first child. I couldn't look her in the eyes, I held back my tears, but she felt them regardless. We stood there together, me in her arms, she fed me her strength and her love. I needed it, she let me onto her rock for the time I required. We kiss, as if trying to bring new life, new energy, into this place
It felt haunted to me, just realize that now as I type this
We don't stay long, and on the way out, we deliver the mail to my old cousin's house across the street... I'm thankful they don't appear to be home... going there fills me with anxiety at the possibilities of what could occur
We make plans to take a day on a weekend soon to come up and spruce the place up. Her eyes, face, soul, smile at me. It's going to be difficult, so difficult to come back, to take care of the place like I should have already done.
I've been avoiding it, avoiding the place, avoiding my responsibilities there, just hoping someone will take the problem from my hands. Perhaps it hasn't sold yet because I still have work to do there, not just material things, but I need to make peace, I need to let go instead of shutting my mind to it. The universe has ways of fucking with me, giving me challenges I don't want to face, I wonder if this is one of them
I'll hop from my rock to hers for this and let her help me, making my own rock stronger in the process
I thank her for helping me change the energy of this place.... locations.... things.... they hold energies, and past sentiments, past pain and loss, but they can also hold love and hope and beauty
We go out for sushi at my favorite little place, and we talk, and we laugh, and we grow.... and after a while.... being up there, in his little town, the place where he wanted to finalize his story, the place where he died.... it doesn't feel that bad anymore
Thank you Mara
And to him..... rest well..... your work is done..... I'll take over from here
tears run down my face
I do own it, technically, but in a way, it's not my house, it's never been my house..... it was his.... it was the place he died
Even though my wonderful neighbor has been taking care of the lawn, the gardens have gotten overgrown, what started off as little sprouts have become saplings, the place doesn't look that great from the outside.
Junk mail had piled up, and Becca still hasn't changed her address on a number of important documents. I got angry at her, frustrated, if she still hasn't been able to do this, how must she still be feeling. It's been eighteen months now, I was praying that she would have moved on, maybe she hasn't after all....
I let us in, and the inside looked the same..... but empty..... hollow.... a thing of the past
The nickel tour as she called it
We went downstairs, I could see Becca and him sitting there on the couch, watching TV, him rubbing her feet, the shelving that caused such drama and made me (him?) lose a friend....
Poked around, realized how much I still have left to do up there
We climbed the stairs to the top floor, and it started to hit me..... I'm not sure what started to hit me, emotions, sadness, guilt, regret for letting things go so far with Becca, shame for needing her so much to become who I always was supposed to be
Mara sees it in my eyes, she holds me tight, kisses me, doesn't say anything, lets me talk as I try to, just holds me
We enter the guest room, then the room that I had wanted to give to my first child. I couldn't look her in the eyes, I held back my tears, but she felt them regardless. We stood there together, me in her arms, she fed me her strength and her love. I needed it, she let me onto her rock for the time I required. We kiss, as if trying to bring new life, new energy, into this place
It felt haunted to me, just realize that now as I type this
We don't stay long, and on the way out, we deliver the mail to my old cousin's house across the street... I'm thankful they don't appear to be home... going there fills me with anxiety at the possibilities of what could occur
We make plans to take a day on a weekend soon to come up and spruce the place up. Her eyes, face, soul, smile at me. It's going to be difficult, so difficult to come back, to take care of the place like I should have already done.
I've been avoiding it, avoiding the place, avoiding my responsibilities there, just hoping someone will take the problem from my hands. Perhaps it hasn't sold yet because I still have work to do there, not just material things, but I need to make peace, I need to let go instead of shutting my mind to it. The universe has ways of fucking with me, giving me challenges I don't want to face, I wonder if this is one of them
I'll hop from my rock to hers for this and let her help me, making my own rock stronger in the process
I thank her for helping me change the energy of this place.... locations.... things.... they hold energies, and past sentiments, past pain and loss, but they can also hold love and hope and beauty
We go out for sushi at my favorite little place, and we talk, and we laugh, and we grow.... and after a while.... being up there, in his little town, the place where he wanted to finalize his story, the place where he died.... it doesn't feel that bad anymore
Thank you Mara
And to him..... rest well..... your work is done..... I'll take over from here
tears run down my face
Wednesday 3 September 2014
Cyclical Meanderings..... part 6..... poly
I'm seeing someone new, the one that was alluded to in my last post, from the pantsless party
It's been a whirlwind so far, the connection that we feel, the ideas and thoughts that we share, incredible, completely and utterly incredible. I sincerely have never felt this before. Yes I've been in love, deeply in love, but not after two weeks.... my pattern has always been that lust grows fast, but love takes it's time. In this, we are completely aware that we are in lust, but it is more than that, and she feels it too. It's love, and it's been declared, and it makes us happy.
The kicker?, she's polyamorous, and married to a person that she loves deeply, but that doesn't mean that she can't love another deeply as well.
So, does this mean I'm now poly?, what does poly mean?.... I have a feeling that poly can mean different things to all of us, just like open relationships or even monogamous relationships. Each have their own way, their own set of rules, their own reality.
I don't really do casual anything. If I do something, anything, I usually dive headfirst into it. I don't do casual friendships, I don't really see the point, I love my friends, each in their own way, for various reasons, and I feel that they satisfy different needs, different aspects of me, and bring different things to my life. I don't sleep with (the vast majority of) them, but I do love them. I would fight for them, support them, make sacrifices for them, stand by them, open myself up to them and they to me, they are truly special to me. Losing a good friend at times can sting just as much as losing a partner.
Isn't that already kind of poly?, does it take sexuality in order to make it poly?, if so, then maybe I already am poly, I do have a friend that I love, and we have always had a sexual connection which recently became real. Isn't that the classic definition of poly?
Is there a classic definition of poly?
My girl is going on a date with a partner of hers. They will talk, and eat, and enjoy each others company, and most likely end up in bed. That's what I just did with my good friend, but I don't think of it as "a date", I think of it as a good friend who I enjoy time with, will eat and drink with, and maybe we'll end up in bed together. The outcome appears to be the same, the only difference I can find is the label that we put on it. She's going on a date, I'm not, but we do the same stuff....
which of course leads to.... what is a date?.... what makes a date different than enjoying sexuality with a loving friend?
I think, for me, dating has the component of wanting to examine if there is a potential future with said person, testing the waters, looking for compatibility in that way. With my friend that I love and share sexuality with, I hope she is in my future as an important part of my life, but not like that.... but what does that even mean?.... lets see.... where is the line?.... what is the difference?....
I would hate to lose her from my life, but I'll never feel a romantic love for her.... perhaps dating for me is a test to see if romantic love can be there at all. Love is different with everyone, and for everyone, and while I love many, that specific type of romantic love is reserved for .... up to this point .... just one
and I'm a romantic at heart if you haven't all figured that out yet
is that the difference between poly and open?, the romantic love?.... do others have the same definition of romantic love?
what is the definition of romantic love?.... oooh.... that's a good one
delving deeper
woo
It's been a whirlwind so far, the connection that we feel, the ideas and thoughts that we share, incredible, completely and utterly incredible. I sincerely have never felt this before. Yes I've been in love, deeply in love, but not after two weeks.... my pattern has always been that lust grows fast, but love takes it's time. In this, we are completely aware that we are in lust, but it is more than that, and she feels it too. It's love, and it's been declared, and it makes us happy.
The kicker?, she's polyamorous, and married to a person that she loves deeply, but that doesn't mean that she can't love another deeply as well.
So, does this mean I'm now poly?, what does poly mean?.... I have a feeling that poly can mean different things to all of us, just like open relationships or even monogamous relationships. Each have their own way, their own set of rules, their own reality.
I don't really do casual anything. If I do something, anything, I usually dive headfirst into it. I don't do casual friendships, I don't really see the point, I love my friends, each in their own way, for various reasons, and I feel that they satisfy different needs, different aspects of me, and bring different things to my life. I don't sleep with (the vast majority of) them, but I do love them. I would fight for them, support them, make sacrifices for them, stand by them, open myself up to them and they to me, they are truly special to me. Losing a good friend at times can sting just as much as losing a partner.
