I meant to post this the night it happened, but now hear I am, posting Christmas morning, about something that happened about a week ago. So begins another two part post courtesy of Sara. First and foremost, an experience that happened to me that more or less changed my life. I guess it was going to happen eventually, but I wasn't really expecting it.
I was taking the train down to Hollywood as per usual, wearing a new top I had bought, and a cute black and purple hairband I got when I was out with a friend a week or so earlier. I was feeling pretty good about myself even though I knew I wasn't passing. Something however, was strangely absent in today's journey: the dirty looks. Sometimes this happens, when I'm wearing one of my black babydoll shirts and a hoodie over, because its cold, people seem to not notice that I'm a girl, or even dressed as one, so they simply ignore me, regarding me simply as a man.
I knew today it was blatantly obvious I was dressed as a girl, the top I was wearing wasn't that low cut, but it was enough that they don't make men's shirts in that fashion, and it was a bit frilly and tighter than the shirts I used to wear. Oh and red, by the way. The hairband completed the picture. I've never seen a guy wearing a hairband.
I figured people were just too busy or didn't care enough, I got lucky with a nicer crowd today on the train. It passed in the back of my mind that people actually took me for a girl, with no strings attached but I didn't want to get my hopes up, so I let that notion slide from my imagination. Its best not to get caught up in dreamworlds... okay I don't really live up to that very often, but concerning my transition, I try especially hard.
It happened when I was about to go to subway and the bum that is normally there asking for change, didn't talk to me. He stopped asking me for change at a certain point in my transition, was it because I never have any to give him, or was it because he was appalled at what I am? He whispered something to another ragged loafer (I try to be a generous person but these particular bums inappropriate behavior dampens my respect for them) something about me, as he was looking directly at me... well and pointing at me. The ragged loafer replied "who the white girl?" He was looking at me. I'm the white girl??? Despite the rudeness and and creepiness of this behavior, I was ecstatic to be called anything other than sir! The bum had probably told the ragged loafer that I was transsexual, as he had seen me several times before this, in various stages of my transition. The ragged loafer became the creep. He proceeded to call me "hay baby, hay girl, baby girl" and said something about going to Victoria's secret with him. I gave him a cold "not interested" and fled to subway from the shaggy troll's advances.
Equal parts ecstatic and disturbed, my first experience as a woman in the real world, was an encounter with a creep. Ah, but being a woman, for all the new terrors associated with it, is at least, far more exiting than being a man ever was. I'll stay safe don't worry. I'm being uncharacteristically optimistic, but I won't go searching for this kind of excitement, which the novelty is already wearing off.
In subway, where I had been called sir previously, I met no strange looks or confusion or nervousness behind the counter. Once I could see people were actually terrified of me. To them I must be the troll. No such terror existed in their eyes. No dirty looks and no rush to get me out of the line and hopefully out of the store. I was met with the same politeness I received before I began to dress. I assume that this is just how they roll here in Hollywood where queers are plentiful. When I handed them my cash they told me "enjoy your sandwich ma'am." A euphoric shock surged through every nerve in my body. It was at this moment I finally admitted to myself, what was happening. I was passing, at least for a day.
Since that day I've been able to pass on and off with my hair band and a little foundation. I guess at the length my hair is now, I don't pass without the hairband. I'm not really into short girl haircuts, but it hurts that I can't choose to be one of those girls with short hair if I wanted to. Some girls can really pull that off and look sexy.
Sometimes I get ma'am sometimes I get sir. It seems the majority of it has gone back to sir, but that one particular day gives me so much hope, that it's easier to go on. Even as my friend Amanda continues to accidental call me "he" without meaning to. It's probably my voice, but my facial features don't help it much.
So I'll be getting my name change soon, and I'll be working on getting some schooling, or a job, or something, under my true name, and not under some identity forced upon me.
Fast forward then, to today. Christmas eve, which I spent with my family, as I have traditionally for Christmas eve since childhood. It was my immediate family this time, just my aunts and uncles grandma and grandpa and mom and dad. No throng of second cousins and third cousins twice removed and children I don't know chasing each other through the halls, like I'm used to. I wore my hairband today, the black one, so it wouldn't be as noticed, but for some reason I chickened out when I got there, and took it off. I knew the kids would notice, and indeed they said something about it. I wore my girl jeans, and my breasts have gotten too big not to be noticed under the dress shirt I wore, even if their still much smaller than I'd like. Like last time, nobody said anything, I'm not sure I really wanted them to, quite as badly, but it still would have been nice. Next time maybe I'll wear the hairband the whole time.
I received a card from my grandpa that said something like "You're the kind of special boy a grandson ought to be" What the hell am I supposed to do with a card like that?? I also got two hundred dollars from them though, that's plenty of Christmas money for new clothes and maybe a video game. Still, I think this card stung more than anything else. Did they just not think, its difficult to imagine my grandparents purposely giving me a stinger like that, but not impossible. You just don't complain about Christmas cards in my family, so I guess I'll just have to throw it away later. Its cute too, with Santa's chubby airbrushed face on the front, why does it have to use boy words? Part of me wants to keep it, because I'm sentimental and I'll get all emotional if I throw it away. Maybe I'll bury it in my stuff somewhere and forget about it, like I do with all the ones I mean to keep.
Sorry for not commenting or posting for a while, especially Wolfie, Veronique, and Samantha, Veronique and Samantha are my friend's of mine I've made here on the blog community, and fellow writers about their lives and the trials and triumphs of being a transsexual woman. Wolfie is a name I call my lesbian girlfriend Acacia. I really don't write about her enough for someone who is such a staple in this struggle of mine. I've come a long way, and as cheesy as it sounds, Wolfie you are really the wind beneath my wings.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
More Scraps of Information/Awkward Silence
You'll have to forgive me if this evening's post is a little bit hard to follow. If my words are jumbled or simply chosen poorly, the reason is simply because, I lack a great deal of sleep. Tonight is another one of those nights where I have to cram two topics into one post, both topics are equally relevant, though one is far more personal, and the other far more broad.
So I'm going to start this evening, with the broad topic, a bit of research I had not yet come across, since I have not been doing a great deal of research on transsexuality since a few years back. When I say research, please understand I mean the kind of research you do for a paper, as I basically just collect the little scraps and pieces of data that are available to the public, and take from them what I can.
Needless to say, having a lot of stake in the matter, It is functionally impossible for me to look at this data with no bias whatsoever. That said, I can still make an effort to try to see the data without bias. So I looked carefully at this data, and saw that, according to this study the transsexuals, had similar brain functions and shape to their non-transsexual, peers, and not afterward. Hormones change your brain.
A lot of this data can easily be misconstrued as saying, "this proves that transsexuality is an invention of the brain" or "this proves transsexuality has no biological cause" when in fact it does neither of these. All this study shows is that your brain changes. Even the study itself, or at least this article concludes, "the finding suggest that, throughout life, gonadal hormones remain essential for maintaining aspects of sex specific differences in the human brain."
This article was given to me under the notion "It was once believed that there are biological causes for gender dysphoria, and those causes have since been disproved." Despite this horrendously presumptuous take on what is really, a very small and limited amount of information, I actually think this study says some positive things for us.
I for one, used to worry if I didn't behave exactly like a biological girl, in every fine detail. I would analyze my every thought, every movement, every desire. I would think to the point of self torment, on whether or not I qualified as a true transsexual. Finding this information out, is in fact, a massive relief. What this really tells us, is "don't sweat the small stuff." The core of "I" has not changed since I began my transition, but I've noticed little by little my more shallow thought processes have changed, and my behavior has become more and more that of a normal woman. I find less useless things happening in my mind that used to disturb me. I find I control my sexuality, rather than it controlling me. I find I have a better span of attention for my appearance. I find my brain seems to function more like it feels it SHOULD. Meanwhile my beliefs, ideals, spirituality (though I'm growing a lot in this area) likes, dislikes, interests and hobbies have not changed. I'm still me, so the changes that happen in the brain, are most likely very superficial.
I have more to say about the debate I was having on transsexuality, and about an argument I had regarding "correcting" gender dysphoria, rather than transitioning. I will not take womanhood as a last resort treatment for my illness. I AM a woman, its not an illness. More on this on another post.
So with no real segway available, I come to my second topic for this evening. Thanksgiving. I'm currently typing this on my mom's laptop, dressed as a boy for the second time in two weeks. It is the day after thanksgiving though I began this post yesterday.
For days I toiled over whether or not to remove my nail polish. I decided my family has given me a bit of understanding, and though its been a slow painful process for them, they've moved, at least a little, in their acceptance of me. Most of my fellows at the transgender support group at the clinic, told me to leave the purple nail polish on. Only my lesbian friend from china, who is more understanding of matters with family and confinement to their needs, told me I should compromise and change it to black, which is what I ultimately decided to do, a color that has seen more androgynous use than purple on people's nails. In addition to that, I have been wearing my hair in a more feminine style, and I've been working on how I walk. I spent most of thanksgiving day trying to correct my walking when really I probably walk more like a girl than I used to when I don't think about it at all, but I'm moving away from the topic at hand here.
I was concerned that if I let my gender identity be too noticeable, it will cause drama at the dinner table. They will assault me with accusations. My grandmother's declining health will be blamed on me and so will her death from shock of my transition. Worse, my little cousin, who since being old enough to speak, has exclaimed "I'm a boy" and is probably a female to male. No doubt if this is the case, his transition will be blamed on my corrupting influence.
None of these things happened. My mom laughed a little and asked what did I do to my nails. My grandpa made a comment about my black nails the week before. That's it. But its the silence that hurts more than anything. Why wouldn't my childish uncle make an outburst remark. Why wouldn't they approach me and ask me questions about my transition, or about how I feel? Why wouldn't for the most part, they even comment on my nails. Everything was the same. The same he's and hims. The same "Justin" instead of calling me by my name, Sara, which I will make my legitimate name soon. Nothing. Everything was as it was, only I was a little softer. My grandma said I looked pale, and other than that nobody seemed to notice my physical changes... or they pretended not to.
Why couldn't the approach me and ask me of my transition? Why couldn't my childish uncle have misbehaved, had an outburst, made some snarky remark or asked a personal question. Why couldn't any of them have approached me and asked me something personal? What, dear family, are your thoughts, do you have goals and motives? Are you still shocked. Who am I to you?
The silence hurts so much more than rude words ever could. Why can't they talk to me about it? I shall push the envelope until I probe some small response of acknowledgement of my transition. Next time a bracelet, if no remarks occur, I'll wear my girl jeans. If more remarks occur, I'll wear my other bracelet, the one with the ribbon on it, I guess. I'll do something to move in them, some manner of response or acknowledgement.
Should I?
So I'm going to start this evening, with the broad topic, a bit of research I had not yet come across, since I have not been doing a great deal of research on transsexuality since a few years back. When I say research, please understand I mean the kind of research you do for a paper, as I basically just collect the little scraps and pieces of data that are available to the public, and take from them what I can.
Needless to say, having a lot of stake in the matter, It is functionally impossible for me to look at this data with no bias whatsoever. That said, I can still make an effort to try to see the data without bias. So I looked carefully at this data, and saw that, according to this study the transsexuals, had similar brain functions and shape to their non-transsexual, peers, and not afterward. Hormones change your brain.
A lot of this data can easily be misconstrued as saying, "this proves that transsexuality is an invention of the brain" or "this proves transsexuality has no biological cause" when in fact it does neither of these. All this study shows is that your brain changes. Even the study itself, or at least this article concludes, "the finding suggest that, throughout life, gonadal hormones remain essential for maintaining aspects of sex specific differences in the human brain."
This article was given to me under the notion "It was once believed that there are biological causes for gender dysphoria, and those causes have since been disproved." Despite this horrendously presumptuous take on what is really, a very small and limited amount of information, I actually think this study says some positive things for us.
I for one, used to worry if I didn't behave exactly like a biological girl, in every fine detail. I would analyze my every thought, every movement, every desire. I would think to the point of self torment, on whether or not I qualified as a true transsexual. Finding this information out, is in fact, a massive relief. What this really tells us, is "don't sweat the small stuff." The core of "I" has not changed since I began my transition, but I've noticed little by little my more shallow thought processes have changed, and my behavior has become more and more that of a normal woman. I find less useless things happening in my mind that used to disturb me. I find I control my sexuality, rather than it controlling me. I find I have a better span of attention for my appearance. I find my brain seems to function more like it feels it SHOULD. Meanwhile my beliefs, ideals, spirituality (though I'm growing a lot in this area) likes, dislikes, interests and hobbies have not changed. I'm still me, so the changes that happen in the brain, are most likely very superficial.
I have more to say about the debate I was having on transsexuality, and about an argument I had regarding "correcting" gender dysphoria, rather than transitioning. I will not take womanhood as a last resort treatment for my illness. I AM a woman, its not an illness. More on this on another post.
So with no real segway available, I come to my second topic for this evening. Thanksgiving. I'm currently typing this on my mom's laptop, dressed as a boy for the second time in two weeks. It is the day after thanksgiving though I began this post yesterday.
For days I toiled over whether or not to remove my nail polish. I decided my family has given me a bit of understanding, and though its been a slow painful process for them, they've moved, at least a little, in their acceptance of me. Most of my fellows at the transgender support group at the clinic, told me to leave the purple nail polish on. Only my lesbian friend from china, who is more understanding of matters with family and confinement to their needs, told me I should compromise and change it to black, which is what I ultimately decided to do, a color that has seen more androgynous use than purple on people's nails. In addition to that, I have been wearing my hair in a more feminine style, and I've been working on how I walk. I spent most of thanksgiving day trying to correct my walking when really I probably walk more like a girl than I used to when I don't think about it at all, but I'm moving away from the topic at hand here.
I was concerned that if I let my gender identity be too noticeable, it will cause drama at the dinner table. They will assault me with accusations. My grandmother's declining health will be blamed on me and so will her death from shock of my transition. Worse, my little cousin, who since being old enough to speak, has exclaimed "I'm a boy" and is probably a female to male. No doubt if this is the case, his transition will be blamed on my corrupting influence.
