gender, identity, transgender

Use my third arm

I will never give respect to the cage but to the captor.  Shifting faces, but why must you hide behind so many different kinds of masks?

Look back, look in, see yourself, with the key to bring your freedom.

Give up, give in, let go to your own strength that won’t let fear dictate who you are.

Deceptive mirror.

Gaze upon a darkened form, reflected by the ever present light of your truth, there’s no escaping what your heart is.


Phew.  This is going to be the first week I’ve had to myself in over three years, so much gruelling work and responsibility now come to an end.  Now I can totally relax….Not going to happen, right?  It’s tough when every time this year I’ve searched the word ‘transgender’, I am greeted by a trail of death.  Too much death, fight back by living.

What does the dysphoria actually want?  Does it get paid for every time I reference it?  Disparity still abounds, a war rages between gender identity and personal identity.  The concepts of gender, terms of expressions and traits melt away into mutually inclusive nothingness.  It’s all just words, a philosophical debate on truth to try and ascribe meaning to what is called a ‘condition’ or a ‘variation’.

I read too many comments and opinions on news-sites etc, pseudo-science.  Any argument can be battered back, and generally it all gets lost, confused, and nasty.  My political mind firmly switched off as soon as I had my revelation, and thank goodness for it.  Hence this blog is a discussion of the heart, not science or ideology.

I’m kind of glad I chose to wait a day to write this, my therapist had her rotten way with me a dozen times, she kicked my ass.  Good, challenges deep to the core of the psyche.  Here’s the problem, I spend a lot of time trying to rationalize, legitimize, intellectualize the nature to the extent of which I should medically transition based on my concepts of gender; my male body and life; and my ‘female’, or dysphoric mind.  I rail against these arguments simultaneously by explaining that my disparate experience as a transsexual is simply an unavoidable condition of my nature.  I do this by intellectualizing about it.

She called me out about that.  But how do you feel?’  She asked.  Well I was taken aback.  Guh. (Huh, Iuh, Juh, Kuh…).  It’s just weight, weight on the psyche.  Instead of an angel and a devil, it’s a man and a woman, and the man is a woman too.  I anticipated that acceptance would have to come several times and in several forms on this journey, but that’s what it comes to, how do you feel?

I feel that having inhabited myself unknowingly as male for so many years, the pull is strong.  This is how the argument for gender traits falls apart for me.  Theoretically I could present as I do now, heck I could fully transition, surgery and all, and if I wanted to, I could still call myself a man.  This isn’t radfem bait, I’m just saying it’s possible.  Born natal female, I could dress how I have my whole life, ostensibly wore a daily beard, bound my chest and called myself a woman.  If I was born female I would wear a shaven head, because you can keep gender presets, these invisible restrictions.  Indeed, that’s exactly why I grew out my hair, getting into a heavy metal crowd was perfect cover, and heavy metal is awesome.  Maybe one day I will shave it all off and prove myself right.

The point, if there is a point, is that not one element of social transition can change a person’s ‘gender’, I think it’s all about the brain.  It is disparity between mind and body, one is incorrect, and to change the mind in this case is to erase the person, so, it’s the body.  Like I’ve said before, if there was a pill that removed dysphoria, would you take it?  It’s not like an illness, it isn’t harmful to be another gender.

Saying this shows how deeply ingrained the trans mindset can be, because the answer should be, yes, of course I should take it, why would I want to be trans, make my brain like my biological sex!  Life would be so much easier.  But the pill doesn’t exist, and I imagine some transpeople would not want to sell out a defining feature of their lifetime identity.  That all comes down to how psychologically phenomenal you believe your mindset to be, or whether it is viewed as a mental illness.

I can’t describe what maleness or femaleness is, I just know there has always been a block in my brain that irrevocably claimed that I’m female, not male.  I argue even against life experience causing this, merely that it shapes the perceptions and coping mechanisms we have when dealing with our innate personal dysphoria.  Using all these life skills, people from all walks of life still come to meet at a similar foreign destination, which shows how the experience of being trans can trump everything you may ever know.

All this thinking, seemingly never ending, how nice would it be to just let go.

Cross-sex hormone therapy, seemingly by no coincidence can realign this balance, and even though I’m not psychically scrabbling at the walls to get HRT, I am willing to try it, even if it turns me describably female, which would be fine because that’s what I am.  I feel less desperate because I see this as more of a medical decision than the holy-crap-I’m-a-girl condition.  That being said, I don’t underestimate how much I feel I need them, which is completely odd. I guess it’s like a brain hunger, my body cries out for a nutrient it was designed to have but doesn’t get.

The hormonal, medical, surgical, transsexual treatment is as much a racket as each other part of the globally controlled megaplex.  Hormones mimickers and chemicals cause interesting sexual dysfunctions in the animal world and no doubt has effects on people.  Vaccinations, GMO’s and all that stuff could be messing all our brains up in unique and incredible ways, as much transfolk as the angry and imbecilic.  Of the two trans people I have had real interactions with, two of them are on the autistic spectrum.  There’s a lot of messed up stuff – maybe it’s the New World Order theory to feminize the male population so we don’t fight back against our global enslavers.  How misogynistic!  Transpeople have been around since way before all that.

