Just another update on my life for those who are wondering. Nothing really thoughtful here today, I haven't felt like I've had much to say lately unfortunately. I'm waiting for things to change, and my life to come out of this hiatus. Hopefully the will change, and soon...
I did not begin hormone therapy on the 15th. The car I use to get to the clinic is damaged and its my fault. I sideswiped another car last time I was driving there. I didn't think much of it at the time as I barely felt it, but my parents kept bugging me about it, and when I took a look the damage is pretty bad, though nothing interior. Though they are trying to stop me from making any progress toward treatment, they unfortunately are right about this one. There could be a warrent out for the arrest of the owner of this truck, since I didn't stop after the sideswipe...
So now lieing is no longer an option and my only way to continue forward is to move out. I tried to arrange things with the shelter, when a close friend of mine came to the rescue. I'll be moving in with my friend soon, though I'm not sure this will work out. She looks female, I look male, why would her parents really be okay with that? It doesn't seem secure but its worth a try before I end up in a shelter or on the streets. I'll post more later.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Just Before Mother's Day
To those of you who were wondering what happened to my upcoming post, regarding starting the hormones, I haven't started them yet. I managed to get my vehicle stuck in a ditch a few feet from my house. The vehicle is fine, and so am I, and the appointment is now re-scheduled for the 15th.
That was initially all this post was going to be about, so people knew I was okay. As the truck was being towed out of the ditch, mom told me to hold off on scheduling an appointment so that she could make one with a local therapist to have me diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome, as her therapist had told her that she knows for sure there are local housing arrangements for people with Asperger's syndrome. Even before what ended up happening it sounded fishy to both of us, I've already been diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome before, and Such housing arrangements sounded too good to be true.
The day came when I was to be re-diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome, and it had already begun foul though nothing out of the ordinary. Mom was not feeling well, on account of her back problems, and as usual, I hadn't gotten very much sleep, as I've been having difficulties sleeping at night, and difficulties staying awake all day for quite some time now.
So we arrive, both of us in pain and foul moods, and I fill out their paperwork. My mood is particularly foul since I was the most suspicious of this and felt that it would turn out to be a waste of time.
I was right... Kind of.
The therapist I ended up seeing had a lot of experience dealing with people with Asperger's, and had some relative understanding of my Transsexuality too. He told me early on he didn't understand the purpose of this visit, as I already had been diagnosed with Asperger's and he didn't understand what we needed him for. I talked with him a bit and he asked me questions about how I felt about Asperger's and Transsexuality. He understood very well how I felt overwhelmed by trying to overcome both at the same time and seemed to honestly care about my plight as a woman and not as a troubled boy with an identity crisis.
And thus hell broke loose.
He called my mom in, though I felt uneasy about this whole thing, and tried to lay it on her: That his knowledge of my condition sounds like the same idea as the ones who are treating me further away, a condition I was born with that I can no more choose than Asperger's... (mom had made an ignorant comment asking "I don't understand, at the clinic they say anyone who wants to be transgender can be transgender, don't they?") My mom became furious with me, blaming me for everything he said.
The rest of the day Mom was silent. All I remember thinking was, If you don't believe a word he said, then nothings changed except that you get a small glimpse of the hopelessness that I live with... How is it my fault that he agrees with me... I didn't do anything to you. She refused to talk to me the rest of the day, I said hi to her as she walked by me and she ignored me. She went to bed without saying goodnight. I guess because the doctor agreed with me, I no longer deserve her good nights. The hardest part of the day, was one particular moment, where she was walking to get water... limping slowly her back still giving her pain, an exhausted defeated look on her face staring blankly ahead of her barely watching where she was going. I felt a dark guilt creep up inside me and it's moments like these, where I forget how angry I am at her, I forget how much fighting we've done, I remember that she's my mother and I love her... These moments are the ones that hurt the most.
That was initially all this post was going to be about, so people knew I was okay. As the truck was being towed out of the ditch, mom told me to hold off on scheduling an appointment so that she could make one with a local therapist to have me diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome, as her therapist had told her that she knows for sure there are local housing arrangements for people with Asperger's syndrome. Even before what ended up happening it sounded fishy to both of us, I've already been diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome before, and Such housing arrangements sounded too good to be true.
The day came when I was to be re-diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome, and it had already begun foul though nothing out of the ordinary. Mom was not feeling well, on account of her back problems, and as usual, I hadn't gotten very much sleep, as I've been having difficulties sleeping at night, and difficulties staying awake all day for quite some time now.