Isn't that already kind of poly?, does it take sexuality in order to make it poly?, if so, then maybe I already am poly, I do have a friend that I love, and we have always had a sexual connection which recently became real. Isn't that the classic definition of poly?
Is there a classic definition of poly?
My girl is going on a date with a partner of hers. They will talk, and eat, and enjoy each others company, and most likely end up in bed. That's what I just did with my good friend, but I don't think of it as "a date", I think of it as a good friend who I enjoy time with, will eat and drink with, and maybe we'll end up in bed together. The outcome appears to be the same, the only difference I can find is the label that we put on it. She's going on a date, I'm not, but we do the same stuff....
which of course leads to.... what is a date?.... what makes a date different than enjoying sexuality with a loving friend?
I think, for me, dating has the component of wanting to examine if there is a potential future with said person, testing the waters, looking for compatibility in that way. With my friend that I love and share sexuality with, I hope she is in my future as an important part of my life, but not like that.... but what does that even mean?.... lets see.... where is the line?.... what is the difference?....
I would hate to lose her from my life, but I'll never feel a romantic love for her.... perhaps dating for me is a test to see if romantic love can be there at all. Love is different with everyone, and for everyone, and while I love many, that specific type of romantic love is reserved for .... up to this point .... just one
and I'm a romantic at heart if you haven't all figured that out yet
is that the difference between poly and open?, the romantic love?.... do others have the same definition of romantic love?
what is the definition of romantic love?.... oooh.... that's a good one
delving deeper
woo
Tuesday 26 August 2014
woo woo
Within constant chaos, one must evolve constantly
Anything else is irrational
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I think that may be why, during my previous life, when I fell into the static, I would eventually go insane, need to break out, get free.... that usually ended up in me doing stupid and unhealthy shit
but the chaos can be frightening, and there is such security within the static. I guess a lot of people are comfortable within the static, they must be, so many of them live there, but personally, I don't buy it
I think they all have a need to break free, to explore and experience.... but the need doesn't overpower the fear for whatever reason.... yet they love living their lives vicariously through people like me..... just as I did when I was static, hearing stories instead of telling them, realizing that all the stories I was telling were a decade or two old, I wasn't creating any new pages in my book, no new chapters other than the Disney ones.... bought a house, got married, big TV, new car, not happy, ignoring my needs, nothing else.... ugh
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I was called a "woo woo" last night, meaning one of those people that looks for deeper meaning in everything, a dreamer, a romantic. The term makes me laugh, and she appreciates it in me for which I am thankful, as this new journey is just beginning
another step into evolution, into chaos
yet, strangely enough, without fear
just a twinkle in my eye
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It seems I'm not as straight as I thought I was.... go figure.... I'm sure this doesn't surprise anyone else but me...
A party in which you don't wear pants, a crazy and weird experience. A gay guy dances with me, lifts me in his arms, kisses me, and declares that it was the first time in a decade he had done this. And it was wonderful. An interesting connection is made
I meet a woman, a soul, we find ourselves acting like teenagers on the dance floor, and outside of the club, and in my room in the wee hours of the morning.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Imagine sharing a powerful, sensual, beautiful connection with someone, knowing that they share the same type of connections with others, and that you as well have the liberty to do so yourself. Not just mechanical sex, or physical need, but emotion, energy, feelings....
The thought had always terrified me, yet now, no fear, just living, just being, and enjoying the journey, regardless of where it takes me, or her.... trying not to use the term 'us'.... too soon, but....
Isn't that what it's supposed to be about?, the journey?
My mother asked me about a possible future in this type of world, where is the security?, where is the guarantee?, if you find yourself alone at 70 or further, on your death bed, will you have that person there with you?
I have so much love in my life, I know that I won't be alone when the time comes, and love is truly what matters, not a specific pre-approved version of love, just love
There is so much time between now and then, a lifetime in fact, and I'd rather fill that life, that storybook, with as many pages and chapters and footnotes and appendices and inserts and references as possible as opposed to one long page ..... a static page
sharing love, what a novel concept
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yeah.... I'm a woo woo.... that's for damn sure.... what can I say.... it fits
Monday 18 August 2014
What is my flavour of trans?
I read a post today on Facebook that rubbed me the wrong way, as you'll see later on in this piece, I think I may have interpreted it incorrectly as it triggered the "if you don't see trans like XYZ, then you're doing trans wrong". This is an issue in our "community".... I use quotes there because we barely have a community as each persons interpretation of what is trans for them is always different than the next.... and we end up infighting instead of getting anything constructive done half the time. One of the reasons I don't consider myself part of any communities.....
I'm not going to post her words verbatim out of respect for one's anonymity, but you'll get an idea of what the first post was from my words below
Responding to the thread that generated from the post took me a while, and made me think a lot about stuff that I haven't considered in a while, and due to this, I want to share it here. I'll read back upon this in the future, and I'm sure my views will have shifted, and I think this is a nice snapshot for this moment in time.
My words verbatim. The words in italics have been added for this posting to elaborate on the backstory.
--//--
First off, I think the way I read the original post was "if you don't hate your birth body, you aren't doing trans right", which in retrospect may have been a mistake so I apologize for that. We have a TON of "you aren't the right type of trans" in our communities, and it sickens me, even though I am guilty of thinking the same thoughts occasionally (i.e , I still have problems with a furry guy wearing a dress, and I don't want to have those problems, but in all honesty, I do.... trying to be fully honest here ).
I remember in my agonizing over whether I should transition or not (I finally did it at 35, only last year), when I spent a week or two alone, my dysphoria was almost easy to handle. Yes I wanted to be female, and no I can't explain why, but the fact that I was male in a male body wasn't the end of the world. It was when I was around people that I would get triggered all of the time, and those are definitely social cues affecting me, after all, what else could they be?.
------
I posed the question of, if you lived on a desert island, never having contact with another human being, would you still feel dysphoric....would you still be trans?
-------
I think if I lived on that hypothetical desert island, I wouldn't have had these problems. And that concept held me back for a long time.... i.e..... maybe I'm not really trans.... maybe I'm just screwed up / confused / whatever.
But since I don't live secluded on a desert island, I still had to deal with the world, and the world saw me as male, and treated me as such. I knew I was going to end up killing myself over it, but I never felt hate or discomfort about my body, it was a hatred that was from me to the world in not seeing me the way I wanted to be seen, in the way that I saw myself, after all, not all women have curves, or even feminine figures, many have receeding hairlines, or masculine muscles, yet they are still seen as women. Why couldn't I be seen that way in my former body?... because that's not how our world works
-------
she stated that in her belief system, gender has no place in human society and that it has been used as a tool to repress women
--------
Personally, I don't believe that gender has no place in the human world. Gender stereotypes are bullshit, that's for sure, and a feminine spirit can exist within a male body just as much as a masculine spirit can exist in a female body, without being trans in any way. Restricting each person's expression is what bothers me in our society, seeing masculine traits as positive and feminine traits as negative, that infuriates me and there is NO reason for that to be so prevalent, but I do believe that there is essentially a duality, and yes, people can traverse that duality, people can be in the middle of that duality, it's not fixed, it's not tied to genitalia, but to me, it is a basic part of nature. It's everywhere in nature, and we are all part of nature, so what would make humans different than any other living creature on this planet?. I truly feel, and always felt, that I had a feminine / female / woman's soul within me, and maybe if I had been raised in a culture which celebrated this, maybe then I wouldn't have had to physically transition..... I don't know, impossible to say. But within the culture and reality that we inhabit, I had no choice to match my physical to what I feel is my spirit.
The other wrench in the equation for me is simply that without T in my system, and having E in it's place, I simply feel better. I feel more alive, I don't feel held back by the rage that used to fill me. Even while completely alone, where social gender doesn't exist (back to the desert island concept, and kind of screws the desert island concept), I feel at peace, I feel more like I think I should feel, I feel like I fit in my body.... perhaps this is the "identifying with your body" that you were referring to and that I may have misunderstood?. Science tells us that hormones shouldn't have psychological impact on our actual brain matter, so when I'm not in a social environment, I'm not being soothed by being seen as female, why does it make such an enormous difference in me?. Who knows, but all trans folk that I know have felt the same way, regardless of the direction they're travelling in.