In a perfect world, I believe if I could pass perfectly and non-judgementally as [trans]female I would still not feel right without medical intervention.  Maybe it is a product of the modern world, it would be very useful to know the experiences of those in cultures past who were able to fully integrate without medicine, how did they feel?  Were they content, or like those who may pass pre-HRT and still really need something that wasn’t there?

So one last time, am I trying to forget my maleness? Am I trying, unconsciously or not to disconnect of disassociate from myself?  No, and it doesn’t matter!  Again this is attempting to use logic and reason to assuage a biological condition, like telling jokes to a depressive expecting them to be happy, or asking a wheelchair user to walk because God gave them legs.

I remind myself, that anytime I feel like I may be in denial, I am a female in denial, I would ask the exact same questions, because that’s what I’m doing.  Concurrence.  If I don’t want to be a woman, it’s because I’m a self-hating woman [read: individual].  If I don’t want to be a man, all I have to do is be myself.

Fudge your expression.  Fudge your traits.  Fudge your gender constructs.  They, I believe, are mutually exclusive from the biological nature of trans-identity.  Much everything else is a product of personal identity moulded by some inescapable adherence to our society and to its extent, physiology.  Wanting to express notions of perceived masculinity and/or femininity is not a reason to transition, it is a reason to express beyond generalisations.

At the GIC today I passed an older transwoman (tough to be stealth coming out of the therapists waiting room) and said hello. She tutted at me, I think at my pink hair….in pigtails, or my purposely crappy makeup. It just shows people may come to chastise your expressive choices no matter what you do.

Transition doesn’t make me anything, it confirms who I am.  I am still early on my journey, and I warn myself and anyone else with doubts – labia made from scrotal sack is to be considered a positive outcome.  Having a vagina made of colon is a possibility, if you want this, be prepared to be ok with things like that.  ‘Wow, I’m really enjoying this two week camping holiday, but please excuse me for a while, I have to go dilate again.’

I can’t say I feel like a woman, because I don’t know what that is, physiologically.  My cis-girlfriends don’t know how it feels either, apart from that it is annoying. Aside that, I believe people are people, not ‘brain sex’.  It’s about making weighed medical decisions, and considerations for all future well-being, thinking about it is important. It’s better to be having these cyclical discussions now, because I can imagine it may always remain somewhat of a battle, and some sort of peace must be made early, transient though it may be.

And it’s through all this I miss the point entirely, still.  It’s all just deflections from self-acceptance.  Not the self-acceptance I should have for the body and life that I was blessed to be born with, but from the self-acceptance that the part I’m missing is a part of myself I should embrace, and that it’s ok.  It happens. At any point something unexpected could happen and chance everything. It’s just life.

As much as one may need to…[alter]… on this journey, remember you are already awesome while you are doing it!  It’s not a contradiction of the need to transition; it is a continuation of the unique brilliance of each consciously-wrought individual.

Rock on,

Amy Xx

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The semantics don’t matter

I’m coming to accept who I am, which is handy because I feel sick when I don’t.  Now when I get distracted, instead of using it as a tool for denial, the ‘dysphoria’ begins, and I just have to accept that I have a female gender identity.

It’s like trying to convert gays.  In some cases it may seem efficacious for a while, but as far as reality is concerned, the long term success rate is virtually zero.  It is likely to be the same case for transfolk.  It cannot necessarily be understood, but it is sufficient to accept, the semantics don’t matter.  For myself as seemingly transgender, trying to deny it is like a smoker saying ‘This cigarette is going to make me quit smoking.’  It is a fallacy, the feeling goes away for a while, but you know it will come back, until the reasons for discomfort are removed.

It is of course possible to be transgender and have a mental illness associated with it.  In my time trying to convince myself that I was insane, I had to come to terms that if it had a name, it would be called ‘Gender Dysphoria’.  The attacks are less frequent, though still pervasive.  I got an awkward referral from my GP, it was necessary to shave time from the potential lock-in of anxiety disorder, but also means I have to make important decisions with myself more quickly before discussing them with the dreaded so-called ‘gatekeepers’.

In knowing what it is, the question now is what to do about it?  I have this gut feeling that transgender realisation is a gradual subjective process that is a priori, as in, the body will find it’s own way to how far I need to go, and what is comfortable.  Rather than letting dysphoria dictate this, I will have to find another way of attempting to make these decisions carefully, in a niche of incredible risk.

My circle of trustees is complete.  Seven people know, 4 male friends, 2 female friends, and my mother.  They have been amazingly supportive, but haven’t seen me, as Amy, coming forth from what is becoming a personal tyranny of male form.  Not to say this isn’t an amazing male form, it is just wrong on the inside.  When I close my eyes, I am much smaller.

It is a fantastic feeling to have their support, and they tell it true, ‘You have to be yourself, otherwise who am I talking to?’

The best possible position when it comes to gender seems to be not being concerned at all with your gender.  I believed that already, though now I am beginning to understand it.  It is natural not to question your gender, therefore, for the identity crisis caused and maintained by being transgender, the remedy is reach the same state [by whatever means] of no longer having to question what should be a fundamental subjective given.

