tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38275071847086531052024-02-20T09:27:37.411-08:00Burning CocoonsSomeday i'll be a horribly scarred butterfly.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.comBlogger54125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-20595193552605787292011-05-23T20:35:00.000-07:002011-05-23T20:44:32.690-07:00Oopsiesthe previous post was actually a mistake intended for my other blog which is http://myemptyvessel.blogspot.com/ the one I meant to be my spiritual blog, as this one was initially intended for my political rants but ended up being more for personal rants. the thing is I don't actually have as much to say, specifically in regards to being transgender anymore, I feel dwelling on the topic pushes me to obsess over it. as weird as it is to say, I think i'm at the end of my journey in that regard. I guess I'm not really at the end, i still don't have a job, and i still want to save for my orchiectomy, but I'm happy with myself, I'm happy with the person i am, at least, as far as gender is concerned.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-30219015090410912942011-05-23T15:14:00.000-07:002011-05-23T15:20:13.044-07:00To reach further than arms lengthI have not posted on this blog in years, but my spiritual journey bumpy and often without direction, is nevertheless important to me. I no longer give half a damn about educating people about anything. Transsexuality, witchcraft, politics. I don't care that much. Not because trans politics aren't important, but because, I'm just not cut out to be a journalist of any kind, I don't have an eye for facts and I'm not doing much investigating from my hole I live in. It's simply not my area of talent, so I may on occasion offer my opinion on things for the sake of sharing, but not because I feel I have a very strong voice in politics.<br /><br />Religion comes out pretty much the same. I'm clueless and partially insane. I'm not an anthropologist, or a theologist. I'm no ghodi, no initiate of Wicca or Thelema, I'm not a preacher or a rabbi. I'm going to post here for one person and one person only: myself. Frankly I think it would help me to get stuff off my chest once in a while, and this will be a place for me to do just that. This blog will be dedicated to my spiritual confusion and what my beliefs are and what I'm searching for.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-64153276736836093602010-12-29T12:40:00.000-08:002010-12-29T13:51:13.306-08:00Rant blog, and expansion of a previous confession.I've decided I'm going to keep this blog as a personal journal given the previous context. I want to comment more on society in general, LGBT rights, and sexuality, in a broader sense, but I've decided to make a new blog more designed for this. As a result I won't be posting as much on this one as I might be on the new one. However there are issues I want to discuss here twice, on both a personal and societal level partly because some of this I'm just starting to deal with myself, and because some of this I'm thinking needs to be said to the transgender community as a whole, or to society.<br /><br />For one I'm out of the closet now as being partly genderqueer. I've come to realize that as important as femininity and womanhood are to me, to a lesser extent, my gender ambiguity and bigendered identity are also important to me, hence the non operative choice and my identification as "mostly female"<br /><br />I'm exhibitionistic. I've been placing pornographic photos of myself on the internet. Why? pure personal choice: I find it fun and I like the attention. I'll get to the relevance of why I needed to post this on my blog in a moment.<br /><br />Finally I'm a trans fetishist, although it's not truly a "transgender" fetish, but if your eyes are not crossed now, just bear with me. I am probably going to be accused of being a transvestite in denial, and I'm going to have the legitimacy of my gender identity completely torn from me by smug self superior individuals who require their own validity to come at the expense of another's. For this reason I'm am probably going to lose friends as they read this before they make it to the end of this paragraph, I no longer trust people to read this objectively and give me a chance to explain myself. But someone might, so here goes:<br /><br />I find the juxtaposition of a male organ on a female body arousing. This is a detail, not a focus, but it exists in my sexuality, and among the things that I have dealt with in my life, I have found this to be the deepest source of denial, loss of validity and self doubt in the entire course of my transition and my life. As I've stated before sexual kink is not my reason for transitioning, however it appeared first before I gave myself more self analysis as sexual kink.<br /><br />I have already more than asserted the legitimacy of my gender identity disorder, which has come to bring to my attention the fact that this needs to be discussed openly, in the potential instance of others less like myself. I'm absolutely sick, tired, and disgusted of the hatred that comes from -within- the trans community. This hatred has been by far more the source of my self doubt than any destructive words that could come from outside. I've dealt with for a very long time the semantics of who is and who is not a "true" transsexual. While I have met fetishistic men with male gender identities I do not think this is the exclusive case of fetishism, I've met cissgendered women who feel this way, having fantasies about penetrative sex rather than being penetrated. I do not believe neurologically there is any difference between myself and them.<br /><br />I am not a "tranny chaser" given my own gender identity disorder and my ability to empathize with a woman's need for validity and for the need for public funding for SRS, and my own gender identity disorder. I feel the transsexual persecution of fetishists whether transvestitic, heterosexual, lesbian, gay or otherwise, is a useless element in our community. While the phenomenon of tranny chasers exists, this can be remedied with communication and understanding. Having had the opportunity to communicate with a number of these men myself, having this fetish and legitimate transsexuality myself, I somewhat bridge the gap between these two opposing communities. Persecuting them for this aspect of their sexuality only further pushes them to acknowledge stereotypes and return to incidences where they feel welcomed for their sexuality, thus furthering the momentum of prostitution and pornography as the only understanding of transsexuality. This sexuality is not going anywhere, and yelling at them for invalidating women is not going to magically cause them to click their heels and re-write something that is probably nuerologically set, or at least deeply psychologically set. The fact that I exist with these people asserts there is a niche in our psychology and nuerology for myself and them, and that neither of our existence needs to be a threat to a classic DSM IV transsexual woman.<br /><br />I find it deeply hypocritical that we argue that womanhood is not defined by sex organs, and yet, by imposing a desire for surgery as a requisite for validity on all male to female transsexuals, we continue to define women by their genitalia. I also have seen transsexual men asserting that they enjoy being penetrated and even some gay transmen who have found the possession of a vagina on their male body or on the male bodies of others to be arousing. A woman who was deeply critical of "shemale" transvestites, who were never, ever "legitimate transsexuals" was in complete acknowledgment of the validity of his gender identity.<br /><br />Mentioning the "shemale" derogatory term, given my bigendered identity, with a preference towards my femininity (don't you dare try to box my gender identity into a triangular "middle" simply because you acknowledge that there is not a binary. I am mostly female, period.), paired with the exhibitionism I briefly touched upon, my relative brush with pornography, my fetishism and sexuality, you begin to build a profile of a "shemale" or a "transgenderist" and you compile a negative stereotype that has affected me deeply and made me have to doubt my validity as a woman. I make no requirement for other women to be like myself, and I believe I have just as much of a right to my gender identity as anyone else. If you have failed to recognize that validity, frankly, I find that quite pathetic. It's taken every ounce of independence and individuality out of me to acknowledge this for myself, and I challenge you to -think- independently and -then- challenge anything I say, instead of rehashing the same illegitimate bullshit about transgenderists and the sacred vagina as the sole defining element of female existence.