I wake up in a waiting room
With the taste of blood and a clouded view
I notice there is a tear in my jeans
the sleeves on my shirt have been ripped from their seams
My memory is a little bit blank
the thought of my name doesn't seem to come back
And I turn and scream "What am I here for?"
The nurses yell "You were left at the door"
I'm a stranger, someone left me for dead.
And I need to decide what to do next.
Oh just then I found a note in my pocket
It read "I don't ever want to see you again"
And I guess that explains
why I can't remember the rest of the night
I should have listened to my friends
I should have listened to them
when they told me you had bad intentions
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Streaming Brain Version 2.0
I am not always right. But sometimes I am. The hard part is trying to figure out which time is which. I’m not worried. I am always trying to be better than I was the last time. Lately, that’s all that really matters. I’ve stopped caring about being better than anyone else, but I know that that can change from moment to moment, and I know there are certain times in life when we must compete, when we must thrive or die based upon our abilities to outdo the Other. I’m alone in my apartment. The fall semester does that to me. I feel a lot more alone than I do at any other time. I’m freest in the summer. I wish I could enjoy every day in the way that I enjoy the days of summer. I guess the continuity of the days in the summer is what really felt great. The ability for any day to be just like the others. Not as many classes. You can basically let the day run itself. You don’t have to force it to be something it isn’t supposed to be. Not every day is meant for studying. Not every day is meant for playing. Not every day is meant for working out. Not every day is meant to be “important”. I guess I know all too well about being the square peg in the round hole. It happens to me every day in one way or another, and I’m sure it happens to way more people than even realize it’s happening, and I think that’s rather unfortunate. It’s the same thing with the days. You don’t have to be any one thing in particular either. I’m getting preachy and I need to stop. No idea where I’m headed, and today is one of those days when I think that’s okay. I may have a panic attack about the same thing tomorrow. I’m being reminded lately of the relative importance of actions versus statements. Yes, you can say you believe something or believe in something or want something, but unless you back that up with actions, it means nothing. And it doesn’t always mean taking action against someone. More often than not, it’s not acting at all that sets people apart. If you say you’re going to do something, do it. If you say you believe something, prove it. You are not God. I do not have to take what you say as fact without demanding proof from you. I expect more from people than mere words, which are sadly thrown about these days. Do you remember when a man’s word was considered to be the strongest bond around? Promises mean nothing anymore because people don’t know what promises are supposed to mean. Am I an idiot for thinking that I should be able to trust people to do what they say and act based on what they say? I’m not naïve. I know that people don’t always do everything that they plan to. But I do know when people are making excuses for things that just aren’t as important to them, trying to save face for whatever reason. I appreciate honesty. I’d much rather hear that I’m not as important to someone as insert-random-thing-here than hear that I really am and that I’m just perceiving things inaccurately. I’m sure everyone knows what I am trying to say. Brutal honesty is something that I admire more than tact. Being tactful, especially with people you think should be good friends/family to you serves absolutely no purpose. You should be able to say anything. In working or productive relationships, it’s even more important. I need to know the truth to help me get things done. I really could care less if you like me or not, and believe me, this is not directed at any individual or group of individuals in particular. This is just a generalization that I’ve been pondering in light of recent circumstances. I am perfectly capable of working alongside people who hate me/whom I hate. We all need to learn how to do it. However, there comes a point when we need to admit to the other person that we’re not too fond of him. It makes things easier in the end. Word spreads quickly when people work very closely with one another, and things that are said spread more quickly than you’d imagine. You may think that people aren’t going to find out about the things you’ve said, but chances are you’re going to be wrong on that point. It’s happened to all of us. I tend to speak with the knowledge that people will find out about what I’m going to say sooner or later, and I’ve stopped caring about offending people. The people that really care are going to know when to take me seriously and when I’m just messing with people. I think one of the most important things I’ve learned in my experience as the token outsider (being cute here, guys) is that when someone brings up a concern to you, the worst thing you can do is dismiss it. When people are genuinely worried about something, the absolute worst thing you can do is say that those concerns are stupid and invalid. Something exists to raise those concerns. Something happened to make the person feel that way. And that’s the real issue that needs to be addressed. Assuaging the immediate blows is important too, but it’s not getting at the root of the problem. If I say something that makes you think I’m an asshole or that I’m wrong, I’m not just going to tell you that I’m not an asshole and that’s that. I’d want to know what I said that made you feel like that and if I did anything else. I’d start looking at myself instead of trying to project the blame onto someone else. I feel like it’s almost time for another dramatic topic shift. I can’t keep my focus on this because all of this seems so simple to me. It’s so basic. It’s the kind of stuff you learn even before you get to college and is hopefully part of the reason why you were able to get into college. College is never about you as an individual. College is about you in relation to other people. Life in general is about you in relation to other people, but I think college is when we start to realize that. High school is very focused on the individual, and we learn to be cutthroat and never to depend on anyone else. We’re taught to want it all and grab it all before the other kid does. That shit gets fucking blasted apart when you get to college. One person is incapable of knowing, doing, or understanding everything. I don’t admit to understanding everyone’s issues. I don’t admit that I understand why people are upset all the time or what causes people to flip shit. But I know that those things are often complicated and involve many layers of problems interacting with one another. Subjectivity.
My head is killing me. It’s been throbbing all day. I’m so excited to go back to the gym tomorrow. I haven’t been there since about a week ago, and that’s really fucking with me. I have a ridiculous attachment to working out. It’s done so much for me, and my body just craves that outlet. I can just keep pushing myself until I can’t go anymore. It relieves my stress. I think that’s one of the reasons why getting sick seems to affect me more severely. On top of the actual illness, I have to deal with the stress of not being able to relieve my normal, everyday stresses. Things just build up. That definitely happened this week. I had no way to get rid of that stress, locked in my fucking room around the clock. And stress alters the way you perceive a situation. Don’t think that your emotions don’t affect you, even when you are supposedly making a rational judgment. And many times there is more than one reasonable, rational explanation for something, and which one we choose to believe depends heavily on how we’re feeling that day. I’m not shitting you.