So we arrive, both of us in pain and foul moods, and I fill out their paperwork. My mood is particularly foul since I was the most suspicious of this and felt that it would turn out to be a waste of time.
I was right... Kind of.
The therapist I ended up seeing had a lot of experience dealing with people with Asperger's, and had some relative understanding of my Transsexuality too. He told me early on he didn't understand the purpose of this visit, as I already had been diagnosed with Asperger's and he didn't understand what we needed him for. I talked with him a bit and he asked me questions about how I felt about Asperger's and Transsexuality. He understood very well how I felt overwhelmed by trying to overcome both at the same time and seemed to honestly care about my plight as a woman and not as a troubled boy with an identity crisis.
And thus hell broke loose.
He called my mom in, though I felt uneasy about this whole thing, and tried to lay it on her: That his knowledge of my condition sounds like the same idea as the ones who are treating me further away, a condition I was born with that I can no more choose than Asperger's... (mom had made an ignorant comment asking "I don't understand, at the clinic they say anyone who wants to be transgender can be transgender, don't they?") My mom became furious with me, blaming me for everything he said.
The rest of the day Mom was silent. All I remember thinking was, If you don't believe a word he said, then nothings changed except that you get a small glimpse of the hopelessness that I live with... How is it my fault that he agrees with me... I didn't do anything to you. She refused to talk to me the rest of the day, I said hi to her as she walked by me and she ignored me. She went to bed without saying goodnight. I guess because the doctor agreed with me, I no longer deserve her good nights. The hardest part of the day, was one particular moment, where she was walking to get water... limping slowly her back still giving her pain, an exhausted defeated look on her face staring blankly ahead of her barely watching where she was going. I felt a dark guilt creep up inside me and it's moments like these, where I forget how angry I am at her, I forget how much fighting we've done, I remember that she's my mother and I love her... These moments are the ones that hurt the most.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Why I state that it isnt fiction
First of all, I'd like to apologize for not posting for a while. So far my posting minimum has been "once a month" and I'd like to keep it that way, but when I'm feeling lazy and not much is changing I end up posting at the beginning of one month and the end of the next. I'd like to thank everyone who's been reading my blog and leaving supportive comments, I know I haven't responded to some, particularly on the last two posts, but I read them and they mean a lot to me. If you're still reading, thank you.
Although I can offer no proof while maintaining my anonymity, I wanted to at least comment on the reason why I keep saying that this isn't fiction. It's not that I believe what I'm posting is all that shocking or unusual. I'm aware of the amount of fiction on the Internet that claims to be real. In particular, I remember hearing about the chronicles of a young teenage girl on her web cam blog that turned out to be nothing more than scripted dialogue by a group of aspiring script writers. There's a million other scripted things like this on the Internet claiming to be real and being particularly convincing at doing so.
My anti climactic stay at home after being certain I was heading to the shelter, might offer SOME evidence that there's no script or plot behind this, it's just my life. Some of what I write might seem exaggerated, and other things might just seem strange, but nothing I put on here is made up. My name is not really Claudia and I've already admitted to that. Other people's names have been omitted or changed and some details relating to other people have been omitted as well, but nothing of the facts, feelings, or events that I've posted this far have been made up.
I guess saying all this is somewhat counter productive, just as pleading the fifth amendment or flat out denial tends to make a person seem guilty, but I felt I wanted to talk about this for some time. In the end, some people will believe me, and others will not, I hope this blog makes even a tiny, minuscule difference, whether or not you believe every word I say.
I'm scheduled to start the hormonal treatment this Thursday, and I have, and will have a lot to say about that, so you'll hear from me again pretty soon.
Although I can offer no proof while maintaining my anonymity, I wanted to at least comment on the reason why I keep saying that this isn't fiction. It's not that I believe what I'm posting is all that shocking or unusual. I'm aware of the amount of fiction on the Internet that claims to be real. In particular, I remember hearing about the chronicles of a young teenage girl on her web cam blog that turned out to be nothing more than scripted dialogue by a group of aspiring script writers. There's a million other scripted things like this on the Internet claiming to be real and being particularly convincing at doing so.
My anti climactic stay at home after being certain I was heading to the shelter, might offer SOME evidence that there's no script or plot behind this, it's just my life. Some of what I write might seem exaggerated, and other things might just seem strange, but nothing I put on here is made up. My name is not really Claudia and I've already admitted to that. Other people's names have been omitted or changed and some details relating to other people have been omitted as well, but nothing of the facts, feelings, or events that I've posted this far have been made up.