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-52756151231469000342010-12-20T04:36:00.000-08:002010-12-20T04:41:35.640-08:00Goddamn it's been longI've been ignoring this thing for like... ever. I suppose I don't have readers anymore, which is fine, although I've made some dear friends on here. My main reason for ignoring this is dealing with the fact that I was letting trans-sexuality define me, and I wanted to let go of that for a while. I tried being less vocal about it, and I guess for a while I needed that, but it's difficult for me to be entirely un vocal about anything. I'll be posting new things here every so often but I doubt I'll keep the monthly quota I kept during my transition. I would also like to talk about LGBT rights in general, and frankly I want to be perfectly open about my sexuality, this may mean flagging this blog mature, and posting things people might not wanna read. I don't know if I'll be touching my spiritual blog here, or if I'll be using another outlet for it.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-32040128399630553102009-11-21T23:02:00.001-08:002009-12-07T21:53:31.138-08:00Transgender Day of Rememberance 2009, a few days lateI apologize for posing a day late today, for yesterday, 2009 Day of remembrance. I searched for a list for this year, but was unable to find one. Last year I poured my heart out on a very difficult post, about those who has passed away due to hate crimes or other things relating to their transgender status. Many more have passed this year, who's names I do not not know. This was a difficult time for me last year. I had just gone full time a few days ago, and the list of transgendered hate crime was a reminder of the dangers I faced. I didn't really pass yet, and it took everything I had to go outside in girl clothes.<br /><br />Looking back on that now... its hard to believe that its only been a year since then. Since I was doing volunteer work for the campaign to repeal prop 8. Since I was taking a cane with me that I borrowed because I was too afraid to go on to the train without some kind of weapon. Since I was in the potential pool for next years victims.<br /><br /><br />This thanksgiving I've a lot to be thankful for. My transition really wasn't that bad, not compared to how it could have been. And while I hurt for those who have lost or are lost.<br /><br /><br /><br />I meant to post this almost a month ago, and left it for editing feeling unsatisfied with what I wrote. I'm sorry for such a delayed remembrance.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-39472522496446665812009-11-02T16:43:00.000-08:002009-11-02T17:17:36.626-08:00Working in Corporate America, a second little social commentary.Greetings bloggers and readers. Apologies again for my lack of posts or attention to these blogs. I've been juggling personal and school life, but as I'm currently taking only one class, I've little excuse save the lack of motivation on my part for nearly anything.<br /><br /> Though I've wanted to dedicate this blog to social commentary, it isn't as though I've nothing to say. In particular, though this has little to do with gender, I'd like to take a second attempt at offering my disgruntled perspective in regards to the system of employment and job interviews in our society, and how I feel a bit excluded by it. I do not know whether this says more about me, or the values we keep in our culture, but I'll let my readers decide.<br /><br />A close friend of mine got a job at Vons and promptly quit. She was a bit taken aback, with the way she was treated in her employment. The other co workers cared little for training her, and only did the bare-bones minimum they were required in showing her the ropes. She was unprepared for some of the work and shocked, with little assistance in tasks she was not ready for, or physically unable to comply due to her petite size.<br />But in my opinion, it was more the disposable nature by which she felt she was regarded, than the nature of the work itself that drove her to quit. I hold this opinion because I too, was an employee once at a super market, and I still dread Job hunting to this day because of it. I worked hard at my job as courtesy clerk, very hard. But I was not a fast worker, nor an effective one. Rather, I never gave myself unscheduled breaks or fooled around on the job. I obediently continued to wherever I was expected to be, and to whatever I was expected to be doing.<br />Often, it seemed like, the case was, that I was reprimanded for not being in two places at once, or for putting out the wrong fire at the wrong time. I was repeatedly told to say "service first" at albertsons, in particular any time I was needed to use the intercom, Yet when I had to choose between that customer that needed my help on aisle 3 and the spill on aisle 6, I was often treated like I was trying to avoid my obligations by helping the customer, despite the instructional videos I was shown which told me to do exactly that.<br /><br />My boss would make fun of me. whistling the tune thematic of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slowpoke_Rodriguez">Slowpoke Rodriguez</a> whenever I passed him struggling to figure out which end-cap the go-backs that looked as though they obviously belonged in a completely different location, should be placed in. Another superior of mine, was often thankful and polite to me, making me feel good, until I discovered from co workers how she would often discuss behind my back how wretched slow I was, and how she hated having to work with me.<br /><br />I constantly felt like my employment, and any hopes of resume for the future, were at stake, because I was not fast enough at dexterity or wit to keep up with the demands of this rather simple, idiotic job at Albertson's. I wondered when they would decide to fire me to let in the next egomaniac behind me who was waiting to do my job, a little bit faster, with a little more skill, or maybe a lot more.<br />The other employees, who took their job a lot less serious than I did, seem to get along better with their superior motor skills, and that seemed to overshadow the fact that they would extend their breaks as much as possible, and goof off at every given moment on the job. One co-worker of mine even scolded me about the importance of putting away go-backs at the end of each shift, and then began to literally goof around, playing with a toy that was found in the items to be returned.<br /><br />Another time I was looking for a job, a prospective employer asked me if I was "aggressive" and of course, I thought it meant rude or overly outspoken. Logic should have told me that he meant competitive, but I never took the moment to associate aggressiveness with the place I was applying for work at... Micheal's, an arts and crafts store.<br /><br />So the bottom line is, I am neither fast, nor competitive. I just want to do my job, as best I can, and I would happily keep a vested interest in how my work is benefiting the employer for whom I work. No employer would want to hire me after I told them that, they want someone who will come in and say "yes" or give a positive answer to every question they would ask about their prospective employment. Either there's a shortage of people like me in this world, who are not good enough, or megalomania and an overwhelming excess of self-esteem are necessary to compete in this cutthroat environment we live in, even at the very bottom of the food chain.<br /><br />Perhaps this is just the asperger's talking. Maybe this is just the perspective of someone in a very distinct psychiatric minority, complaining about something that works fine for just about everyone else. It must be because I don't see many people complaining about the values in entry level corporate society, outside of my little circle of friends. We talk about the big guys like the banks and the upper eschalons of corporate society, and how their greed often forgets about those left on the bottom rung, but nobody complains about the guy in charge of job interviews at the local best buy or Target.<br /><br />Honesty and hard work in our society, only pay off when one also has superior skills in every aspect of their job, social, physical, and mental. I clearly simply do not fit in with my inferior self esteem and the slow pace with which I must try to keep up. You need to be the best, or at least be able to claim to be to an interviewer with a straight face.<br /><br />At any rate I'm in school for the time being, and I'm sure I'll find a way to get by in society, but it doesn't change how it appears to me, in terms of cultural values. I don't like to boast about myself or try to put myself on some kind of high pedestal, and this has already put me into a number of awkward encounters with job interviewers.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-41055253575298793832009-07-31T13:05:00.000-07:002009-08-24T21:08:10.394-07:00Long time no post.Good afternoon dear readers, I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while. To tell the truth I haven't felt like I had much to say. The struggle with my family continues, but has withered down quite a bit. The struggle with my self, and my own body... is coming to an end. I talked to the doctor just yesterday. My breast growth is slowing, and I still have a problem of body hair on my stomach, even if it's rather thin, but he said these things are normal for a patient in my stage of transition.