I never run out of things to say. I could keep going. I could talk about nonsense even. Flying toasters with capes and lightsabers and stuffed animals with interesting personality quirks that keep me awake at night or whatever. But I have to end this at some point. I never stop thinking. And I suppose that makes it hard for me to stop doing anything. You would think the opposite to be true. Sometimes I wish it were that easy to make changes. I might be losing my mind. I’ve thought about that several times in my life. But another part of me thinks I’m extremely aware of everything that’s happening and that I have a fairly accurate take on things. But that might be the crazy part. Who knows? I might be legitimately insane. Doesn’t that make you feel good inside? No, I really only say this because there are some people who would classify me as insane for reasons I haven’t even mentioned. It’s kind of funny how sane I find myself to be these days. I keep looking around at the supposedly normal people surrounding me, and I find a lot of them terribly boring, some of them sociopathic, most of them completely ignorant of the reality of things, etc. We all suck at different stuff, basically. Yes, most people would like to point out that we are all good in our own ways, but I like looking at it from the other end. We are also all not so good in our own ways. And I think it’s important to remember that we all have flaws and that we are going to fuck up, sometimes without realizing it. I actually have no specific situation in mind here, either. I’m really just rambling my ass off because my head hurts way too much to think about what I’m going to type beforehand. My head definitely hurts too much to concentrate on studying for this exam of mine tomorrow, which by the way is going to be horrendous because I haven’t been to class all week, so I have no idea what it’s going to be like. I’m so behind with shit that it’s insane. I wish I could just take a mulligan for this semester, but I’m doing well and don’t want to go through this shit again. Also, I definitely wouldn’t be able to afford that. Fuck, I’m worried about paying for the extra year at all. How is it that I don’t get more money from this fucking university? I think I’m getting a stye in my left eye again. Fuck my life. I can never sleep when that happens. My face is breaking out like mad. I can’t wait for what happens when that gets even worse.
A part of me thought about not posting this. But then I changed my mind. It doesn’t really matter. I read an unpublished post from a friend of mine today. Had he published it, we both would have gotten shit for it. Basically, sometimes people like to talk. They talk and talk about how important something is to them, but then their actions don’t reflect that. Sometimes it happens with student organizations here. You hear hype about what they are supposed to be. You get excited about it, and people within the group will tell you how awesome it is and has been and that there are so many awesome traditions and memories you will share and things you’ll remember for the rest of your life and it goes on and on and on. I am fortunate enough to have experienced groups where this is the case, but I have also been unfortunate enough to have experienced groups that fall short of the ideals they claim to embody. It’s sad. It’s hypocritical. But I do know that there are people trying to keep the spirit alive. It’s not dead yet. And I know people who are really trying to bring the good stuff back. And no matter which group I’m focused on at any point, I really want to be one of those people who has the right idea in mind. I’d like to think that I know what should be.
I’ve been writing for a ridiculous amount of time now, and I really should charge my phone. It’s been a while since I’ve just written though. I can’t complain. I really enjoy having this much to show for the thoughts that are going on in my brain. I really am not motivated to do any work right now, which is awful because I am so far behind on everything. I do not look forward to work this week. I didn’t go at all last week, and I have nothing to show for that amount of time. Blar. Everything only ever happens all at once. And thank you, Roberto, for the infinitely wise statement: Almost never does something always happen. Wow, those two statements could get you into a seriously circuitous train of thought. That’s why I don’t deal with philosophy that much. Not too practical, really. Sometimes it’s fun as a hobby, but if I made that shit my life, I think I’d have to end it.
I wonder if I have any more medicine in this house. Bitch all you want. Shit was weak. Wow, no one is going to get that. But if someone manages to glean some sort of information from that, then the person might be guilty as charged. Dude, I’m seriously not right in the head, but it’s becoming kind of fun and poetic so I might as well keep going.
I need to find a good time to bring up the other important things that have been happening in my life. Maybe there’s a way to connect these two big things together. I feel like they have a lot to do with one another. Roar.
Forgive me for roaring. I’m not actually a lion. But I am a Leo, so I might be. It certainly explains a lot about my personality. But I’m more of a chameleon. It’s a long story, and you probably don’t care about how we came to this conclusion. But it makes sense. And I actually do know someone who is pond scum. Three guesses. We’ll have to convene a meeting of the Unicorn Society if we want to talk about it though.
I think I’ll stop. I really just don’t get bored. That’s going to be a useful skill later in life.
I am very happy with myself for not acting out all of the irrational anger responses that cross my mind, especially those that involve throwing furniture across the room lol
Hooray for self-restraint!
Period. Exclamation Point!
C
O
L
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(descending colon lol)
My head is killing me. It’s been throbbing all day. I’m so excited to go back to the gym tomorrow. I haven’t been there since about a week ago, and that’s really fucking with me. I have a ridiculous attachment to working out. It’s done so much for me, and my body just craves that outlet. I can just keep pushing myself until I can’t go anymore. It relieves my stress. I think that’s one of the reasons why getting sick seems to affect me more severely. On top of the actual illness, I have to deal with the stress of not being able to relieve my normal, everyday stresses. Things just build up. That definitely happened this week. I had no way to get rid of that stress, locked in my fucking room around the clock. And stress alters the way you perceive a situation. Don’t think that your emotions don’t affect you, even when you are supposedly making a rational judgment. And many times there is more than one reasonable, rational explanation for something, and which one we choose to believe depends heavily on how we’re feeling that day. I’m not shitting you.
I never run out of things to say. I could keep going. I could talk about nonsense even. Flying toasters with capes and lightsabers and stuffed animals with interesting personality quirks that keep me awake at night or whatever. But I have to end this at some point. I never stop thinking. And I suppose that makes it hard for me to stop doing anything. You would think the opposite to be true. Sometimes I wish it were that easy to make changes. I might be losing my mind. I’ve thought about that several times in my life. But another part of me thinks I’m extremely aware of everything that’s happening and that I have a fairly accurate take on things. But that might be the crazy part. Who knows? I might be legitimately insane. Doesn’t that make you feel good inside? No, I really only say this because there are some people who would classify me as insane for reasons I haven’t even mentioned. It’s kind of funny how sane I find myself to be these days. I keep looking around at the supposedly normal people surrounding me, and I find a lot of them terribly boring, some of them sociopathic, most of them completely ignorant of the reality of things, etc. We all suck at different stuff, basically. Yes, most people would like to point out that we are all good in our own ways, but I like looking at it from the other end. We are also all not so good in our own ways. And I think it’s important to remember that we all have flaws and that we are going to fuck up, sometimes without realizing it. I actually have no specific situation in mind here, either. I’m really just rambling my ass off because my head hurts way too much to think about what I’m going to type beforehand. My head definitely hurts too much to concentrate on studying for this exam of mine tomorrow, which by the way is going to be horrendous because I haven’t been to class all week, so I have no idea what it’s going to be like. I’m so behind with shit that it’s insane. I wish I could just take a mulligan for this semester, but I’m doing well and don’t want to go through this shit again. Also, I definitely wouldn’t be able to afford that. Fuck, I’m worried about paying for the extra year at all. How is it that I don’t get more money from this fucking university? I think I’m getting a stye in my left eye again. Fuck my life. I can never sleep when that happens. My face is breaking out like mad. I can’t wait for what happens when that gets even worse.
