gender, identity, transgender

The smooth is the rough

All these constant little battles.  Who you are versus who you should have been;  what you could be versus what you’re not; the potential physiological loss of one set of positive/negative gender traits for the gain of positive/negative traits for another gender.  A very unique set of issues, the question is, are you fighting against yourself, or for yourself?

It’s tough to express a part of yourself that has been forced away for so long.  It’s not like I’ve ever not been myself, but some parts…some parts I knew just felt very far removed from what I should be expressing in the narrow rubric, a specified cause for ridicule.  In fact, ever since early childhood, I’ve known these issues weren’t solely about expression, it was something much deeper.  When I was six, I needed to be a girl, even though I didn’t know any girls,  I searched for ways to make it happen, rather than laying in bed wishing.  I remember bouts of what I now know to be dysphoria, looking in the mirror disgusted, spending hours, days, weeks scouring the house during any moment alone to find the elixir that would change me so I didn’t have to deal with whatever was hurting me.

One day, when I was around 7/8, I thought I had found what I was looking for.  I had looked at it on several other occasions and wondered how dangerous it might be.  Industrial super glue.  Yeah, less painful than the scissors or elastic bands, maybe it would work for a while.  It took several more days, maybe weeks of building courage, and then I tried to super glue my penis behind my body, away from sight.  Obviously it didn’t work, I was just left with my genitals and hands covered in the stuff, sticking together.  Later that evening I came to my mother and explained I had an accident….an accident that leaves a fully clothed 7/8 year old with glue on hands and penis only.  I remember as my mum peeled super glue off my raw little bits how much I had to repress telling her why I did it, and how for a further 20 years I would repress telling anyone about events like that.  I reminded my mother of this when I came out to her, even she had repressed it and denies it ever happened.  I can’t say for sure that I was trying to become a girl, I was just trying to become what my experience told me I was, which just happened to be a girl, though I did not know the words.  All I knew is that the feeling would not go away, as I searched aimlessly for relief.

It was so much repression.  I knew there was a part of me that was very wrong, very different from anybody else, that certain parts of me had to be buried, deeper and deeper, not because I was scared of my expression, but because I was scared of my identity.  The term ‘gender identity’ I feel is only useful to a point, because what it actually seems to be is just ‘identity’, gender being a consequence of biological variation that has little bearing on the identity I have, rather it is through repression that a ‘back-up’ identity is created to which dysphoria demands the truth of actuality be heard.

More and more I remember times throughout my life when I wanted to react flowingly to situations, to be myself, but I didn’t.  I am an only child of early divorce, I was trained early to be quiet, to just get on with things, not ask questions, to be alone and just deal with it.  These experiences carry through, reinforcing themselves over the years until the truth is just buried in submission to the dour grind of work, conformity and death.

I don’t think I can deny there is a difference between transkids and later transitioners.  The AGP model is highly flawed and fetishised, but there are young ones who have no choice but to express because there is no other way for them to be but themselves, repression is impossible, acting up to natal sex is impossible, and they are made pay a sickening price generally in bullying from other kids, teachers, family.  Like everything else, dysphoria and levels of transgenderism run on a spectrum of intensity.  Still, I think life circumstances play a part for some, individual personality and life experience cannot be denied; when inhabiting a foreign body with no knowledge of why it feels so wrong, people react in different ways.  Certain traumas can bury one’s identity entirely, not just their gender, perhaps forever.


Me-She

Now, for me to forget how to be ‘male’, it is like asking an aeronautical engineer with a 29 year career who re-realised her true calling was in marine biology to forget everything about aeronautical engineering.   She couldn’t, nor should she, experience is still experience.

So, gotta work with it.  I grow painfully aware of how ‘unfemale’ I’ve become, all those years of male training to try and find a way to fit.  Nobody put a gun to my head to make me do it, but hey, when you know intrinsically who you are in a world where every single identifier tells you that you are not, various coping mechanisms evolve in learning how to get by.