None of these things happened. My mom laughed a little and asked what did I do to my nails. My grandpa made a comment about my black nails the week before. That's it. But its the silence that hurts more than anything. Why wouldn't my childish uncle make an outburst remark. Why wouldn't they approach me and ask me questions about my transition, or about how I feel? Why wouldn't for the most part, they even comment on my nails. Everything was the same. The same he's and hims. The same "Justin" instead of calling me by my name, Sara, which I will make my legitimate name soon. Nothing. Everything was as it was, only I was a little softer. My grandma said I looked pale, and other than that nobody seemed to notice my physical changes... or they pretended not to.
Why couldn't the approach me and ask me of my transition? Why couldn't my childish uncle have misbehaved, had an outburst, made some snarky remark or asked a personal question. Why couldn't any of them have approached me and asked me something personal? What, dear family, are your thoughts, do you have goals and motives? Are you still shocked. Who am I to you?
The silence hurts so much more than rude words ever could. Why can't they talk to me about it? I shall push the envelope until I probe some small response of acknowledgement of my transition. Next time a bracelet, if no remarks occur, I'll wear my girl jeans. If more remarks occur, I'll wear my other bracelet, the one with the ribbon on it, I guess. I'll do something to move in them, some manner of response or acknowledgement.
Should I?
Friday, November 21, 2008
The scattered mists of womanhood
Today I spoke with my grandfather, it never ceases to amaze me how iron-willed and open minded he is, despite the fact that for almost two years my mother FORBADE me to tell him of my transsexual status, and my plans of transitioning from male to female. She swore he'd have a heart attack and die. Natural causes were the most condemning threat my parents used on me for the longest time. If I should shave my legs or wear a dress, my parents bodies would give way to the shock and stress, and pass away. Far be it for me to begin hormone treatment, and change my name. Charged with the guilt of my mother's murder how could I transition in comfort, but as you can see, my family is still there. I do worry for my elderly grandmother though.
He told me every time he comes to see me, grandma asks if I look different when he comes home, and he tells her I look the same, and he doesn't know what exactly I'm doing. Ouch, do I really look exactly the same? My body is changed so much, and my face is so soft compared to the Carpathian mountains I had for a jaw when I started, heavily forested and all. I do wear baggy clothes though, when I see my family, so as to make things easier on them.
I didn't want to tell him that I dress as a girl now, that I fear for my life taking the train at night, but somehow the conversation, and all the wonderful and terrifying truths came out. His main concern is for my safety, that is, that people do not lash out with physical violence. My concern is also this. I can get used to dirty looks and cruel remarks, but if someone shoots me in the face what am I gonna say to that?
Where the hell is the balance, between dressing in a way that brings me a sense of identity, and dressing in a way that provokes disaster, or does such a thing even exist. I don't wear dresses yet, and I don't really wear my skirt that often. I started painting my nails and stuff, I haven't gotten on to make-up for the simple issue of I have no idea how to apply makeup without making myself look like a clown. I've never done it before. The dirty looks have started up as expected, but what do I do?
I came home and took my baggy shirt off, my tight tank top underneath, in my opinion far more flattering, but apparently I'm too fat for something that shows a lil of my tummy, so I'll only wear it as an under...thing. So says my roommate and her mother anyways. After talking a bit with my friend, she told me that she was talking with her friend, about my apparently, ape-like posture and mannerisms. I didn't know it was that bad... apparently she did a walk like me in front of her friend, and her friend laughed and said "that's just mean." I really didn't realize I was quite this bad. I know I need work but geeze.
So after this I received a bit of coaching on walking and standing more like a girl, and I tried as best as I can to correct my ape-like posture and walk. Another description I heard tonight was "bull-dyke" I think that's a bit of an improvement to "ape-like" since most butch chicks I know, are far more civilized than apes. She told me to stand with one leg straight and that hip up, and the other leg at an angle. I see girls standing like that alot, but it seems an exaggeration to stand like that ALL the time. I guess I'm one big walking social faux-pas, no wonder people stare at me, as though I were the Frankenstein monster.
Later however she told me something chillingly painful. She said that in discussion of me, her and her friend said my aura was androgynous, neither male nor female. Consider me what you will, in believing in auras and such things, but this roommate, friend of mine, for all her flaws, is someone I trust implicitly for council on all things regarding the spirit. If she told me that, there is no doubt in my mind that it must be the truth.
So why the hell does knowing that, though I believe I already knew it, hurt so much. I'm not having second thoughts about transitioning. I'm not regretting what I've become. I'm not considering transitioning back into a man, the thought seems absolutely abominable. I know I'm not the very model of a typical feminine woman, particularly in the unforgiving world of transsexual stereotypes... but I always believed myself to be a woman nonetheless.
He told me every time he comes to see me, grandma asks if I look different when he comes home, and he tells her I look the same, and he doesn't know what exactly I'm doing. Ouch, do I really look exactly the same? My body is changed so much, and my face is so soft compared to the Carpathian mountains I had for a jaw when I started, heavily forested and all. I do wear baggy clothes though, when I see my family, so as to make things easier on them.
I didn't want to tell him that I dress as a girl now, that I fear for my life taking the train at night, but somehow the conversation, and all the wonderful and terrifying truths came out. His main concern is for my safety, that is, that people do not lash out with physical violence. My concern is also this. I can get used to dirty looks and cruel remarks, but if someone shoots me in the face what am I gonna say to that?
Where the hell is the balance, between dressing in a way that brings me a sense of identity, and dressing in a way that provokes disaster, or does such a thing even exist. I don't wear dresses yet, and I don't really wear my skirt that often. I started painting my nails and stuff, I haven't gotten on to make-up for the simple issue of I have no idea how to apply makeup without making myself look like a clown. I've never done it before. The dirty looks have started up as expected, but what do I do?
I came home and took my baggy shirt off, my tight tank top underneath, in my opinion far more flattering, but apparently I'm too fat for something that shows a lil of my tummy, so I'll only wear it as an under...thing. So says my roommate and her mother anyways. After talking a bit with my friend, she told me that she was talking with her friend, about my apparently, ape-like posture and mannerisms. I didn't know it was that bad... apparently she did a walk like me in front of her friend, and her friend laughed and said "that's just mean." I really didn't realize I was quite this bad. I know I need work but geeze.
So after this I received a bit of coaching on walking and standing more like a girl, and I tried as best as I can to correct my ape-like posture and walk. Another description I heard tonight was "bull-dyke" I think that's a bit of an improvement to "ape-like" since most butch chicks I know, are far more civilized than apes. She told me to stand with one leg straight and that hip up, and the other leg at an angle. I see girls standing like that alot, but it seems an exaggeration to stand like that ALL the time. I guess I'm one big walking social faux-pas, no wonder people stare at me, as though I were the Frankenstein monster.
Later however she told me something chillingly painful. She said that in discussion of me, her and her friend said my aura was androgynous, neither male nor female. Consider me what you will, in believing in auras and such things, but this roommate, friend of mine, for all her flaws, is someone I trust implicitly for council on all things regarding the spirit. If she told me that, there is no doubt in my mind that it must be the truth.
So why the hell does knowing that, though I believe I already knew it, hurt so much. I'm not having second thoughts about transitioning. I'm not regretting what I've become. I'm not considering transitioning back into a man, the thought seems absolutely abominable. I know I'm not the very model of a typical feminine woman, particularly in the unforgiving world of transsexual stereotypes... but I always believed myself to be a woman nonetheless.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Slowly Staggers November, in Swiftness Came December.
The previous slowly trudged forth, as if caught in a marsh. October, and the months before as my transition slowly happened beneath my clothes, seemed like years unto themselves. It happened a few times in October, I'd have just shaved the tattered remains of my beard, and I'd go out as Sara, with a group of friends, and feel painfully self conscious as people stared at me.
I've become either brave or exceptionally foolish, as when after a week or so from the second laser treatment, more of my beard fell out in clumps, and a few days before that, my skin texture changed dramatically, and I purchased an article of woman's clothing, (a simple fitted "baby doll" t-shirt, rather than the lose baggy ones I have accumulated over the miserable years as a man,) and urging to wear it, I changed and felt comfortable in the rather bohemian, glbt friendly environment of the local coffee shop. Amassing my strength I wore my most feminine top on the bus and on the train to my volunteer work the next day. The stares and cruel glances are hard to get over, and I brought with me a cane, ordinarily for walking, which I could use to defend myself, though hopefully I will not have to. I should probably bring something more concealed, something about it is somewhat empowering. I should at least get one more personal, such as having colors of purple and black, maybe flowers if its not too frilly, not that I mind frilly stuff, but I'm tremendously picky about frills.
I do not pass. I do not know if I will ever have the luxury of passing. And so, the stares will continue, and although I'm trying to hold on to the warmth within, and remain a creature that has feelings, the more often I receive these stares, and dirty looks, the less I am bothered by them, and that comes at a high price. I feel my heart becoming cold, and I start to look at the cisgendered masses through a jaded, disgusted eye. I learn to appreciate more fully, those who smile back at me, and greet me with kindness, as wearing a friendly face on the outside, for the time being, is still not entirely difficult.
At this point anonymity is getting a little bit pointless. My name is Sara Ross, though I'm still working on getting the first name changed officially. My family is at least trying to accept me, so I will not change my last name. I do not want a masculine middle name, so I guess I'll change it from Marquez to Marquilla... the closest Hispanic feminine name I could find. I haven't told my family about the name change, and the middle name in particular, they do not know of at all.
So its here today. Day of Remembrance. Last year, I do not remember why I did not post. This year I had to combine it with a personal post, if nothing else because I needed to explain why it weighs so much more heavily on my mind. I'm suddenly a candidate for next years list, impassible, transsexual, maybe I'm being paranoid but I'm terrified for my life.
I'm still here...
I'm really lucky when I think about the fact that 1 in 12 transgendered folk, are murdered of hate crimes, or otherwise discriminated against in ways that cost their lives. For many of us transitioning is difficult, because of expensive doctors, or loads of processes to go through, or family situations, and so many of us simply resolve the matter with suicide. Having been in that place of despair, I know what it was like, and knowing that, cruel stares and watching over my shoulder, are by far a lesser sentence for whatever crime I must have committed, than the hopeless life I had as a boy.
Kellie Telesford, in Thornton Heath UK
Was strangled to death with a scarf on November 21'st 2007. That's the day after day of remembrance, last year. Her killer, said he discovered she had a penis. That seemed to be motivation enough for him.
Brian McGlothin in Cincinnati Ohio
Was Shot by an automatic rifle in the head, He was only 25 years old, two years older than me, the same age as my roommate's boyfriend. The note says he liked to wear women's clothes, heaven forbid. We'll never know whether it was simply his taste in clothes, or if it was something deeper. We'll never know anything because this person's life was cut short.
Gabriela Alejandra Albornoz, Santiago Chile.
in Santiago Chile, Was attacked and stabbed on December 28th 2007. Three days after Christmas. This is all the information given about the person.
Patrick Murphy 39, In Albuquerque New Mexico was found in women's clothes, shot several times in the head, on January 8th 2008. Again very little information was given about the person here.
Stacy Brown, in Baltimore, MD, Was was also found shot in the head on January 8th, the same day as Patrick Murphy, and was 30 years old.
Adolphus Simmons in Charleston, SC was shot to death at the age of 18, later in the month, on January 21st, 2008
Fedra, a known Transvestite in Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia was found lying face up in a pool of blood, and we know nothing about the cause of death. The was the next day on January 22nd, 2008. As I go through the list it's difficult not to become desensitized to all of this, by I refuse to see these people as just names on a list.
Ashley Sweeney, Detroit Michigan, was shot in the head on the 4th of February. It says that her age is unknown, and that she is only identified as a transgender young woman, in this press release.
Sanesha (Talib) Stewart (name in parenthesis?, if its her middle name why put parenthesis, if its her guy name why include it?, well that's what the source says, I'll link it at the end of this list)
Sanesha Stewart was stabbed to death in the Bronx, in new york on February 10th, 2008. That's my grandma's birthday, which is a day after mine. She was 25 years old.
Lawrence King, age 15, in Oxnard California, the state where I live, was shot to death by a classmate because he liked to wear women's clothing. Do you think society will reach a place where this crime, is not punishable by death? Clothing is clothing, and the idea that we must confine ourselves to our "correct" gender, makes transitioning all the more difficult. If you're not one of my regular readers, and your the type that snubs a kid for wearing makeup or tight pants, or even going all the way, Could you, please stop yourself and think, why does this unsettle me, and who is really the one with the problem. The boy in girl's clothing has done nothing to you.
Simmie Williams Jr. in Fort Lauterdale Florida, was found shot to death wearing women's clothing, at age 17. On February 22nd, 2008.
Luna, who was not reported having any last name, in Lisbon Portugal was brutally beaten to death and tossed into a dumpster. The thought of this one makes me shudder, the symbolism of the dumpster, is that this person was no less than garbage to the perpetrator. When I was young my cousin put me in a garbage can and sat on the lid and he thought it was funny. I guess what I'm saying is that this cruelty is there inside all of us. Human beings are not garbage. I hope whoever did this didn't think it was funny... This happened march 15 2008. It hurts to know that one of my favorite artists in the music world is from this same city. Hopefully, not of the same mentality.
Lloyd Nixon, 45, in West Palm Beach, Florida, was repeatedly beat in the head with a brick. That says more than anything I can add. April 16 2008.
Felicia Melton-Smyth was brutally stabbed to death in Puerto Vallarta Mexico. Her murderer claimed his reasoning to be "that she would not pay for sex" She was a vacationing HIV activist from Wisconsin, where my roommate's boyfriend lives. May 26th, 2008, this is just before I moved out to my current location.
Silvana Berisha, Hamburg Germany, was stabbed to death. Judging from the picture and first name, this person was probably early in their transition, and will never get to experience the freedom I have barely tasted. This happened June 24th, 2008. I had just begun my hormone treatment a week prior.
Ebony Whitaker
Memphis Tennessee, was shot July 1st, 2008, at the age of 20.
Rosa Pazos, in Sevilla Spain, was found in her apartment, having been stabbed in the throat. One of my best online friends lives in Spain, though in a different area. This happened July 11 2008.