A part of me thought about not posting this. But then I changed my mind. It doesn’t really matter. I read an unpublished post from a friend of mine today. Had he published it, we both would have gotten shit for it. Basically, sometimes people like to talk. They talk and talk about how important something is to them, but then their actions don’t reflect that. Sometimes it happens with student organizations here. You hear hype about what they are supposed to be. You get excited about it, and people within the group will tell you how awesome it is and has been and that there are so many awesome traditions and memories you will share and things you’ll remember for the rest of your life and it goes on and on and on. I am fortunate enough to have experienced groups where this is the case, but I have also been unfortunate enough to have experienced groups that fall short of the ideals they claim to embody. It’s sad. It’s hypocritical. But I do know that there are people trying to keep the spirit alive. It’s not dead yet. And I know people who are really trying to bring the good stuff back. And no matter which group I’m focused on at any point, I really want to be one of those people who has the right idea in mind. I’d like to think that I know what should be.
I’ve been writing for a ridiculous amount of time now, and I really should charge my phone. It’s been a while since I’ve just written though. I can’t complain. I really enjoy having this much to show for the thoughts that are going on in my brain. I really am not motivated to do any work right now, which is awful because I am so far behind on everything. I do not look forward to work this week. I didn’t go at all last week, and I have nothing to show for that amount of time. Blar. Everything only ever happens all at once. And thank you, Roberto, for the infinitely wise statement: Almost never does something always happen. Wow, those two statements could get you into a seriously circuitous train of thought. That’s why I don’t deal with philosophy that much. Not too practical, really. Sometimes it’s fun as a hobby, but if I made that shit my life, I think I’d have to end it.
I wonder if I have any more medicine in this house. Bitch all you want. Shit was weak. Wow, no one is going to get that. But if someone manages to glean some sort of information from that, then the person might be guilty as charged. Dude, I’m seriously not right in the head, but it’s becoming kind of fun and poetic so I might as well keep going.
I need to find a good time to bring up the other important things that have been happening in my life. Maybe there’s a way to connect these two big things together. I feel like they have a lot to do with one another. Roar.
Forgive me for roaring. I’m not actually a lion. But I am a Leo, so I might be. It certainly explains a lot about my personality. But I’m more of a chameleon. It’s a long story, and you probably don’t care about how we came to this conclusion. But it makes sense. And I actually do know someone who is pond scum. Three guesses. We’ll have to convene a meeting of the Unicorn Society if we want to talk about it though.
I think I’ll stop. I really just don’t get bored. That’s going to be a useful skill later in life.
I am very happy with myself for not acting out all of the irrational anger responses that cross my mind, especially those that involve throwing furniture across the room lol
Hooray for self-restraint!
Period. Exclamation Point!
C
O
L
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(descending colon lol)
The Finger to the Blind Man
Here’s to the bigots that keep my
blood boiling when it boils down
to it
what I want is for them to bleed but
people say I’m better than that
people say
so many things and that’s how we got into this mess
and what’s so wrong with wanting
the scales balanced the score evened
wanting people
to just grow some balls and
fight me
like a man
not with fists but with logic and justice
and fucking human decency
accountability
big words for small brains
big words
that don’t mean anything to anyone anymore just
fucking
words as symbols for a generation
obsessed with political correctness personal image and
no
fucking regard for
what is right
what is decent
what is noble
what Matters
big words from the dead language of brotherhood
common bonds and just
being together
I do remember when we all spoke
the same language
even when we all spoke
to one another
and mourn the loss of
something
that might have been worth
something
to us
blood boiling when it boils down
to it
what I want is for them to bleed but
people say I’m better than that
people say
so many things and that’s how we got into this mess
and what’s so wrong with wanting
the scales balanced the score evened
wanting people
to just grow some balls and
fight me
like a man
not with fists but with logic and justice
and fucking human decency
accountability
big words for small brains
big words
that don’t mean anything to anyone anymore just
fucking
words as symbols for a generation
obsessed with political correctness personal image and
no
fucking regard for
what is right
what is decent
what is noble
what Matters
big words from the dead language of brotherhood
common bonds and just
being together
I do remember when we all spoke
the same language
even when we all spoke
to one another
and mourn the loss of
something
that might have been worth
something
to us
Random Thoughts
You aren't the only one who is tired of playing the game. Maybe I keep doing it because I think that I'll win someday, but I've been losing thus far on multiple levels, and maybe the fact that I said something last night instead of just letting it slide was a really good thing. You're right. I need to talk to people about this, but I'm still afraid that people are going to keep saying that nothing is wrong and that I'm insane for even thinking that something could be a little off. Last night shouldn't have happened, and maybe that statement applies to more than one occurrence. I know it bothers you when I talk about it, and I wish you would have told me that a long time ago. It might be as simple as not mentioning it, not letting myself get worked up about it by trying to solve the same puzzle in the same way over and over again. I'm not saying that I wouldn't talk about it with anyone at all. I'm just saying that maybe there's no room for it in our conversations anymore. I don't like to upset you, and I never intend to bore you with the same old story. But I can never shake the feeling that this is all somehow my fault, and it takes a lot for me to entertain the idea that maybe I never did anything to deserve this--that sometimes shit happens and people suck for no reason. So I don't know. I really didn't know what to think when you walked away from me last night. I'm still not sure what to make of it. We don't get mad in the same way. I suppose that I don't get mad in the same way that most people do. I'm incapable of staying angry at someone, and I tend to forgive people very easily, arguably too easily. I let it slide all the time because somewhere in my mind I think that everyone deserves as many chances as he desires, but now I'm realizing that some people have never apologized nor asked for another chance. But I give them anyway. I let everything fall on my shoulders, and that's just not good for me. But I don't know how to make this clear to other people. I don't know how to make it reflect the situation accurately. I don't want this kind of thing to keep happening, and I know it's going to unless I do or say something to everyone. Well, almost everyone. I'm sure there are some people who are beyond hope. And even in typing this, I feel like I'm doing it again--like I just keep saying all of this without really knowing what I can do. I have a small idea in my head, but I feel like there are so many other issues that I need to resolve, so many other things or maybe just one big thing that I need to say, that this seems like a minor glitch. However, maybe it's more important. I'm not sure where my priorities should lie, and when stuff like this happens, I'm hesitant to even talk about something that major. It is getting really confusing for me though.
I don't know. I say that way too often to be as "smart" as I am. I wish I could be all fuck-everyone-else all of the time. But sometimes I just need to know that I'm not on some fucking island by myself in the way that I do and see things. Sometimes it really feels that way, so I try to connect in the best way that I can. Not everyone gets this, and it's getting really frustrating. I've been doing my best to address things as they occur instead of letting them slide, but then the roles seem to reverse and no one wants to deal with anything. Argh, I feel like I'm talking to way too many people at once for this to have made any sense at all.
What else? I may not be able to grasp certain intricacies of facial expression all the time, but I learn over time what an individual's unique facial expressions are. I also learn what patterns of inflection and tone of voice correspond with particular feelings and moods. I'm not an idiot. And I don't just imagine these things. And I'm not the only one who has noticed, but naming names is for losers. Hey, I'm trying to be funny here because there's really no way I can be totally serious about it anymore. I don't think it's worth it to try to change some people, and if that's really the way things are, don't expect me to back off either. Back off on what? Being myself. I'm sorry if that makes some people uncomfortable, but you have to learn to deal with it. We all do.