I’m usually in a bad mood, and while we may not know what constitutes maleness and femaleness, we generally make the distinction fairly easily.  Take a grey lump of clay, give it the vocal tone and mannerisms of a certain sex and I imagine it would be fairly easy to guess which it is a large degree of the time.  The argument I keep hearing is ‘sex is not gender’, so as trans I feel I must admit my gender and my sex.  Not that I ever denied it, that would be a bad idea.  I can barely hold in this truer side of myself, yet I don’t really get what it is, or is supposed to be.  Sincerity without ego, it will take time to peel away the decaying shell of faux masculinity.

You see, as a male, brought up as male, living as male, subject to male physiology, it’s not difficult to portray as male…square peg, square hole.  Simple delusions, lies for a back-story.  It makes you the perfect spy, like the Englishman  raised in Germany called to serve his motherland in the World Wars – he speaks German, lives like a German, acts like a German, but he is English, and must stand for his truth, rather than the life forced upon him when his pregnant mother set forth from Dover.

Speaking of battles, I notice the fragmentation of the trans world.  The young folks, the older folks, the AGP crowd, the radfems, trans-extremists(!), the regular ignorant, the well meaning ignorant, the folks just trying to get on with it, however many more little subgroups.  It’s good to read all this stuff, it can be pretty painful.  I’m not saying disregard it, I’m saying it’s too personal a journey to let the views of everyone else play too large a part.  Don’t make comparisons, it’s easy to feel invalidated, or ‘not trans enough’, the topic has been covered extensively, and is again irrelevant to the immediate problems facing each transperson.

I watched some informative videos on youtube by Kaylee Johnson, and wondered why she hasn’t put up a video in sometime.  If you don’t already know why, can you guess?  Yup, she jumped off an overpass and killed herself, yet she seemed so inspirationally on top of things.  You would do well to convince me that people struggle their whole lives, become aware, pluck up the courage to transition, turn their lives and bodies upside down, then die so unceremoniously because of a fetish.  She was strong and she still died by suicide.


Where’s my medicine?

Taking time now to work on transition, I realise that there’s not actually an awful lot to do.  Most of it is a series of constant learning processes and adaptations – voice, style, face, mannerisms, specific mtf/ftm horrors, whatever folks outside that binary need to do.  Personally I just want to get to a point where I am consistently showing myself for who I am, to a point where my voice doesn’t freak me out, and I can get a job without worrying about making additional dramatic outwardly changes early in employment.  Otherwise, yup, gotta get on with life, especially when the wait for treatment can become that grind you read about in blogs and try to estimate how long you might have to wait 😉

I’m 5 months into GIC therapy with the minimum 6 month wait before they can sign off on hormones.  I don’t think anything is going to happen next month.  I’m signed up for gamete storage, which will take months, then I imagine an initial endocrinologist appointment, a second appointment for blockers, then a later appointment to begin the new grinding wait for full power HRT.  So even when the light turns green, there is another red light, a small advance to dig another trench to duck from the mental gunfire.  I’m getting an advance on voice lessons though I’m told I’ll be turned away after initial consultation until I begin HRT, same goes for laser.  I was told the private laser sessions I’ve been getting don’t affect my eligability for NHS (Northern Ireland) laser fun.  The argument is that being on HRT will make these additional services more efficacious.

Of course, my argument is that HRT will make my life more efficacious, so get to it.  I reiterate that I don’t have forever to screw about with this, at my age I’d rather be worrying about kids and mortgages, not trying to justify medical treatment.  That said, as trans, treatment is a privilege, not an expectation, you are still you without medical intervention.

My whole life I’ve made myself least important, putting education, work, others and love before my own personal issues; now taking life into my own hands it is obvious what is important and necessary to me.  That being said, I still need to be in the position to work again, I’m in the prime of my life, as much as I’m happy to embrace my true identity, I don’t feel I have a lot of time for it!  More self-care required.

I got some homework which I’ll share because I think it could be a useful exercise. Simple cognitive behavioural questions, but can you answer them honestly?
•What are the advantages of transition?
•What are the disadvantages of transition?
•What are the advantages of not transitioning?
•What are the disadvantages of not transitioning?