Juan Carlos Aucalle Coronel,
Lombardi Italy was severely beaten, found with several skull fractures, BEFORE being run over by a car. This was on July 14 2008. He was 35 years old. Probably a female to male given the name, though I've no further info at this time, it's fair enough to surmise that such atrocities do not only happen to male to female transsexuals, and cross dressers, etc.
Angie Zapata, in Greely, Colorado, Was found in her home, with fractures in her skull. She was murdered at the age of 18. It says her murderer was 31 years old, I will not bother with his name. July 17 2008.
On the same day of July 17 2008, in Makiki Honolulu, Hawaii Jaylynn L. Namauu, was stabbed to death. She was 35 years old. So much for paradise.
Samantha Rangel Brandau, in Milan Italy, again where one of my favorite bands is from, was gang raped, and stabbed numerous times. She was left for dead, and probably died alone, bleeding, and defiled by her attackers. I'm not sure what is worse, to die alone or in the presence of your murderer.
Nahkia (Nikki) Williams of Louisville, Kentucky was found shot, near the dumpster next to her home, on the 20th of August, this year. She was 29 years old.
Ruby Molina, in Sacramento, a major city here in Southern California, was drowned on September 21st, 2008. Her naked body was found floating in the American river, just 22 years old.
Aimee Wilcoxson, Aurora Colorado was found dead in her bed on November 3rd. The police have not specified the cause. I was receiving laser hair removal on that day, so I remember it well.
Duanna Johnson, Memphis Tennessee was shot, found dead in the middle of the street. 42 years old. I was at my parent's house on this day November 9th, 2008.
Dilek Ince, Ankara Turkey, was shot in the back of the head, on November 11th, 2008. With no knowledge or understanding of modern day turkey, or really of their culture at all, I've no idea what this person's struggle was like. I was returning home from mom's house that day.
Teish (moses) Cannon was shot at the age of 22 in Syracuse New York. November 14th 2008. Considering the number that have been added for this month, in comparison with the rest of the year, These probably only a tiny fragment of the hate crime victims for 2008. Indeed a number of these probably go unreported, unnoticed, forgotten by all but those who care to look.
Ali and two other women in Iraq, were executed for being transgender, this year, unknown month, day and time. I will post their names when I get the information, if I ever do.
This is the list where I got the information from. I did not copy paste, I went through every name, and read every location and date. The reason I added comments reflecting my own personal life, is to make each one more of a person. Comments about friends, family, even favorite bands, these were not intended to be cruel or uncaring, rather I wanted to make the point that it is a small world, and we all share in it. I hope you, the reader, please understand and excuse my strange style of reporting. Please inform me of any errors in the person's proper gender, as some of the original information was uncertain. I also regret missing any names not covered in this list.
Keith Olbermann will probably not be making one of his special comments tonight, as he did beautifully expressing his frustration at the passing of proposition 8, here in California. These names will not be read to you on the national news. They will not even, it seems, be read on KPFK here in California. These human beings do not deserve to be forgotten.
Kellie, Brian, Gabriela, Patrick, Stacy, Adolphus, Fedra, Ashley, Sanesha, Lawrence, Simmie, Luna, Lloyd, Ali and companions, Felicia, Silvana, Ebony, Rosa, Juan Carlos, Angie, Jaylynn, Samantha, Nikki, Ruby, Teish, Dilek, Duanna, Aimee, and all those who's names aren't listen here, Godspeed to wherever you are going. Please find yourselves a better place.
I am not Martin Luther King, I do not possess the sheer strength of will, the amazing, almost superhuman, self-sacrificing vitality, to speak out, at the cost of my own safety, much less my life. I am neither Nelson Mandela nor Malcom X. I am not a person of historic strength in times of cruelty.
After reading and typing up this list, I do not know, from where inside me I'll ever get the strength to dress up as a girl again. I do not know how I'll face the frozen desert of human emotions, that is, outside the safety of my home. But I guess I'm not stopping now, I'm not waiting for some magic point in my transition, I'm not gonna give up being myself because I do not have the right look, to pass for a "real" girl.
So pull your children away from this abomination that I am, if you must, though I would never bring harm to them. shake your head and roll your eyes, avoid me like a bearer of plagues. Call me names and do what you will to lessen the temperature of my heart. As a young transsexual woman, I beg you on my behalf and on the behalf of all my kind, let me keep my life, my dignity and my freedom. Let me walk the streets and keep to myself, when there is somewhere I need to be. If you are reading this and find me disgusting, immoral, degenerative, please, I am not here to create cesspools of sexual deviance, I am not here to do anything to you, that would compromise you, or your security. I just want to live my life, the way I feel is the only way true to my heart. I implore you to simply let me live, and I ask this on behalf of all transsexual and transgendered men and women.
There is so much more I want to say. For those of you with daughters and sons who are transgendered, for those in countries where we are seen as monsters like in Iraq... please just give us the freedom to be ourselves.
I've become either brave or exceptionally foolish, as when after a week or so from the second laser treatment, more of my beard fell out in clumps, and a few days before that, my skin texture changed dramatically, and I purchased an article of woman's clothing, (a simple fitted "baby doll" t-shirt, rather than the lose baggy ones I have accumulated over the miserable years as a man,) and urging to wear it, I changed and felt comfortable in the rather bohemian, glbt friendly environment of the local coffee shop. Amassing my strength I wore my most feminine top on the bus and on the train to my volunteer work the next day. The stares and cruel glances are hard to get over, and I brought with me a cane, ordinarily for walking, which I could use to defend myself, though hopefully I will not have to. I should probably bring something more concealed, something about it is somewhat empowering. I should at least get one more personal, such as having colors of purple and black, maybe flowers if its not too frilly, not that I mind frilly stuff, but I'm tremendously picky about frills.
I do not pass. I do not know if I will ever have the luxury of passing. And so, the stares will continue, and although I'm trying to hold on to the warmth within, and remain a creature that has feelings, the more often I receive these stares, and dirty looks, the less I am bothered by them, and that comes at a high price. I feel my heart becoming cold, and I start to look at the cisgendered masses through a jaded, disgusted eye. I learn to appreciate more fully, those who smile back at me, and greet me with kindness, as wearing a friendly face on the outside, for the time being, is still not entirely difficult.
At this point anonymity is getting a little bit pointless. My name is Sara Ross, though I'm still working on getting the first name changed officially. My family is at least trying to accept me, so I will not change my last name. I do not want a masculine middle name, so I guess I'll change it from Marquez to Marquilla... the closest Hispanic feminine name I could find. I haven't told my family about the name change, and the middle name in particular, they do not know of at all.
So its here today. Day of Remembrance. Last year, I do not remember why I did not post. This year I had to combine it with a personal post, if nothing else because I needed to explain why it weighs so much more heavily on my mind. I'm suddenly a candidate for next years list, impassible, transsexual, maybe I'm being paranoid but I'm terrified for my life.
I'm still here...
I'm really lucky when I think about the fact that 1 in 12 transgendered folk, are murdered of hate crimes, or otherwise discriminated against in ways that cost their lives. For many of us transitioning is difficult, because of expensive doctors, or loads of processes to go through, or family situations, and so many of us simply resolve the matter with suicide. Having been in that place of despair, I know what it was like, and knowing that, cruel stares and watching over my shoulder, are by far a lesser sentence for whatever crime I must have committed, than the hopeless life I had as a boy.
Kellie Telesford, in Thornton Heath UK
Was strangled to death with a scarf on November 21'st 2007. That's the day after day of remembrance, last year. Her killer, said he discovered she had a penis. That seemed to be motivation enough for him.
Brian McGlothin in Cincinnati Ohio
Was Shot by an automatic rifle in the head, He was only 25 years old, two years older than me, the same age as my roommate's boyfriend. The note says he liked to wear women's clothes, heaven forbid. We'll never know whether it was simply his taste in clothes, or if it was something deeper. We'll never know anything because this person's life was cut short.
Gabriela Alejandra Albornoz, Santiago Chile.
in Santiago Chile, Was attacked and stabbed on December 28th 2007. Three days after Christmas. This is all the information given about the person.
Patrick Murphy 39, In Albuquerque New Mexico was found in women's clothes, shot several times in the head, on January 8th 2008. Again very little information was given about the person here.
Stacy Brown, in Baltimore, MD, Was was also found shot in the head on January 8th, the same day as Patrick Murphy, and was 30 years old.
Adolphus Simmons in Charleston, SC was shot to death at the age of 18, later in the month, on January 21st, 2008
Fedra, a known Transvestite in Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia was found lying face up in a pool of blood, and we know nothing about the cause of death. The was the next day on January 22nd, 2008. As I go through the list it's difficult not to become desensitized to all of this, by I refuse to see these people as just names on a list.
Ashley Sweeney, Detroit Michigan, was shot in the head on the 4th of February. It says that her age is unknown, and that she is only identified as a transgender young woman, in this press release.
Sanesha (Talib) Stewart (name in parenthesis?, if its her middle name why put parenthesis, if its her guy name why include it?, well that's what the source says, I'll link it at the end of this list)
Sanesha Stewart was stabbed to death in the Bronx, in new york on February 10th, 2008. That's my grandma's birthday, which is a day after mine. She was 25 years old.
Lawrence King, age 15, in Oxnard California, the state where I live, was shot to death by a classmate because he liked to wear women's clothing. Do you think society will reach a place where this crime, is not punishable by death? Clothing is clothing, and the idea that we must confine ourselves to our "correct" gender, makes transitioning all the more difficult. If you're not one of my regular readers, and your the type that snubs a kid for wearing makeup or tight pants, or even going all the way, Could you, please stop yourself and think, why does this unsettle me, and who is really the one with the problem. The boy in girl's clothing has done nothing to you.
Simmie Williams Jr. in Fort Lauterdale Florida, was found shot to death wearing women's clothing, at age 17. On February 22nd, 2008.
Luna, who was not reported having any last name, in Lisbon Portugal was brutally beaten to death and tossed into a dumpster. The thought of this one makes me shudder, the symbolism of the dumpster, is that this person was no less than garbage to the perpetrator. When I was young my cousin put me in a garbage can and sat on the lid and he thought it was funny. I guess what I'm saying is that this cruelty is there inside all of us. Human beings are not garbage. I hope whoever did this didn't think it was funny... This happened march 15 2008. It hurts to know that one of my favorite artists in the music world is from this same city. Hopefully, not of the same mentality.
Lloyd Nixon, 45, in West Palm Beach, Florida, was repeatedly beat in the head with a brick. That says more than anything I can add. April 16 2008.
Felicia Melton-Smyth was brutally stabbed to death in Puerto Vallarta Mexico. Her murderer claimed his reasoning to be "that she would not pay for sex" She was a vacationing HIV activist from Wisconsin, where my roommate's boyfriend lives. May 26th, 2008, this is just before I moved out to my current location.
Silvana Berisha, Hamburg Germany, was stabbed to death. Judging from the picture and first name, this person was probably early in their transition, and will never get to experience the freedom I have barely tasted. This happened June 24th, 2008. I had just begun my hormone treatment a week prior.
Ebony Whitaker
Memphis Tennessee, was shot July 1st, 2008, at the age of 20.
Rosa Pazos, in Sevilla Spain, was found in her apartment, having been stabbed in the throat. One of my best online friends lives in Spain, though in a different area. This happened July 11 2008.
Juan Carlos Aucalle Coronel,
Lombardi Italy was severely beaten, found with several skull fractures, BEFORE being run over by a car. This was on July 14 2008. He was 35 years old. Probably a female to male given the name, though I've no further info at this time, it's fair enough to surmise that such atrocities do not only happen to male to female transsexuals, and cross dressers, etc.
Angie Zapata, in Greely, Colorado, Was found in her home, with fractures in her skull. She was murdered at the age of 18. It says her murderer was 31 years old, I will not bother with his name. July 17 2008.
On the same day of July 17 2008, in Makiki Honolulu, Hawaii Jaylynn L. Namauu, was stabbed to death. She was 35 years old. So much for paradise.
Samantha Rangel Brandau, in Milan Italy, again where one of my favorite bands is from, was gang raped, and stabbed numerous times. She was left for dead, and probably died alone, bleeding, and defiled by her attackers. I'm not sure what is worse, to die alone or in the presence of your murderer.
Nahkia (Nikki) Williams of Louisville, Kentucky was found shot, near the dumpster next to her home, on the 20th of August, this year. She was 29 years old.
Ruby Molina, in Sacramento, a major city here in Southern California, was drowned on September 21st, 2008. Her naked body was found floating in the American river, just 22 years old.
Aimee Wilcoxson, Aurora Colorado was found dead in her bed on November 3rd. The police have not specified the cause. I was receiving laser hair removal on that day, so I remember it well.
Duanna Johnson, Memphis Tennessee was shot, found dead in the middle of the street. 42 years old. I was at my parent's house on this day November 9th, 2008.
Dilek Ince, Ankara Turkey, was shot in the back of the head, on November 11th, 2008. With no knowledge or understanding of modern day turkey, or really of their culture at all, I've no idea what this person's struggle was like. I was returning home from mom's house that day.
Teish (moses) Cannon was shot at the age of 22 in Syracuse New York. November 14th 2008. Considering the number that have been added for this month, in comparison with the rest of the year, These probably only a tiny fragment of the hate crime victims for 2008. Indeed a number of these probably go unreported, unnoticed, forgotten by all but those who care to look.
Ali and two other women in Iraq, were executed for being transgender, this year, unknown month, day and time. I will post their names when I get the information, if I ever do.
This is the list where I got the information from. I did not copy paste, I went through every name, and read every location and date. The reason I added comments reflecting my own personal life, is to make each one more of a person. Comments about friends, family, even favorite bands, these were not intended to be cruel or uncaring, rather I wanted to make the point that it is a small world, and we all share in it. I hope you, the reader, please understand and excuse my strange style of reporting. Please inform me of any errors in the person's proper gender, as some of the original information was uncertain. I also regret missing any names not covered in this list.
Keith Olbermann will probably not be making one of his special comments tonight, as he did beautifully expressing his frustration at the passing of proposition 8, here in California. These names will not be read to you on the national news. They will not even, it seems, be read on KPFK here in California. These human beings do not deserve to be forgotten.