Even though it seems I pass a lot of the time (that still surprises the fuck out of me to be honest), I still have certain male physical features, and yes, I still have my penis, but none of this bothers me, it doesn't make me feel less of a woman. I don't have a *female* body, I have a *feminine* body (and I consider my genitalia feminine as well even though it technically is the opposite of that), and that feels wonderful to me, with or without the social interaction, which again screws up the desert island hypothesis. So maybe I was a bit more body dysphoric than I had thought when sitting down to write this post, who knows, I'm only a year old and figuring myself out still , I think I could have survived having a male body and still lead a decent life, I know I wouldn't have been able to continue being seen as male, I was ready to check out because of that
does any of this make sense?
I'm not going to post her words verbatim out of respect for one's anonymity, but you'll get an idea of what the first post was from my words below
Responding to the thread that generated from the post took me a while, and made me think a lot about stuff that I haven't considered in a while, and due to this, I want to share it here. I'll read back upon this in the future, and I'm sure my views will have shifted, and I think this is a nice snapshot for this moment in time.
My words verbatim. The words in italics have been added for this posting to elaborate on the backstory.
--//--
First off, I think the way I read the original post was "if you don't hate your birth body, you aren't doing trans right", which in retrospect may have been a mistake so I apologize for that. We have a TON of "you aren't the right type of trans" in our communities, and it sickens me, even though I am guilty of thinking the same thoughts occasionally (i.e , I still have problems with a furry guy wearing a dress, and I don't want to have those problems, but in all honesty, I do.... trying to be fully honest here ).
I remember in my agonizing over whether I should transition or not (I finally did it at 35, only last year), when I spent a week or two alone, my dysphoria was almost easy to handle. Yes I wanted to be female, and no I can't explain why, but the fact that I was male in a male body wasn't the end of the world. It was when I was around people that I would get triggered all of the time, and those are definitely social cues affecting me, after all, what else could they be?.
------
I posed the question of, if you lived on a desert island, never having contact with another human being, would you still feel dysphoric....would you still be trans?
-------
I think if I lived on that hypothetical desert island, I wouldn't have had these problems. And that concept held me back for a long time.... i.e..... maybe I'm not really trans.... maybe I'm just screwed up / confused / whatever.
But since I don't live secluded on a desert island, I still had to deal with the world, and the world saw me as male, and treated me as such. I knew I was going to end up killing myself over it, but I never felt hate or discomfort about my body, it was a hatred that was from me to the world in not seeing me the way I wanted to be seen, in the way that I saw myself, after all, not all women have curves, or even feminine figures, many have receeding hairlines, or masculine muscles, yet they are still seen as women. Why couldn't I be seen that way in my former body?... because that's not how our world works
-------
she stated that in her belief system, gender has no place in human society and that it has been used as a tool to repress women
--------
Personally, I don't believe that gender has no place in the human world. Gender stereotypes are bullshit, that's for sure, and a feminine spirit can exist within a male body just as much as a masculine spirit can exist in a female body, without being trans in any way. Restricting each person's expression is what bothers me in our society, seeing masculine traits as positive and feminine traits as negative, that infuriates me and there is NO reason for that to be so prevalent, but I do believe that there is essentially a duality, and yes, people can traverse that duality, people can be in the middle of that duality, it's not fixed, it's not tied to genitalia, but to me, it is a basic part of nature. It's everywhere in nature, and we are all part of nature, so what would make humans different than any other living creature on this planet?. I truly feel, and always felt, that I had a feminine / female / woman's soul within me, and maybe if I had been raised in a culture which celebrated this, maybe then I wouldn't have had to physically transition..... I don't know, impossible to say. But within the culture and reality that we inhabit, I had no choice to match my physical to what I feel is my spirit.
The other wrench in the equation for me is simply that without T in my system, and having E in it's place, I simply feel better. I feel more alive, I don't feel held back by the rage that used to fill me. Even while completely alone, where social gender doesn't exist (back to the desert island concept, and kind of screws the desert island concept), I feel at peace, I feel more like I think I should feel, I feel like I fit in my body.... perhaps this is the "identifying with your body" that you were referring to and that I may have misunderstood?. Science tells us that hormones shouldn't have psychological impact on our actual brain matter, so when I'm not in a social environment, I'm not being soothed by being seen as female, why does it make such an enormous difference in me?. Who knows, but all trans folk that I know have felt the same way, regardless of the direction they're travelling in.
Even though it seems I pass a lot of the time (that still surprises the fuck out of me to be honest), I still have certain male physical features, and yes, I still have my penis, but none of this bothers me, it doesn't make me feel less of a woman. I don't have a *female* body, I have a *feminine* body (and I consider my genitalia feminine as well even though it technically is the opposite of that), and that feels wonderful to me, with or without the social interaction, which again screws up the desert island hypothesis. So maybe I was a bit more body dysphoric than I had thought when sitting down to write this post, who knows, I'm only a year old and figuring myself out still , I think I could have survived having a male body and still lead a decent life, I know I wouldn't have been able to continue being seen as male, I was ready to check out because of that
does any of this make sense?
Friday 15 August 2014
Doors
So.... it's been an interesting month.....
An old friend who I thought was supportive of me, someone from my past, who cheerleaded me through transition, who I've written about before, has become a TERF (google it if you don't know, I don't feel like getting into it).... that kind of fucked me up a bit. Just realized it last night, tried to ask her about it and she immediately blocked me.... oh well....
I wonder what fueled her hatred, I hope she finds her way out of her darkness at one point. Either way, a door closes. Part of life I suppose
Someone who became a very good friend in a very short amount of time flipped out at me for being a feminist, who he sees as the cause of all the worlds ills and gave me an ultimatum to give up my ideology or lose him as a friend..... another door closes.
And that really cute teacher that I was jiving with so well?, gay.... dammit.... hehehehehehehehehheh. A wonderful guy, I enjoy our classes immensely and I'm improving fast, and I also enjoy hanging with him and I'm looking forward to getting to know him better. Not just a teacher, I consider him a friend. The door remains open, and probably in a better way than I had originally pined for
The one from across the country, I was getting my hopes up, starting to count on him, and when I realized that he probably wasn't going to come see me like he said he would, it hit me, I was doing it again, before I'm ready to do so, ignoring the red flags as usual, using him as a boost to my moods. The door isn't closed, but it's changed, lets say its ajar...
We had our first trans pride march this past Sunday, a wonderful day, marching and chanting through the city, screaming for our rights to be taken seriously by the government. See.... while half of Canada has already removed the requirement for genital surgery before we can be accepted legally as our new genders... and while Quebec has officially rescinded that law last December, they haven't put into place what the new rules will be, how it will work now that they have declared the old way as discriminatory, so nothing has changed for us. I'm still considered legally male, so if I want a new passport, it will have a big fucking M on it, and I'm not accepting that and the danger that it will bring to me. We'll kick that fucking door down dammit
I made a choice this summer to no longer give my time to those who aren't interested in giving their time to me. That shut a couple of doors, and while it hurt and filled me with anxiety that I'm being "mean", it was necessary to do so.
Became very close to a couple friends I've known for a while, opened up, and they to me. Great women, great support, lots of love. Doors bursting open
I got to be interviewed by a journalist for a piece on Radio Canada, which overall went really well even though the piece ended up only 5 minutes long and had a bit of misquoting in it. She closed with the fact that I've been essentially grounded from travelling due to Quebec not getting their head out of their ass with respect to our gender markers, not grounded by my company I should add, but grounded by fear of being pulled aside by ignorant customs agents, drilled about what I am, not something that any of us should be put through. A door to shedding ignorance cracked open a bit, I want to do more of this, more talks, more activism
During the march I ran into an old trans friend of mine who now works at the support group I went to a lifetime ago. She asks me to come by, I decline as the stories of those that go are not mine, these are the sad stories, the ones that I was so afraid of when I started on this path, these aren't people that I can connect with at that level. She understands me, but tells me that I can be a positive story to raise their spirits, that I don't need more support but that I can help these women and men. I think about it, and realize she is right, and I'll be going next Monday. A door opens wide that I can invite people through, I keep getting told what an inspiration I can be, let's make it matter shall we?