<br /><br />I haven't had much to say, because being transgender hasn't been as much at the front of my mind lately. I've got problems to deal with, most of them having little to do anymore with my being transgendered. I'm coming out of the euphoric stage, and I'm starting to feel rather normal. So its about time I posted what I intended to post last month. My transition and how it has affected my life.<br /><br />I basically created this blog to hopefully fight ignorance about the status of transgendered people in the world, or at least in the united states. As it went on, it became less that, and more of me venting my pain and my frustration, and a part of a greater coping mechanism.<br /><br />As far as this blog goes, I had hoped my struggle wouldn't have been quite so easy. Nothing motivates a society like a gripping tale of obstacles and perseverance, but as things went on, I realized my story was hardly novel material. I didn't end up on the street. I didn't end up in the shelter. I didn't even have to look for any jobs yet, so I haven't had to worry about job discrimination. I had trouble passing for a little while, but no violent encounters thankfully. Now I pass enough that it doesn't really effect my daily life, so my blog is hardly as inspiring or riveting as I had hoped, though I'm extremely lucky in that regard.<br /><br />My life as it stands now, is not completely without trans issues, much to the contrary. Not only that but it is far from perfect, as I am struggling with money, self worth, and self esteem, and a plethora of other issues. But even on the worst possible day, I feel like it could never be as bad as before the transition. I started this blog to record the transition, and the effects it had on me. Many people suggested transitioning will do nothing to improve the quality of life for me, or for anyone. While hundreds of documents existed to prove otherwise, I felt it was necessary to record my own transition, and provide one more truthful document, regardless of the results. I can now tell you living full time in the roll of Sara, exactly what the results of my transition are. My life has improved dramatically, and it is like being cured of a disease. I do however feel that I am in a situation, where the problems remaining in my life, are in some way damaging to the outlook of those around me. My mother wants visible proof that I'm -really- happier or more confident, not just my word for it, for example, and so I have a new burden to carry. I have to be careful not to let others see the problems I still have in other areas of self esteem.<br /><br />I'm now posting this, quite late, and with this post, I'm no longer able to maintain the promise I will post on a monthly basis from now on. I would also like to dedicate this blog to a more specific purpose: commentaries on gender roles and transsexualism in our society, instead of just details of my own personal life. That said, recent comments have shown me that people HAVE found hope in some of my writing. I was going to erase or move the post about sexuality, but for now I will allow it to stay there. On the one hand I want this blog to be readable by anyone of any age, and I don't want it to be too explicit. On the other hand, that there are teenagers that go through some of what I went through with sexuality, I want the information to be readily available, so people might not think they are alone in their situation, or that they are the only one who does not fit in to the typical formula of the trans woman.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-50017853886709078482009-04-07T21:49:00.000-07:002009-04-08T00:22:24.819-07:00The Times, they are A-changin'Minipost time. New picture guys and dolls, lo and behold the new passable Sara version 2.1 The hormone crew is currently working on the the next update, stay tuned.<br /><br /> At any rate not only am I passable nowadays, the progress I'm making with my family is making leaps and bounds as well. A few days ago, I was getting a new bed for my room from grandma and grandpa, a twin size, a bit smaller than I had liked, as I was hoping my girlfriend and I will finally make our real life rendezvous. The day ended up leading to mom having called me Sara, for the first time in public, in my entire life. She does not regularly call me Sara, and I know it was only because I object to any other name in public, especially around the house, where my neighbors might hear. Still, my reaction was one of such joy, I could not contain the literal "squee" that came out of my mouth or the almost silly feminine hand gesture, she must have found it annoying.<br /><br />I went to dinner later with my parents and grandparents. This day was the first time dad had really seen me as a girl, the previous time I had kept my sweater zipped up, and tried to hide any of my feminine attire. It was also the first time my grandmother had ever seen me as a girl at all. I found it odd, most things continued as though nothing had taken place. They still call me by the same terms of endearment, even if some of those terms are male. I'm content enough now, just to appear and move in my natural skin, and not have to dress up as a boy when I see them. Maybe I'm giving them too much.<br /><br />After dinner that same day, I went to see an uncle and aunt, and their two daughters, the oldest 7, (I think, I can never keep track of all three of my cousins ages, every time I see them they've grown up so much more.) While my younger cousins had asked me some unfortunate questions "----- why do you look like a girl?" Well I was not happy as a boy and decided to change. "but you don't have a girl voice" (ouch I'm trying okay girls, I'm still working on that part) Most of it was shockingly uneventful... I remember thinking how I had imagined this day for six long years of my life, ever since coming out, with the intent to transition. The day had gone nothing like how I imagined it would.<br /><br />Next time, assuming I don't get distracted by other posts, I'll make my official comment about my satisfaction with HRT so far, since I started this blog for the sake of documenting the effects of transitioning on me. It's become a much needed source of support from the community, and a place to vent my troubles, but I still want to also keep it as a document.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-15831596681011479942009-04-05T14:09:00.000-07:002009-04-05T14:48:19.205-07:00Tranny complex and the T word.Oops I already used the T word.<br /><br /><br /> At any rate before I get started, I'm gonna babble a little bit. First off, thanks for your support everyone who commented on my previous post. I feel like I can finally move on now that I got that off my chest, and forget about stupid labels by transsexual women, trying to elevate themselves above other transsexual women. Secondly, new pics coming soon! I keep meaning to update but I'm at my parents house and my pics of me are at home. Also new blog! http://myemptyvessel.blogspot.com/ this is where I'm gonna be recording all my spiritual hocus-pocus from now on.<br /><br />So on to the topic at hand. I've noticed in myself, that I've felt comfortable... maybe a bit too comfortable with the transsexual label. I remember during the life as a straight man, I always felt out of place in a straight world full of straight people, and left out of the LGBT community. I knew I was the L and the T, but I just didn't FEEL it. Now that I'm transitioning, I'm starting to worry that I take, perhaps a bit too much pride in being trans. I'm fairly open about it, most of my friends know, and I am not a member of any online communities, unless you count FFXI, that don't know about my transsexual status.<br /><br />But it's not just the fact that I'm open about it, it's the fact that I often feel compelled to talk about it and bring it up. This probably comes from the time I spent longing to transition, and longing to free myself of my fleshy bonds, and longing to feel like anything other than a straight man. I could not convince myself I was a girl, so transsexual was all I could give myself. When I compare how strongly identify with transsexual, to lesbian, it's fairly plain to observe. I'm definitely proud of being a lesbian, but it's not big issue in my life. Not a day goes by when I don't think about the fact that I'm a ts, I'm a tranny, I'm transsexual. I need to let go of this complex. I'm Sara. Transsexuality is a part of my life, it is a part of my experience, and a part of what shaped me into who I am, sure, but it is not, who I am.<br /><br />My second thought, is regarding the T-word. Tranny. I remember at a group meeting for transsexuals, at night, a ftm talked about how offensive and stupid sounding it is that we go around calling each other tranny. I call myself tranny all the time, but it IS a derogatory slur. One way of thinking is that it's reclaimation of the word, and a change of its meaning, its use, its ability to hurt. I can see this, being called a tranny is not really offensive to me. Conversely, I have a friend who is a Rroma, a culture most often mislabeled by the racial slur "Gypsy." She has renounced the use of this word, and I've stopped using it, except within quotations, to explain the fact that it is, in fact, a racial slur. But these two terms have entirely different circumstance. The G word has fallen into such wide use, that I'd never heard the term Rroma in my life till recently.