I guess saying all this is somewhat counter productive, just as pleading the fifth amendment or flat out denial tends to make a person seem guilty, but I felt I wanted to talk about this for some time. In the end, some people will believe me, and others will not, I hope this blog makes even a tiny, minuscule difference, whether or not you believe every word I say.
I'm scheduled to start the hormonal treatment this Thursday, and I have, and will have a lot to say about that, so you'll hear from me again pretty soon.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
"Every guy wants to be a girl"
According to my father, apparently every guy wishes they were a girl. Girls are lighter than air and their fun and energetic or something I don't remember exactly what the description he gave was, it was actually my mother who told me he said it, and I can't go ask her again, because we're not talking to each other at this moment.
I'm so sick of trying to have faith in who I am. I didn't know since I was a child like so many trans people. I don't fit the profile of the "typical" transsexual girl. My mom uses these things to try to convince me that I must be a boy at heart and that I am not letting myself accept that fact.
I have no proof of who I am. I have no way to scan my brain and prove once and for all that I'm a woman. All I have is faith the way some people have faith in god. I never really believed wholeheartedly in God, even when I was a child and wanted to. I'm the kind of person that likes proof to whatever claims I'm making. My obsession with the occult comes from a desire to find solid proof of something beyond the physical: the human soul.
And so it is the same for very existence as a girl. Its hard for me to maintain faith. When mom or dad or anyone try to make little of the suffering I'm going through, I die a little. Even if they say things I know aren't true. This suffering, this need to hold on to my identity, this pain and this despair... sometimes these miserable things are ironically, all I have to hold on to, all I have to prove to myself in that which barely has any evidence in the physical... my own femininity.
I've described this feeling as dieing and being alive to feel myself dieing, and maybe I exaggerate... but that is really how I think of it. I'm tired of experiencing this. I'm tired of trying to defend or justify my identity through rhetoric, science, or through emotions. I'm tired of trying to hold on to hope that I am a girl. I'm tired of thinking "what if I'm not, and I'm just fooling myself into thinking I am a girl" and then thinking the only hope left is suicide. If I'm not after all, a girl on the inside, then transitioning means nothing, it's just fake surface work to hide something buried within.
This is what I'd like to say to my mother, though I doubt she will ever read this blog: I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not girly enough to be a girl. I'm sorry I never gave you signs that I'm a girl when I was little. I'm sorry I'm not like those typical transsexuals you saw on the video they gave me at the clinic. I'm sorry I'm my idea of womanhood is not the same as yours. I'm sorry I like video games and adventures and fantasy. I'm sorry for everything I am, down to the very core of my being. The tragic thing is, I'm not even sarcastic when I say I'm sorry. I feel an honest to goodness shame and guilt over these things. I want to punish myself for being who I am, inside and out. I want to die, to destroy both the woman I hate and the man I despise. Both of whom, are me.
I've promised people over and over to stay alive and so I shall. I write about suicide I think about it but I will not do it. At this point withholding the thought of it would be tantamount to a lie.
I'm so sick of trying to have faith in who I am. I didn't know since I was a child like so many trans people. I don't fit the profile of the "typical" transsexual girl. My mom uses these things to try to convince me that I must be a boy at heart and that I am not letting myself accept that fact.
I have no proof of who I am. I have no way to scan my brain and prove once and for all that I'm a woman. All I have is faith the way some people have faith in god. I never really believed wholeheartedly in God, even when I was a child and wanted to. I'm the kind of person that likes proof to whatever claims I'm making. My obsession with the occult comes from a desire to find solid proof of something beyond the physical: the human soul.
And so it is the same for very existence as a girl. Its hard for me to maintain faith. When mom or dad or anyone try to make little of the suffering I'm going through, I die a little. Even if they say things I know aren't true. This suffering, this need to hold on to my identity, this pain and this despair... sometimes these miserable things are ironically, all I have to hold on to, all I have to prove to myself in that which barely has any evidence in the physical... my own femininity.
I've described this feeling as dieing and being alive to feel myself dieing, and maybe I exaggerate... but that is really how I think of it. I'm tired of experiencing this. I'm tired of trying to defend or justify my identity through rhetoric, science, or through emotions. I'm tired of trying to hold on to hope that I am a girl. I'm tired of thinking "what if I'm not, and I'm just fooling myself into thinking I am a girl" and then thinking the only hope left is suicide. If I'm not after all, a girl on the inside, then transitioning means nothing, it's just fake surface work to hide something buried within.