I ran into another woman at the march that I had only met once, almost two years ago, she was with this wonderful young trans woman, just entering womanhood, who has been having a rough time of it due to location, finances, etc. She needs strength, and she took to mine like a fish to water. I love her already, I see the stunning and fierce woman that she will grow into even if she doesn't. I'm taking her under my wing, I'll do my best so she can start opening her own doors.
Still meeting new people all the time, wonderful, interesting, crazy and beautiful characters. Little doors here and there, peeking through into different worlds, different experiences, different realities.
looking back over this time, I guess a lot of stuff has happened that could have been devastating, and while some of it hurt, it hasn't put me down, hasn't pushed me back into the darkness, or that green fog. I keep strutting my stuff, closing doors that I no longer need, kicking through others, standing up for myself, doing what I need to do
and that's a good thing
no
that's a great fucking thing
peace
An old friend who I thought was supportive of me, someone from my past, who cheerleaded me through transition, who I've written about before, has become a TERF (google it if you don't know, I don't feel like getting into it).... that kind of fucked me up a bit. Just realized it last night, tried to ask her about it and she immediately blocked me.... oh well....
I wonder what fueled her hatred, I hope she finds her way out of her darkness at one point. Either way, a door closes. Part of life I suppose
Someone who became a very good friend in a very short amount of time flipped out at me for being a feminist, who he sees as the cause of all the worlds ills and gave me an ultimatum to give up my ideology or lose him as a friend..... another door closes.
And that really cute teacher that I was jiving with so well?, gay.... dammit.... hehehehehehehehehheh. A wonderful guy, I enjoy our classes immensely and I'm improving fast, and I also enjoy hanging with him and I'm looking forward to getting to know him better. Not just a teacher, I consider him a friend. The door remains open, and probably in a better way than I had originally pined for
The one from across the country, I was getting my hopes up, starting to count on him, and when I realized that he probably wasn't going to come see me like he said he would, it hit me, I was doing it again, before I'm ready to do so, ignoring the red flags as usual, using him as a boost to my moods. The door isn't closed, but it's changed, lets say its ajar...
We had our first trans pride march this past Sunday, a wonderful day, marching and chanting through the city, screaming for our rights to be taken seriously by the government. See.... while half of Canada has already removed the requirement for genital surgery before we can be accepted legally as our new genders... and while Quebec has officially rescinded that law last December, they haven't put into place what the new rules will be, how it will work now that they have declared the old way as discriminatory, so nothing has changed for us. I'm still considered legally male, so if I want a new passport, it will have a big fucking M on it, and I'm not accepting that and the danger that it will bring to me. We'll kick that fucking door down dammit
I made a choice this summer to no longer give my time to those who aren't interested in giving their time to me. That shut a couple of doors, and while it hurt and filled me with anxiety that I'm being "mean", it was necessary to do so.
Became very close to a couple friends I've known for a while, opened up, and they to me. Great women, great support, lots of love. Doors bursting open
I got to be interviewed by a journalist for a piece on Radio Canada, which overall went really well even though the piece ended up only 5 minutes long and had a bit of misquoting in it. She closed with the fact that I've been essentially grounded from travelling due to Quebec not getting their head out of their ass with respect to our gender markers, not grounded by my company I should add, but grounded by fear of being pulled aside by ignorant customs agents, drilled about what I am, not something that any of us should be put through. A door to shedding ignorance cracked open a bit, I want to do more of this, more talks, more activism
During the march I ran into an old trans friend of mine who now works at the support group I went to a lifetime ago. She asks me to come by, I decline as the stories of those that go are not mine, these are the sad stories, the ones that I was so afraid of when I started on this path, these aren't people that I can connect with at that level. She understands me, but tells me that I can be a positive story to raise their spirits, that I don't need more support but that I can help these women and men. I think about it, and realize she is right, and I'll be going next Monday. A door opens wide that I can invite people through, I keep getting told what an inspiration I can be, let's make it matter shall we?
I ran into another woman at the march that I had only met once, almost two years ago, she was with this wonderful young trans woman, just entering womanhood, who has been having a rough time of it due to location, finances, etc. She needs strength, and she took to mine like a fish to water. I love her already, I see the stunning and fierce woman that she will grow into even if she doesn't. I'm taking her under my wing, I'll do my best so she can start opening her own doors.
Still meeting new people all the time, wonderful, interesting, crazy and beautiful characters. Little doors here and there, peeking through into different worlds, different experiences, different realities.
looking back over this time, I guess a lot of stuff has happened that could have been devastating, and while some of it hurt, it hasn't put me down, hasn't pushed me back into the darkness, or that green fog. I keep strutting my stuff, closing doors that I no longer need, kicking through others, standing up for myself, doing what I need to do
and that's a good thing
no
that's a great fucking thing
peace
Thursday 17 July 2014
Mirrors..... passing..... thoughts
I glance at myself in a mirror, I still see a shadow on my face where the beard used to be. I approach the mirror, put my face a few inches away from it, puff out my lip. I hunt for the dark hairs, the survivors, the stragglers.... they're nowhere to be seen.
I pull away from the mirror, I still see the shadow, but the shadow is in my mind, it's not real. I'm the only one that sees it, I know, I've checked, both with people who have known both sides of my weird little coin, as well as with those who have only known the new me...... real me......
I occasionally get hit on by random strangers, nothing creepy or negative, at least not yet, but it does happen. To me, I'm still visible, still obviously trans, but again, that seems to be just in my head. I wasn't expecting this, being able to pass, without trying, without heavy makeup and perfect outfits. One would think that this is the goal right?, actually, for me it complicates things. I don't know if they know, if I reciprocate on the flirting, and they don't know, what will happen when they find out?... because that painter that is working on my building who always stops his work and finds a reason to chat with me.... holy crap is he ever cute. It's like I have this piece of cake being dangled in front of me, but I'm scared to reach out for it. If I knew he knew and he was still acting that way, great, I feel safe, but now?, not so much.
I'm getting what I've always wanted, and it scares me.....
I started a new contact staff class, went out for a few drinks with the teacher after class, a funny way to name myself as trans came up in a conversation and I took it.... turns out I blew his mind.... I had to convince him I used to be the guy that I showed him a picture of, in his words, he would have never guessed in a million years..... and I do my class in knee length leggings and a spaghetti strap camisole (tank top), body completely visible to all that are interested, and he didn't know.
{I kind of ended up in bed with the last teacher, this guy is way cuter, I wanted to make sure he knew who I was}
Yet when I look at myself in the mirror, I can still tell, I think I'll always see him. Which is weird because when I look back at my life, I see her.... a trans woman yes.... but a woman none the less. My memories are shifting, it's amazing how malleable our minds are, how our memories can be altered, makes me wonder about the very nature of reality, but that's another discussion.
I'm coming out of a fog, a fog that has great success in pulling me back in and enveloping me in green smoke, but I'm crawling out, I'll fight it, I won't let myself slip back. It's a good thing
peace
I pull away from the mirror, I still see the shadow, but the shadow is in my mind, it's not real. I'm the only one that sees it, I know, I've checked, both with people who have known both sides of my weird little coin, as well as with those who have only known the new me...... real me......
I occasionally get hit on by random strangers, nothing creepy or negative, at least not yet, but it does happen. To me, I'm still visible, still obviously trans, but again, that seems to be just in my head. I wasn't expecting this, being able to pass, without trying, without heavy makeup and perfect outfits. One would think that this is the goal right?, actually, for me it complicates things. I don't know if they know, if I reciprocate on the flirting, and they don't know, what will happen when they find out?... because that painter that is working on my building who always stops his work and finds a reason to chat with me.... holy crap is he ever cute. It's like I have this piece of cake being dangled in front of me, but I'm scared to reach out for it. If I knew he knew and he was still acting that way, great, I feel safe, but now?, not so much.
I'm getting what I've always wanted, and it scares me.....