<br /><br />Tranny has not taken over the more polite labels within the trans community, and people meaning to use the word as an insult, will find themselves a tad disarmed. Conversely using it like this, encourages other people to use it, and some people use the term because they simply don't know any others, are we starting down the path towards the G word situation? And people meaning to be degrading, need only to substitute any number of terms at their disposal, trap, shemale, ladyboy, <span style="font-weight: bold;">transgenderist</span>.<br /><br />At any rate what do you guys think of my new template. I decided to use the dark colors for my spiritual blog, to represent my emphasis towards mysteries, but it does kinda look like I'm stereotyping witches doesn't it?Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-30407108327189218842009-04-03T21:19:00.000-07:002009-04-04T00:28:51.332-07:00Probably my most difficult post... ever.Hi boys and girls! lets talk about sex!<br /><br />This post contains mature information about sexuality, specifically my own. I'm currently not sure if I have to put some kind of 18 plus flag on this blog because of it, or if I should have to re-word it. I feel like the majority of information in my blog should be available to anyone.<br /><br />I'm in a pretty bad mood when this topic comes into my mind, because it's something I've been fighting with myself about for a long time. Please excuse the frustration, sarcasm and bitterness of this post. In all honesty, I'm really really angry.<br /><br />Let's start with the basics. Autogynephilia. The theory of autogynephilia was brought on in response to the idea that transsexuals were human beings, deserving respect. This theory suggests that transsexuals or at least transsexual lesbians are perverts, who want to enjoy their own female bodies, instead of someone elses. Us narcisistic "shemales" lust so intensely over the idea of becoming women that we take medicine to alter our bodies. Nevermind the notion that gender dysphoria in males would cause this to be a regretful and painful decision. Nevermind that sexuality is different for all of us. We're <a href="http://www.lauras-playground.com/transgenderists.htm"><span style="font-weight: bold;">transgenderists</span></a>, not transsexuals, know the difference.<br /><br />I'm guilty of autogynephilia. I admit it. I have, on occasion, become sexually aroused by the thought of reaching my status of womanhood. I'm guilty of getting the occasional arousal out of the changes that my body has made due to hormone therapy. My first experimentation with being female, was in a sexual role playing situation. Most of all, I'M TIRED OF QUESTIONING MY VALIDITY AS A WOMAN BECAUSE OF IT! Autogynephilia has never been my reason for transitioning, I've cried, contemplated suicide, gone into deep bouts of self loathing over my identity, even during my transition. Because of womanhood I'm finally comfortable in my own skin, I'm finally free and happy. I'm finally able to enjoy real life without pretending I'm someone else, but because I've experienced moments of autogynephilia I'm not a real woman. I'm a transgenderist. I'm sick of this. I'm sick of doubting my identity, not because I'm conflicted about what I want to be known as, or because I have any reason to change my mind about being a woman, but because my sexuality makes womanhood NOT OKAY.<br /><br />I am a lesbian. I'm attracted to other women. My gender identity and my sexual orientation take me in the same direction, so is it really THAT ABSURD to think that maybe, just maybe, the lines between the two get blurred? Am I guilty of some crime against womanhood? Am I a narcissistic pervert over a side effect that occurs maybe once in a few months, for less than a few minutes? I rarely look at myself in the mirror, and when I do most of the time, I think I look pretty damn disgusting actually. Even when I don't it's hardly ever sexual, I'd much rather look at another woman, than at myself.<br /><br />Now, we've covered the basics, let's move on to our next closely related topic. Transvestitic fetishism. Transvestitic fetishism is the notion of sexual arousal derived from decieving people into believing you are a woman, while being a man. Clearly being a man means having a penis and wanting it, so if any woman is conflicted about sex reassingment surgery, and may deside to keep their penis for any reasons non medical, such as, gods forbid, actually enjoying it during sex.<br /><br />I enjoy the idea of penetrating other women. God forbid I make the most of what I have for the time being. I prefer a partner who enjoys this as well, must mean a tranny chaser, and not someone who just enjoys my unique sexuality. I'm offended by this too, because people forget that there might be something in between tranny chasers and people who see me as a cisgendered women. I DO NOT WISH TO SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE COMPARING MYSELF TO A CISGENDERED WOMAN. Lastly, I'm exited by the idea of a woman who has a penis and is comfortable with it. (do you know how difficult this is for me to confess to the whole internet? do you know how many of my friends read this?) It's not because its dirty, seedy, or naughty, its because its unique, different. But I thought men had that fetish, so this must make me a man, with transvestitic fetishism... even if I prefer to look at said women, as just women, with a unique sexuality, and loathe the swath of stereotypes, gender ristrictions, and degradations associated with it. NEVERMIND it might be just my sexual attractions, and that my gender identity might be no less valid.<br /><br />Incidently I'm actually conflicted about sex reassignment surgery. I'm more or less between just getting an orchiectomy and getting the whole thing. I'm about 100% sure I want an orchiectomy, but I don't know the medical, benifits, vs risks in getting only an orchiectomy. I've heard sex reassignment surgery has a 50% chance of abolishing all feeling in the sexual organs and this is why I'm leaning against having a complete sex reassignment surgery. Outside of sex, I'm quite uncomfortable with my sex organs, and am certain I'd be content with a vagina. If I was born a cisgendered woman, I'd probably be the type to have fleeting "penis" fantasies, but nothing worth doing drastic changes to my body.<br /><br />My bottom line, is that the term transgenderist, and dehuminization of autogynephilia from WITHIN THE TRANS COMMUNITY, is unecessary, and hurtful. We have the term androgyne already to describe persons who fall between the binary of male and female, and this term, is respectful because IT ALLOWS PEOPLE TO KEEP THEIR SEXUALITY PRIVATE. We have acknowledged that the majority of trans persons do not experience autogynephilia. What every source, every place of acceptance, ever thought pattern on the internet fails to recognize, is people like me, who have been hurt, and have spent many nights crying about this term. Call me a pervert, a sicko, call me disgusting, call me an animal. But don't you dare call me a man, an androgyne, or anything other than a woman.<br /><br />THIS IS WAR ON THE TERM TRANSGENDERIST. I BEG YOU AND IMPLORE YOU TO CORRECT ANYONE WHO USES THIS TERM STARTING TONIGHT.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-60913257126741348702009-03-05T21:13:00.000-08:002009-03-05T22:52:11.300-08:00Society of the DamnedA few days ago, a friend <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">I've</span> met at the clinic said something that struck me. She said, that transgender people, particularly transgender women, have developed, a sort of "culture of victims" as she put it.... That sounds harsh, and i didn't like how she put it... but it's true. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Victim hood</span> has become a part of our lives, especially male to female <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">trans women</span>. It's not entirely our fault. We didn't ask to be stereotyped and marginalized and treated like trash. But look at myself, I actually felt guilty for having it easier.<br />I felt guilty for not being forced on the streets, homeless, selling myself or selling drugs. I felt guilty for not being beaten or raped, for not being completely abandoned by my family. I felt guilty for getting money through social security and getting help. Why? Because other transsexuals have it the way I didn't. I still feel guilty about this, actually, but when I think about it, this mindset is something we need to get ourselves out of.