‘What do I need to consider before I start to live my life full time in my identified gender?’
•Myself
•Family
•Work
•Society
•Other

I met my first knowingly transitioned transsexual woman before the appointment at a request.  She had transitioned a fair bit later than me, though it was a good opportunity to ask questions and hear confirmations face to face.  It all sounds horrifyingly lovely.  Tears and chocolate.  She said depression is part of being trans, I didn’t like that.  Depression is part of life for many these days, being trans doesn’t have to mean being depressed – yes, it increases the chances simply due to the added mental pressure, but it does not have to be a given.  There’s a reasonable chance HRT could turn you into a blubbering wreck as you finally get to experience how much it actually sucks to be female, pulled into estrogen station with a grating shunt of difficult to control new emotions, but that’s just what it is, the smooth is the rough.

This is what you want, this is what you get,

this is what you want, this is what you get,

this is what you want, this is what you get.


XX-XY-ZX Spectrum

I’m still looking, not for an excuse, but for an alternative.  My issue is still not about how I present, I feel pretty lame either way, it’s all internal.  However, I notice the difference in myself in public.  One day I went into town wearing male clothes because frankly my proper clothes were all in the wash and I was near bent double,  it sucked.  As I stood bent over moaning I saw people, faces, male people, female people, people I just couldn’t tell, me, eugh.  The wrongness I have felt for so long amplified now knowing why I’m not at all like them.

Compare that with having a more updated wardrobe which allows me to present full time, I still feel sad, I feel incredibly self-conscious of course, but not quite so dysphoric.  It’s a trade off, I feel more confident expressing that way, at least I can hold my head up, it sounds ironic, but I find it easier to go about my business.  I don’t have to pretend I’m this man man, I don’t have to pretend to be a woman woman, I simply just get to be me, squared, halved, with better things to do.

‘Gender is a spectrum’…’gender is not sex’  Knowingly or not, gender is an individual, subjective experience, shaped mostly by biology and society.  I’m trying to take away even the entire gender spectrum, there is only the personal spectrum, a band which exists somewhere with a range of self-identification that is tolerable to the individual. Existing anywhere within your own range is entirely fine, it can be as wide or as narrow as you desire, or as is forcefully imposed upon you.

Taking away labels, one can exist at and between the x and y of who they natally are and never have to justify it, or give it a name.  However, the issue is not the inability to express oneself within a gender spectrum, it’s spending one’s life so far isolated from from the demands of a biological/mental process which is not being met by our lives and bodies.  Apparently.  Thus I call myself a male-to-female transsexual based simply on the knowledge of the demands of my biology as a means of explaining my medical position rather than an explanation of my being.

I have a worry that I must admit, the lack of affection I received as a child, an only child, accounts for many of the needs I desire which could contribute to my experience as trans, giving credence to the nurture side.  The love and attention I needed crenellated into needs or desires which could stereotypically be labelled feminine.   Indeed, it is a reasonably reliable trans trait.  More worrying is the feeling I get sometimes that as a woman I’m transgender also.  To meet in the middle, I would nearly have to consider myself the same as I have my entire adult life ‘gender-neutral’.  Fudge your genders, but also, fudge my male genitalia and hormone supply.  Maybe it would be better to be smooth down below, sexless, hormone negative, but again it defies reality.  Stop looking around and getting distracted, the truth is there, in front of you, look forward, it doesn’t lie, only your conscious process lies.

Bleh, dysphoria can’t be forced, it is a catalyst to existing insecurities, it creates new insecurities, and it is difficult to find a place of content against the potentially crippling incongruity.  I don’t understand how it works though, I put on the clothes and make up and my dysphoria dissipates a little, even though after a while I’ve forgotten about how I look.  I am allowing my inner processes to be shared in the outer world, which is mentally healthy.

Furthermore, I figure that our bodies are crying out for certain nutrients, salts, vitamins and so on, we feel lethargic and sick without knowing why.  Just because we aren’t getting them doesn’t mean our bodies don’t know we need them, or how to metabolize a new chemical process hitherto unprocessed yet innate in design.  Same could go for hormones in combating the deficiencies that cause dysphoria.


This-for-I, ya?