Kellie, Brian, Gabriela, Patrick, Stacy, Adolphus, Fedra, Ashley, Sanesha, Lawrence, Simmie, Luna, Lloyd, Ali and companions, Felicia, Silvana, Ebony, Rosa, Juan Carlos, Angie, Jaylynn, Samantha, Nikki, Ruby, Teish, Dilek, Duanna, Aimee, and all those who's names aren't listen here, Godspeed to wherever you are going. Please find yourselves a better place.
I am not Martin Luther King, I do not possess the sheer strength of will, the amazing, almost superhuman, self-sacrificing vitality, to speak out, at the cost of my own safety, much less my life. I am neither Nelson Mandela nor Malcom X. I am not a person of historic strength in times of cruelty.
After reading and typing up this list, I do not know, from where inside me I'll ever get the strength to dress up as a girl again. I do not know how I'll face the frozen desert of human emotions, that is, outside the safety of my home. But I guess I'm not stopping now, I'm not waiting for some magic point in my transition, I'm not gonna give up being myself because I do not have the right look, to pass for a "real" girl.
So pull your children away from this abomination that I am, if you must, though I would never bring harm to them. shake your head and roll your eyes, avoid me like a bearer of plagues. Call me names and do what you will to lessen the temperature of my heart. As a young transsexual woman, I beg you on my behalf and on the behalf of all my kind, let me keep my life, my dignity and my freedom. Let me walk the streets and keep to myself, when there is somewhere I need to be. If you are reading this and find me disgusting, immoral, degenerative, please, I am not here to create cesspools of sexual deviance, I am not here to do anything to you, that would compromise you, or your security. I just want to live my life, the way I feel is the only way true to my heart. I implore you to simply let me live, and I ask this on behalf of all transsexual and transgendered men and women.
There is so much more I want to say. For those of you with daughters and sons who are transgendered, for those in countries where we are seen as monsters like in Iraq... please just give us the freedom to be ourselves.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Ambivalence
So I've been meaning to post for a while.
Let's continue some of the previous topics before I go on about what sparked the title.
It's been over 4 months since my transition began, and while I've seen miraculous effects, but these effects have been few and far between. I'm noticing the other girls at my support group are changing in appearance much faster than I am. The reason is beginning to become apparent: medi-cal pays for the other girls' testosterone blocker, whereas I'm using estrogen alone.
(I'm finishing the post now, a lot further from when it began, so bare with me, as I'm basically complaining about something that's actually gotten a little better)
I live in a cluttered house, with cluttered people. Kind, intelligent, accepting, wonderful people, but cluttered people nonetheless. The title of this post was towards my roommate who I was struggling with at the time. I still am, thought not as terribly.
She has about 70% of the room, to herself, as I was beginning this post, possibly more. I'm not a big space hog, but I think given that, I had every right to complain when I told her I was going to purchase an Xbox 360. Obviously this item is not a necessity, it's not food or medicine or my hormones, which I would consider part of the medicine category, but it's important to me.
She complained that she does not like Microsoft, or the Xbox, and about the lack of available games on it, that are to her tastes. She complained about the space it would take up. Bare in mind, I sleep on a cot, because I do not want her to have to give up her futon, and that I have a pile of clothes which I cannot effectively organize because I have no space to put them away. So when I ask that we make a little more room for the Xbox, I do not feel I was asking very much, and I do not have any intention of having her pay for it, or any of the games or add-ons. If she did not like it she didn't have to touch it.
This wasn't the extent of my frustration, she is prone to yelling and losing her temper without reason, whining for things she wants, with no consideration of the other person. When she gets online, she'll jump from being bored and wanting to play with me or tickle me to super focused on god knows what, and snapping at me when I try to talk to her. She can be downright cruel at times, and undeniably selfish.
I always thought of ambivalence as a sort of passionless, feeling, something that just sits there, because it is comprised of both good and bad things. In fact ambivalence is intense, and powerful, as I at the time was so frustrated and angry at this person, yet so indebted to them as a friend, and so grateful for her support in some of the darkest hours of my life.
We've since then resolved some of our issues, and learned to give each other time. She still holds a greater portion of the room, by far, but she's managed to offer me some space for more of my things. It could be a lot worse, so this post's meaning has dissolved quite a bit.
Let's continue some of the previous topics before I go on about what sparked the title.
It's been over 4 months since my transition began, and while I've seen miraculous effects, but these effects have been few and far between. I'm noticing the other girls at my support group are changing in appearance much faster than I am. The reason is beginning to become apparent: medi-cal pays for the other girls' testosterone blocker, whereas I'm using estrogen alone.
(I'm finishing the post now, a lot further from when it began, so bare with me, as I'm basically complaining about something that's actually gotten a little better)
I live in a cluttered house, with cluttered people. Kind, intelligent, accepting, wonderful people, but cluttered people nonetheless. The title of this post was towards my roommate who I was struggling with at the time. I still am, thought not as terribly.
She has about 70% of the room, to herself, as I was beginning this post, possibly more. I'm not a big space hog, but I think given that, I had every right to complain when I told her I was going to purchase an Xbox 360. Obviously this item is not a necessity, it's not food or medicine or my hormones, which I would consider part of the medicine category, but it's important to me.
She complained that she does not like Microsoft, or the Xbox, and about the lack of available games on it, that are to her tastes. She complained about the space it would take up. Bare in mind, I sleep on a cot, because I do not want her to have to give up her futon, and that I have a pile of clothes which I cannot effectively organize because I have no space to put them away. So when I ask that we make a little more room for the Xbox, I do not feel I was asking very much, and I do not have any intention of having her pay for it, or any of the games or add-ons. If she did not like it she didn't have to touch it.
This wasn't the extent of my frustration, she is prone to yelling and losing her temper without reason, whining for things she wants, with no consideration of the other person. When she gets online, she'll jump from being bored and wanting to play with me or tickle me to super focused on god knows what, and snapping at me when I try to talk to her. She can be downright cruel at times, and undeniably selfish.
I always thought of ambivalence as a sort of passionless, feeling, something that just sits there, because it is comprised of both good and bad things. In fact ambivalence is intense, and powerful, as I at the time was so frustrated and angry at this person, yet so indebted to them as a friend, and so grateful for her support in some of the darkest hours of my life.
We've since then resolved some of our issues, and learned to give each other time. She still holds a greater portion of the room, by far, but she's managed to offer me some space for more of my things. It could be a lot worse, so this post's meaning has dissolved quite a bit.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Anxiety
First of all, thank you Veronique, and Samantha, I don't know why my comment reply is not appearing on the comments, but I'll reply here in my next post. Your comments managed to help me pull myself together to keep going. It gave me a lot of hope to know it might take longer for the hairs to fall out especially.
It's been a week to the hour since I had the treatment. I stare daily at the mirror with hope and fear swelling up inside my mind. It has thinned out a lot, except for certain areas, and I'm feeling generally better about it, but about 60% of it is still stuck in there, and in certain areas its still a full blown carpet.
It's no secret that I'm a person with a bad problem with anxiety. I get nervous and even paranoid at the drop of a hat. the daunting thought that I will need to look into -only- electrolysis means it will be years before I can go full time.
But its looking more and more like it will fall out, and my hopes are getting higher and higher. I can't help from watching the mirror with straining anxiety, but I'll try to stay strong, even if they don't fall out.
I've been forced to start shaving again, I have to go on with my life and think about other things.
I guess I had a lot less to say today than I thought. Thanks again for the comments everyone.
It's been a week to the hour since I had the treatment. I stare daily at the mirror with hope and fear swelling up inside my mind. It has thinned out a lot, except for certain areas, and I'm feeling generally better about it, but about 60% of it is still stuck in there, and in certain areas its still a full blown carpet.
It's no secret that I'm a person with a bad problem with anxiety. I get nervous and even paranoid at the drop of a hat. the daunting thought that I will need to look into -only- electrolysis means it will be years before I can go full time.
But its looking more and more like it will fall out, and my hopes are getting higher and higher. I can't help from watching the mirror with straining anxiety, but I'll try to stay strong, even if they don't fall out.
I've been forced to start shaving again, I have to go on with my life and think about other things.
I guess I had a lot less to say today than I thought. Thanks again for the comments everyone.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Hurt
I could reply in comments, but this feeling of hopelessness is beginning to overwhelm me. Usually my excuse for whining in my blog is because I hope that people will learn how painful and hard it is being trans, and that they will learn that we don't choose to transition for stupid reasons.
tonight the real reason is I feel hopeless, and lost, and scared. it's been over 48 hours since the laser hair removal treatment and very very few hairs have fallen out. That may sound trivial to some readers, but the fact is I'm frightened and devastated. Apparently according to what I've read online, some "Ideal" candidates do not respond to laser treatment for whatever reason.
My beard grows thicker every day I don't shave. Tiny Patches are missing but barely noticeable, I continue to wait, to hold back on shaving in hopes that more will fall out, but why is it GROWING if it's supposed to be dead? I know it grows back thinner with each treatment, but in this case it hasn't even fallen out yet. I waited a month since I scheduled my appointment. I waited many years to get a laser appointment in the first place. I researched it online, I thought, pretty thoroughly. I spent 100 dollars on this session, and admittedly it was really painful.
So why is this happening? Why is my nightmare coming true? Why won't my beard go away, or at least thin out? Is this my fault for going with a cheaper clinic that was recommended to me by several people? is it my fault, because i should have let the stubble grow out more, since I didn't know how much was needed for the procedure, and how much would get in the way? (I shaved the night before, keep in mind my beard grows extremely fast) Is it my fault for some other reason?
The truth is I never saved up the necessary money for it, instead I found a place with a more reasonable price, which I could pay per session. I feel really strongly about trying them again simply because I cannot afford any other places right now. Am I a fool? Will I have to save 900 dollars if it doesn't work next time? Where can I get that kind of money.
I'm sorry for not showing everyone how strong I am in recovering from this and moving on. Its difficult to eat, to play video games or to take my mind off of it. Almost everything in life seems to be losing its appeal. I'm not gonna let myself die or anything, but this is the kind of thing I can't just take and move on.
tonight the real reason is I feel hopeless, and lost, and scared. it's been over 48 hours since the laser hair removal treatment and very very few hairs have fallen out. That may sound trivial to some readers, but the fact is I'm frightened and devastated. Apparently according to what I've read online, some "Ideal" candidates do not respond to laser treatment for whatever reason.
My beard grows thicker every day I don't shave. Tiny Patches are missing but barely noticeable, I continue to wait, to hold back on shaving in hopes that more will fall out, but why is it GROWING if it's supposed to be dead? I know it grows back thinner with each treatment, but in this case it hasn't even fallen out yet. I waited a month since I scheduled my appointment. I waited many years to get a laser appointment in the first place. I researched it online, I thought, pretty thoroughly. I spent 100 dollars on this session, and admittedly it was really painful.
So why is this happening? Why is my nightmare coming true? Why won't my beard go away, or at least thin out? Is this my fault for going with a cheaper clinic that was recommended to me by several people? is it my fault, because i should have let the stubble grow out more, since I didn't know how much was needed for the procedure, and how much would get in the way? (I shaved the night before, keep in mind my beard grows extremely fast) Is it my fault for some other reason?
The truth is I never saved up the necessary money for it, instead I found a place with a more reasonable price, which I could pay per session. I feel really strongly about trying them again simply because I cannot afford any other places right now. Am I a fool? Will I have to save 900 dollars if it doesn't work next time? Where can I get that kind of money.
I'm sorry for not showing everyone how strong I am in recovering from this and moving on. Its difficult to eat, to play video games or to take my mind off of it. Almost everything in life seems to be losing its appeal. I'm not gonna let myself die or anything, but this is the kind of thing I can't just take and move on.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
1,000 Needles
They say that when you reach the top of mount Everest, you are too tired, too out of breath, too close to to collapse, to possibly take in the glory of the moment. I wonder if this is why so many transsexuals feel depression when they finally reach sex reassignment surgery. We get there and the journey is so long and so hard, that you're finally going in for just another expensive procedure.
This crossed my mind as I tossed and turned last night with the last throws of a fever, knowing full well it was too late to cancel my appointment for laser hair removal on my face. And knowing that no matter how bad it was and no matter how scared I was of going when I'm sick, all the way to Hollywood, that nothing could convince me to put it off for another month.
Luckily my fever for whatever reason went away when I finally did sleep and wake up, despite only getting a few hours of sleep. The usually paranoia took its place in my mind. What if it doesn't work, what if something goes wrong, what if I shaved too recently, or not recently enough. What if the follicles do not fall out for some reason...
During the procedure, I was not prepared for the indescribable pain of it. I had heard nightmare stories of SRS and electrolysis, but the myth I had been exposed to was that laser hair removal is painless. The reality is that she sat me back in a chair, and launched tiny needles into my face, with a little needle shotgun. This is how it felt anyways. I always considered myself to have a high pain threshold yet I was clutching the chair and wincing at each blast. Some weaker part of me deep inside wanted to call it off and leave, but I would never give up on this procedure, I wanted it too bad. I held on and stood as still as I could.
It has been more than 6 hours since I had the procedure done, and I can still occasionally smell the smell of burning flesh. The initial red marks on my face are now gone, though the sting is still there and very slight. My face looks the same as it did before the procedure, as if i had shaved several hours ago, with some stubble. Hope and fear do a dance in my chaotic mind as I wait impatiently for the little follicles to fall out. Oh how I long to see my face without the constant mask of dirt that carpets it.
This crossed my mind as I tossed and turned last night with the last throws of a fever, knowing full well it was too late to cancel my appointment for laser hair removal on my face. And knowing that no matter how bad it was and no matter how scared I was of going when I'm sick, all the way to Hollywood, that nothing could convince me to put it off for another month.
Luckily my fever for whatever reason went away when I finally did sleep and wake up, despite only getting a few hours of sleep. The usually paranoia took its place in my mind. What if it doesn't work, what if something goes wrong, what if I shaved too recently, or not recently enough. What if the follicles do not fall out for some reason...
During the procedure, I was not prepared for the indescribable pain of it. I had heard nightmare stories of SRS and electrolysis, but the myth I had been exposed to was that laser hair removal is painless. The reality is that she sat me back in a chair, and launched tiny needles into my face, with a little needle shotgun. This is how it felt anyways. I always considered myself to have a high pain threshold yet I was clutching the chair and wincing at each blast. Some weaker part of me deep inside wanted to call it off and leave, but I would never give up on this procedure, I wanted it too bad. I held on and stood as still as I could.