Transgenderism is a special anomoly, as whatever conditions natural biology fall under, for a full spectrum of gender differences, there are only two choices of physical body to begin with.  Mostly, nature gets it right, but sometimes, a sane, rational person, can be the recipient of a rare differentiation, which like all things unique and human in life, should be celebrated as being part of humanities’ vast possibility.

‘You have to know your name’ – Reek

I do, I am comfortable and happy when I say it, because the key to life is consistent self-improvement beyond all the inevitable setbacks, and natural mortal conundrums, so that you become or remain, now or again, a person whose value can be shared with, and improve the experience of life in very meaningful ways, for others and for yourself.

Oh sure, it will get hard again, but we will get stronger, and can say that we beat the bad stuff back as many times as we could or ever had to.

Turn it up very loud,

Amy

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There will not be blood.

Ok, I know I’m kind of hogging the internet, so a quick [written: long] post then I’m going to go to my handwritten journal for a few days, to attempt a private revelation.

I feel more comfortable and relaxed than I have in a long time.  I told two more male friends, it took a little more explaining, but again the openness and love that can be forgotten exists shows out in full bloom.

My explanation has also grown a little more steadfast.  Aside from carefully explaining that I am not a repressed homosexual, a cross-dresser or a transvestite, what I can get out now is that it is a difference in the relationship between my mind and my body.  Maybe they need to see it to believe it, but I still trust them, even if I do end up with a shrill, untuned, squeaky voice.

You hear the phrase ‘man trapped in a woman’s body’, but it is crude and incomplete.  To be transgender surely entails that even with the brain of a different gender, one is still subject to the hormones, social constraints, and the idea one must be wrong because how can you be in the wrong body?  What I know now from reading is that in spirit form, I would have a hard time convincing myself that I was male, but I’d give a damn good shot at being female.  Though, in spirit form, it’s all the same anyway, just different energies.

I admit that I have been rambling on in mad denial, it may be an open and expressive experience, but I am aware that it is profoundly unhealthy to not be dealing with things as they are.  Again I have to remind myself that my intelligent thought doesn’t matter, it is not something I can justify or prove, it is just something that is.

My friends tell me simply, they love me, but I have to come to terms with it.  If I am going to be anybody, I have to be myself.  We have had some great conversations, admitting to being transgender has allowed each of them to open up even more to me.  These are the bonds that grow stronger, an advantage I cannot ignore.  I am a very lucky person.  An old friend I love deeply held me in his arms for a long time and stroked my hair, I felt uncomfortable even though I enjoyed it, the act was made that I had to allow myself to be vulnerable, otherwise I would be stonewalling.

I am a girl :/  I can’t really deny that.  My name is Amy, and once I can reassure….(oh! revelation)…I don’t have to reassure the little boy crying at the window, I need to reassure the essence of who I am, the feminine self (or at least, the true self), that has had to spend so long suffering the ways of living as a male.  As much as male life has been fun, it has been marked permanently by having the brain of a female.  Obviously meaning no offence, whatever gender someone is, or not, it’s all good, embrace it!

The cold dread is warming into a creamy glow.  Seems like I’m getting somewhere.  Slight….elation.

See all you wonderful people soon.

Love and Peace signs,

Amy x

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And the bleat goes on…

A rare moment of lucidity.  I felt fine for an hour this morning and then it all crashed again.  Somehow got through work, and spent lunch at home screaming and crying to the heaviest of metal, trying to drown it all out.  Now I’m just writing this before I tell a few more people.

[Additional – Here is a link to a fantastic article about transgender denial, from the Null HypotheCis at freethoughtblogs.]

Is Gender Identity Disorder A Disorder?

This article really resonated. It defends the categorisation of gender dysphoria as a medical condition, or even disorder, in the US DSM, because it requires medical treatment.  I’m attaching some quotes from the article.

‘[A] society that wholly and completely embraces transgenderism and genderqueerness, and has done away with enforced binary gender roles, would not eliminate the distress and negative impact on quality of life produced by gender dysphoria, and would not eliminate the need for medical treatment of it (transition).’
‘[A] human being experiencing gender congruence will always have a better quality of life relative to a human being experiencing gender dysphoria. Therefore it’s not unreasonable to subjectively categorize Gender Dysphoria as a “disorder”.’
‘The dysphoria is what is classified as “disorder”, not the simple fact of being transgender.’

This one gets me good, it helps a lot.  My problem is not with being possibly transgender; my problem is with the dysphoria associated with it.  Yet, without the dysphoria it seems to open the door again to denial.

‘It’s extremely important to bear in mind that when we classify Gender Dysphoria as a disorder and include it in the DSM what we’re talking about is not our post-transition lives wherein we find ourselves happy, confident, secure, healthy, but rather we’re actually talking about those awful lives we lived in the years leading up to that decision, with all the attendant shame, self-hatred, pain, alienation, and discomfort in our own skins, often with co-morbid suicidality or addiction. Don’t question how you feel about your present self being classified as disordered. Question how you feel about your prior self being classified as such.’ (Emphasis added)
‘Gender dysphoria, gender identity and transgenderism can ONLY be asserted or “proven” subjectively, and therefore ONLY be diagnosed through interpreting a patient’s subjective experience and descriptions thereof, ONLY psychologists and psychiatrists are in any way qualified to make that diagnosis. Whether or not it’s really a psychological/psychiatric disorder is totally irrelevant to that fact.’
‘I didn’t consider it reasonable to define Gender Dysphoria as a psychological or psychiatric disorder, and instead, due to the likely etiology of the condition, the available scientific evidence in regard to that etiology, and the form that treatment takes (by way of adaptation to an immutable aspect of mind/self), saw it as a neurological condition, or even more accurately: a disordered relationship between mind and body.’