Fun story.  So, I’ve been living close-ish towards full time for only three months now?  For the first time in my life I got chatted up at a bar by a woman.  She was bi-, had apparently been with trans friends before (whom she frequently misgendered), and she thought I looked good.  Anyway, one thing led to another if you know what I mean.  It was certainly a unique experience, as I’ve never had a one night stand before, and I didn’t have to pretend to be a man (or woman?), which was nice.  It was a worthwhile experience, sex has different parameters now, dysphoria certainly played it’s part, but I don’t regret it.  Very strange that this situation could have presented itself like this, when whilst as a man?  Nada.  Not that I would have been interested then.  But of course, I’m not allowed to be a sexual being, because it makes me an autogynephilic trans fetishist, having a one-night stand makes me a slut, doing this only while as a woman is misogynistic.

Truthfully, in freeing myself from the restrictive codes I created throughout my life, I am simply going after the things I wanted but was too principally scared to experience.  I transition, not to be a woman, but to be free.  Could I do all this as a ‘man’?…Maybe, but I wouldn’t be being myself and therefore would still be wearing a tourniquet around my own neck to keep some sort of grey homogeneous peace for others.

Ah, life is interesting.  Acquaintances and strangers, the looks in their faces, how they turn away, or stutter when they hear my name.  My sense of humour finds it hilarious, I like making people uncomfortable anyway, pushing boundaries and buttons, because evolution is what we make it, by evolving ourselves in general, we evolve the future.  Quick example waiting for service at the bar, a guy I haven’t seen in years ambles up:

P: ‘Alright man, long time no see, how’s it going?’
Me: ‘Heeey, not too bad thankya, gonna get drunnnnnk.  How’s you?’
P: ‘Aye, I’m grand man…but like….what have you been up to?’
Me: ‘Oh, you know, keeping busy, having fun, working on a few interesting projects, keeping smiling.  How about you?’
P: ‘Aye but like….are you alright man?  I heard…..er…..I heard that ah….that….’ (I love the squirming)
Me: ‘You heard that I’m a transsexual?’ (Well I am wearing a dress and make up)
P: [Nervous but somewhat relieved] ‘Yeah…aye….um….well…..just like…….’
Me: [Laughing] ‘It’s ok hun, don’t worry about it!  How are the little ones?’

And so the conversation goes.  Once the awkward sting is taken out, we can talk about everyday stuff again, as decent folks will realise ‘oh, it’s just a person/dude in a dress/transperson/man/woman’.  People generally don’t get to meet a lot of transfolk, the media has fairly distorted who we are, but on the whole people don’t care enough to make it a problem, they want to understand without being rude, and then they have other stuff to do.  They don’t understand which is why they casually misgender and think we have mental problems or a fetish.  There are plenty of difficulties where it is obvious I’m not seen as a woman but it’s early days, for now I’m only interested in seeing myself, showing myself and changing legal documents.  I am what I am, not what others claim.

I find that my doubts are as relevant as my understandings.  I can make moot most theories of my personal gender just by waiting.  I may convince myself of this, convince myself I’m not that, and it will work intellectually for a few minutes, hours maybe, but then dysphoria always comes back to say ‘Hi’.  I don’t think dysphoria is trying to hurt us, same way circumstantial depression isn’t trying to hurt us.  It’s a mechanism for the body to tell us something is wrong, that something needs to change for the body and mind to survive at its fullest power.  Issues grow when they are not confronted, turning the mind into a hateful gristle, yet when we meet head on the reasons for our discontent we find we can overcome adversity in understanding and by showing active love to ourselves, and the world around us.

Amy Xx

P.S. UK folks, do NOT use legaldeedpoll service, the one with Eamonn Holmes on it.  I got scammed by them, and I encountered quite a few others who have been screwed by them too, neither their phone numbers nor emails work and they don’t provide the service at all.  I have printed free deed polls and I’ll make an update as to whether the UK government sectors accept them.  I had to get a signed letter from the Gender Identity Clinic to be able to change my passport and driving license, so please bear this in mind when attempting to update documentation.

Advertisements
Standard
gender, identity, transgender

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?

Standard
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.

Standard
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.

Standard