It has been more than 6 hours since I had the procedure done, and I can still occasionally smell the smell of burning flesh. The initial red marks on my face are now gone, though the sting is still there and very slight. My face looks the same as it did before the procedure, as if i had shaved several hours ago, with some stubble. Hope and fear do a dance in my chaotic mind as I wait impatiently for the little follicles to fall out. Oh how I long to see my face without the constant mask of dirt that carpets it.
Another long delayed post. I had so much to say, and yet sheer laziness kept me from devoting some of my time on my roommate's computer to updating this blog. Shame on me. Well, as always, expect at least one post a month.
Claudia.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Still Life
I've been on the hormones for over two months now. my face has changed a little since the beginning, and it seems to be softening gradually, but the progress has begun to slow down. I've developed breasts that are small, but its something at least. My hips are starting to become more round, I never thought that would happen at such an early stage in the transition. I'm still only at 250$ of the way toward my facial hair removal, which might make the difference between being called sir or miss in public. (or will at least make me feel less self conscious)
My transition is going considerably well, and I'll be receiving more money from disability and i should be able to live much more comfortably and save up with more ease on the amount I'm getting now. The problem is I have absolutely no idea what to do with myself. I'm torn violently between going to school again and searching for a short term career, and searching now for a job.
If I do get a job now, what kind of job will I have to get, I want one that will be trans friendly, and in fact I'm still going to talk to someone about work next week. But i have to leave every week for therapy and every other week is a hormone shot. I usually do the hormone shot on the same day but the therapy is required for the hormones, so I'm unavailable every week. Plus I'll be starting hair removal soon, and that will add another problem into my schedule, having to do hair removal which I may not have time for on the same day as hormones, unless I make a huge trip going back and forth. In addition to this, I go once a month to the orthodontist with my mom, (despite her having kicked me out).
What if I go to school. Do I pursuit a career? any career? An acquaintance of mine pursuing game design, has recently had her art featured in the local newspaper... twice!! Should i continue to push my dream aside now that i have time to follow it? Now that I'm already in my transition? The only reason I stopped this is because it was not a realistic enough goal for now and I needed to fund this transition more than anything else. Its even more difficult to watch someone else pursuit my dream while i let it slip away. I can really see myself busy with some career I don't care for keeping me busy while I don't have time to take classes not offered at night.
Childishly still... I don't have the games and the internet to keep my mind off the painfully slow progress. I spend almost every day trying to occupy my boredom, and what little life I did have feels like it came to a screeching halt. I own little else besides a DS and some clothes, and my months supply of food. I know games are not that important but... I feel empty a lot of the time. Maybe its just withdrawls or something.
I still have a supportive best friend and a girlfriend that loves me during my transition, and free hormones. I have a place to live. What right have I to complain about no games to occupy my mind?
My transition is going considerably well, and I'll be receiving more money from disability and i should be able to live much more comfortably and save up with more ease on the amount I'm getting now. The problem is I have absolutely no idea what to do with myself. I'm torn violently between going to school again and searching for a short term career, and searching now for a job.
If I do get a job now, what kind of job will I have to get, I want one that will be trans friendly, and in fact I'm still going to talk to someone about work next week. But i have to leave every week for therapy and every other week is a hormone shot. I usually do the hormone shot on the same day but the therapy is required for the hormones, so I'm unavailable every week. Plus I'll be starting hair removal soon, and that will add another problem into my schedule, having to do hair removal which I may not have time for on the same day as hormones, unless I make a huge trip going back and forth. In addition to this, I go once a month to the orthodontist with my mom, (despite her having kicked me out).
What if I go to school. Do I pursuit a career? any career? An acquaintance of mine pursuing game design, has recently had her art featured in the local newspaper... twice!! Should i continue to push my dream aside now that i have time to follow it? Now that I'm already in my transition? The only reason I stopped this is because it was not a realistic enough goal for now and I needed to fund this transition more than anything else. Its even more difficult to watch someone else pursuit my dream while i let it slip away. I can really see myself busy with some career I don't care for keeping me busy while I don't have time to take classes not offered at night.
Childishly still... I don't have the games and the internet to keep my mind off the painfully slow progress. I spend almost every day trying to occupy my boredom, and what little life I did have feels like it came to a screeching halt. I own little else besides a DS and some clothes, and my months supply of food. I know games are not that important but... I feel empty a lot of the time. Maybe its just withdrawls or something.
I still have a supportive best friend and a girlfriend that loves me during my transition, and free hormones. I have a place to live. What right have I to complain about no games to occupy my mind?
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Progression
It's now about a Month and a half of Hormones. I'm at 200$ still but I may soon be lucky enough to have another $100 to set aside thanks to help from my grandfather with groceries and the like. I'm lucky to have the family I have, even if they don't understand or support me fully.
Today's topic is a bit personal, but not too bad. I feel its somewhat relevant as I want to record the effects of the transition. My body is changing, or at least I think it is. For the most part all I've noticed is my face. I have a lot less acne, and it might not be as masculine as it used to look. I can't place what it is precisely but my face, while still loathsome, is somewhat slightly more pleasant for me to look at. It doesn't look like a girls face yet necessarily but it's not exclusively a boys face either. In certain lighting it looks feminine enough to pretend, yet at other times it looks disappointingly, the same as always. Others have told me I look different, more feminine, which leads me to believe its not just my imagination playing tricks on me, but it was my therapist and be closest friend... were they just being nice?
The other, more personal, but in my opinion, relative to this blog recording my transition and how it affects my life, both during the process and as a long term goal. I may be experiencing the early stages of breast development. I can't tell for sure if I've lost any upper body mass to go with it or not, but for a while my chest felt sore and tender, and now there seems to be, some well... softness. I can't tell for sure again, if it's natural breast development, or if it's just fat, and an active imagination. I suppose that information is more than some of my readers wanted to know.
As far as how I feel about this? Great. That is if its real its great. I didn't know breast development can occur so early in hormone use. I am afraid too, afraid people will notice. Afraid of the impending middle zone, where there is no jobs, and people laughing left and right. Afraid that I'm going to be thrust into being noticeable in my transition entirely too soon. But not as afraid as I am happy. In this society that puts strange emphasis in strange places, I feel more like a girl now, just having barely developing breasts, than I did before. My body hardly constitutes my identity, but there is some undeniable comfort in the changes that are taking place, be they real or imaginary. I know the middle is coming and I know its a terrible part of transitioning we all have to face, and whether I'm ready for it or not... I know I'm making the right choice and I'll be stronger for it in the end.
Today's topic is a bit personal, but not too bad. I feel its somewhat relevant as I want to record the effects of the transition. My body is changing, or at least I think it is. For the most part all I've noticed is my face. I have a lot less acne, and it might not be as masculine as it used to look. I can't place what it is precisely but my face, while still loathsome, is somewhat slightly more pleasant for me to look at. It doesn't look like a girls face yet necessarily but it's not exclusively a boys face either. In certain lighting it looks feminine enough to pretend, yet at other times it looks disappointingly, the same as always. Others have told me I look different, more feminine, which leads me to believe its not just my imagination playing tricks on me, but it was my therapist and be closest friend... were they just being nice?
The other, more personal, but in my opinion, relative to this blog recording my transition and how it affects my life, both during the process and as a long term goal. I may be experiencing the early stages of breast development. I can't tell for sure if I've lost any upper body mass to go with it or not, but for a while my chest felt sore and tender, and now there seems to be, some well... softness. I can't tell for sure again, if it's natural breast development, or if it's just fat, and an active imagination. I suppose that information is more than some of my readers wanted to know.
As far as how I feel about this? Great. That is if its real its great. I didn't know breast development can occur so early in hormone use. I am afraid too, afraid people will notice. Afraid of the impending middle zone, where there is no jobs, and people laughing left and right. Afraid that I'm going to be thrust into being noticeable in my transition entirely too soon. But not as afraid as I am happy. In this society that puts strange emphasis in strange places, I feel more like a girl now, just having barely developing breasts, than I did before. My body hardly constitutes my identity, but there is some undeniable comfort in the changes that are taking place, be they real or imaginary. I know the middle is coming and I know its a terrible part of transitioning we all have to face, and whether I'm ready for it or not... I know I'm making the right choice and I'll be stronger for it in the end.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
The Great American Job Search
I am in the midst of not trying very hard to get a job, despite the overwhelming pressure, and necessity. I decided I'd post, another whiny post about something different this time. I'm about a month on the hormones and currently 200$ of the way to my 900$ goal for my hair removal holy grail. The Following has nothing to do with my transsexuality despite the mass discrimination we face in the workplace, as I'm not passing or in the middle yet, I'm still living in my male identity and while my skin has softened and cleared up on my face a little bit, I still look more or less, unfortunately, like a boy.
It occurred to me during previous job searches, one must appear absolutely flawless, even if the general understanding amongst people is that nobody is perfect. You have to be great at customers, a flawless worker, completely outgoing and socially adept, with no emotional or psychological baggage, regardless of how well you keep personal things to yourself.
I may be exaggerating a little bit, but nobody is good at everything, and everyone seems to try to present themselves to be. I'm shy, but I'm polite and I can be outgoing when I need to be behind a counter. I have a hard time approaching people, but I can force myself to do it and be pleasant and welcoming on a job. I'd love to be able to say these things, but the honesty there waves two brilliant red flags, shyness and difficulty approaching people. I'm a hard worker, but I can be a bit slow performing tasks. If i let any of these things on in the outside world, I'd never get hired at any job anywhere.
All this being said, I've worked with employers and employees who are rude to customers, who ignore their duties, who goof off on the job and will play with other employees, when they needed to be doing work. Try putting that on an application or a resume. But the point is not that I'm a better worker. The problem is values, not work ethics. The competitive working world of America, SEEMS to value two kinds of people: Those with inflated egos so extreme, that the earnestly believe them to be that ideal, and flawless, and those who can lie through their teeth, without any care, fear or remorse.
I guess I've had awful work experiences so far, but I've always felt like a disposable tool in the work environment. I've never felt like there was any value in who I was as an individual, but only in the ideal I attempted to vaguely compare to. Maybe I'm just morbid, or too sensitive. It really feels like I'm not cut out for anything at all, when it comes down to it.
Pardon my bitterness, folks...
It occurred to me during previous job searches, one must appear absolutely flawless, even if the general understanding amongst people is that nobody is perfect. You have to be great at customers, a flawless worker, completely outgoing and socially adept, with no emotional or psychological baggage, regardless of how well you keep personal things to yourself.
I may be exaggerating a little bit, but nobody is good at everything, and everyone seems to try to present themselves to be. I'm shy, but I'm polite and I can be outgoing when I need to be behind a counter. I have a hard time approaching people, but I can force myself to do it and be pleasant and welcoming on a job. I'd love to be able to say these things, but the honesty there waves two brilliant red flags, shyness and difficulty approaching people. I'm a hard worker, but I can be a bit slow performing tasks. If i let any of these things on in the outside world, I'd never get hired at any job anywhere.
All this being said, I've worked with employers and employees who are rude to customers, who ignore their duties, who goof off on the job and will play with other employees, when they needed to be doing work. Try putting that on an application or a resume. But the point is not that I'm a better worker. The problem is values, not work ethics. The competitive working world of America, SEEMS to value two kinds of people: Those with inflated egos so extreme, that the earnestly believe them to be that ideal, and flawless, and those who can lie through their teeth, without any care, fear or remorse.
I guess I've had awful work experiences so far, but I've always felt like a disposable tool in the work environment. I've never felt like there was any value in who I was as an individual, but only in the ideal I attempted to vaguely compare to. Maybe I'm just morbid, or too sensitive. It really feels like I'm not cut out for anything at all, when it comes down to it.
Pardon my bitterness, folks...
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Another Long Road
When I was about 14 years I began shaving for the first time. It was an awkward experience, and the thought of a beard growing and enveloping my face making me manly was frightening. I preferred the barely noticeable amount that appeared naturally, though I wanted to just do without it entirely. My father forced me to watch him do it and then do it myself. My family was all proud of me, I guess they saw it as a coming of age thing... I was horrified. I now knew that if I failed to do this even one day, a beard would grow on my face. Even then, long before I knew I was trans, I felt it was disgusting.
I'm 23 years old now. The filth that covers my face is so thick that I sometimes shave twice a day, and even so, its still easy to see it. To me it looks like I got dirt on my face and there is no way to wash it off. I've always felt disgusted by it. Sometimes I'd spend hours just staring at it wishing I could remember my face without it... despite the fact that I hate my face regardless. I would stare and imagine if it was not there. I'd rub the razor over parts of my face 30 to 40 times, and I'd get itchy, but still see follicles of hair to thick and too deep to cut any more.
I once plucked out a third of my beard hair and ran my hand over my twitching smooth skin... it took me several several hours, over the course of a few days. Some of them were as thick as metal wires, often like little needles stuck in my face. I would stare at them and think about how long the part was that was inside the skin, and that they had to grow that much further before I would have to see their filth again... but it would only take a couple of days for that to happen.
I checked the price on laser hair removal several times, and got different answers each time. I believed it to be in the $3000 dollar range to remove the facial hair. Even that, though small compared to sex reassignment surgery, was still for me, a daunting mountainous price, and in fact... it still is.
I finally went in today, to a laser clinic in the town where I get my hormone shots, to see what kind of price I'd really be dealing with. 900 dollars for my face. It would take about 6 sessions or so, once every 4 weeks, with possible follow-up sessions after that. Over the phone he told me that I would be able to do 50$ a month, and I was strongly considering doing this, even though life is already a struggle without this extra bill... but I learned upon visiting today that I would require a credit card.