This also helps, to be able to consider that there is a legitimate disconnect between brain sex, and the body.  My rational mind won’t allow me to just accept transgenderism as a ‘thing’, but in understanding the biological reasons for it, makes it less daunting.  Is dysphoria like depression, in the way that it is the mind sending signals that something is wrong and must be tackled?  Depression is a defence system, a warning, because the intuitive and unconscious parts of us know more intricately about who we are than any conscious thought.

Meditations

I decided to do some Yoga and then meditate, in complete darkness. Alan Watts’ encouraged me to take away the subjective nature of thought, to just view what is in the mind as neutrally as observing light or sound.  Let yourself ‘be’.

I watched my male self watching my male self, sitting by a clear screen distraught.  On the other side, was her, Amy, she saw my pain and wanted to help me.  She spoke calmly and asked me to come to her, to embrace her.  The male cried, as I was crying, because he is scared, he knows as soon as he lets go, as soon as he reaches out to hug her, her will no longer exist, his energy will become hers.  I couldn’t do it.  The truth however, is that it wasn’t a clear screen, it was a mirror.

I feel like I have a twin sister fetus in fetu, who has always been there, her physical essence disintegrated, and the energy is shared within one body, so she could live in a vicarious way.

I went further, listening to Roxy Rose – Meditation, self hypnosis, useful tools for the transsexual.  I followed the guidance, walking through an expensive red wooden door with a ’40’ on it.  Through it became whatever I wished to be.  I was a female, in light flowing translucent robes, in a room with a four-poster bed, with the same material blowing from the rails.

She went to the balcony, it was a hotel in the Southern Mediterranean, lots of beige, brown, and large leafy plants, all quite angular and rigid.  I was asked to create a staircase to the pool below.  The staircase was a black rollercoaster track, not easy to walk on.  As she came to the water, she disrobed to her underwear, completely alone, in refreshing aqua.

A gift was at the bottom of the pool, in an area very very deep, though I reached it quickly, pulling out an ornate jewellery box, lined with pearls, sewn intricately with birds and flowers.  Inside was a spoon, so I could look at myself distorted, a short pearl necklace, and my flowery hair bobble.  This was not the true gift however.

I was asked to go back to the room, to pass through the door and return to my true life but something extraordinary happened.  As I opened the door, I split, the female stayed in the beautiful room, content, ready for sleep, and the man passed through, to an empty, windowless box room, and rusted steel prison walls engulfed him.  He screamed, while she relaxed.  I watched this from a distance, having to make a choice of where to place my identity, and I was pulled into the prison.

I can only see her when I blink. It does not feel as though she is me. So why am I so sick? How does it explain twenty years of living with a brain that is automatically female, no matter how I try to avoid it?

Progress?

I’ve been reading official health advice, trying to accept at least that the dysphoria is a disorder.  The anxiety and gastrointestinal effects are very real. It would seem a medical condition requires medical treatment, though I still don’t accept the level of treatment necessary, because I don’t completely understand it. I can’t provide context without being incredibly insensitive.

‘The best help is to find social acceptance in a gender role that fits your identity.’ [Source unknown]

At work, I asked myself some questions –

  • Am I enough as I am?
  • Do I have enough evidence to convince myself?
  • Do I need to change, or do I just need to be seen in a different way?

To accept who I am, to confront it and eventually embrace it, means attaining a level of self-acceptance and growing self-worth that I might never achieve as cisgender.

From what I have written, I may be a ‘Two-Soul’.  Sounds a bit outlandish, but it’s another colour on the spectrum. And now I see why the LGBT flag is a rainbow.

I’m too scared to try to dress up or present anymore, because it now feels insincere, utterly rudimentary.  I’m in a flux where I basically just want to be naked. There is NO QUICK FIX, so accept reality, or don’t, and suffer.  I contradict myself between a desire to be female, and an unquenchable urge to not change anything about myself.  I can only wonder that if I were born a girl in the first place, would I still be transgender, which presents the difficulty in being sure, as there could be dysphoria in being female for the loss of the male. I may not want to change because if I know I am female and always have been, then I have always been myself in that way……what a complete ludicrous lie.

At work, I’m constantly on the phone, when no-one is around I introduce myself as ‘Amy’, because the clients know me and think I’m saying ‘Jamie’.  When I get mentioned in a feminine way, or get lumped in with the other girls (I’m the only guy in the office), when a driver comes in and say ‘Hi girls’, I don’t correct it, I embrace it. Even if I’m a guy, I’m a girl, and the only reason I don’t scream it to the world is because I don’t want my feelings to be hurt by those who will call me a sissy boy.