I started a new contact staff class, went out for a few drinks with the teacher after class, a funny way to name myself as trans came up in a conversation and I took it.... turns out I blew his mind.... I had to convince him I used to be the guy that I showed him a picture of, in his words, he would have never guessed in a million years..... and I do my class in knee length leggings and a spaghetti strap camisole (tank top), body completely visible to all that are interested, and he didn't know.
{I kind of ended up in bed with the last teacher, this guy is way cuter, I wanted to make sure he knew who I was}
Yet when I look at myself in the mirror, I can still tell, I think I'll always see him. Which is weird because when I look back at my life, I see her.... a trans woman yes.... but a woman none the less. My memories are shifting, it's amazing how malleable our minds are, how our memories can be altered, makes me wonder about the very nature of reality, but that's another discussion.
I'm coming out of a fog, a fog that has great success in pulling me back in and enveloping me in green smoke, but I'm crawling out, I'll fight it, I won't let myself slip back. It's a good thing
peace
Wednesday 28 May 2014
Fading....
Something I've noticed these past few weeks, my memories of him are fading
no.... not of my ex boyfriend, that's not the "him" that I'm referring to... although those memories are a lot less pervasive these days. He goes through my head at least once a day, probably more, but the thoughts don't carry the same level of loss and pain as they did even a month ago
my memories of ever being a guy (or a reasonable hand-drawn facsimile of one) is what is fading
It's weird, I'm in my 14th year at this job, the first 13.5 of which were as a guy, yet when I think back to things I did a couple of years ago, I don't see him in those situations, even though I know it was him, I see me in my mind's eye.
I recall last year walking up to the building, seeing my new reflection in the glass of the door before it automatically whisked open, and marveling at her, at me. Now on the other hand, I see that same reflection, and I have to actively remind myself that it wasn't always this way. In fact it still hasn't even been a year since it's been this way
I often find myself saying "as a little girl" when reminiscing of my past.... yet I was never a little girl..... or was I?
It's getting tough to tell
I've mentioned this to a few people and gotten the response of "well, yeah, you've always been *her*, regardless of the exterior". You're still the same person, you just.... shifted.... into yourself. As if my soul slid from one universe into a parallel one, where I'm a woman instead of a boy.
I think to my previous relationships, his previous relationships, and even there, in my mind's eye, it's Dawn with those women, not him. It can even come across as confusing, as if I have a contradiction, an impossibility in my personal recollections. "I used to date her for years.... but I'm not into chicks..... ooooh wait.... I used to be into them.... no!.... he used to be into them.... oh yeah, Dawn is new, whoops!"
I've forgotten what it's like to have a beard, body hair, a flat chest, a raging libido, testosterone fueled anger. I've forgotten the sadness that I used to feel as I got ready in the morning, looking miserably at one t-shirt versus another, wishing I could put on that gorgeous skirt that I had just bought. Putting myself together in the morning still brings me joy, yet I forget that not so long ago, the same activity was fraught with sadness, depression, melancholy, like it was an indication that nothing was worthwhile in reality, or that the reality I inhabited was *wrong*.
Even when I see a bit of him as I step out of the shower, my wet hair plastered back against my head, I still forget that my body used to be different. My chest, my hips, my legs, my waist, my ass, it's as if I've always had these, and that my previous life was just a weird dream that I've finally woken up from.
When I remind myself that *I* am still new, still going through puberty, still changing, I'm surprised. I know that I'm trans, I know that I've transitioned, I know that I'm not a cis woman, a "regular" woman, but when I don't focus on it, it feels like this is all something that happened a long long time ago (in a galaxy far far away**). This is something I have to remind myself of surprisingly often, when I'm down, when I feel overwhelmed, when I feel that I'm not going anywhere, I force myself to stop, sit, and remember all the countless stuff that I've been through in the recent past, and that it hasn't even been a year yet that Dawn has truly existed!.
at least existed for the outside world......
.... cause yeah.... I have always been *her*
been me
cool
** I swear this is a Spaceballs reference, not Star Wars!!!
no.... not of my ex boyfriend, that's not the "him" that I'm referring to... although those memories are a lot less pervasive these days. He goes through my head at least once a day, probably more, but the thoughts don't carry the same level of loss and pain as they did even a month ago
my memories of ever being a guy (or a reasonable hand-drawn facsimile of one) is what is fading
It's weird, I'm in my 14th year at this job, the first 13.5 of which were as a guy, yet when I think back to things I did a couple of years ago, I don't see him in those situations, even though I know it was him, I see me in my mind's eye.
I recall last year walking up to the building, seeing my new reflection in the glass of the door before it automatically whisked open, and marveling at her, at me. Now on the other hand, I see that same reflection, and I have to actively remind myself that it wasn't always this way. In fact it still hasn't even been a year since it's been this way
I often find myself saying "as a little girl" when reminiscing of my past.... yet I was never a little girl..... or was I?
It's getting tough to tell
I've mentioned this to a few people and gotten the response of "well, yeah, you've always been *her*, regardless of the exterior". You're still the same person, you just.... shifted.... into yourself. As if my soul slid from one universe into a parallel one, where I'm a woman instead of a boy.
I think to my previous relationships, his previous relationships, and even there, in my mind's eye, it's Dawn with those women, not him. It can even come across as confusing, as if I have a contradiction, an impossibility in my personal recollections. "I used to date her for years.... but I'm not into chicks..... ooooh wait.... I used to be into them.... no!.... he used to be into them.... oh yeah, Dawn is new, whoops!"
I've forgotten what it's like to have a beard, body hair, a flat chest, a raging libido, testosterone fueled anger. I've forgotten the sadness that I used to feel as I got ready in the morning, looking miserably at one t-shirt versus another, wishing I could put on that gorgeous skirt that I had just bought. Putting myself together in the morning still brings me joy, yet I forget that not so long ago, the same activity was fraught with sadness, depression, melancholy, like it was an indication that nothing was worthwhile in reality, or that the reality I inhabited was *wrong*.
Even when I see a bit of him as I step out of the shower, my wet hair plastered back against my head, I still forget that my body used to be different. My chest, my hips, my legs, my waist, my ass, it's as if I've always had these, and that my previous life was just a weird dream that I've finally woken up from.
When I remind myself that *I* am still new, still going through puberty, still changing, I'm surprised. I know that I'm trans, I know that I've transitioned, I know that I'm not a cis woman, a "regular" woman, but when I don't focus on it, it feels like this is all something that happened a long long time ago (in a galaxy far far away**). This is something I have to remind myself of surprisingly often, when I'm down, when I feel overwhelmed, when I feel that I'm not going anywhere, I force myself to stop, sit, and remember all the countless stuff that I've been through in the recent past, and that it hasn't even been a year yet that Dawn has truly existed!.
at least existed for the outside world......
.... cause yeah.... I have always been *her*
been me
cool
** I swear this is a Spaceballs reference, not Star Wars!!!
Monday 26 May 2014
New Digs
So I moved last week
Overall things are looking up since I last sat down to write (if you could call that writing). Back in regular therapy which is helping, doing my best to practice self soothing, realizing when I'm feeling down and actively talking to myself about it, telling myself that I'm OK in reality, keeping mindful of what is going on around me. I don't know if that is what is helping, or I'm just more on an upswing and this is just me feeling better about things, or if it's the weather that is shifting my mood, it's hard to say when you're on a rollercoaster.....
I still have a problem finding motivation, but the crippling loneliness that I've been handling (badly...) is fading.
As usual, one thing that I know has helped, is opening up about it to certain people. Not everyone, as I've learned that very few people truly have an ability to listen actively, but I've realized that a few people in my life can handle this stuff, and I've been letting them help me, which does feel pretty good. Once I realized that my best friend had no idea I had been depressed for the past couple months, I knew that I had been holding back and hiding again. Seems to be a pattern with me......
Back in the dating game as well. I had two dates with a sweet (and straight!) guy but I don't see anything real coming from that, which is kind of a good thing, because I feel absolutely fine telling him "thanks but no thanks" without falling into a "OMG THIS IS MY ONLY CHANCE AT HAPPINESS AND I MUST HOLD ON!!!!!" type of thing. That's good. I'm *not* desperate at finding another guy, any guy, no matter what, I'm happy to move on and keep fishing, keep trying, until the right one shows up.