<br />In a more negative fashion, some girls who have had it rough, I've heard look down on others for not going through the same punishment they did. They haven't had the proper hard-knock life it takes to EARN your way to womanhood in this modern day society. I guess I can understand this mentality too, as perhaps, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">subconsciously</span>, without even realizing it, I've been guilty of it, feeling some kind of jealousy towards girls who've had it easier than I.<br />This mentality needs to stop. We are women, we are men, we are born in the wrong body. Being transsexual means we have a medical condition, that effects us in psychological ways. We are not our condition, we are not our past, we are individuals. We don't deserve to be tortured and raped and ridiculed to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">acquire</span> the same birthright that other people take for granted, but the only way to stop this mentality from spreading is to talk about it and understand why its happening.<br /><br />I made a poll for my blog because I want to know who my readers are. I know a number of my trans sisters, are reading this and showing their support, and I also know that a number of friends <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">I've</span> made throughout my journey have done so too, and I thank you all and hope you'll keep reading. But I'm hoping this reaches out to someone who's not trans, or who is and is feeling hopelessness as I used to feel. If this blog changes at least one person, I'll feel its a success. If my struggle, or maybe in the future, the struggles of others I can connect you with, can change at least one person's way of thinking, maybe transsexualism, will eventually, just be a condition. So I want to hear from non trans people, I want to know what they think, what they believe, and if anything I've said so far changes anything. Please don't think I don't appreciate the support of my fellow trans women however, as sometimes your comments have really helped me get through <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">a lot</span> of this.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-31025297370627275892009-03-01T20:23:00.000-08:002009-03-01T20:43:03.702-08:00SilenceSo it happened just like that... Donna found me a tab on a piece of paper that had some phone numbers for a room for rent in the same neighborhood. Now I'm living in a room all by myself, which is a bit stuffy from the heat, and the carpet is a little stained, but is otherwise, quite comfortable. I can't get the internet running on my Xbox360, and I'm waiting to get my pc repaired, and in the mean time, I feel really, really alone.<br />I've reached a point in my transition where I pass more easily, though not fantasically. I'm at a point in life, where my family is coming to terms with who I am. My mom and grandpa saw me for the first time in my female clothes, and they hugged me, and I feel a little more comfortable around them. They are still calling me by my boy's name, and using male pronouns, but they are beginning to realize that it is in error. My life is moving forward in strides, and some of them I thought would never achieve reality... so why do I feel so sad as I'm typing this?<br />Honestly I know why I'm sad, I'm asking myself rhetorically. I'm lonely, and scared, in a new house, with new people, the landlady and her tenants are friendly and warm to me, even given what I am, but with no internet, my world has been completely severed from me in this foreign place. No friends all the time, and most of all, no girlfriend. I feel like I fell off the world into a new life, as Sara. My former roommate is still nearby, and we're still best of friends, but she's got so much going on that I don't feel comfortable calling her, I just don't know what to say to her.<br />The feeling of loneliness is worsened by the terror I feel of my neighbors. The next door neighbors give me all the usual stares, and they have a bunch of rough looking teenagers that congregate outside their house. The tenant in the room next to mine, with her little girl, is more or less a stranger to me, and I'm afraid too, that ignorant of my reality, she thinks me to be some kind of pervert, or freak. I wonder if she fears that I'm a danger to her daughter or something. I'm not used to being thought of in that way, by anyone I have a chance of meeting again. I guess I should get used to it since I'll be going back to school soon.<br />My ID finally arrived just before I moved with a problem attached, my middle name, was misspelled with two a's and I now have to turn it in to fix the problem. Yet another burden to overcome. The room was previously a disaster, but I've turned it into something a little less monstrous, now that I've organized it a bit. I'll have an old computer set up soon and hopefully I'll have the internet back, and then this move won't be as painful. Until next time, that's all the news about my own life. SaraSarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-44834716872821475662009-02-20T15:23:00.000-08:002009-02-20T16:44:41.408-08:00A victory and A defeat.I'm now 24 years old. I mention that because my birthday was this month, on the 9th. I didn't do much on that day that was out of the ordinary. I saw my grandpa in the morning, and went over a friends house to play Dungeons and Dragons, because I'm nerdy that way. It was a big day I guess, it was my first real birthday as Sara. I had to spend part of the day dressed as a guy, because of Grandpa, and looking back on it, I kind of regret not asking him to see me the day before or after, I wish I didn't spend such a significant day dressed like that. I didn't get time to really freshen up after either so again, I spent the afternoon getting "he, err she sorry" from some of my friends.<br /><br />That however, was not the most significant day of the month, for me. Rather the real big day was when I brought the form, signed by my doctor to the department of motor vehicles, and got the go ahead for a new Drivers license, which for me right now, basically just serves as a California ID, with my real name on it. Sara Marquilla Ross, F. My soon to be real name. Later that day however, I went to the bank to discuss changing my name there. I thought I wouldn't have a problem since it's a private organization, why should I need a federal name change? They told me since the bank is regulated by the government, I'd need the papers for a court name change. This seems utterly silly to me, since If I was opening an account, they would probably only ask for a picture ID, that said, my picture ID has not come in the mail yet, so I can't do anything yet anyways. I'll have to be more persistant about a court name change now that I've got my cellphone back.<br /><br />My roomate and I have been going through some hell lately. Her bf broke up with her over personal things, but it turned out to be partially the result of a forced intervention on the part of his family. He got back together with her when he had the chance to speak to her in private, only to shortly after be kicked out of his house temporarily because his father over heard them on the phone. Her number was deleted by his family from his phone list but he re retrieved it easily. The shock and stress of this series of events has worn both of us down heavily, though I can only imagine what she's been going through. I personally hope he arrives here soon, I dont have issues sharing a room with a guy actually, though I think the feeling I've overstayed my welcome will become even worse. I've been looking on craigs list for housing options and I'm thinking of posting myself that I need a room... but I'm afraid of dangerous situations emerging from this, as I've heard the horror stories of what happens to girls like me, who come forward with what we are to a stranger. I couldn't live in a situation where I had to hide my transsexuality though, I just don't pass clearly enough and even if I did I wouldn't really feel safe...<br /><br />Sara out.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-449314839014156322009-01-26T14:29:00.000-08:002009-01-26T20:08:34.107-08:00AnathemaOver the past few days, I've felt my place in the world closing in on me, until realizing all I have is a cot, a tiny rectangle of space, carved out in another person's room. Even in that room, I'm just a burden, a parasite if you will.<br /><br /> Two weeks ago I went to see my mom, as per usual, for a trip to the orthodontist, and while eating dinner we were talking about my cousin, who I had seen a week before then. My mom decided to ask what I had said about her, and asked me if I had said all the things SHE wanted me to say, as though I needed to bring up Asperger's syndrome and all the things she points out that I'm not doing at the dinner table with my cousin. The worst part though, is when she asked me if I worded it, "as though she had kicked me out" when in fact, she had kicked me out. Actually I didn't quite word it that way, but the matter of fact is, kicking me out because I am transitioning, and not allowing me to transition because I am there, are the same thing.