I don't know. I say that way too often to be as "smart" as I am. I wish I could be all fuck-everyone-else all of the time. But sometimes I just need to know that I'm not on some fucking island by myself in the way that I do and see things. Sometimes it really feels that way, so I try to connect in the best way that I can. Not everyone gets this, and it's getting really frustrating. I've been doing my best to address things as they occur instead of letting them slide, but then the roles seem to reverse and no one wants to deal with anything. Argh, I feel like I'm talking to way too many people at once for this to have made any sense at all.
What else? I may not be able to grasp certain intricacies of facial expression all the time, but I learn over time what an individual's unique facial expressions are. I also learn what patterns of inflection and tone of voice correspond with particular feelings and moods. I'm not an idiot. And I don't just imagine these things. And I'm not the only one who has noticed, but naming names is for losers. Hey, I'm trying to be funny here because there's really no way I can be totally serious about it anymore. I don't think it's worth it to try to change some people, and if that's really the way things are, don't expect me to back off either. Back off on what? Being myself. I'm sorry if that makes some people uncomfortable, but you have to learn to deal with it. We all do.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Quote
"I have often thought that the best way to define a man's character would be to seek out the particular mental or moral attitude in which, when it came upon him, he felt himself deeply and intensively active and alive. At such moments there is a voice inside which speaks and says, "This is the real me." --William James
Sick as Fuck and Still Thinking
I didn't choose this ride, and I certainly can't choose to get off, unless of course I take the plunge over the railing, but that would be, well, stupid. But one of the remarkable things about the human condition is our ability to alter the ways in which we experience the ride. I can choose to hide my face in my hands and refuse to look at the world passing me by much faster than it seems it should, or I can choose to throw my hands in the air and scream to the heavens that this moment--the part of the ride just after the peak of the hill, just after the wheels have finished making that click-click-click, when the train is just about to fall back towards the earth--is perfect.
I'm sick as hell right now. I can barely sit up straight, and forget about seeing clearly. But as I have been writhing around all day in sweaty bedsheets and avoiding contact with the outside world, I really couldn't stand to keep doing it for several more hours. Apparently, my brain felt this even more strongly and decided to start pondering the details of transition in the middle of the night. It's really hard not having someone to talk to about this when the thoughts strike me. I'm worried and scared. And I don't know that I'm ever going to stop feeling that way, and I'm not sure that I'm supposed to anyway. I asked if calling me by my new name felt awkward, and she said no. It makes sense. Well, I know it makes sense. I mean, it's awkward for me sometimes because it is like any other change in life: You have to get used to it, even if it's something good and something you want. A part of me is a little afraid that I actually am getting used to it. It sort of feels like a leaving behind of a large part of myself. In abandoning my birth name, I feel like I am abandoning the person that I have been. I feel like I'm expected to just forget about everything that has ever happened to me and start all over without any connection to the identity I have worked so hard to embrace. Confused? Well, I guess I should point out that my identity is not defined solely by my name. The identity is the thing to which the name refers. I might have to develop that point further at some other time, preferably when I'm not dying. Oh yeah and forgive me if I sound a little loopy at times.
It's pretty apparent to people who have known me for a while that there are many different facets of my personality--that I really do seem like a different person in circumstances. I definitely have a more timid and self-conscious side that stands in opposition to a more confident and charismatic one. It took me a while to figure out that maybe the timid side is what people see as Elise. It's usually the first thing that people notice. But the other part of my personality begins to show through after some time. And then some assumptions have to be shattered. I've been living so long with these two sides of self and have never really found a way to merge them. And I suppose I'll always be afraid of losing something, but then again, you can only lose something if you stop paying attention to it, and it's pretty hard to stop paying attention to yourself, especially in the middle of something like this. In fact, I've been paying more attention to myself lately, and I think that's been very good for me. I have to remind myself not to get lost in myself, though, because I may miss out on things. Anyway, I believe this transition is helping me make sense of all the pieces of me. I'm realizing the diversity of my own gender expression and realizing that my day-to-day life doesn't have to change so dramatically. I feel like I'll be calmer. I won't have to judge myself against something I know that I am not. I think I started to get a little off topic. Anyway, while the name change scares me and I have been a tad hesitant about that entire thing, I feel like it's actually been a very good thing for me, and it's allowing me to feel like things align, even though it is still a little awkward at times. It's funny, I feel like it is way more awkward with some people than it is with others. Sometimes it is most awkward with people who know me pretty well and less awkward with people who are acquaintances of mine, but there are some exceptions on both sides of that, and I'm really curious as to why. And then there are people who, when they speak any name of mine, just give me the strangest vibe, make me so uncomfortable in my own skin that I kind of want to run the hell away. But I always stay, at least physically. And maybe that's the problem with that situation because other people may not realize when I just mentally retreat into my own world. Definitely not what I want to be talking about right now. Wow my head is messed up now, though I am interested in what might come next if I keep going with this.
I don't line up with male or female all the time, and I suppose that I don't line up with either appellation all the time either. I'm trying to think of a good metaphor here, but since my brain has turned to pea soup, I'll have to steal one. Think of a color wheel. Hell, just pick one color gradient, let's say from the darkest red to pure white. Maybe not all of the colors in between red and white have names, and you don't really know how to distinguish them, especially the ones that lie pretty close together. In undergoing this transition, it's like I'm moving from one shade of red to another, a little closer to one end of the spectrum but not necessarily all the way. And maybe there isn't a name for that either. But at some point, you have to start calling the colors red instead of white or pink or orange-ish or whatever. So I guess that's a good way to sum up what's happening to me. I'm moving more towards that male end of the spectrum, and I'll be crossing that line that makes it easier just to say red (male) than try to come up with something that still makes sense to the whole world. When it comes down to it, I could care less if you call me male, female, or a toaster, because I could be any one of those things at any given time, and so can we all, if you think about it. But to stray away from that technical bullshit, I've never really had a mental picture of myself as woman/female. It's just never been the way I've thought of myself. It's not like any of that was active or anything. I just assumed that someday I would start to feel like a woman like everyone else and that things would be okay. But that never happened. And I always felt like there was some big secret that was being kept from me. It's kind of ridiculous how much this makes sense for me, but that doesn't mean that I'm not terrified. It's something that's unknown. That's always scary.
I feel like I might start to repeat myself soon. Oh well. That's probably going to happen a lot in the next few months. I keep wondering if a lot of these fears are coming from failing to meet the expectations of others. There is so much that people expect of me or have planned for me or that people think that I want out of life. And maybe I've wanted some of those things as well. I sort of felt the same way about coming out the first time. I felt that those typical American dreams of the future just disintegrated. It sort of killed me at the time, and there are times when I think about what I may be missing out on and get a little depressed. But when I really start thinking, I'm so happy that this is where I am with my sexuality because now I feel like the rest of the world is missing out on what I have experienced and what I have to offer.