That's a good place to be in
The condo is good, I'm quite happy being there, and I hope it will last more than just a year, but even with that, I'll appreciate the chance I had to live here. Meeting the neighbors, getting used to my neighborhood, only slight apprehension that I'll run into my ex while wandering around (it's gonna happen at one point...). Enjoying being close to my tree even though I haven't visited that often just yet, enjoying being close to life.
and for the most part these days, I guess I'm feeling pretty normal.....
that's a good feeling
Overall things are looking up since I last sat down to write (if you could call that writing). Back in regular therapy which is helping, doing my best to practice self soothing, realizing when I'm feeling down and actively talking to myself about it, telling myself that I'm OK in reality, keeping mindful of what is going on around me. I don't know if that is what is helping, or I'm just more on an upswing and this is just me feeling better about things, or if it's the weather that is shifting my mood, it's hard to say when you're on a rollercoaster.....
I still have a problem finding motivation, but the crippling loneliness that I've been handling (badly...) is fading.
As usual, one thing that I know has helped, is opening up about it to certain people. Not everyone, as I've learned that very few people truly have an ability to listen actively, but I've realized that a few people in my life can handle this stuff, and I've been letting them help me, which does feel pretty good. Once I realized that my best friend had no idea I had been depressed for the past couple months, I knew that I had been holding back and hiding again. Seems to be a pattern with me......
Back in the dating game as well. I had two dates with a sweet (and straight!) guy but I don't see anything real coming from that, which is kind of a good thing, because I feel absolutely fine telling him "thanks but no thanks" without falling into a "OMG THIS IS MY ONLY CHANCE AT HAPPINESS AND I MUST HOLD ON!!!!!" type of thing. That's good. I'm *not* desperate at finding another guy, any guy, no matter what, I'm happy to move on and keep fishing, keep trying, until the right one shows up.
That's a good place to be in
The condo is good, I'm quite happy being there, and I hope it will last more than just a year, but even with that, I'll appreciate the chance I had to live here. Meeting the neighbors, getting used to my neighborhood, only slight apprehension that I'll run into my ex while wandering around (it's gonna happen at one point...). Enjoying being close to my tree even though I haven't visited that often just yet, enjoying being close to life.
and for the most part these days, I guess I'm feeling pretty normal.....
that's a good feeling
Thursday 17 April 2014
NrmAL
Authors note: this piece makes very little sense, I realize that. I've been trying to get this out of my soul for some time now and haven't been able to really figure out what I want to say, as if I'm dancing around the real issue without being able to put my finger on it. I know there is truth and wisdom somewhere in here, damned if I can find it though.....
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what does it mean... this word that people will strive for, fight for, kill and die for
seems innocuous doesn't it?, just a word, just a concept, but why is it so powerful?
why does it hold such power for me specifically?
why do I crave something that I've always consciously fought against, called out, disdained, labelled as hypocrisy?
I try to define what I think the word means, and even there I have trouble. I suppose for me normal is being seen as such, seen like you're just like everyone else, that you're not a freak, or an outsider. Part of the gang. Accepted for who you are or want to be without question. Not judged. Not stared at. Not discounted. Like your voice, and basic existence, is acknowledged, and the world finds no dissent with you.
like you fit in
and that you're wanted and desired, emotionally, and physically
and that you won't be rejected for what you happen to be
Yet, in my experience, for me to have all of these things, these privileges, I have had to hide aspects of who I was. Be it my sexuality, my identity, my desires, my thoughts and ideas, my mood swings, my emotions. I would chameleon myself to a certain degree, becoming interested in what others were into just to have some common ground, not pushing my own interests, hiding her inside me, etc.
usually the desire for the feeling of normalcy won out. I would put up with things, hide myself, go along with the flow, and life would be good for a while, even though it was all a little fake, but life would be good... until it wasn't.
at one point, things would start to crack, to disintegrate. Truths would start to demand to come out, I would lock down tighter, depression and moodiness would set in, the cracks would widen, and eventually, the levee would break, and chaos would ensue. Note that these truths weren't always about my sexuality or identity as one may assume, it could have been something as simple as admitting that "I'm not happy with you anymore" to a partner and ending a relationship as opposed to going along with the flow of that situation and just bearing it.
like so many "normal" people do.....
I also found that as I got to know my 'normal' entourage better and better, that in reality, none of them were entirely normal either. They had their issues, different, but just as all-encompassing as I did. They hid themselves, they lied to the world just as I was, and for the most part, they were miserable in much of their normalcy, but for whatever reason, they stayed within it.
it's as if at one point I took a conscious stand against normalcy.... I didn't want to be that way, I wanted to be happy.... but honestly and authentically.... proud of my differences, shouting them from the rooftops, consequences be damned!
my fight against normalcy started at a fairly young age, I always had a rebellious streak, and my natural instincts allowed me to see through the veils that so many people hid behind
the apparent normalcy of my family, and most lily white families around me in the neighborhoods that I grew up in, while behind closed doors most things went to shit. Everyone wearing that badge of "I'm great!" on their lapels, when in reality, for whatever reason, gift or curse, I could see through it, could see the hypocrisy, and it always made me sick. I ended up becoming biased against normal (I still don't trust a man that wears a suit to work just to sit at a desk), the more normal someone appeared, the more I believed, I *knew*, they were hiding something big. That they were liars, that they were just propagating the stereotype of normal = good because they were too cowardly to show their true colors.
I made sure I sounded different, looked different, thought different than my peers, than my "social status" expected me to look and sound and think. As a result, I often found myself fairly alone, or with just the other freaks to hang out with, and while that worked for a short period of time, I also longed to not be seen as such, I longed for none of us to be seen as such. The people I passed my time with were good people for the most part, just different in whichever way they happened to be different, and while I basked in these differences and proclaimed them proudly and loudly to those around me, a part of me, and not a small part, didn't want to be seen as such, wished that I wasn't different
I suppose one could look at it in a slightly different light, that I wanted to make freak into mainstream, weirdo into regular.... after all, under the veil, we're all freaks, we're all weirdos, just very few of us have the courage or strength to show it and live it, and those that do suffer judgement from our society, from our world..... from ourselves...
In retrospect a lot of those freaks were simply stronger than I was (or perhaps were less privileged, and therefore, had less to lose by being themselves), they didn't have the need to be seen as normal, if they were trans, they probably would have been able to take care of their issues before the age of 35. I on the other hand, always required that the normal people approved of my freakishness for me to truly feel OK in it.
makes me think of the first place I actually started dealing with being transgender, which was a mens support forum for "nice guys". Of course I was accepted by the trans support forums (all the other freaks) but I never gained strength from them, but once all the "dudes" didn't seem to give a damn about what I was and were only concerned about how I was doing, then I started to grow as a trans person... as a woman... my freakishness was being accepted by the normals, the muggles
and it was only then that I started to consider accepting myself
weird eh?
where am I going with this?, it's as if I have key scenes in my head which I want to get out on paper, yet I'm having trouble connecting them together....
--------------
My ex wife did not make me feel normal. I was reminded of my differences every time I saw her smile falter if I brought up something regarding being femme, or trans issues, or my desires about being with a guy sexually. I began to feel more normal as I went back into the closet and stopped talking about trans things, even though I was miserable, but there is a certain normalcy about being miserable isn't there?. It's a wonderful distraction from actual life, from your actual issues, and seemingly, everyone can relate to that feeling.
Every few months when I was back in the closet, she would ask me why don't I dress anymore?, she could see that repressing myself wasn't doing me any real favors. I couldn't even handle having a proper conversation about it at the time, I would wave it off, mumble something about how I'm not feeling it, and sit there and wait for the feelings of being a freak to pass.
I never wanted to see her eyes say "freak" to me, yet she couldn't help herself, or I couldn't help myself reading that specific word.
When I came back out of the closet I could see that she was happy for me, but at the same time, I could see the sadness hiding there behind her own veil.