Rather than apply for a credit card I went to the bank and withdrew $100 in cash, and pocket-ed it. I decided I'll pay 900 in cash and then I wont have to worry about this payment ever again... So my life today has taken on a new goal... 800 more dollars in cash, to get the filth removed from my face. This hideous mutation has been a mental block not only on dressing, and trying makeup, but on just wanting to be seen at all. I feel helpless and useless with this disgusting beard on my face, and I've longed for too many years to get it. I'll eat less food, and not buy fries or chips when I don't need them. I'll look for cheaper meals that get me full, instead of whatever sounds good. I'll only buy things I know I'll need. But 100$ or more a month is a lot to save when rent costs 400, and bus passes cost 62$, and I only get a little over 600 per month. Looking for a job is long and grueling and I lack the medications I need to do a great many things... The bottom line is wish me luck. I'll need it.
I'm 23 years old now. The filth that covers my face is so thick that I sometimes shave twice a day, and even so, its still easy to see it. To me it looks like I got dirt on my face and there is no way to wash it off. I've always felt disgusted by it. Sometimes I'd spend hours just staring at it wishing I could remember my face without it... despite the fact that I hate my face regardless. I would stare and imagine if it was not there. I'd rub the razor over parts of my face 30 to 40 times, and I'd get itchy, but still see follicles of hair to thick and too deep to cut any more.
I once plucked out a third of my beard hair and ran my hand over my twitching smooth skin... it took me several several hours, over the course of a few days. Some of them were as thick as metal wires, often like little needles stuck in my face. I would stare at them and think about how long the part was that was inside the skin, and that they had to grow that much further before I would have to see their filth again... but it would only take a couple of days for that to happen.
I checked the price on laser hair removal several times, and got different answers each time. I believed it to be in the $3000 dollar range to remove the facial hair. Even that, though small compared to sex reassignment surgery, was still for me, a daunting mountainous price, and in fact... it still is.
I finally went in today, to a laser clinic in the town where I get my hormone shots, to see what kind of price I'd really be dealing with. 900 dollars for my face. It would take about 6 sessions or so, once every 4 weeks, with possible follow-up sessions after that. Over the phone he told me that I would be able to do 50$ a month, and I was strongly considering doing this, even though life is already a struggle without this extra bill... but I learned upon visiting today that I would require a credit card.
Rather than apply for a credit card I went to the bank and withdrew $100 in cash, and pocket-ed it. I decided I'll pay 900 in cash and then I wont have to worry about this payment ever again... So my life today has taken on a new goal... 800 more dollars in cash, to get the filth removed from my face. This hideous mutation has been a mental block not only on dressing, and trying makeup, but on just wanting to be seen at all. I feel helpless and useless with this disgusting beard on my face, and I've longed for too many years to get it. I'll eat less food, and not buy fries or chips when I don't need them. I'll look for cheaper meals that get me full, instead of whatever sounds good. I'll only buy things I know I'll need. But 100$ or more a month is a lot to save when rent costs 400, and bus passes cost 62$, and I only get a little over 600 per month. Looking for a job is long and grueling and I lack the medications I need to do a great many things... The bottom line is wish me luck. I'll need it.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Uncertainty
Here I at the house of my best friend. I've been here for the majority of this month. I suppose I should be overjoyed, my friend and I are both close, and I have a lot of fun here...
I began Hormone therapy on the 19th of this month. It feels like an age ago already, though I haven't gone in for a second shot, yet. It wasn't exactly what I thought it would be, I still felt the usual tension I feel before a needle prick, even if I was exited and happy about it. I was nervous beforehand and afterward I was overjoyed. Even now that it has finally happened, it feels surreal, it's difficult accept my transition as a part of reality.
Her parents accept me, and I'm getting used to spending the majority of the day in my female identity, despite my foul appearance which suggests otherwise. In a lot of ways my life has improved, and yet in a lot of other ways it has gotten worse.
Sharing a room is difficult even if its with your best friend, as I've come to discover, and I'm only able to afford the cheapest food available. The computer I'm on isn't able to play the games I'm used to playing, and I miss my mother's house where cases of soda sweets and meals are in the refrigerator waiting for me.
The worst part however is the stress... I worry constantly about losing my Medi-cal or disability check (though I can survive without disability, if i get a job, i need the Medi-cal). Medi-cal is already withholding the Stratera I desperately need to hold a job and often just to do simple tasks, as I've waited almost a month now for their approval.
Most of my life is being run on a pillar of other people's support. This living arrangement, the hormones, even my groceries. I'm constantly living in fear that any one pillar will be removed from beneath me and my life will come crumbling down to the despair from whence it came. Back to hopeless sorrow with no way in sight back to the path I'm on now.
I wonder if this uncertainty is part of the trial all of us transsexuals must face, or if it is only my version of the trial we all must endure.
I've truly little right to complain... with medical coverage, a place to live, free hormones, supportive friends, a family that at least tries, to accept me... and even romance, with a girl who sees me for the girl I am. I'm one of the lucky ones. No matter how scary my situation gets, I shouldn't dare be selfish enough to forget that others like me have it even worse... others without the coverage and support I'm getting towards my transition. Some people are in a place where there is no hope...
Additionally I have no real excuse for not completing this post within the month... My life isn't all computers like it used to be, and I don't have my meds, but I still managed to type this much today... I can't afford at this time to let myself make this the end of the world... but I'll try to maintain at least monthly posts hereafter.
I began Hormone therapy on the 19th of this month. It feels like an age ago already, though I haven't gone in for a second shot, yet. It wasn't exactly what I thought it would be, I still felt the usual tension I feel before a needle prick, even if I was exited and happy about it. I was nervous beforehand and afterward I was overjoyed. Even now that it has finally happened, it feels surreal, it's difficult accept my transition as a part of reality.
Her parents accept me, and I'm getting used to spending the majority of the day in my female identity, despite my foul appearance which suggests otherwise. In a lot of ways my life has improved, and yet in a lot of other ways it has gotten worse.
Sharing a room is difficult even if its with your best friend, as I've come to discover, and I'm only able to afford the cheapest food available. The computer I'm on isn't able to play the games I'm used to playing, and I miss my mother's house where cases of soda sweets and meals are in the refrigerator waiting for me.
The worst part however is the stress... I worry constantly about losing my Medi-cal or disability check (though I can survive without disability, if i get a job, i need the Medi-cal). Medi-cal is already withholding the Stratera I desperately need to hold a job and often just to do simple tasks, as I've waited almost a month now for their approval.
Most of my life is being run on a pillar of other people's support. This living arrangement, the hormones, even my groceries. I'm constantly living in fear that any one pillar will be removed from beneath me and my life will come crumbling down to the despair from whence it came. Back to hopeless sorrow with no way in sight back to the path I'm on now.
I wonder if this uncertainty is part of the trial all of us transsexuals must face, or if it is only my version of the trial we all must endure.
I've truly little right to complain... with medical coverage, a place to live, free hormones, supportive friends, a family that at least tries, to accept me... and even romance, with a girl who sees me for the girl I am. I'm one of the lucky ones. No matter how scary my situation gets, I shouldn't dare be selfish enough to forget that others like me have it even worse... others without the coverage and support I'm getting towards my transition. Some people are in a place where there is no hope...
Additionally I have no real excuse for not completing this post within the month... My life isn't all computers like it used to be, and I don't have my meds, but I still managed to type this much today... I can't afford at this time to let myself make this the end of the world... but I'll try to maintain at least monthly posts hereafter.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Sideswiped
Just another update on my life for those who are wondering. Nothing really thoughtful here today, I haven't felt like I've had much to say lately unfortunately. I'm waiting for things to change, and my life to come out of this hiatus. Hopefully the will change, and soon...
I did not begin hormone therapy on the 15th. The car I use to get to the clinic is damaged and its my fault. I sideswiped another car last time I was driving there. I didn't think much of it at the time as I barely felt it, but my parents kept bugging me about it, and when I took a look the damage is pretty bad, though nothing interior. Though they are trying to stop me from making any progress toward treatment, they unfortunately are right about this one. There could be a warrent out for the arrest of the owner of this truck, since I didn't stop after the sideswipe...
So now lieing is no longer an option and my only way to continue forward is to move out. I tried to arrange things with the shelter, when a close friend of mine came to the rescue. I'll be moving in with my friend soon, though I'm not sure this will work out. She looks female, I look male, why would her parents really be okay with that? It doesn't seem secure but its worth a try before I end up in a shelter or on the streets. I'll post more later.
I did not begin hormone therapy on the 15th. The car I use to get to the clinic is damaged and its my fault. I sideswiped another car last time I was driving there. I didn't think much of it at the time as I barely felt it, but my parents kept bugging me about it, and when I took a look the damage is pretty bad, though nothing interior. Though they are trying to stop me from making any progress toward treatment, they unfortunately are right about this one. There could be a warrent out for the arrest of the owner of this truck, since I didn't stop after the sideswipe...
So now lieing is no longer an option and my only way to continue forward is to move out. I tried to arrange things with the shelter, when a close friend of mine came to the rescue. I'll be moving in with my friend soon, though I'm not sure this will work out. She looks female, I look male, why would her parents really be okay with that? It doesn't seem secure but its worth a try before I end up in a shelter or on the streets. I'll post more later.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Just Before Mother's Day
To those of you who were wondering what happened to my upcoming post, regarding starting the hormones, I haven't started them yet. I managed to get my vehicle stuck in a ditch a few feet from my house. The vehicle is fine, and so am I, and the appointment is now re-scheduled for the 15th.
That was initially all this post was going to be about, so people knew I was okay. As the truck was being towed out of the ditch, mom told me to hold off on scheduling an appointment so that she could make one with a local therapist to have me diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome, as her therapist had told her that she knows for sure there are local housing arrangements for people with Asperger's syndrome. Even before what ended up happening it sounded fishy to both of us, I've already been diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome before, and Such housing arrangements sounded too good to be true.
The day came when I was to be re-diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome, and it had already begun foul though nothing out of the ordinary. Mom was not feeling well, on account of her back problems, and as usual, I hadn't gotten very much sleep, as I've been having difficulties sleeping at night, and difficulties staying awake all day for quite some time now.
So we arrive, both of us in pain and foul moods, and I fill out their paperwork. My mood is particularly foul since I was the most suspicious of this and felt that it would turn out to be a waste of time.
I was right... Kind of.
The therapist I ended up seeing had a lot of experience dealing with people with Asperger's, and had some relative understanding of my Transsexuality too. He told me early on he didn't understand the purpose of this visit, as I already had been diagnosed with Asperger's and he didn't understand what we needed him for. I talked with him a bit and he asked me questions about how I felt about Asperger's and Transsexuality. He understood very well how I felt overwhelmed by trying to overcome both at the same time and seemed to honestly care about my plight as a woman and not as a troubled boy with an identity crisis.
And thus hell broke loose.
He called my mom in, though I felt uneasy about this whole thing, and tried to lay it on her: That his knowledge of my condition sounds like the same idea as the ones who are treating me further away, a condition I was born with that I can no more choose than Asperger's... (mom had made an ignorant comment asking "I don't understand, at the clinic they say anyone who wants to be transgender can be transgender, don't they?") My mom became furious with me, blaming me for everything he said.
The rest of the day Mom was silent. All I remember thinking was, If you don't believe a word he said, then nothings changed except that you get a small glimpse of the hopelessness that I live with... How is it my fault that he agrees with me... I didn't do anything to you. She refused to talk to me the rest of the day, I said hi to her as she walked by me and she ignored me. She went to bed without saying goodnight. I guess because the doctor agreed with me, I no longer deserve her good nights. The hardest part of the day, was one particular moment, where she was walking to get water... limping slowly her back still giving her pain, an exhausted defeated look on her face staring blankly ahead of her barely watching where she was going. I felt a dark guilt creep up inside me and it's moments like these, where I forget how angry I am at her, I forget how much fighting we've done, I remember that she's my mother and I love her... These moments are the ones that hurt the most.
That was initially all this post was going to be about, so people knew I was okay. As the truck was being towed out of the ditch, mom told me to hold off on scheduling an appointment so that she could make one with a local therapist to have me diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome, as her therapist had told her that she knows for sure there are local housing arrangements for people with Asperger's syndrome. Even before what ended up happening it sounded fishy to both of us, I've already been diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome before, and Such housing arrangements sounded too good to be true.
The day came when I was to be re-diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome, and it had already begun foul though nothing out of the ordinary. Mom was not feeling well, on account of her back problems, and as usual, I hadn't gotten very much sleep, as I've been having difficulties sleeping at night, and difficulties staying awake all day for quite some time now.
So we arrive, both of us in pain and foul moods, and I fill out their paperwork. My mood is particularly foul since I was the most suspicious of this and felt that it would turn out to be a waste of time.
I was right... Kind of.
The therapist I ended up seeing had a lot of experience dealing with people with Asperger's, and had some relative understanding of my Transsexuality too. He told me early on he didn't understand the purpose of this visit, as I already had been diagnosed with Asperger's and he didn't understand what we needed him for. I talked with him a bit and he asked me questions about how I felt about Asperger's and Transsexuality. He understood very well how I felt overwhelmed by trying to overcome both at the same time and seemed to honestly care about my plight as a woman and not as a troubled boy with an identity crisis.
And thus hell broke loose.
He called my mom in, though I felt uneasy about this whole thing, and tried to lay it on her: That his knowledge of my condition sounds like the same idea as the ones who are treating me further away, a condition I was born with that I can no more choose than Asperger's... (mom had made an ignorant comment asking "I don't understand, at the clinic they say anyone who wants to be transgender can be transgender, don't they?") My mom became furious with me, blaming me for everything he said.
The rest of the day Mom was silent. All I remember thinking was, If you don't believe a word he said, then nothings changed except that you get a small glimpse of the hopelessness that I live with... How is it my fault that he agrees with me... I didn't do anything to you. She refused to talk to me the rest of the day, I said hi to her as she walked by me and she ignored me. She went to bed without saying goodnight. I guess because the doctor agreed with me, I no longer deserve her good nights. The hardest part of the day, was one particular moment, where she was walking to get water... limping slowly her back still giving her pain, an exhausted defeated look on her face staring blankly ahead of her barely watching where she was going. I felt a dark guilt creep up inside me and it's moments like these, where I forget how angry I am at her, I forget how much fighting we've done, I remember that she's my mother and I love her... These moments are the ones that hurt the most.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Why I state that it isnt fiction
First of all, I'd like to apologize for not posting for a while. So far my posting minimum has been "once a month" and I'd like to keep it that way, but when I'm feeling lazy and not much is changing I end up posting at the beginning of one month and the end of the next. I'd like to thank everyone who's been reading my blog and leaving supportive comments, I know I haven't responded to some, particularly on the last two posts, but I read them and they mean a lot to me. If you're still reading, thank you.