And even though I'm thinking about this all the time now and am worrying like crazy all the time, I know that I don't want my entire life to be about my transition. However, I know that I'm the kind of person who will forever be in that state. I will never be fully male or female, masculine or feminine. I'm transgender. And I'm okay with that. I'd rather be that than be stuck with a label that doesn't always fit. But I'm going to choose the side I feel closer to, and I know somewhere inside that it's going to bring me peace. Anyway, to get back to my point, at some point I'm going to want to stop thinking about it and just be a fucking human being and live my life and have fun like I've always done. I don't see why there isn't any reason that that couldn't happen. I guess it's like getting a dramatic haircut/losing a lot of weight. For a while, it's all that people notice and talk about, but after some time, it just becomes another part of you.
There's so much to think about, and I am getting a little dizzy, but that's most likely from the pigs in my bloodstream.
I keep trying to figure out the first words I should say to my parents, the first words I need to write to my brother. I want to come up with a plan, and depending on how it goes when I do tell my family, I may need an escape plan. This needs to happen soon. It can only get more complicated the longer I wait, and that goes for every situation. This kind of thing won't be any easier when I'm in med school or out in the real world. In fact, this might be the easiest time of all. Above all, I have to keep reminding myself that things are going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.
--------------------------
It takes courage to push yourself to places that you have never been before... to test your limits... to break through barriers. And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight inside the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom
Anais Nin
I'm sick as hell right now. I can barely sit up straight, and forget about seeing clearly. But as I have been writhing around all day in sweaty bedsheets and avoiding contact with the outside world, I really couldn't stand to keep doing it for several more hours. Apparently, my brain felt this even more strongly and decided to start pondering the details of transition in the middle of the night. It's really hard not having someone to talk to about this when the thoughts strike me. I'm worried and scared. And I don't know that I'm ever going to stop feeling that way, and I'm not sure that I'm supposed to anyway. I asked if calling me by my new name felt awkward, and she said no. It makes sense. Well, I know it makes sense. I mean, it's awkward for me sometimes because it is like any other change in life: You have to get used to it, even if it's something good and something you want. A part of me is a little afraid that I actually am getting used to it. It sort of feels like a leaving behind of a large part of myself. In abandoning my birth name, I feel like I am abandoning the person that I have been. I feel like I'm expected to just forget about everything that has ever happened to me and start all over without any connection to the identity I have worked so hard to embrace. Confused? Well, I guess I should point out that my identity is not defined solely by my name. The identity is the thing to which the name refers. I might have to develop that point further at some other time, preferably when I'm not dying. Oh yeah and forgive me if I sound a little loopy at times.
It's pretty apparent to people who have known me for a while that there are many different facets of my personality--that I really do seem like a different person in circumstances. I definitely have a more timid and self-conscious side that stands in opposition to a more confident and charismatic one. It took me a while to figure out that maybe the timid side is what people see as Elise. It's usually the first thing that people notice. But the other part of my personality begins to show through after some time. And then some assumptions have to be shattered. I've been living so long with these two sides of self and have never really found a way to merge them. And I suppose I'll always be afraid of losing something, but then again, you can only lose something if you stop paying attention to it, and it's pretty hard to stop paying attention to yourself, especially in the middle of something like this. In fact, I've been paying more attention to myself lately, and I think that's been very good for me. I have to remind myself not to get lost in myself, though, because I may miss out on things. Anyway, I believe this transition is helping me make sense of all the pieces of me. I'm realizing the diversity of my own gender expression and realizing that my day-to-day life doesn't have to change so dramatically. I feel like I'll be calmer. I won't have to judge myself against something I know that I am not. I think I started to get a little off topic. Anyway, while the name change scares me and I have been a tad hesitant about that entire thing, I feel like it's actually been a very good thing for me, and it's allowing me to feel like things align, even though it is still a little awkward at times. It's funny, I feel like it is way more awkward with some people than it is with others. Sometimes it is most awkward with people who know me pretty well and less awkward with people who are acquaintances of mine, but there are some exceptions on both sides of that, and I'm really curious as to why. And then there are people who, when they speak any name of mine, just give me the strangest vibe, make me so uncomfortable in my own skin that I kind of want to run the hell away. But I always stay, at least physically. And maybe that's the problem with that situation because other people may not realize when I just mentally retreat into my own world. Definitely not what I want to be talking about right now. Wow my head is messed up now, though I am interested in what might come next if I keep going with this.
I don't line up with male or female all the time, and I suppose that I don't line up with either appellation all the time either. I'm trying to think of a good metaphor here, but since my brain has turned to pea soup, I'll have to steal one. Think of a color wheel. Hell, just pick one color gradient, let's say from the darkest red to pure white. Maybe not all of the colors in between red and white have names, and you don't really know how to distinguish them, especially the ones that lie pretty close together. In undergoing this transition, it's like I'm moving from one shade of red to another, a little closer to one end of the spectrum but not necessarily all the way. And maybe there isn't a name for that either. But at some point, you have to start calling the colors red instead of white or pink or orange-ish or whatever. So I guess that's a good way to sum up what's happening to me. I'm moving more towards that male end of the spectrum, and I'll be crossing that line that makes it easier just to say red (male) than try to come up with something that still makes sense to the whole world. When it comes down to it, I could care less if you call me male, female, or a toaster, because I could be any one of those things at any given time, and so can we all, if you think about it. But to stray away from that technical bullshit, I've never really had a mental picture of myself as woman/female. It's just never been the way I've thought of myself. It's not like any of that was active or anything. I just assumed that someday I would start to feel like a woman like everyone else and that things would be okay. But that never happened. And I always felt like there was some big secret that was being kept from me. It's kind of ridiculous how much this makes sense for me, but that doesn't mean that I'm not terrified. It's something that's unknown. That's always scary.
I feel like I might start to repeat myself soon. Oh well. That's probably going to happen a lot in the next few months. I keep wondering if a lot of these fears are coming from failing to meet the expectations of others. There is so much that people expect of me or have planned for me or that people think that I want out of life. And maybe I've wanted some of those things as well. I sort of felt the same way about coming out the first time. I felt that those typical American dreams of the future just disintegrated. It sort of killed me at the time, and there are times when I think about what I may be missing out on and get a little depressed. But when I really start thinking, I'm so happy that this is where I am with my sexuality because now I feel like the rest of the world is missing out on what I have experienced and what I have to offer.