--------------
I have a hard time feeling normal when I'm single. I feel like I'm teetering on the edge of.... something.... I often deal with nerves and anxiety (like, daily), I hold myself back from trying new things, I spend way too much time trolling online dating profiles, looking for normal people who are open enough to date a woman like myself**, yet if I happen across a profile of another person like myself, or some amazingly strong and visible queer, more often than not, I find a reason to label them with the "freak" moniker and I can't create an attraction to them. I find that I don't want to be with them, I don't want to be seen as a couple of freaks dating.
Maybe that's why my circle is so cis / vanilla / straight.... it's like I want to hide amongst the muggles.....
{or perhaps by surrounding myself with the muggles I can blend in, disappear, it does seem that perhaps, just perhaps, they all accept me better than I can accept myself.... is that the truth that I've been dancing around?}
** so I can't handle being seen as not normal, as I am visible to at least half the people I meet, yet I expect, nay, demand that a normal person is strong enough to be seen as a freak by being by my side?..... that's kinda fucked isn't it?
--------------
My ex boyfriend on the other hand, made me feel perfectly normal. Of course he knew I am trans, and of course we discussed it and my experiences from time to time, but it could have been us discussing any subject at all. I never felt like a bug under a microscope, or some exotic oddity, even though he screwed up pronouns with me twice (thankfully right at the beginning) I never once felt different with him. When we were together, we were a normal couple, both had regular professional careers, both home owners, 'normal' friends and family, two nerds exploring a life together. With him I felt like a beautiful woman, not a tranny, and I felt utterly, beautifully, normal.
With him, I would forget that I'm trans, that I'm different, and for me, that was magical.
But a key that I often forget (ignore?) when I think of how I felt about myself when I was with him, are those times that he became distant, the times I felt ignored, my anxiety and dread would rush back into me almost instantly. The fear in my soul would return, and it would be just as strong, if not stronger, than what I feel now. What need did he actually satisfy within me?, is that a need that I can satisfy for myself?.
Is it even normalcy that I'm hunting for?, I still have trouble defining the word, so perhaps I'm using the wrong word entirely, perhaps this quest for normal is simply a distraction from dealing with who I am?
{these last two paragraphs are among the last written in this piece, a nested addendum if you will, and writing them brought a sense of relief to my anxious gut}
--------------
There is a chaser who I've known for a couple years now, and while I know he thinks I'm one of the most beautiful women that he knows, when I'm with him I find that often, so very often, I feel ugly, gross, less than. That the only reason he is with me is because I'm one of the few well adjusted (yeah I realize how funny that is) trans women that he has been able to meet, it has nothing to do with WHO I am, but all with WHAT I am.
I'm reminded of what I am constantly with him, not always because he says things that would remind me, but because I know that if I were a cis-woman, he wouldn't be there talking to me. He doesn't see me as Dawn, like my ex boyfriend did, he sees me as Dawn-the-transsexual.
Of course I know what I am, but I don't want to be seen as such, be reminded of it constantly. It makes me feel..... not normal
{or, also in addendum, the constant knowledge, reminder, that he sees me as woman (sub genus: trans), is too much for me to handle as I still have trouble accepting myself?... to be discussed with my therapist}
--------------
Was I only interested in women in my past life because as a man, dating a woman is the expected norm?. Did my sexuality shift so drastically because now as a woman, dating a man is the expected norm?. As a boy, I could not at all consider dating another man, cuddling him or having him cuddle me, it just always felt completely *wrong* (not that I ever tried mind you...). Now, I feel the same way w/r to being with another woman, it just feels wrong.
Is this valid?, is this OK?, or have I not even really figured out my sexuality and I'm just attracted to anything that will make me feel {appear} normal?
--------------
I've often used the words "make me feel" within this piece, I wonder if anyone caught that, took me a while but I just did.
No one can make someone feel something emotionally, they can provide a stimulus, but it is up to us to decide how we feel about it.
Especially when it comes down to feeling good about yourself, which I think is the crux of the word normal to me. Feeling like you're OK, that you're going to be OK, that you're doing good, on the right path.
I know that the path to transition was the right one for me, but where is my path now?. I'm a woman, I've transitioned, I've done it..... now what?
I'm calmer now, my downs aren't as low (even though they are more emotional) and don't seem to last as long. I'm not as self destructive as I was even though I still do stupid stuff, but transitioning wasn't the end of my road, it was the beginning, and I guess a part of me was hoping that I could walk away in my new body and just become "fine", that it would be the end of the work.....
so where is this new road going to lead?
"anywhere you want it to" I'm sure lots of people would reply.... which of course leads back to my classic "what do you want?"
and unfortunately, my answer is simply..... I don't know
I want to be able to wake up in the morning and not have to fight myself to get out of bed and go to work.
I want to be able to get a full days work done without feeling lonely, feeling like the world is going down the tubes so fast that there's no real point to anything.
I want to be able to look forward to something and be excited about it, from something as simple as a night out with some friends, to a huge show that is coming nine months away
I want to be able to enjoy time with friends without having that sense of dread and anxiety sitting deep in my gut
I want to be able to handle rejection without it tearing me down
I want to stop living in my own head, and start living in the real world
I want to be my own rock
I want to be able to go a day without compulsively checking email, facebook, dating sites. I want to NOT feel a lift in my spirit if I see that someone is trying to reach me which is coupled with sadness for myself if no one has done so
I want to own my emotions and not put them on others
I want to be able to truly feel love for myself
I want to be able to say that I've done good in my life
I want to want
you know.... like all the normal people
I've beat this horse to death now, just going to hit publish and move on
till next time.....
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
what does it mean... this word that people will strive for, fight for, kill and die for
normal
seems innocuous doesn't it?, just a word, just a concept, but why is it so powerful?
why does it hold such power for me specifically?
why do I crave something that I've always consciously fought against, called out, disdained, labelled as hypocrisy?
I try to define what I think the word means, and even there I have trouble. I suppose for me normal is being seen as such, seen like you're just like everyone else, that you're not a freak, or an outsider. Part of the gang. Accepted for who you are or want to be without question. Not judged. Not stared at. Not discounted. Like your voice, and basic existence, is acknowledged, and the world finds no dissent with you.
like you fit in
and that you're wanted and desired, emotionally, and physically
and that you won't be rejected for what you happen to be
Yet, in my experience, for me to have all of these things, these privileges, I have had to hide aspects of who I was. Be it my sexuality, my identity, my desires, my thoughts and ideas, my mood swings, my emotions. I would chameleon myself to a certain degree, becoming interested in what others were into just to have some common ground, not pushing my own interests, hiding her inside me, etc.
usually the desire for the feeling of normalcy won out. I would put up with things, hide myself, go along with the flow, and life would be good for a while, even though it was all a little fake, but life would be good... until it wasn't.
at one point, things would start to crack, to disintegrate. Truths would start to demand to come out, I would lock down tighter, depression and moodiness would set in, the cracks would widen, and eventually, the levee would break, and chaos would ensue. Note that these truths weren't always about my sexuality or identity as one may assume, it could have been something as simple as admitting that "I'm not happy with you anymore" to a partner and ending a relationship as opposed to going along with the flow of that situation and just bearing it.
like so many "normal" people do.....
I also found that as I got to know my 'normal' entourage better and better, that in reality, none of them were entirely normal either. They had their issues, different, but just as all-encompassing as I did. They hid themselves, they lied to the world just as I was, and for the most part, they were miserable in much of their normalcy, but for whatever reason, they stayed within it.
it's as if at one point I took a conscious stand against normalcy.... I didn't want to be that way, I wanted to be happy.... but honestly and authentically.... proud of my differences, shouting them from the rooftops, consequences be damned!
my fight against normalcy started at a fairly young age, I always had a rebellious streak, and my natural instincts allowed me to see through the veils that so many people hid behind
the apparent normalcy of my family, and most lily white families around me in the neighborhoods that I grew up in, while behind closed doors most things went to shit. Everyone wearing that badge of "I'm great!" on their lapels, when in reality, for whatever reason, gift or curse, I could see through it, could see the hypocrisy, and it always made me sick. I ended up becoming biased against normal (I still don't trust a man that wears a suit to work just to sit at a desk), the more normal someone appeared, the more I believed, I *knew*, they were hiding something big. That they were liars, that they were just propagating the stereotype of normal = good because they were too cowardly to show their true colors.