Still, I cannot ignore my feminine strength. Amy in the mirror doesn’t take anywhere near as much crap as I do, she fights and loves in equal measure, never compromising.  I say the testosterone wants to kick my ass, but if I’m not careful she will kick my ass, and force me to love myself, to fall into her arms, to become together as one again.

We are the same damn person!

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My Prejudice

I’m only consciously realising that I’m writing this to the world.  I don’t like talking solely about myself, but at the minute I have to focus or I will lose myself.  I’m rolling the die, every side is painted one.  When a force arises, an opposition comes to meet it.  One day when the global corporate mega-tyranny strikes the Endgame, we can’t have neglected our preparation, or we will become slaves.  If we wait, it’s too late.  On my personal level, a rise is building to either a meltdown or a revelation.  I must win.

I’ve had two counselling sessions in as many days.  One pointed out feminine mannerisms at particular times, we discussed identity, and tried to look at my denial and my egregious need to eat and take stock.  The guy today I had been seeing for general maintenance, so I threw him the curveball.  Not a flinch.  The understanding of decent people has never been short of legendary to me.  What he got me with was that it seemed from all the people I have told so far, the only person not to accept it is myself.

I’ve been struggling to come up with a term to describe it.  I’ve said condition, but it is rejected because it’s wrong, so what is it?  It it just…a thing?  Is it neurological, biological?  I can read about it all day but I still have to draw my own conclusions, I feel like my philosophical conviction is leaving me.  There is a reason:

I am prejudiced.

I doubt I’m the first to do it, but in building a repressed personality within a male ego, I made myself dislike the idea of transgenderism.  Not because of intolerance, but because it contradicts the idea of having to change anything about yourself…but then I’ve changed myself for the benefit of ‘fitting in’ this whole time.  Layers dude!  Life peels away like giant onions.

At work, the amount of grief I get for having a bobble with a flower is unreal.  My mother at a restaurant this evening commented on how a man was carrying his bag. “Queer”, she tittered.  Even as an out and out guy, what is the problem?  It’s cool, it’s fun, it’s not BLAND.  I guess other people get caught up in the wave of saying intolerant things without actually meaning them.  I have been one of those people at times, loving of all, but happy to poke fun for the sake of irony.  Many of these horrible faults are graciously falling away in a wave of shame.

Thankfully the nasty people of the world are brutish regardless, so it makes no difference.  However, does this now mean that I can’t speak for being and ‘out and out guy’, because I have never been one, merely an emotional actor?

I told another friend, and I’ve decided on the small circle of trust I’m going to build to help each other through until I time where this is either resolved (repression!), or things start to change.  He had to be told, and to be honest the feeling of him not knowing was unbearable.  He didn’t freak out either, why am I the only one freaking out!  Well, not freaking out, my mindset has plenty of automatic defence systems, and I know how incredibly lucky I am to have such awesome friends.  A few other guys came over then and I couldn’t deal with it.  So I had to go.

I’m going to tell two more male friends and my mum.  Maybe.  It’s a closely regular social circle and I need to be sure because it could spill.  I’d probably admit it freely if challenged, but then, I haven’t changed enough about my presentation yet to have it matter, so it is dangerous.  A risk.

They hug me now.  They hug me because they can see that I want a hug, if they don’t, I ask for it. Hugging for all from me, ok?  Eugh.

It’s all leading up to a monumental cry.  This intolerance I have created, the last vestiges of maleness that wants to hang on is doing all it can so stop me from crying, because it knows it is the end.  It also protects me in a way, because I need to be ready first.  I’ve admitted it vocally to people at the speed of emotion, before thoughts can niggle their way in, that the ‘Clif’ part of me is pretty much gone already, and I didn’t get to say goodbye.  Same person, but that awesome male now is mostly…I can’t describe it without sounding like I’m disassociating.

I really have to thank everyone who has talked to me thus far, it is so very nice.  I’ve always thought it one of the greatest gifts, to be able to make someone feel good about themselves even just a little.  Being a rockstar is cool and brings wonderful art, but when someone just makes you feel good for being you?  There is little better.  And I share this unto the world.

Ah….a beaming smile.  When I beat depression this happened, get all the negative out, make room for that good stuff, make it automatic, know through all the horrible crap you may think about yourself that you are just as good and deserving of love as anyone else.  Love for yourself!  You are allowed to love yourself!!!  Even if there is all that stuff going on, it’s ok!  Just allow yourself to go “You know what?  I’m actually pretty damn cool in a way!”

Mwahahahaha, goodbye dysphoria, hello denial!  Ohhhhh, but I will get there.  It is supremely important to realise that with the whole transgender thing, is that no matter if you do change, all the other problems in life will still be there.  In fact, I imagine there is a whole lot more.  Maybe that’s where the gravity of the situation exists, for me right now, this is only one issue in life, but what I really have to realise and accept is the weight of this issue against being able to live the rest of my life trying to repress it.  The strength of my own mentality has become almost an enemy, when it could be converted to a great ally.

I’ll figure it out soon enough!  I hope!  Too busy with everyday life stuff to process it really.

Message to the future – Do you get it yet?  Do you know what you are?  Or have you stayed still?  Are you comfortable in your skin?

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My First Video….going badly!


