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.]
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.
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?
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!