Although I can offer no proof while maintaining my anonymity, I wanted to at least comment on the reason why I keep saying that this isn't fiction. It's not that I believe what I'm posting is all that shocking or unusual. I'm aware of the amount of fiction on the Internet that claims to be real. In particular, I remember hearing about the chronicles of a young teenage girl on her web cam blog that turned out to be nothing more than scripted dialogue by a group of aspiring script writers. There's a million other scripted things like this on the Internet claiming to be real and being particularly convincing at doing so.
My anti climactic stay at home after being certain I was heading to the shelter, might offer SOME evidence that there's no script or plot behind this, it's just my life. Some of what I write might seem exaggerated, and other things might just seem strange, but nothing I put on here is made up. My name is not really Claudia and I've already admitted to that. Other people's names have been omitted or changed and some details relating to other people have been omitted as well, but nothing of the facts, feelings, or events that I've posted this far have been made up.
I guess saying all this is somewhat counter productive, just as pleading the fifth amendment or flat out denial tends to make a person seem guilty, but I felt I wanted to talk about this for some time. In the end, some people will believe me, and others will not, I hope this blog makes even a tiny, minuscule difference, whether or not you believe every word I say.
I'm scheduled to start the hormonal treatment this Thursday, and I have, and will have a lot to say about that, so you'll hear from me again pretty soon.
Although I can offer no proof while maintaining my anonymity, I wanted to at least comment on the reason why I keep saying that this isn't fiction. It's not that I believe what I'm posting is all that shocking or unusual. I'm aware of the amount of fiction on the Internet that claims to be real. In particular, I remember hearing about the chronicles of a young teenage girl on her web cam blog that turned out to be nothing more than scripted dialogue by a group of aspiring script writers. There's a million other scripted things like this on the Internet claiming to be real and being particularly convincing at doing so.
My anti climactic stay at home after being certain I was heading to the shelter, might offer SOME evidence that there's no script or plot behind this, it's just my life. Some of what I write might seem exaggerated, and other things might just seem strange, but nothing I put on here is made up. My name is not really Claudia and I've already admitted to that. Other people's names have been omitted or changed and some details relating to other people have been omitted as well, but nothing of the facts, feelings, or events that I've posted this far have been made up.
I guess saying all this is somewhat counter productive, just as pleading the fifth amendment or flat out denial tends to make a person seem guilty, but I felt I wanted to talk about this for some time. In the end, some people will believe me, and others will not, I hope this blog makes even a tiny, minuscule difference, whether or not you believe every word I say.
I'm scheduled to start the hormonal treatment this Thursday, and I have, and will have a lot to say about that, so you'll hear from me again pretty soon.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
"Every guy wants to be a girl"
According to my father, apparently every guy wishes they were a girl. Girls are lighter than air and their fun and energetic or something I don't remember exactly what the description he gave was, it was actually my mother who told me he said it, and I can't go ask her again, because we're not talking to each other at this moment.
I'm so sick of trying to have faith in who I am. I didn't know since I was a child like so many trans people. I don't fit the profile of the "typical" transsexual girl. My mom uses these things to try to convince me that I must be a boy at heart and that I am not letting myself accept that fact.
I have no proof of who I am. I have no way to scan my brain and prove once and for all that I'm a woman. All I have is faith the way some people have faith in god. I never really believed wholeheartedly in God, even when I was a child and wanted to. I'm the kind of person that likes proof to whatever claims I'm making. My obsession with the occult comes from a desire to find solid proof of something beyond the physical: the human soul.
And so it is the same for very existence as a girl. Its hard for me to maintain faith. When mom or dad or anyone try to make little of the suffering I'm going through, I die a little. Even if they say things I know aren't true. This suffering, this need to hold on to my identity, this pain and this despair... sometimes these miserable things are ironically, all I have to hold on to, all I have to prove to myself in that which barely has any evidence in the physical... my own femininity.
I've described this feeling as dieing and being alive to feel myself dieing, and maybe I exaggerate... but that is really how I think of it. I'm tired of experiencing this. I'm tired of trying to defend or justify my identity through rhetoric, science, or through emotions. I'm tired of trying to hold on to hope that I am a girl. I'm tired of thinking "what if I'm not, and I'm just fooling myself into thinking I am a girl" and then thinking the only hope left is suicide. If I'm not after all, a girl on the inside, then transitioning means nothing, it's just fake surface work to hide something buried within.
This is what I'd like to say to my mother, though I doubt she will ever read this blog: I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not girly enough to be a girl. I'm sorry I never gave you signs that I'm a girl when I was little. I'm sorry I'm not like those typical transsexuals you saw on the video they gave me at the clinic. I'm sorry I'm my idea of womanhood is not the same as yours. I'm sorry I like video games and adventures and fantasy. I'm sorry for everything I am, down to the very core of my being. The tragic thing is, I'm not even sarcastic when I say I'm sorry. I feel an honest to goodness shame and guilt over these things. I want to punish myself for being who I am, inside and out. I want to die, to destroy both the woman I hate and the man I despise. Both of whom, are me.
I've promised people over and over to stay alive and so I shall. I write about suicide I think about it but I will not do it. At this point withholding the thought of it would be tantamount to a lie.
I'm so sick of trying to have faith in who I am. I didn't know since I was a child like so many trans people. I don't fit the profile of the "typical" transsexual girl. My mom uses these things to try to convince me that I must be a boy at heart and that I am not letting myself accept that fact.
I have no proof of who I am. I have no way to scan my brain and prove once and for all that I'm a woman. All I have is faith the way some people have faith in god. I never really believed wholeheartedly in God, even when I was a child and wanted to. I'm the kind of person that likes proof to whatever claims I'm making. My obsession with the occult comes from a desire to find solid proof of something beyond the physical: the human soul.
And so it is the same for very existence as a girl. Its hard for me to maintain faith. When mom or dad or anyone try to make little of the suffering I'm going through, I die a little. Even if they say things I know aren't true. This suffering, this need to hold on to my identity, this pain and this despair... sometimes these miserable things are ironically, all I have to hold on to, all I have to prove to myself in that which barely has any evidence in the physical... my own femininity.
I've described this feeling as dieing and being alive to feel myself dieing, and maybe I exaggerate... but that is really how I think of it. I'm tired of experiencing this. I'm tired of trying to defend or justify my identity through rhetoric, science, or through emotions. I'm tired of trying to hold on to hope that I am a girl. I'm tired of thinking "what if I'm not, and I'm just fooling myself into thinking I am a girl" and then thinking the only hope left is suicide. If I'm not after all, a girl on the inside, then transitioning means nothing, it's just fake surface work to hide something buried within.
This is what I'd like to say to my mother, though I doubt she will ever read this blog: I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not girly enough to be a girl. I'm sorry I never gave you signs that I'm a girl when I was little. I'm sorry I'm not like those typical transsexuals you saw on the video they gave me at the clinic. I'm sorry I'm my idea of womanhood is not the same as yours. I'm sorry I like video games and adventures and fantasy. I'm sorry for everything I am, down to the very core of my being. The tragic thing is, I'm not even sarcastic when I say I'm sorry. I feel an honest to goodness shame and guilt over these things. I want to punish myself for being who I am, inside and out. I want to die, to destroy both the woman I hate and the man I despise. Both of whom, are me.
I've promised people over and over to stay alive and so I shall. I write about suicide I think about it but I will not do it. At this point withholding the thought of it would be tantamount to a lie.
Monday, February 25, 2008
I'm sorry
Today I owe some people who have been reading my blog an apology. I'm still sitting at home writing this. My parents have changed their minds several times on whether to kick me out or not. When I began my last post I honestly believed they were going to go through with it, but that's an excuse I suppose for jumping to conclusions. They changed their mind again and again since them, and I can't help but feel a little guilty having received such regards and sympathy for an event that ultimately did not take place. I thank you all for caring, and I appreciate your support, and I am sorry for misleading you. At this time I cannot for my own sake forget the possibility that my parents may resort to kicking me out when I begin the treatment or afterward, but it hasn't happened yet and I do not know at this point if it will or will not. My goal is to transition and live life as myself whether it be here or in the shelter. I wanted to offer a story of hope and persevering strength, but this is more turning into a story of people throwing me a lifeline. My parents, while aggressively trying to make me "change my mind" are still willing to bring me to the doctor while we deal with my lack of transportation. I am getting insurance coverage for care most transsexual people have to pay for out of their own pockets. I cannot say I've endured in the worst of situations, not compared to what others like me have endured. Most of all I have support of people who I meet online, people who read this blog, and I thank you for that support.
Friday, February 1, 2008
A choice was made for me
I was about to post over the choice I have to make...
but it seems the choice was made for me today.
Mom decided I need to get out as soon as possible.
In some small way I am relieved. The choice for me is very difficult. I don't really feel I'm ready to move into the shelter, I'm terrified in fact... but it seems alot easier now that I do not have to actually decide.
Mom had told me she bought me books for aspereger's syndrom so that I can learn to deal with my problems instead of turning myself into a girl. I told her she must be joking. My Asperer's Syndrome has nothing to do with my transsexuality, and learning to cope with one will not obliterate the other. Angry, I told her, the only thing that would stop me is if she killed me, and that even if she threatened to stop driving me to the doctor I'd find the way to the greyhound bus route to get me to the shelter.
In hindsight it wasn't the smartest thing to say. I was angry, and I was childish. But it was enough for my mom to tell me to get out. In my heart I don't really feel like anything about my life is really gonna change living under her iron law. I'll finally have the chance to stand up to her, to stand up for myself, and to be who I am. I'll demand my name and pronouns, I'll demand they respect me as a woman, and when they (mom and dad) do... I'll forgive them everything.
I'm going to have to give up my fantasy world on the internet. I'll still have my girlfriend, but not access to hundreds of different games with her and infinite time to spend with her like I idd before. I'm scared of humiliating myself in front of people. These kids that go into this shelter, they haven't had easy lives like I have. They have been beaten, thrown out directly by their parents without any promise of the bed at the shelter, forced to find their way there themselves. I don't know exactly what I'll find there, but I know that the hell they have been through has, though unfair and injust... prepared them for the hard life on their own. These aren't spoiled kids like me. I'm not cut out for life and I don't know how I'm going to get through this. I'm a hard worker, but i'm also clumsy, disorganized and very bad at doing simple tasks. I'm frightened... very frightened... but also determined. Whatever powers work the world into the shape that it is in... have mercy on me.
but it seems the choice was made for me today.
Mom decided I need to get out as soon as possible.
In some small way I am relieved. The choice for me is very difficult. I don't really feel I'm ready to move into the shelter, I'm terrified in fact... but it seems alot easier now that I do not have to actually decide.
Mom had told me she bought me books for aspereger's syndrom so that I can learn to deal with my problems instead of turning myself into a girl. I told her she must be joking. My Asperer's Syndrome has nothing to do with my transsexuality, and learning to cope with one will not obliterate the other. Angry, I told her, the only thing that would stop me is if she killed me, and that even if she threatened to stop driving me to the doctor I'd find the way to the greyhound bus route to get me to the shelter.
In hindsight it wasn't the smartest thing to say. I was angry, and I was childish. But it was enough for my mom to tell me to get out. In my heart I don't really feel like anything about my life is really gonna change living under her iron law. I'll finally have the chance to stand up to her, to stand up for myself, and to be who I am. I'll demand my name and pronouns, I'll demand they respect me as a woman, and when they (mom and dad) do... I'll forgive them everything.
I'm going to have to give up my fantasy world on the internet. I'll still have my girlfriend, but not access to hundreds of different games with her and infinite time to spend with her like I idd before. I'm scared of humiliating myself in front of people. These kids that go into this shelter, they haven't had easy lives like I have. They have been beaten, thrown out directly by their parents without any promise of the bed at the shelter, forced to find their way there themselves. I don't know exactly what I'll find there, but I know that the hell they have been through has, though unfair and injust... prepared them for the hard life on their own. These aren't spoiled kids like me. I'm not cut out for life and I don't know how I'm going to get through this. I'm a hard worker, but i'm also clumsy, disorganized and very bad at doing simple tasks. I'm frightened... very frightened... but also determined. Whatever powers work the world into the shape that it is in... have mercy on me.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Lindsay/Lucas
Today I was planning on following up yesterday's post about my recent diagnosis with the choice I'm faced with about moving out... but something else caught my attention, and is on my mind at the moment.
I was watching Law and Order: Special Victims Unit, using a take on the John Joan story, of a boy who was, in response to a medical accident given sex reassignment surgery, with the advice that he should be raised as a girl. This experiment failed proving that gender identity is wired in, not learned.
I was so moved by the story I had to write about it. In this one, Lucas had a brother and was the victim of rape and ended up killing the rapist in self defense. The story ended up revolving more around the doctor and his obscene experiments to "train" Lucas into thinking like a girl.
In the end one of the twins murders the doctor, and neither one of them will come forward with who did it. I am not condoning their murder by any means, but I do believe that sex reassignment surgery performed without the consent of the patient should be considered criminal.
I remember asking my mom once if she was keeping a secret from me. Later when I came out as trans I asked her if I was somehow surgically altered at birth, if I was born a girl. Of course I know that that isn't possible now for them to have reconstructed my male parts. I wish however that I had that birth right... I f I was born a girl, I doubt my parents would have fought so hard against me reclaiming my proper gender identity. If the birth defect was only postnatal where someone could see it happen... then nobody would be trying to stop me... but even if not in the way others would like to insist, it really is "all in my head." That is, my head is the portion of my body affected by Benjamin's Syndrome.