<br /><br />She had the audacity to say, that it had nothing to do with the hormones, it was that I needed to take more responsibility, and wouldn't even let me talk, when I tried to say that she had said, I can stay there, and should, but I can't be taking hormones in that house, she yelled at me and talked over me. She asked me when I will stop playing the victim, and take personal responsibility for not making something of myself in the five years I spent since I came out to them... (five years of hopeless misery with seemingly no way out)<br /><br /> She refused to let me stay at her house that evening and took me straight back home. With an onslaught of being called unfair and mean to her, and being told I will always turn on whoever is taking care of me, as if some kind of prophesy, attributing it to my Asperger's syndrome, she left me sobbing, walking up the driveway home, in near hysterics. She called later in the week, not to apologize, but to say she's gonna look for help for us. She told me she cried all the way home, and cried all night till she went to bed. Why tell me that except maybe to prove she's more miserable than I am. I was going to write a letter to mom here, and include it as part of the post, seeing as she'll never read it here, but I want to move on to my next topic... my roommate.<br /><br />My roommate and I were basically best friends when I moved in, but time has left us more and more annoyed with each other, as living together will do that to a person, especially in such a tight space. but a few nights ago left me wondering if she even cares about me at all. Doubting it, rather. On the way to therapy, I was wearing the top I had just bought, and I was feeling relatively confident in myself, but I could tell something was giving me away because I received the usual onslaught of dirty looks.<br /><br />Just before I arrived at the clinic a Latino teenager stuck his face in front of mine, and said "HELL NO it is NOT Halloween!" obviously referring to my being "In drag" as he probably saw me. I was heart broken by this comment and went to therapy feeling miserable, which I suppose is great because I had a lot to talk about. I came home and cried, and she was already in a bad mood, so she ignored me. I tried to tell her what happened and she said "oh..." and continued to ignore me, I cried some more and finally decided it was time to go to bed.<br /><br />I asked her to turn her music off, which was upbeat and obnoxious, and she got mad at me. I tried to sleep but she types so hard that it sounds like she's trying to break the table. I felt like she was doing it on purpose. I was absolutely fuming at this point, I could have lived with her not caring, or showing any sympathy about the dirty remark, but I was hoping she'd at least understand enough to wanna let me sleep it off and start a new day, but apparently her comfort is more important. I went back online and cried to wolfie, and then I went to bed, she was doing something with less consistent typing, so I was able to fall asleep. Work the next to days provided me from solace, that is, her work. Not however, very much, because a few nights later she wanted me to leave the room so she could have a private conversation with her boyfriend. I decided that was fair enough, so I left the room, saying I'd take a shower. In addition to taking a shower I ate, did laundry, spent as much time in the shower as I could, and tried to give them lots of extra time. She snapped at me when I got back to the room saying "I was hoping you'd take longer" I yelled at her saying all the things I did to give her more time before being yelled back at, and being told "I'm the one who's yelling at her." At this point, we've been unable to speak to each other. The next morning led to a little fight, to her scowling at me, which now she does if she even looks at me, and slamming a drawer shut that I had left open. She asked me what I put in my tea, with an upset voice, so I answered, probably also sounding upset as at this point I couldn't keep it underneath. She said "Okay fine!" she snapped at me. I was upset and said "you should listen to yourself before getting pissed off about how I sound" She said "whatever..." and I said sarcastically "yeah whatever"... I'm sick of her saying that but I know at this point I'm only adding to the misery.<br /><br /><br />That night her constant scowling and sighing got the better of me, and I started to cry, and again she ignored me. This confirms that she really doesn't care about my feelings. at some point maybe she'll be in a better mood, and pretend like nothing ever happened, but she'll never talk about it with me, she never talks about things.<br /><br />I feel I'm trapped in the room of someone who hates me, and as I realize how close she is with the majority of my friends in person, friends she introduced me to, most of them would easily back her up, seeing me as the villain of this story. Knowing that, my world is really closing in on me, and I'm feeling a strong sense of exile, of not belonging anywhere... but being stuck in someone else's world. The only time I don't feel violently alone is on final fantasy xi, where I have a number of supportive friends, all of whom know of my transition, and have been there for me for a long time, and of course with my girlfriend, thousands of miles away in France. I'd give anything to be with her, save the fact that I need to transition and I've told her this. She more than supports me in that endeavor and has been my north star in the darkest nights.<br /><br />I'd give anything to be with her, instead of a friend that despises me, or a mother that keeps me in prison and blames me for everything that goes wrong. Right now, that dream seems far far away, her in France, and me here, with too much going on in our lives, and too much to sort out to dream about moving to another country just yet. I'd settle for the luxury of total loneliness, an empty house and no friends or family to care or not care about me. Of course I'd still want to be close to my girlfriend and my online friends, But at this point I just want to hide from everyone and everything, that isn't her.<br /><br />I can't shake the feeling that I deserve this. For not having a job, for not going to school, for transitioning and hurting my family, for transitioning on free hormones, for flying so far on someone else's wings, for being a burden on the one who took me in, for not being able to sleep with her music on, for wanting more than just my cot, and blankets, and the little plush husky I keep with me that symbolizes my girlfriend, (which my roommate gave me). For being the bitch in this situation, in some way I haven't seen or figured out yet, unable to see outside of my own perspective. For getting out of what I was, a boy, in life, trapped, with no way out of it, hopeless, helpless, the way I should be.<br /><br /><br />Forgive me for whining, crying, or being "emo." If you've no patience for such things, read something else.<br /><br />PS Samantha and Veronique I've been reading your blogs though unable to comment for a while, thank you both for the support you've shown on mine.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-67401725607626236072009-01-18T12:26:00.001-08:002009-01-18T13:35:20.398-08:00An Almost Perfect DayYesterday was my Roommate's birthday, and though I said something about to her and my friends... a few times, the significance of the day to me was lost the merriment and exhaustion of an exhilarating day, in hindsight I hope I didn't seem self centered.<br /><br /> She opted to go to Disneyland for the day, and it was rather exiting, given that I haven't been to Disneyland in years, not since some time in grammar school. I had forgotten how much fun it is just to walk from one completely different setting to another in New Orleans, Tommorowland, Fantasyland, and so on. I had a great time with my friends though I spent a little more money than I had hoped, (despite getting in free thanks to an employee, who happens to be the aunt of a mutual friend of my roommate and I.<br /><br />I had so much fun with my friends, and was apparently passing. I wore my favorite top, did my hear a little nicely, and put some foundation on, and I was getting no dirty looks, or I should say... very few, (it was hard for me to keep my voice up in femenine pitch all day) but very little of the day went bad, so I really didn't care about the small stuff. I got a little lonely on the train, something about it was romantic and I bumped shoulders with my friend... From that I got the idea about my sweetheart putting her arm around me, I'd been thinking about her the whole time, but right then is when it started to hurt. I realize though that my roommate's boyfriend also wasn't able to make it, I moved on and enjoyed the good and let myself let go of the sad romantic for a bit.