Like I said, I watch video’s of folks starting transition and I get a cold dread, cold sweats, knowing what I want, and seeing how much work goes in, and how many messed up aspects of it that go against all the testosterone stands for.  As such I has decided to document my own journey.

My accent is awful I know (it’s been inconsistent lately), and my video skills, well they are just sublime.  Not.  Last video I was in was a VHS recoding of a metal gig i did in 2004!

Apologies for all the posts today.  I’m starting a new notebook journal, so I won’t be flooding anymore, apparently that’s annoying, so, sorry!

Cliiiifffyyyyy.  Aaammmmmyyyyyy.  Jaaammmiiiieeee

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Be Honest, seek advice.

[EDIT – For obvious reasons, I’ve decided stop smoking cigarettes, so please excuse the irrational outbursts.  I’ll probably learn a lot about which is harder, changing gender, or quitting smoking, haha!]

You know what, if I’m going to be honest, I have to go the whole way.

I spoke with a private gender support counsellor last week, and the appointment is a painful 4 weeks away, for one appointment then she is on holiday for three weeks.  She said if I go to my GP and get referred to the gender identity clinic that I wouldn’t be able to work with her.  Like I said before, it’s the nuclear option….it’s the eventual option, my question is with timing.

But damn, I can’t handle it?  Surely I need to go to my doctor?  What in blue heck is Real Life Experience?!  I have to act in a gender specific way before I can be more gender specific?!  Do I have to be a crazy dude in stubble and a dress and a false squeaky voice before they’ll believe me?  If I decided I was the kind of girl who wore the exact same clothes…..and had a beard and a penis and a deep voice then who can tell me what I am?

I have to think about things like freezing my sperm.  I’m literally the last in my family line and I’m essentially consigning it to the dustbin, where the fudge do I get the money to pay an annual rate for a technology not guaranteed to work!  I guess it calls for a fertility test to begin with.

I really don’t know what is the best choice to make, I’ll have to wait either way, but I don’t want to have to wait six months to even get started on something I’m trying to do now.

Please advise lovely humans 😦

Where do you start with all this?!  What am I doing?!?!?! Why!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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coming out, gender, transgender

Gender Fluidity and Androgeny

It’s one of those days where you wake up and you just want the problem to go away. And another day of watching Friends, even though I have to admit I’ve seen them all before >_<

So I look at this word, genderfluid, if I don’t perceive myself as my body sex, then does it have to be one or the other? Well no, but it’s a confusing spectrum, and I have to understand my place on it, without jumping to the conclusions I impulsively think and then repress.

Perhaps I do need medication (not really), definitely some serious counselling. I don’t know if it’s an enforced male ego, or the truth of who I am, but I’m just not that much into girly things…I think. It’s a serious paradox, to think strange thoughts like I’d be a female crossdresser or something equally messed up. Yet when Rachel gets pregnant I’m close to tears, when Pheobe puts on a wedding veil I feel uncomfortable.

I just went to the shop with my hair in a ‘feminine’ part, and a flower on the bobble. When I open my mouth to speak, I hear horror. A young scallybag gives me a laugh, so what?  People have laughed at my long hair for years, jealous of my ultimate heavy metal awesome. Men have had long hair as standard for a lot more of human history than they’ve had it short. Forgive the generalisations.

So, I guess today is a repression day. When I dress up as supposedly female, it’s not the way I would want to dress, it seems like it’s simply for the reassurance that this is me that I have to go that far. I don’t know what I want.. I’m aware, rational, just thoroughly confused, and I should be, you can’t face over twenty years of repression in two weeks, it’s a process.

Now I just have to prevent myself going out looking overly androgynous…but…..why? What does it have anything to do with?! Does it have to do with the way I look like a guy or dress like a guy that I must be a guy?!?! Aaarrgghh!

I have so much better to do with my time, money and body. Life, career, adventures, all the good stuff, and yet stuck on such old stupid crap! No offence to anyone, I’m still not getting why I would have to be something I’m……ah dammit. Says the person whom with baited breath watches the experiences of transgender women, and feels that cold, cold, dread of repression and fear.

Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!

I want my life back!

I’m off to a small gathering at a friends in a few minutes, the parting in my hair is the same, I have this lovely girls coat, my flower bobble, a layer of foundation and some concealer.  Funny how I’m more worried about wearing glasses with no lenses, gee, think I could maybe look silly?

manlyhaha

Androgenesis

Oh, no, I am totally masculine, really.

Oh, no, I am totally masculine, really.

Off I go, to throw sand into the eyes of my own life. No regrets! (Until the regret sinks in).  Arrrggghhhh!!

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gender, transgender

Hallowe’en comes early

Again, disclaimer – I’m not pulling any punches here, this whole I’m a transgendered person thing is frankly as hilarious as it is terrifying.  So if you don’t like hearing about blunt experiences and talk of sex, or are easily triggered, then read on anyway, because….absolutely no reason.

This train just keeps moving.  Woke up to erotic thoughts for the first time in a while, but going anywhere near the dead zone was a struggle.  I have to admit to myself that in sexual fantasies, I haven’t been the guy for yeaaaaarrrsss (if ever?), there is no other way.  And I had a girlfriend, so I suppose I misled her in ways as I couldn’t have the image of reality and sex in my head, so I became ‘her’.