And even though I'm thinking about this all the time now and am worrying like crazy all the time, I know that I don't want my entire life to be about my transition. However, I know that I'm the kind of person who will forever be in that state. I will never be fully male or female, masculine or feminine. I'm transgender. And I'm okay with that. I'd rather be that than be stuck with a label that doesn't always fit. But I'm going to choose the side I feel closer to, and I know somewhere inside that it's going to bring me peace. Anyway, to get back to my point, at some point I'm going to want to stop thinking about it and just be a fucking human being and live my life and have fun like I've always done. I don't see why there isn't any reason that that couldn't happen. I guess it's like getting a dramatic haircut/losing a lot of weight. For a while, it's all that people notice and talk about, but after some time, it just becomes another part of you.
There's so much to think about, and I am getting a little dizzy, but that's most likely from the pigs in my bloodstream.
I keep trying to figure out the first words I should say to my parents, the first words I need to write to my brother. I want to come up with a plan, and depending on how it goes when I do tell my family, I may need an escape plan. This needs to happen soon. It can only get more complicated the longer I wait, and that goes for every situation. This kind of thing won't be any easier when I'm in med school or out in the real world. In fact, this might be the easiest time of all. Above all, I have to keep reminding myself that things are going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.
--------------------------
It takes courage to push yourself to places that you have never been before... to test your limits... to break through barriers. And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight inside the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom
Anais Nin
Monday, October 26, 2009
from Trans Liberation by Feinberg
Chapter 1. We are all works in progress.
The sight of the pink-blue gender-coded infant outfits may grate on your nerves. Or you may be a woman or a man who feels at home in those categories. Trans liberation defends you both.
Each person should have the right to choose between pink or blue tinted gender categories, as well as all the other hues of the palette. At this moment in time, that right is denied to us...
I'll give you a graphic example. From December 1995-December 1996 I was dying of endocarditis--a bacterial infection that lodges and proliferates in the valves of the heart. A simple blood culture would have immediately exposed the root cause of my raging fevers. Eight weeks of round the clock intravenous antibiotic drips would have eradicated every last seedling of bacterium in the canals of my heart. Yet I experienced such hatred from some health practitioners that I very nearly died.
I remember late one night in December my lover and I arrived at a hospital emergency room during a snowstorm. My fever was 104 degrees and rising. My blood pressure was pounding dangerously high. The staff immediately hooked me up to monitors and worked to bring down my fever. The doctor in charge began physically examining me. When he determined that my anatomy was female, he flashed me a mean-spirited smirk. While keeping his eyes fixed on me, he approached one of the nurses, seated at a desk, and began rubbing her neck and shoulders. He talked to her about sex for a few minutes. After his pointed demonstration of "normal sexuality," he told me to get dressed and then he stormed out of the room. Still delirious, I struggled to put on my clothes and make sense of what was happening.
The doctor returned after I was dressed. He ordered me to leave the hospital and never return. I refused. I told him I wouldn't leave until he could tell me why my fever was so high. He said, "You have a fever because you are a very troubled person."
This doctor's prejudices, directed at me during a moment of catastrophic illness, could have killed me. The death certificate would have read: Endocarditis. By all rights, it should have read: Bigotry.
As my partner and I sat bundled up in a cold car outside the emergency room, still reverberating from the doctor's hatred, I thought about how many people have been turned away from medical care when they were desperately ill--some because an apartheid "whites only" sign hung over the emergency room entrance, or some because their visible Kaposi's sarcoma lesions kept personnel far from their beds. I remembered how a blemish that wouldn't heal drove my mother to visit her doctor repeatedly during the 1950s. I recalled the doctor finally wrote a prescription for Valium because he decided she was a hysterical woman. When my mother finally got to specialists, they told her the cancer had already reached her brain.
Bigotry exacts its toll in flesh and blood. And left unchecked and unchallenged, prejudices create a poisonous climate for us all. Each of us has a stake in the demand that every human being has a right to a job, to shelter, to health care, to dignity, to respect.
I am very grateful to have this chance to open up a conversation with you about why it is so vital to also defend the right of individuals to express and define their sex and gender, and to control their own bodies. For me, it's a life-and-death question. But I also believe that this discussion will have great meaning for you. All your life you've heard such dogma about what it means to be a "real" woman or a "real" man. And chances are you've choked on some of it. You've balked at the idea that being a real woman means having to be thin as a rail, emotionally nurturing, and an airhead when it comes to balancing her checkbook. You know in your guts that being a man has nothing to do with rippling muscles, innate courage, or knowing how to handle a chainsaw.These are really caricatures. Yet these images have been drilled into us through popular culture and education over the years. And subtler, equally insidious messages lurk in the interstices of these grosser concepts. These ideas of what is a "real" woman or man should be straightjacket the freedom of individual self-expression. These gender messages play on and on in a continuous loop in our brains, like commercials that can't be muted...
We are a movement of masculine females and feminine males, cross-dressers, transsexual mean and women, intersexuals born on the anatomical sweep between male and female, gender-blenders, many other sex and gender-variant people, and our significant others. All told, we expand understanding of how many ways there are to be a human being.
Our lives are proof that sex and gender are much more complex than a delivery room doctor's glance at genitals can determine, more variegated than pink or blue birth caps. We are oppressed for not fitting those narrow social norms. We are fighting back.
Our struggle will also help expose some of the harmful myths about what it means to be a woman or a man that have compartmentalized and distorted your life, as well as mine. Trans liberation has meaning for you--no matter how you define or express your sex or your gender.
If you are a trans person, you face horrendous social punishment--from institutionalization, to gang rape, from beatings to denial of child visitation. This oppression is faced, in varying degrees, by all who march under the banner of trans liberation. This brutalization and degradation strips us of what we could achieve with our individual lifetimes.
And if you do not identify as transgender or transsexual or intersexual, your life is diminished by our oppression as well. your own choices as a man or a woman are sharply curtailed. Your individual journey to express yourself is shunted into one of two deeply carved ruts, and the social baggage you are handed is already packed.
So the defense of each individual's right to control their own body, and to explore the path of self-expression, enhances your own freedom to discover more about yourself and your potentialities. This movement will give you more room to breathe--to be yourself. To discover on a deeper level what it means to be your self.
Together, I believe we can forge a coalition that can fight on behalf of your oppression as well as mine. Together, we can raise each other's grievances and win the kind of significant change we all long for. But the foundation of unity is understanding. So let me begin by telling you a little bit about myself.
I am a human being who unnerves some people. As they look at me, they see a kaleidoscope of characteristics they associate with both males and females. I appear to be a tangled knot of gender contradictions. So they feverishly press the question on me: woman or man? Those are the only two words most people have as tools to shape their question.
"Which sex are you?" I understand their question. It sounds so simple. And I'd like to offer them a simple resolution. But merely answering woman or man will not bring relief to the questioner. As long as people try to bring me into focus using only those two lenses, I will always appear to be an enigma.