I made sure I sounded different, looked different, thought different than my peers, than my "social status" expected me to look and sound and think. As a result, I often found myself fairly alone, or with just the other freaks to hang out with, and while that worked for a short period of time, I also longed to not be seen as such, I longed for none of us to be seen as such. The people I passed my time with were good people for the most part, just different in whichever way they happened to be different, and while I basked in these differences and proclaimed them proudly and loudly to those around me, a part of me, and not a small part, didn't want to be seen as such, wished that I wasn't different
I suppose one could look at it in a slightly different light, that I wanted to make freak into mainstream, weirdo into regular.... after all, under the veil, we're all freaks, we're all weirdos, just very few of us have the courage or strength to show it and live it, and those that do suffer judgement from our society, from our world..... from ourselves...
In retrospect a lot of those freaks were simply stronger than I was (or perhaps were less privileged, and therefore, had less to lose by being themselves), they didn't have the need to be seen as normal, if they were trans, they probably would have been able to take care of their issues before the age of 35. I on the other hand, always required that the normal people approved of my freakishness for me to truly feel OK in it.
makes me think of the first place I actually started dealing with being transgender, which was a mens support forum for "nice guys". Of course I was accepted by the trans support forums (all the other freaks) but I never gained strength from them, but once all the "dudes" didn't seem to give a damn about what I was and were only concerned about how I was doing, then I started to grow as a trans person... as a woman... my freakishness was being accepted by the normals, the muggles
and it was only then that I started to consider accepting myself
weird eh?
where am I going with this?, it's as if I have key scenes in my head which I want to get out on paper, yet I'm having trouble connecting them together....
--------------
My ex wife did not make me feel normal. I was reminded of my differences every time I saw her smile falter if I brought up something regarding being femme, or trans issues, or my desires about being with a guy sexually. I began to feel more normal as I went back into the closet and stopped talking about trans things, even though I was miserable, but there is a certain normalcy about being miserable isn't there?. It's a wonderful distraction from actual life, from your actual issues, and seemingly, everyone can relate to that feeling.
Every few months when I was back in the closet, she would ask me why don't I dress anymore?, she could see that repressing myself wasn't doing me any real favors. I couldn't even handle having a proper conversation about it at the time, I would wave it off, mumble something about how I'm not feeling it, and sit there and wait for the feelings of being a freak to pass.
I never wanted to see her eyes say "freak" to me, yet she couldn't help herself, or I couldn't help myself reading that specific word.
When I came back out of the closet I could see that she was happy for me, but at the same time, I could see the sadness hiding there behind her own veil.
--------------
I have a hard time feeling normal when I'm single. I feel like I'm teetering on the edge of.... something.... I often deal with nerves and anxiety (like, daily), I hold myself back from trying new things, I spend way too much time trolling online dating profiles, looking for normal people who are open enough to date a woman like myself**, yet if I happen across a profile of another person like myself, or some amazingly strong and visible queer, more often than not, I find a reason to label them with the "freak" moniker and I can't create an attraction to them. I find that I don't want to be with them, I don't want to be seen as a couple of freaks dating.
Maybe that's why my circle is so cis / vanilla / straight.... it's like I want to hide amongst the muggles.....
{or perhaps by surrounding myself with the muggles I can blend in, disappear, it does seem that perhaps, just perhaps, they all accept me better than I can accept myself.... is that the truth that I've been dancing around?}
** so I can't handle being seen as not normal, as I am visible to at least half the people I meet, yet I expect, nay, demand that a normal person is strong enough to be seen as a freak by being by my side?..... that's kinda fucked isn't it?
--------------
My ex boyfriend on the other hand, made me feel perfectly normal. Of course he knew I am trans, and of course we discussed it and my experiences from time to time, but it could have been us discussing any subject at all. I never felt like a bug under a microscope, or some exotic oddity, even though he screwed up pronouns with me twice (thankfully right at the beginning) I never once felt different with him. When we were together, we were a normal couple, both had regular professional careers, both home owners, 'normal' friends and family, two nerds exploring a life together. With him I felt like a beautiful woman, not a tranny, and I felt utterly, beautifully, normal.
With him, I would forget that I'm trans, that I'm different, and for me, that was magical.
But a key that I often forget (ignore?) when I think of how I felt about myself when I was with him, are those times that he became distant, the times I felt ignored, my anxiety and dread would rush back into me almost instantly. The fear in my soul would return, and it would be just as strong, if not stronger, than what I feel now. What need did he actually satisfy within me?, is that a need that I can satisfy for myself?.
Is it even normalcy that I'm hunting for?, I still have trouble defining the word, so perhaps I'm using the wrong word entirely, perhaps this quest for normal is simply a distraction from dealing with who I am?
{these last two paragraphs are among the last written in this piece, a nested addendum if you will, and writing them brought a sense of relief to my anxious gut}
--------------
There is a chaser who I've known for a couple years now, and while I know he thinks I'm one of the most beautiful women that he knows, when I'm with him I find that often, so very often, I feel ugly, gross, less than. That the only reason he is with me is because I'm one of the few well adjusted (yeah I realize how funny that is) trans women that he has been able to meet, it has nothing to do with WHO I am, but all with WHAT I am.
I'm reminded of what I am constantly with him, not always because he says things that would remind me, but because I know that if I were a cis-woman, he wouldn't be there talking to me. He doesn't see me as Dawn, like my ex boyfriend did, he sees me as Dawn-the-transsexual.
Of course I know what I am, but I don't want to be seen as such, be reminded of it constantly. It makes me feel..... not normal
{or, also in addendum, the constant knowledge, reminder, that he sees me as woman (sub genus: trans), is too much for me to handle as I still have trouble accepting myself?... to be discussed with my therapist}
--------------
Was I only interested in women in my past life because as a man, dating a woman is the expected norm?. Did my sexuality shift so drastically because now as a woman, dating a man is the expected norm?. As a boy, I could not at all consider dating another man, cuddling him or having him cuddle me, it just always felt completely *wrong* (not that I ever tried mind you...). Now, I feel the same way w/r to being with another woman, it just feels wrong.
Is this valid?, is this OK?, or have I not even really figured out my sexuality and I'm just attracted to anything that will make me feel {appear} normal?
--------------
I've often used the words "make me feel" within this piece, I wonder if anyone caught that, took me a while but I just did.
No one can make someone feel something emotionally, they can provide a stimulus, but it is up to us to decide how we feel about it.
Especially when it comes down to feeling good about yourself, which I think is the crux of the word normal to me. Feeling like you're OK, that you're going to be OK, that you're doing good, on the right path.
I know that the path to transition was the right one for me, but where is my path now?. I'm a woman, I've transitioned, I've done it..... now what?
I'm calmer now, my downs aren't as low (even though they are more emotional) and don't seem to last as long. I'm not as self destructive as I was even though I still do stupid stuff, but transitioning wasn't the end of my road, it was the beginning, and I guess a part of me was hoping that I could walk away in my new body and just become "fine", that it would be the end of the work.....
so where is this new road going to lead?
"anywhere you want it to" I'm sure lots of people would reply.... which of course leads back to my classic "what do you want?"
and unfortunately, my answer is simply..... I don't know
I want to be able to wake up in the morning and not have to fight myself to get out of bed and go to work.
I want to be able to get a full days work done without feeling lonely, feeling like the world is going down the tubes so fast that there's no real point to anything.
I want to be able to look forward to something and be excited about it, from something as simple as a night out with some friends, to a huge show that is coming nine months away
I want to be able to enjoy time with friends without having that sense of dread and anxiety sitting deep in my gut
I want to be able to handle rejection without it tearing me down
I want to stop living in my own head, and start living in the real world
I want to be my own rock
I want to be able to go a day without compulsively checking email, facebook, dating sites. I want to NOT feel a lift in my spirit if I see that someone is trying to reach me which is coupled with sadness for myself if no one has done so
I want to own my emotions and not put them on others
I want to be able to truly feel love for myself
I want to be able to say that I've done good in my life
I want to want
you know.... like all the normal people
I've beat this horse to death now, just going to hit publish and move on
till next time.....
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