So, maybe actually I am gay?  I like girls?  But then what am I?  Well, from maybe twenty feet away right now I could fool you that I am a girl, any closer and you would see that stubble that won’t go away or be concealed.  And if you are that close, you’ll see I don’t have a flipping clue about make up.  Oh yes, it’s hallowe’en all round.  I look at myself dressed up and think, yeah…I could go to Hallowe’en as a cross-dresser, with disturbing commitment.

Right now, I would say there are plenty of girls with more body hair than me, because I shaved my arms too.  Don’t know why but I did, someone is going to notice, soon.  It’s difficult not to be more obvious… Ok, I shaved it because I hate the hair!  Happy?!  I’m not erratic, this is an infowar of the mind, disparity abounds.

Two things I feel separate me from going out and either pretending or being.  Make-up [longevity], and voice.  I don’t like how I sound at all, all horrible and gravel, any pitch I raise is too high and whiny, so now it is time to learn about that as well.  And obviously the horrible man body that will always be.

Maybe I’m just a crossdresser having a breakdown? Again, no. This stuff has existed for way too long, and only been about the clothes etc in an aesthetic sense.  Maybe the counsellors will tell me different, maybe they’ll listen and accept whatever I say.  I just don’t know.

I’m tempted to go out late dressed up, they only come out at night, right?  Haha, I’ve told people, but I just want to be caught by the world, bring the stigma, I’ll drive spikes and heels into undefended knees.

Defender heels.

Defender heels.

Bah, a hundred photo’s and barely a passable one.

If I’m going to do Hallowe’en, I have to start getting ready now, for what I dunno, but I guess it’s just an experiment to see how much trauma I may be in for.

Low res is good res.

Low res is good res.

I’ll show my face in a day or two, to keep pushing, because I want to be found out.  If I get found out I can drop the charade and just be who I feel I…..something…..to be.  It would be even better if I ‘passed’ and people didn’t know, but let’s be realistic here.

Counselling is too far away!  So stay tuned for more breakdown meltdown gender bending drama!

In the meantime, go read ‘Boku Girl’, a new manga about a feminine boy who gets turned into a girl by Loki and all the cute, confusing fun that can come of it ^.^

Boku girl.  Yikes.

Boku girl. Yikes.

Any kind words or experiences are kindly appreciated, thanks for taking an interest in my journey 😀  I’m trying to be more sociable online at the moment, so hope to exchange conversations soon!

Much love in a paradoxical spiral,

Cl…Amyyy.y…iii.ii….Jamie.  That will do. For now.

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gender, transgender

The first repressive ramblings of a human in disguise

Disclaimer – Please understand my topic covers a blunt and ignorant perspective on my own experiences with blurred gender lines.  It is not meant to offend or provoke in any way, it is simply my own exploration, an attempt to seek and receive empathy and understanding.

It has been many days of impulse, fighting against the repression and denial of over 20 years, that I have a gender identity problem.  The pain of the repression has gotten to the point that it has become more dangerous to hold it in than let it out.  I look in the mirror and say to myself ‘I’m transgender.  I’m transgender.’, whilst I smile a mans’ smile, nodding and agreeing.  Sure you are.

And how would I know?  I don’t know any transgender people, I don’t even know any gay guys.  Oh, so maybe I’m gay right?  Nope, never had to repress that, so why the hell have I had to repress for so long that I might be a…….something else other than a male.

It’s great, I’m 28, but for those kinds of feelings coupled with gender atypical Western society, many others have undoubtedly had to go through the same thing, whether they wanted it or needed it or not.  However, I can sparsely begin to imagine the courage of those who do, through the stigma and the turmoil.  I don’t know enough about it, so I’m just trying to understand with words, maybe it can help someone empathize and feel better.

Background?  Short term, a recent break up with my first love, a two and a half year relationship with it’s own separate reasons for ending.  So maybe life situations have made me insane?  No, I felt it coming close before the relationship, and long before that.  If I thought I was insane, I would have had to check into the local mental health unit.

Still waaaaaaaaayyyy too seemingly rational, and it fuels the denial, because what is rational about thinking you are transgendered? The scary answer in realisation is that it doesn’t matter.

Being overly concerned with the concept of gender for a long time, I came to a conclusion that in a fair and just world, people could express themselves in whatever way they wanted without shame, without needing to resort to measures to screw around with an otherwise hopefully healthy body.  I was wrong, it still matters.  But why?!  My philosophical and political convictions are falling apart, so what are they and who am I?

The result over the last week has been to allow myself to really explore this whole deal so much as I can in private.  I haven’t been integrated with what it is to be female (to whatever extent), and again I still question that gender can be defined, so I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.  I have to admit, my first attempt at body hair removal was exhilarating, nice smooth legs 😀 [How my mind tries to reject it…] As is the subsequent razor burn, exfoliation and moisturising routine, ahem.

This reinforces what I think I am rather than diminishing it.  I don’t know about clothes and make up, I don’t know about cars or football either.  None of that stuff matters, so long as I can express myself for who I am, whatever I may be?  Nope, still it’s not enough!  Aaarrgghhh!