The truth is I'm no mystery. I'm a female who is more masculine than those prominently portrayed in mass culture. Millions of females and millions of males in this country do not fit the cramped compartments of gender that we have been taught are "natural" and "normal". For many of us, the words woman or man, ma'am or sir, she or he--in and of themselves--do not total up the sum of our identities or of our oppressions. Speaking for myself, my life only comes into focus when the word transgender is added to the equation.
Simply answering whether I was born female or male will not solve the conundrum. Before I can even begin to respond to the question of my own birth sex, I feel it's important to challenge the assumption that the answer is always as simple as either-or. I believe we need to take a critical look at the assumption that is built into the seemingly innocent question: "What a beautiful baby--is it a boy or a girl?"
The human anatomical spectrum can't be understood, let alone appreciated, as long as female or male are considered to be all that exists. "Is it a boy or a girl?" Those are the only two categories allowed on birth certificates.
But this either-or leaves no room for intersexual people, born between the poles of female and male. Human anatomy continues to burst the confines of the contemporary concept that nature delivers all babies on two unrelated conveyor belts. So are the birth certificates changed to reflect human anatomy? No, the US medical establishment hormonally molds and shapes and surgically hacks away at the exquisite complexities of intersexual infants until they neatly fit one category or the other.
A surgeon decides whether a clitoris is "too large" or a penis is "too small." That's a highly subjective decision for anyone to male about another person's body. Especially when the person making the arbitrary decision is scrubbed up for surgery! And what is the criterion for a penis being "too small"? Too small for successful heterosexual intercourse. Intersexual infants are already being tailored for their sexuality, as well as their sex. The infants have no say over what happens to their bodies. Clearly the struggle against genital mutilation must begin here, within the borders of the United States.
But the question asked of all new parents: "Is it a boy or a girl?" is not such a simple question when transsexuality is taken into account, either. Legions of out-and-proud transsexual men and women demonstrate that individuals have a deep, developed, and valid sense of their own sex that does not always correspond to the cursory decision made by a delivery room obstetrician. Nor is transsexuality a recent phenomenon. People have undergone social sex reassignment and surgical and hormonal sex changes throughout the breadth of oral and recorded human history.
Having offered this view of the complexities and limitations of birth classification, I have no hesitancy in saying I was born female. But that answer doesn't clear up the confusion that drives some people to ask me "Are you a man or a woman?" The problem is that they are trying to understand my gender expression by determining my sex--and therein lies the rub! Just as most of us grew up with only the concepts of woman and man, the terms feminine and masculine are the only two tools most people have to talk about the complexities of gender expression.
That pink-blue dogma assumes that biology steers our social destiny. We have been taught that being born female or male will determine how we will dress and walk, whether we will prefer our hair shortly cropped or long and flowing, whether we will be emotionally nurturing or repressed. According to this way of thinking, masculine females are trying to look "like men" and feminine males are trying to act "like women".
But those of us who transgress those gender assumptions also shatter their inflexibility.
So why do I sometimes describe myself as a masculine female? Isn't each of those concepts very limiting? Yes. But placing the two words together is incendiary, exploding the belief that gender expression is linked to birth sex like horse and carriage. It is the social contradiction missing from Dick-and-Jane textbook education.
I actually chafe at describing myself as masculine. For one thing, masculinity is such an expansive territory, encompassing boundaries of nationality, race, and class. Most importantly, individuals blaze their own trails across this landscape.
And it's hard for me to label the intricate matrix of my gender as simply masculine. To me, branding individual self-expression as simply feminine or masculine is like asking poets: Do you write in English or Spanish? The question leaves out the possibilities that the poetry is woven in Cantonese or Ladino, Swahili, or Arabic. The question deals only with the system of language that the poet has been taught. It ignores the words each writer hauls up, hand over hand, from a common well. The music words make when finding themselves next to each other for the first time. The silences echoing in the space between ideas. The powerful winds of passion and belief that move the poet to write.
That is why I do not hold the view that gender is simply a social construct--one of the two languages that we learn by rote from early age. To me, gender is the poetry each of us makes out of the language we are taught. When I walk through the anthology of the world, I see individuals express their gender in exquisitely complex and ever-changing ways, despite the laws of pentameter.
The sight of the pink-blue gender-coded infant outfits may grate on your nerves. Or you may be a woman or a man who feels at home in those categories. Trans liberation defends you both.
Each person should have the right to choose between pink or blue tinted gender categories, as well as all the other hues of the palette. At this moment in time, that right is denied to us...
I'll give you a graphic example. From December 1995-December 1996 I was dying of endocarditis--a bacterial infection that lodges and proliferates in the valves of the heart. A simple blood culture would have immediately exposed the root cause of my raging fevers. Eight weeks of round the clock intravenous antibiotic drips would have eradicated every last seedling of bacterium in the canals of my heart. Yet I experienced such hatred from some health practitioners that I very nearly died.
I remember late one night in December my lover and I arrived at a hospital emergency room during a snowstorm. My fever was 104 degrees and rising. My blood pressure was pounding dangerously high. The staff immediately hooked me up to monitors and worked to bring down my fever. The doctor in charge began physically examining me. When he determined that my anatomy was female, he flashed me a mean-spirited smirk. While keeping his eyes fixed on me, he approached one of the nurses, seated at a desk, and began rubbing her neck and shoulders. He talked to her about sex for a few minutes. After his pointed demonstration of "normal sexuality," he told me to get dressed and then he stormed out of the room. Still delirious, I struggled to put on my clothes and make sense of what was happening.
The doctor returned after I was dressed. He ordered me to leave the hospital and never return. I refused. I told him I wouldn't leave until he could tell me why my fever was so high. He said, "You have a fever because you are a very troubled person."
This doctor's prejudices, directed at me during a moment of catastrophic illness, could have killed me. The death certificate would have read: Endocarditis. By all rights, it should have read: Bigotry.
As my partner and I sat bundled up in a cold car outside the emergency room, still reverberating from the doctor's hatred, I thought about how many people have been turned away from medical care when they were desperately ill--some because an apartheid "whites only" sign hung over the emergency room entrance, or some because their visible Kaposi's sarcoma lesions kept personnel far from their beds. I remembered how a blemish that wouldn't heal drove my mother to visit her doctor repeatedly during the 1950s. I recalled the doctor finally wrote a prescription for Valium because he decided she was a hysterical woman. When my mother finally got to specialists, they told her the cancer had already reached her brain.
Bigotry exacts its toll in flesh and blood. And left unchecked and unchallenged, prejudices create a poisonous climate for us all. Each of us has a stake in the demand that every human being has a right to a job, to shelter, to health care, to dignity, to respect.