Another thing that had a profound... and negative impact on me was unfortunately not intended. Before I found out where exactly the plot was going, I thought he was an aggressive... tomboyish girl, I related to him, and felt like he reminded me of myself, till I found out he was a boy. I can't let this get me down, I know who I am and I know that minor things don't make me less of a girl, but I still wish I had more people I could relate to... I don't fit in with most women or men I know in person. Men are too masculine, obsessed seemingly with some endless, doggish competition for the alpha position, and forming endless silly social regulations on each other, and rating one another on upholding such regulations. (I do not mean that men are bad in any way nor do I know if all men are like this. I have had such experiences myself though, where men expect me to behave in a similar way and I end up preferring to exclude myself. All human beings are individuals and I do not mean that men are animals because some of them behave a certain way. I haven't had this experience among women yet. I associate this behavior as male in other words because of personal experience, that doesn't mean it properly describes male behavior in general)
Women just don't like the things I like. Plenty of girls play video games, and like fantasy and adventure... just none around here it seems. I like a lot of girl things too, but the nerd in me separates me from them... it makes me feel more like a boy, and it makes them see me more as a boy.
More than anything though, it just hit home. He gave subtle signs of being a boy, but overall was living the part of the girl... a miserable girl. He didn't guess what was wrong until he was told, but when it came out it wasn't much of a surprise. "I knew it! I never felt right!" he said. I never felt right either. Send me those estrogen pills I'll take care of them for you. I guess I'll post about my choices tomorrow. I've got a lot to say lately.
Nonfiction about Fiction.
Claudia
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Asperger's Syndrome
I had been holding back on telling people this until I could find out more and know it was true. Unfortunately... today is that day. It might as well be official, I have a high functioning form of autism known as Asperger's Syndrome. It's not like the other more common forms, so its less easy to distinguish or diagnose. Autism is a kind of disorder that makes interacting with other people difficult... as a result learning also becomes difficult. Since Asperger's Syndrome is high functioning, the normal learning disabilities associated with autism are not normally present... that is to say, I can read and write, and speak English, and I generally understand on a college student level, assuming I'm not being self congratulatory.
This blog is not about Asperger's syndrome it's about transsexuality, and if nothing else, my constant pleading not just for me, but for all of us to be seen as human. Being a dissociative disorder interacting with other human beings and sharing in their culture and world HAS always been difficult for me. I'm not exactly where a 22 year old should be in life because the way humans work and tick has been difficult to understand at times. Escaping reality into an inward fantasy world has always been a must for me, and fixations and obsessions are nothing new either. The hardest part is the difficulty with emotional responses, perhaps once the most inhuman moment of my life, was when someone I knew died of cancer... not the friend mentioned in this blog, but long long long ago... there was a sadness buried inside... but I could not understand how to feel... how to respond... and so I hated myself believing I was cold and callous, and unable to feel for anyone unless it directly affected me. The same sinister feeling came over me during the tragedy of 9/11. It isn't to say that I didn't care that those people died, or that I in any way condoned it... but I just couldn't feel the shock of the tragedy, the sadness... I couldn't cry over those who had died... And the longing to feel what other human beings feel, even if they are sad feelings came over me, and became the most presiding feeling for the moment. Now I wonder if I will ever attune myself to these feelings.
But I do have feelings, and a conscience, and a sense of morality. I am human, perhaps unfortunately. I have expressed a verisimilitude of feelings here on this blog. I love someone, not a forced, I'll do anything for you love, a genuine love where I need to be with her. I may be belligerent and rude and nasty and angry with them at times, but I also feel for my parents and the agony I've put them through, even if I haven't fully forgiven them yet for how they've taken it out on me... I still know this is hard for them... and believe it or not I do care. I care what happens to other people, about the poor and the homeless and the hungry. I care about the war, even if I don't directly feel the sadness yet because I have been lucky enough not to lose anyone close to me from it yet (though I have had friends suffering PTSD, but it really isn't the same as losing someone directly or suffering it myself.) I react to the breeze the overcast and the sun, and the moon. I feel sadness, pleasure, terror, nostalgia, sympathy. I like to give... I get an honestly rewarding feeling from giving to others or helping other people, (not to say that I'm not selfish, but rather that I have a generous side too.)
I guess what I am trying to say, is this whole blog is at least partly, a plead to see me, and through me, other transsexuals, as human.
I don't want to let this disorder, this Asperger's Syndrome in humanize me or even others any more in some people's eyes. I am not trying to commit some perverted act by transitioning myself... I'm just trying to live a happy life, I have joys and struggles, morals and beliefs just like you... whoever you are.
None of this is fiction. Claudia
This blog is not about Asperger's syndrome it's about transsexuality, and if nothing else, my constant pleading not just for me, but for all of us to be seen as human. Being a dissociative disorder interacting with other human beings and sharing in their culture and world HAS always been difficult for me. I'm not exactly where a 22 year old should be in life because the way humans work and tick has been difficult to understand at times. Escaping reality into an inward fantasy world has always been a must for me, and fixations and obsessions are nothing new either. The hardest part is the difficulty with emotional responses, perhaps once the most inhuman moment of my life, was when someone I knew died of cancer... not the friend mentioned in this blog, but long long long ago... there was a sadness buried inside... but I could not understand how to feel... how to respond... and so I hated myself believing I was cold and callous, and unable to feel for anyone unless it directly affected me. The same sinister feeling came over me during the tragedy of 9/11. It isn't to say that I didn't care that those people died, or that I in any way condoned it... but I just couldn't feel the shock of the tragedy, the sadness... I couldn't cry over those who had died... And the longing to feel what other human beings feel, even if they are sad feelings came over me, and became the most presiding feeling for the moment. Now I wonder if I will ever attune myself to these feelings.
But I do have feelings, and a conscience, and a sense of morality. I am human, perhaps unfortunately. I have expressed a verisimilitude of feelings here on this blog. I love someone, not a forced, I'll do anything for you love, a genuine love where I need to be with her. I may be belligerent and rude and nasty and angry with them at times, but I also feel for my parents and the agony I've put them through, even if I haven't fully forgiven them yet for how they've taken it out on me... I still know this is hard for them... and believe it or not I do care. I care what happens to other people, about the poor and the homeless and the hungry. I care about the war, even if I don't directly feel the sadness yet because I have been lucky enough not to lose anyone close to me from it yet (though I have had friends suffering PTSD, but it really isn't the same as losing someone directly or suffering it myself.) I react to the breeze the overcast and the sun, and the moon. I feel sadness, pleasure, terror, nostalgia, sympathy. I like to give... I get an honestly rewarding feeling from giving to others or helping other people, (not to say that I'm not selfish, but rather that I have a generous side too.)
I guess what I am trying to say, is this whole blog is at least partly, a plead to see me, and through me, other transsexuals, as human.
I don't want to let this disorder, this Asperger's Syndrome in humanize me or even others any more in some people's eyes. I am not trying to commit some perverted act by transitioning myself... I'm just trying to live a happy life, I have joys and struggles, morals and beliefs just like you... whoever you are.
None of this is fiction. Claudia
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Child's Play
This post is more unique to my personal situation, and so many other transsexuals might not relate to it. In fact it doesn't really only apply to trans people.
I recently got into a fight with my mother about my habit of constant computer games. Childish? Sure. Boyish? Not in my opinion. The fact of the matter is, right now life being so hard to deal with and waiting for some answer as to where I'll be in the next month, I have nothing else to do.
As I've explained before the Internet provides me with a chance to be a girl, despite the ravages of nature on my male body. I can demand whatever pronouns I prefer, having no image of me to tie me down to my male identity.
But it goes a little beyond that too. It gives me a chance to get away, to escape into some fantasy land with my long distance partner. To be an elf or a magician, to be some kind of magical entity. To be the heroine that saved some town from some plague, or saved some child from some monster, or wicked person. Gives me a chance to feel special.
My mother got sick of my constant escapism, which at this part of my life I feel is even more necessary than it has been in the past. We got into the typical fight, and she yelled threats at me, (I am heavily dependant on her at this time, still living with her and having no working vehicle) and she decided to throw some insults my way about my fixation with "Faeries and Swords and Knights" She said I need to stop playing these games because they are destroying me, making a comparison to how she was younger and used to drink to feel confident and popular. (Frankly I found it audacious of her to think she even comes close to knowing what I'm going through... popular? I just want to be a girl, she had that right at birth).
She left me with the following ultimatum: No video games while living in this household, if you can't live with that go move into the shelter...
perhaps it was my "childish" anger... I opted for the shelter.
I doubt I'll have much time for games there, but having been insulted over who I am, not just in terms of being a girl, but in what kind of girl I happen to be... I was, and still am infuriated with her.
But here I am coming to the first point of this off-topic post: I admit that I am addicted to video games. I'm confident enough in who I am that I can say I don't think that makes me any less of a girl, despite the stereotypes. I can't stop escaping into a mystic fantasy world where being a girl is only the beginning, I'm a beautiful heroine who saves lives and performs superhuman deeds. I go on adventures and face untold perils, how exiting! Its so much better than being a bitter, pathetic, dependant, hairy, untreated transsexual, as I am in real life.
I've read all the arguments about video game addiction, but I believe for me it is a unique problem... where is balance? I know and admit I have an addiction and in no way do I want to spend my whole life doing nothing but playing video games... But I've no desire to give them up either. I do not know how drugs or alcohol or smoking feels, I've never tried any of them, but for me video games are also a passion. Its been my dream to be a game designer, one I've recently had to give up on for now... but not for life.
I believe these games, while obviously a heavily commercial industry, if given the opportunity, can be an art form. Don't get me wrong, I'm a girl, and personally I'm not into blowing off heads with shotguns and seeing how much better I can be than someone else. (I suppose some girls ARE into that but I'm not one of them.) For me it is entering another world, with enchanted forests, where rumors of hauntings just might actually prove true. Its infinite oceans with islands that have yet to be discovered. Worlds of breathtaking beauty and unspeakable horror become possible.
I yearn for the day I can invite people into worlds of my own creation, to wander enchanted glades of my own dreams. To discover adventures in my own faerie world. But my transition and my identity as a woman come first. So my transitioning has put this dream on hold for now, but not forever.
My question is... Is my mom right? Is my passion killing me? Is it impossible for there to be a happy medium where I can be Claudia in real life, and still explore and create in the world of video games? I do not know if drinking or smoking can be a passion like this, but In my opinion there is a serious difference. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe giving up drinking means giving up something that for some people has a lot of meaning and impact.
Or maybe because this is something that has such meaning to me and something where I'd like to place my creativity, there has to be a different answer. Maybe addiction or not, it's not the same as getting drunk or stoned. Maybe it does have meaning for some people and, it's not just me trying to get another fix.
I would like comments especially on this post. Are video games like drugs? Am I just giving meaning to a meaningless thing because I am an addict or is there something to my words?
Shamefully honest~ Claudia
I recently got into a fight with my mother about my habit of constant computer games. Childish? Sure. Boyish? Not in my opinion. The fact of the matter is, right now life being so hard to deal with and waiting for some answer as to where I'll be in the next month, I have nothing else to do.
As I've explained before the Internet provides me with a chance to be a girl, despite the ravages of nature on my male body. I can demand whatever pronouns I prefer, having no image of me to tie me down to my male identity.
But it goes a little beyond that too. It gives me a chance to get away, to escape into some fantasy land with my long distance partner. To be an elf or a magician, to be some kind of magical entity. To be the heroine that saved some town from some plague, or saved some child from some monster, or wicked person. Gives me a chance to feel special.
My mother got sick of my constant escapism, which at this part of my life I feel is even more necessary than it has been in the past. We got into the typical fight, and she yelled threats at me, (I am heavily dependant on her at this time, still living with her and having no working vehicle) and she decided to throw some insults my way about my fixation with "Faeries and Swords and Knights" She said I need to stop playing these games because they are destroying me, making a comparison to how she was younger and used to drink to feel confident and popular. (Frankly I found it audacious of her to think she even comes close to knowing what I'm going through... popular? I just want to be a girl, she had that right at birth).
She left me with the following ultimatum: No video games while living in this household, if you can't live with that go move into the shelter...
perhaps it was my "childish" anger... I opted for the shelter.
I doubt I'll have much time for games there, but having been insulted over who I am, not just in terms of being a girl, but in what kind of girl I happen to be... I was, and still am infuriated with her.
But here I am coming to the first point of this off-topic post: I admit that I am addicted to video games. I'm confident enough in who I am that I can say I don't think that makes me any less of a girl, despite the stereotypes. I can't stop escaping into a mystic fantasy world where being a girl is only the beginning, I'm a beautiful heroine who saves lives and performs superhuman deeds. I go on adventures and face untold perils, how exiting! Its so much better than being a bitter, pathetic, dependant, hairy, untreated transsexual, as I am in real life.
I've read all the arguments about video game addiction, but I believe for me it is a unique problem... where is balance? I know and admit I have an addiction and in no way do I want to spend my whole life doing nothing but playing video games... But I've no desire to give them up either. I do not know how drugs or alcohol or smoking feels, I've never tried any of them, but for me video games are also a passion. Its been my dream to be a game designer, one I've recently had to give up on for now... but not for life.
I believe these games, while obviously a heavily commercial industry, if given the opportunity, can be an art form. Don't get me wrong, I'm a girl, and personally I'm not into blowing off heads with shotguns and seeing how much better I can be than someone else. (I suppose some girls ARE into that but I'm not one of them.) For me it is entering another world, with enchanted forests, where rumors of hauntings just might actually prove true. Its infinite oceans with islands that have yet to be discovered. Worlds of breathtaking beauty and unspeakable horror become possible.
I yearn for the day I can invite people into worlds of my own creation, to wander enchanted glades of my own dreams. To discover adventures in my own faerie world. But my transition and my identity as a woman come first. So my transitioning has put this dream on hold for now, but not forever.
My question is... Is my mom right? Is my passion killing me? Is it impossible for there to be a happy medium where I can be Claudia in real life, and still explore and create in the world of video games? I do not know if drinking or smoking can be a passion like this, but In my opinion there is a serious difference. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe giving up drinking means giving up something that for some people has a lot of meaning and impact.
Or maybe because this is something that has such meaning to me and something where I'd like to place my creativity, there has to be a different answer. Maybe addiction or not, it's not the same as getting drunk or stoned. Maybe it does have meaning for some people and, it's not just me trying to get another fix.
I would like comments especially on this post. Are video games like drugs? Am I just giving meaning to a meaningless thing because I am an addict or is there something to my words?
Shamefully honest~ Claudia
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