<br /><br />But the significance of it, the reason I was posting, is that I was there as a girl, and apparently passing, and I realized at some point... I SAW myself as a girl. Being a girl had stopped being some fleeting, click your heels imaginary thing, "I'm a girl inside, I'm a girl inside, I'm a girl inside, I'm a girl inside..." It had become a fact of reality, "I'm a girl"If I did think about gender dysphoria, all I thought about was that I wasn't experiencing it at all, that I only felt the euphoria of release, or of the novelty of hearing miss and ma'am all day. At Disneyland in that context I got to revisit my childhood, seeing famiar sights and sounds that used to exite me, but this time I needn't pretend to be anyone other than me. I became a little Sara for the first time, exited and enticed by everything I see. This day was a milestone for me, to be with friends, to have fun and not have the doom of gender dysphoria looming behind or ahead of me, a few months ago I thought a day like today would never achieve reality.<br /><br /><br />Now if only my girlfriend had been there it would have truly been perfect, I really did miss her alot. That said, I look forward to when we do finally get to go somewhere like that together, maybe just us, and be girlfriend and girlfriend, rather than looking at yesterday with any sadness or regret. Maybe we can even hold hands, I hear the exeptionally GLBT friendly at that park.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-11046415437891623762008-12-25T01:03:00.000-08:002008-12-25T02:45:54.751-08:00Miracle on Sunset AveI 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.<br /><br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">babydoll</span> shirts and a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">hoodie</span> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Victoria's</span> secret with him. I gave him a cold "not interested" and fled to subway from the shaggy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">troll's</span> advances.<br /><br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">excitement</span>, which the novelty is already wearing off.<br /><br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Hollywood</span> where queers are <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">plentiful</span>. 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">accidental</span> call me "he" without meaning to. It's probably my voice, but my facial features don't help it much.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Fast forward then, to today. Christmas eve, which I spent with my family, as I have traditionally for <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Christmas</span> eve since childhood. It was my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">immediate</span> 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.<br /><br />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, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">that's</span> plenty of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Christmas</span> 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Christmas</span> 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.<br /><br />Sorry for not commenting or posting for a while, especially <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Wolfie</span>, 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, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Wolfie</span> you are really the wind beneath my wings.<br /><br />Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-39832611100048617032008-11-27T18:20:00.000-08:002008-11-29T00:59:01.481-08:00More Scraps of Information/Awkward SilenceYou'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.<br /><br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">transsexuality</span></span></span> 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.<br /><br />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 <a href="http://www.eje-online.org/cgi/content/full/155/suppl_1/S107">this study</a> the transsexuals, had <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">similar</span> brain functions and shape to their non-transsexual, peers, and not afterward. Hormones change your brain.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">A lot</span> of this data can easily be misconstrued as saying, "this proves that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">transsexuality</span></span> is an invention of the brain" or "this proves <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">transsexuality</span></span> has no biological cause" when in fact it does <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">neither</span> 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."<br /><br /><br /><br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">presumptuous</span> take on what is really, a very small and limited amount of information, I actually think this study says some positive things for us.<br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><br />I have more to say about the debate I was having on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">transsexuality</span></span>, and about an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">argument</span> 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.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />So with no real <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">segway</span></span> 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.<br /><br /><br /><br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">compromise</span> 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.<br /><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">legitimate</span> 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.<br /><br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">snarky</span></span> 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?<br /><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><br />Should I?Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-20257352470664139022008-11-21T16:00:00.001-08:002008-11-21T16:22:58.283-08:00The scattered mists of womanhoodToday 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.<br /><br /> 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.<br /><br /> 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?<br /><br /> 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?<br /><br /> 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">lil</span> 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">geeze</span>.<br /><br /> 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">alot</span>, but it seems an exaggeration to stand like that ALL the time. I guess I'm one big walking social <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">faux</span>-pas, no wonder people stare at me, as though I were the Frankenstein monster.<br /><br /> 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.<br /><br />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.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-48193801968236864262008-11-20T12:26:00.000-08:002008-11-21T02:03:22.552-08:00Slowly 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.<br /><br />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, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">glbt</span></span> 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.<br /><br /><br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">cisgendered</span></span> 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.<br /><br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Marquilla</span></span>... 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.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br />I'm still here...<br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br />Kellie <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Telesford</span></span>, in Thornton Heath UK<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Brian <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">McGlothin</span></span> in Cincinnati Ohio<br />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.<br /><br />Gabriela Alejandra <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Albornoz</span></span>, Santiago Chile.<br />in Santiago Chile, Was attacked and stabbed on December 28<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">th</span></span> 2007. Three days after Christmas. This is all the information given about the person.<br /><br />Patrick Murphy 39, In Albuquerque New Mexico was found in women's clothes, shot several times in the head, on January 8<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">th</span></span> 2008. Again very little information was given about the person here.<br /><br />Stacy Brown, in Baltimore, MD, Was was also found shot in the head on January 8<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">th</span></span>, the same day as Patrick Murphy, and was 30 years old.<br /><br />Adolphus Simmons in Charleston, SC was shot to death at the age of 18, later in the month, on January 21st, 2008<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Fedra</span></span>, a known Transvestite in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Kota</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Kinabalu</span></span>, 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 22<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">nd</span></span>, 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.