I am very grateful to have this chance to open up a conversation with you about why it is so vital to also defend the right of individuals to express and define their sex and gender, and to control their own bodies. For me, it's a life-and-death question. But I also believe that this discussion will have great meaning for you. All your life you've heard such dogma about what it means to be a "real" woman or a "real" man. And chances are you've choked on some of it. You've balked at the idea that being a real woman means having to be thin as a rail, emotionally nurturing, and an airhead when it comes to balancing her checkbook. You know in your guts that being a man has nothing to do with rippling muscles, innate courage, or knowing how to handle a chainsaw.These are really caricatures. Yet these images have been drilled into us through popular culture and education over the years. And subtler, equally insidious messages lurk in the interstices of these grosser concepts. These ideas of what is a "real" woman or man should be straightjacket the freedom of individual self-expression. These gender messages play on and on in a continuous loop in our brains, like commercials that can't be muted...
We are a movement of masculine females and feminine males, cross-dressers, transsexual mean and women, intersexuals born on the anatomical sweep between male and female, gender-blenders, many other sex and gender-variant people, and our significant others. All told, we expand understanding of how many ways there are to be a human being.
Our lives are proof that sex and gender are much more complex than a delivery room doctor's glance at genitals can determine, more variegated than pink or blue birth caps. We are oppressed for not fitting those narrow social norms. We are fighting back.
Our struggle will also help expose some of the harmful myths about what it means to be a woman or a man that have compartmentalized and distorted your life, as well as mine. Trans liberation has meaning for you--no matter how you define or express your sex or your gender.
If you are a trans person, you face horrendous social punishment--from institutionalization, to gang rape, from beatings to denial of child visitation. This oppression is faced, in varying degrees, by all who march under the banner of trans liberation. This brutalization and degradation strips us of what we could achieve with our individual lifetimes.
And if you do not identify as transgender or transsexual or intersexual, your life is diminished by our oppression as well. your own choices as a man or a woman are sharply curtailed. Your individual journey to express yourself is shunted into one of two deeply carved ruts, and the social baggage you are handed is already packed.
So the defense of each individual's right to control their own body, and to explore the path of self-expression, enhances your own freedom to discover more about yourself and your potentialities. This movement will give you more room to breathe--to be yourself. To discover on a deeper level what it means to be your self.
Together, I believe we can forge a coalition that can fight on behalf of your oppression as well as mine. Together, we can raise each other's grievances and win the kind of significant change we all long for. But the foundation of unity is understanding. So let me begin by telling you a little bit about myself.
I am a human being who unnerves some people. As they look at me, they see a kaleidoscope of characteristics they associate with both males and females. I appear to be a tangled knot of gender contradictions. So they feverishly press the question on me: woman or man? Those are the only two words most people have as tools to shape their question.
"Which sex are you?" I understand their question. It sounds so simple. And I'd like to offer them a simple resolution. But merely answering woman or man will not bring relief to the questioner. As long as people try to bring me into focus using only those two lenses, I will always appear to be an enigma.
The truth is I'm no mystery. I'm a female who is more masculine than those prominently portrayed in mass culture. Millions of females and millions of males in this country do not fit the cramped compartments of gender that we have been taught are "natural" and "normal". For many of us, the words woman or man, ma'am or sir, she or he--in and of themselves--do not total up the sum of our identities or of our oppressions. Speaking for myself, my life only comes into focus when the word transgender is added to the equation.
Simply answering whether I was born female or male will not solve the conundrum. Before I can even begin to respond to the question of my own birth sex, I feel it's important to challenge the assumption that the answer is always as simple as either-or. I believe we need to take a critical look at the assumption that is built into the seemingly innocent question: "What a beautiful baby--is it a boy or a girl?"
The human anatomical spectrum can't be understood, let alone appreciated, as long as female or male are considered to be all that exists. "Is it a boy or a girl?" Those are the only two categories allowed on birth certificates.
But this either-or leaves no room for intersexual people, born between the poles of female and male. Human anatomy continues to burst the confines of the contemporary concept that nature delivers all babies on two unrelated conveyor belts. So are the birth certificates changed to reflect human anatomy? No, the US medical establishment hormonally molds and shapes and surgically hacks away at the exquisite complexities of intersexual infants until they neatly fit one category or the other.
A surgeon decides whether a clitoris is "too large" or a penis is "too small." That's a highly subjective decision for anyone to male about another person's body. Especially when the person making the arbitrary decision is scrubbed up for surgery! And what is the criterion for a penis being "too small"? Too small for successful heterosexual intercourse. Intersexual infants are already being tailored for their sexuality, as well as their sex. The infants have no say over what happens to their bodies. Clearly the struggle against genital mutilation must begin here, within the borders of the United States.
But the question asked of all new parents: "Is it a boy or a girl?" is not such a simple question when transsexuality is taken into account, either. Legions of out-and-proud transsexual men and women demonstrate that individuals have a deep, developed, and valid sense of their own sex that does not always correspond to the cursory decision made by a delivery room obstetrician. Nor is transsexuality a recent phenomenon. People have undergone social sex reassignment and surgical and hormonal sex changes throughout the breadth of oral and recorded human history.
Having offered this view of the complexities and limitations of birth classification, I have no hesitancy in saying I was born female. But that answer doesn't clear up the confusion that drives some people to ask me "Are you a man or a woman?" The problem is that they are trying to understand my gender expression by determining my sex--and therein lies the rub! Just as most of us grew up with only the concepts of woman and man, the terms feminine and masculine are the only two tools most people have to talk about the complexities of gender expression.
That pink-blue dogma assumes that biology steers our social destiny. We have been taught that being born female or male will determine how we will dress and walk, whether we will prefer our hair shortly cropped or long and flowing, whether we will be emotionally nurturing or repressed. According to this way of thinking, masculine females are trying to look "like men" and feminine males are trying to act "like women".
But those of us who transgress those gender assumptions also shatter their inflexibility.
So why do I sometimes describe myself as a masculine female? Isn't each of those concepts very limiting? Yes. But placing the two words together is incendiary, exploding the belief that gender expression is linked to birth sex like horse and carriage. It is the social contradiction missing from Dick-and-Jane textbook education.
I actually chafe at describing myself as masculine. For one thing, masculinity is such an expansive territory, encompassing boundaries of nationality, race, and class. Most importantly, individuals blaze their own trails across this landscape.
And it's hard for me to label the intricate matrix of my gender as simply masculine. To me, branding individual self-expression as simply feminine or masculine is like asking poets: Do you write in English or Spanish? The question leaves out the possibilities that the poetry is woven in Cantonese or Ladino, Swahili, or Arabic. The question deals only with the system of language that the poet has been taught. It ignores the words each writer hauls up, hand over hand, from a common well. The music words make when finding themselves next to each other for the first time. The silences echoing in the space between ideas. The powerful winds of passion and belief that move the poet to write.
That is why I do not hold the view that gender is simply a social construct--one of the two languages that we learn by rote from early age. To me, gender is the poetry each of us makes out of the language we are taught. When I walk through the anthology of the world, I see individuals express their gender in exquisitely complex and ever-changing ways, despite the laws of pentameter.
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