I’m sure it’s a real picnic, opening yourself to so much prejudice.  I mean, what a load of fun, I’m sure trans-whatever people all over the world just love having to go through what I imagine is a lot of crap when it would seem much simpler to not have had the condition at all.  Regardless it is there, you wanna know what the other option is…if you are really there and going through the same thing?  In my mind, it’s another twenty years of repression, and then what?  If it’s not going to go away then…we must make our choices.

I guess for me the time was late, having other issues in life to work through and not seeing this as a priority (Honestly, I have thought of it as some sort of compulsive perversion, but I’ve been this way since a young boy, and it doesn’t feel like a perversion), trying to push it away to just get on with life, but I can’t.

The pressure built so much over the past week that I had to let it out, I had to tell someone.  Dun dun dunnnn!

Ohhhh the terrors, a five day panic attack and basically no food, trying not to go nuclear and just walk out of the house like a dude in a dress.  I never thought I would tell anyone, but then before I never thought I’d have to.  I saw my best friend, anxiously tried to avoid it, and be who I was seemingly to be, until it became too obvious to ignore.  I went as conservative as possible, I told him that I have been having strong gender identity issues, and that I have done most of my life, and that’s what it is.

Of course he was shocked, not in a bad way though, it’s just unbelievable, staring now at my veiny, hairish man hands it is unbelievable to me! And if someone told me that?  Hell if I would know what to say.  We had a tolerant chat about it, in a nervous jostly boy way, as I spoke about how I’m not so much a boy.  It’s still surreal, still a lot of anxiety, but being able to tell someone?  That lets off some steam, big time.

Not being one to wait around, I already have a counsellor for the break up issue, booked one with an independent counsellor with experience for the short term, and an appointment with a specifically gender based counsellor in a month.  I was going to go to the doctor, but it was intimated on the phone that this was perhaps a nuclear option, that even with the wait for a referral to an identity clinic, it may be too fast for me.  That’s how long repression can damage a person, about practically everything.

I should listen to my gut, although I can’t hear it right now.  Also, it’s probably just the anxiety, but everything south of my heart seems to be a dead zone, specifically my crotch.  Yeah, that guy.

Speaking to the gender counsellor on the phone was strange, I laughed manically at points as she was able to back up my perceptions and be spot on about the kinds of experiences I was having, and could possibly have.

Tonight I told my best friends’ sister, who is also a good friend.  She was shocked but didn’t over react.  We only talked about it briefly but then we talked about other things and for the first time in a while I felt distracted.  These are the only two people I know I’m going to tell for now, I’ve been wisely advised to keep it slow, as others won’t be quite so understanding.

My best friend is starting to freak out a bit now though, scared of losing his buddy boy of the last ten years, of not seeing through me to have noticed it.  I had to tell him it’s ok, I have not seen it truly until recently, and I still don’t know what it means or where it might lead.  I accept that I am bringing turmoil into their lives, and while they commit to whatever I can achieve, it will probably get very strange.

So long as I stay committed.  The pressure is high and steam is starting to vent.  I don’t care about looks…..yet I care about my looks!  I’m a decent looking guy, but now that I’m convinced it’s not what I truly am, it begins to repel me.  This makes me incredibly sad, actually creating insecurity out of nothing, and wishing decimation of a healthy body.  Yes there is denial, but can it not be a legitimate reason to be angry?

Here is where I must face my own perceived intolerance.  I have been angry at trans people for not accepting who they are, angry at them changing themselves in any way to express who they are.  Why do you have to change to be who you are?!  This makes my head spin trying to answer it.  I am who I am, gender role shouldn’t be important, but yet it is!

Maybe I’m insane, maybe it’s even the Bisphenol A and other feminizing hormones flooding the world, maybe it’s just who I really am, and what I really want is not only a fair, just, tolerant society to accept how I express myself and what pronouns I may come to prefer, but for myself and the world to realise that I’m a damn girl.

Aaaarrggghhh, I get the same cold dread saying that as I get from reading stories or watching videos of unflattering men becoming wonderful women.

As slow as I need to go, it’s still not fast enough.  I have the benefit or being totally heavy metal, and I just want to make my long hair look nice.  Eugh, I don’t know what the words are, I want to do things that make me look more appealing, I don’t understand it, so I can understand why I think I’m nuts or why anyone else would!

It’s quite likely to be a simple deviation within the convention of gender being in line with two strict biological patterns.  Not enough is understood, the words between the lines are not understood, and the gaps between the words are long.

So, rather than screwing about and turning my brain into eternal future mush, I’m going to meet this head on.  I learned after counselling for depression many years ago, that if something is bothering you that much, you have to talk about it, even if it doesn’t necessarily change anything.

It doesn’t feel real that I’ve actually told people, but it is reassuring in a way that they will be able to talk about it to each other and we can help each other, because they will need my support too.  Even if all that repression means it doesn’t feel real, this is something that now exists outside my head.  As petrified as I am, this is real now.

Who knows, maybe it won’t change anything, maybe I want to be the same guy, with a dick and beard, and just to be called a girl.

Oh you poor human in denial.

Go do it again before you sleep, look in the mirror and say it to yourself, ‘I’m transgender.  I’m transgender.’

….this is going to take a while.

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