<br /><br />Ashley Sweeney, Detroit Michigan, was shot in the head on the 4<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">th</span></span> of February. It says that her age is unknown, and that she is only identified as a transgender young woman, in this <a href="http://www.pridesource.com/article.shtml?article=29491">press release</a>.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Sanesha</span></span> (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Talib</span></span>) 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)<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Sanesha</span></span> Stewart was stabbed to death in the Bronx, in new york on February 10<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">th</span></span>, 2008. That's my grandma's birthday, which is a day after mine. She was 25 years old.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Simmie</span></span> Williams Jr. in Fort <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Lauterdale</span></span> Florida, was found shot to death wearing women's clothing, at age 17. On February 22<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">nd</span></span>, 2008.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Felicia Melton-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Smyth</span></span> was brutally stabbed to death in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Puerto</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Vallarta</span></span> 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 26<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">th</span></span>, 2008, this is just before I moved out to my current location.<br /><br />Silvana <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">Berisha</span></span>, 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 24<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">th</span></span>, 2008. I had just begun my hormone treatment a week prior.<br /><br />Ebony Whitaker<br />Memphis Tennessee, was shot July 1st, 2008, at the age of 20.<br /><br />Rosa <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Pazos</span></span>, in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">Sevilla</span></span> 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.<br /><br />Juan Carlos <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Aucalle</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">Coronel</span></span>,<br />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.<br /><br />Angie Zapata, in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">Greely</span></span>, 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.<br /><br />On the same day of July 17 2008, in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">Makiki</span></span> Honolulu, Hawaii <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">Jaylynn</span></span> L. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">Namauu</span></span>, was stabbed to death. She was 35 years old. So much for paradise.<br /><br />Samantha <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">Rangel</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">Brandau</span></span>, 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.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">Nahkia</span></span> (Nikki) Williams of Louisville, Kentucky was found shot, near the dumpster next to her home, on the 20<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38">th</span></span> of August, this year. She was 29 years old.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Aimee <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39">Wilcoxson</span></span>, 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.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40">Duanna</span></span> 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 9<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41">th</span></span>, 2008.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42">Dilek</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43">Ince</span></span>, Ankara Turkey, was shot in the back of the head, on November 11<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44">th</span></span>, 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.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_45"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_45">Teish</span></span> (moses) Cannon was shot at the age of 22 in Syracuse New York. November 14<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_46"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_46">th</span></span> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><a href="http://www.transgenderdor.org/?page_id=58"><br /><br />This is the list where I got the information from</a>. 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.<br /><br />Keith <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_47"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_47">Olbermann</span></span> 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_48"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_48">KPFK</span></span> here in California. These human beings do not deserve to be forgotten.<br /><br />Kellie, Brian, Gabriela, Patrick, Stacy, Adolphus, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_49"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_49">Fedra</span></span>, Ashley, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_50"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_50">Sanesha</span></span>, Lawrence, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_51"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_51">Simmie</span></span>, Luna, Lloyd, Ali and companions, Felicia, Silvana, Ebony, Rosa, Juan Carlos, Angie, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_52"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_52">Jaylynn</span></span>, Samantha, Nikki, Ruby, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_53"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_53">Teish</span></span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_54"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_54">Dilek</span></span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_55"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_55">Duanna</span></span>, Aimee, and all those who's names aren't listen here, Godspeed to wherever you are going. Please find yourselves a better place.<br /><br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_56"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_56">Malcom</span></span> X. I am not a person of historic strength in times of cruelty.<br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-64324436110506143052008-10-30T17:22:00.000-07:002008-11-20T18:58:40.807-08:00AmbivalenceSo I've been meaning to post for a while.<br /><br /> Let's continue some of the previous topics before I go on about what sparked the title.<br />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: <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">medi</span>-cal pays for the other girls' testosterone blocker, whereas I'm using estrogen alone.<br /><br />(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)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-83070740241613764842008-10-07T12:03:00.000-07:002008-10-07T12:14:33.294-07:00AnxietyFirst 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I've been forced to start shaving again, I have to go on with my life and think about other things.<br /><br />I guess I had a lot less to say today than I thought. Thanks again for the comments everyone.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-65524227408927008762008-10-02T19:43:00.000-07:002008-10-02T19:56:49.617-07:00HurtI 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-9901938057763046122008-09-30T17:58:00.000-07:002008-09-30T18:19:16.218-07:001,000 NeedlesThey 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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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...<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">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.<br /></div>Claudia.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-59714808884551125562008-08-23T14:32:00.000-07:002008-08-23T15:43:34.606-07:00Still LifeI'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)<br /><br /> 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.<br /><br />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).<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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?Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3827507184708653105.post-42756994711290600442008-07-29T15:47:00.000-07:002008-07-29T16:02:14.751-07:00ProgressionIt'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.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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.<br />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.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03165448435481764718noreply@blogger.com3