This is what I'd like to say to my mother, though I doubt she will ever read this blog: I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not girly enough to be a girl. I'm sorry I never gave you signs that I'm a girl when I was little. I'm sorry I'm not like those typical transsexuals you saw on the video they gave me at the clinic. I'm sorry I'm my idea of womanhood is not the same as yours. I'm sorry I like video games and adventures and fantasy. I'm sorry for everything I am, down to the very core of my being. The tragic thing is, I'm not even sarcastic when I say I'm sorry. I feel an honest to goodness shame and guilt over these things. I want to punish myself for being who I am, inside and out. I want to die, to destroy both the woman I hate and the man I despise. Both of whom, are me.
I've promised people over and over to stay alive and so I shall. I write about suicide I think about it but I will not do it. At this point withholding the thought of it would be tantamount to a lie.
Monday, February 25, 2008
I'm sorry
Today I owe some people who have been reading my blog an apology. I'm still sitting at home writing this. My parents have changed their minds several times on whether to kick me out or not. When I began my last post I honestly believed they were going to go through with it, but that's an excuse I suppose for jumping to conclusions. They changed their mind again and again since them, and I can't help but feel a little guilty having received such regards and sympathy for an event that ultimately did not take place. I thank you all for caring, and I appreciate your support, and I am sorry for misleading you. At this time I cannot for my own sake forget the possibility that my parents may resort to kicking me out when I begin the treatment or afterward, but it hasn't happened yet and I do not know at this point if it will or will not. My goal is to transition and live life as myself whether it be here or in the shelter. I wanted to offer a story of hope and persevering strength, but this is more turning into a story of people throwing me a lifeline. My parents, while aggressively trying to make me "change my mind" are still willing to bring me to the doctor while we deal with my lack of transportation. I am getting insurance coverage for care most transsexual people have to pay for out of their own pockets. I cannot say I've endured in the worst of situations, not compared to what others like me have endured. Most of all I have support of people who I meet online, people who read this blog, and I thank you for that support.
Friday, February 1, 2008
A choice was made for me
I was about to post over the choice I have to make...
but it seems the choice was made for me today.
Mom decided I need to get out as soon as possible.
In some small way I am relieved. The choice for me is very difficult. I don't really feel I'm ready to move into the shelter, I'm terrified in fact... but it seems alot easier now that I do not have to actually decide.
Mom had told me she bought me books for aspereger's syndrom so that I can learn to deal with my problems instead of turning myself into a girl. I told her she must be joking. My Asperer's Syndrome has nothing to do with my transsexuality, and learning to cope with one will not obliterate the other. Angry, I told her, the only thing that would stop me is if she killed me, and that even if she threatened to stop driving me to the doctor I'd find the way to the greyhound bus route to get me to the shelter.
In hindsight it wasn't the smartest thing to say. I was angry, and I was childish. But it was enough for my mom to tell me to get out. In my heart I don't really feel like anything about my life is really gonna change living under her iron law. I'll finally have the chance to stand up to her, to stand up for myself, and to be who I am. I'll demand my name and pronouns, I'll demand they respect me as a woman, and when they (mom and dad) do... I'll forgive them everything.
I'm going to have to give up my fantasy world on the internet. I'll still have my girlfriend, but not access to hundreds of different games with her and infinite time to spend with her like I idd before. I'm scared of humiliating myself in front of people. These kids that go into this shelter, they haven't had easy lives like I have. They have been beaten, thrown out directly by their parents without any promise of the bed at the shelter, forced to find their way there themselves. I don't know exactly what I'll find there, but I know that the hell they have been through has, though unfair and injust... prepared them for the hard life on their own. These aren't spoiled kids like me. I'm not cut out for life and I don't know how I'm going to get through this. I'm a hard worker, but i'm also clumsy, disorganized and very bad at doing simple tasks. I'm frightened... very frightened... but also determined. Whatever powers work the world into the shape that it is in... have mercy on me.
but it seems the choice was made for me today.
Mom decided I need to get out as soon as possible.
In some small way I am relieved. The choice for me is very difficult. I don't really feel I'm ready to move into the shelter, I'm terrified in fact... but it seems alot easier now that I do not have to actually decide.
Mom had told me she bought me books for aspereger's syndrom so that I can learn to deal with my problems instead of turning myself into a girl. I told her she must be joking. My Asperer's Syndrome has nothing to do with my transsexuality, and learning to cope with one will not obliterate the other. Angry, I told her, the only thing that would stop me is if she killed me, and that even if she threatened to stop driving me to the doctor I'd find the way to the greyhound bus route to get me to the shelter.
In hindsight it wasn't the smartest thing to say. I was angry, and I was childish. But it was enough for my mom to tell me to get out. In my heart I don't really feel like anything about my life is really gonna change living under her iron law. I'll finally have the chance to stand up to her, to stand up for myself, and to be who I am. I'll demand my name and pronouns, I'll demand they respect me as a woman, and when they (mom and dad) do... I'll forgive them everything.
I'm going to have to give up my fantasy world on the internet. I'll still have my girlfriend, but not access to hundreds of different games with her and infinite time to spend with her like I idd before. I'm scared of humiliating myself in front of people. These kids that go into this shelter, they haven't had easy lives like I have. They have been beaten, thrown out directly by their parents without any promise of the bed at the shelter, forced to find their way there themselves. I don't know exactly what I'll find there, but I know that the hell they have been through has, though unfair and injust... prepared them for the hard life on their own. These aren't spoiled kids like me. I'm not cut out for life and I don't know how I'm going to get through this. I'm a hard worker, but i'm also clumsy, disorganized and very bad at doing simple tasks. I'm frightened... very frightened... but also determined. Whatever powers work the world into the shape that it is in... have mercy on me.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Lindsay/Lucas
Today I was planning on following up yesterday's post about my recent diagnosis with the choice I'm faced with about moving out... but something else caught my attention, and is on my mind at the moment.
I was watching Law and Order: Special Victims Unit, using a take on the John Joan story, of a boy who was, in response to a medical accident given sex reassignment surgery, with the advice that he should be raised as a girl. This experiment failed proving that gender identity is wired in, not learned.
I was so moved by the story I had to write about it. In this one, Lucas had a brother and was the victim of rape and ended up killing the rapist in self defense. The story ended up revolving more around the doctor and his obscene experiments to "train" Lucas into thinking like a girl.
In the end one of the twins murders the doctor, and neither one of them will come forward with who did it. I am not condoning their murder by any means, but I do believe that sex reassignment surgery performed without the consent of the patient should be considered criminal.
I remember asking my mom once if she was keeping a secret from me. Later when I came out as trans I asked her if I was somehow surgically altered at birth, if I was born a girl. Of course I know that that isn't possible now for them to have reconstructed my male parts. I wish however that I had that birth right... I f I was born a girl, I doubt my parents would have fought so hard against me reclaiming my proper gender identity. If the birth defect was only postnatal where someone could see it happen... then nobody would be trying to stop me... but even if not in the way others would like to insist, it really is "all in my head." That is, my head is the portion of my body affected by Benjamin's Syndrome.
Another thing that had a profound... and negative impact on me was unfortunately not intended. Before I found out where exactly the plot was going, I thought he was an aggressive... tomboyish girl, I related to him, and felt like he reminded me of myself, till I found out he was a boy. I can't let this get me down, I know who I am and I know that minor things don't make me less of a girl, but I still wish I had more people I could relate to... I don't fit in with most women or men I know in person. Men are too masculine, obsessed seemingly with some endless, doggish competition for the alpha position, and forming endless silly social regulations on each other, and rating one another on upholding such regulations. (I do not mean that men are bad in any way nor do I know if all men are like this. I have had such experiences myself though, where men expect me to behave in a similar way and I end up preferring to exclude myself. All human beings are individuals and I do not mean that men are animals because some of them behave a certain way. I haven't had this experience among women yet. I associate this behavior as male in other words because of personal experience, that doesn't mean it properly describes male behavior in general)
Women just don't like the things I like. Plenty of girls play video games, and like fantasy and adventure... just none around here it seems. I like a lot of girl things too, but the nerd in me separates me from them... it makes me feel more like a boy, and it makes them see me more as a boy.
More than anything though, it just hit home. He gave subtle signs of being a boy, but overall was living the part of the girl... a miserable girl. He didn't guess what was wrong until he was told, but when it came out it wasn't much of a surprise. "I knew it! I never felt right!" he said. I never felt right either. Send me those estrogen pills I'll take care of them for you. I guess I'll post about my choices tomorrow. I've got a lot to say lately.
Nonfiction about Fiction.
Claudia
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