Wednesday, December 5, 2018

Just a Thought

Maybe this is as far as this journey is meant to go.

Saturday, November 3, 2018

The Inevitable

It happened again.

I just learned that November 1st is Autistics Speaking Day. And that's when it happened.

I had been getting increasingly anxious about transitioning from tap class to jazz class for the next month. We knew this was happening, and I'd been anxious to learn a new style. I've only ever been instructed in hip hop, and I'll admit my technique is a bit messy due to my original learning environment, but I don't think I'm too bad considering I learned to dance under a bridge with a bunch of kids from around the city as a teenager, all while hiding this from the people I knew because I didn't want to appear feminine in any way. I hid it for a long time because I still wasn't as good as I feel like I should have been. I've always had pretty unrealistic standards for myself, and that's what set me up for failure this time.

I couldn't visualize the class going well, which should have been a sign for me. I knew that a meltdown was likely. It was all so new, and with my brother's accident, the Pittsburgh incident, and the general stress of work and life hitting me all at once in the days preceding, I was probably at my limit. I went anyway.

The beginning of the class actually went pretty well. We warmed up a bit and stretched, and I'm pretty damn flexible, so it felt good to actually be good at something. But things got complicated quickly. Maybe that wording isn't quite right. The steps were easy enough, but my brain couldn't work to put them together in the moment, which only made me more frustrated and embarrassed. When we got to completely new things, I just couldn't even make my body move to try. I was apparently digging at my head, and I know I went to the corner and stopped making eye contact altogether. Jackson tried to help by telling me to "get water", which usually means I should step outside to collect myself, but I wasn't able to get that, or maybe I refused to. I was afraid that leaving the room would actually make it worse. I knew I needed to stay even if I didn't do anything. I was still taking in the information even if I couldn't move. I was still processing, still trying. There is effort even in stillness, even in chaos. That's one of the things that's been most difficult to explain. You may not see anything happening, but--in these situations--I'm honestly trying as hard as I can. Some of that energy goes into the task at hand, while some of it goes into making sure I don't completely fall apart.

The worst of it came at the end of class, when everyone started talking. There was a loud burst of laughter that startled me. I slammed my hands against the wall without being able to even think about it. I had no time to stop myself. I scared everyone. And then when they left, we fought. We'd made a plan to stay and practice afterwards, but he wanted to go home. Given the state I was in, all I wanted to do was stick to the plan. To finish what needed to be finished and feel like something had gone right. I didn't pay attention to his emotional needs because I was too focused on my own, and I made things worse. Maybe I shouldn't be saying this. But it's important to know that these things happen. We talked it out, and we both learned a few new things. But here's the thing. These situations, however infrequent they become, are absolutely going to happen. I can't change the way my brain works. I can only change how I prepare for situations and how I respond to them. In the moment, it's impossible to make those changes.

In spite of everything that went on, I'm trying to focus on what went right. I did not become entirely disruptive. I may have clawed at my head and stood in the corner, but there was no screaming. There was no banging until the very end, just that one time. More importantly, I'm not deterred from going back, and I am not afraid that it will happen again. It's almost as if I feel that the worst has already happened--that I can never look any worse than that. I have nothing to lose, and I still want to try. I still want to learn. I accept that things will feel awkward at first. I'm ready to try again. To start over. And I don't feel like running away or giving up. In addition, while my mood may have been off that night, I didn't stay in the "meltdown/shutdown state" for long. By this morning, I was mostly fine. This is progress. I know the things I need to work on, but I really have to acknowledge the things that I have been able to improve.

I also need to mention this before I forget. It's been a few days since I've had my lithium due to some issues with the pharmacy. And, other than the incident Thursday, I've felt fine. Not just fine. Better than fine. I have more energy overall, I feel more focused, and I'm generally happier. This happened the last two times we had pharmacy hiccups. I'm worried that the lithium is making things worse, but I'm hesitant to stop. I did stop taking both medications for a few weeks last winter, and that went VERY poorly, but I did so without talking to my doctor. I may mention it this time to get his thoughts. I've accepted that I may need the medication, but given how I've felt, it's worth asking.

My head is still spinning. One post-meltdown side-effect that I'm experiencing is this sort of eerie silence in my mind. It's not complete or ever-present. I can't tell if it's clarity or numbness, or a little of both. It still hasn't detracted from the overall positive feeling I've been experiencing. Needless to say, I've been a bit confused by my own emotions for the past few days. I'm hoping to get more words out as they come. I spend far too little time writing for myself these days. I'm sure I'll have plenty of time after surgery, which is in 67 days. Get ready for all the shirtless pictures. I've got 10 years of them to make up for.

Tuesday, October 30, 2018

Processing Attempt

This weekend, eleven people were murdered in a Pittsburgh synagogue. My brain is still processing everything that has happened. Maybe there are no words anymore. Maybe there never will be. What do you say when you're starting to lose count of the number of times you've had to check to make sure your friends are alive? Welcome to Trump's America.

It's hard to balance my emotions right now. The weight of this tragedy, this administration's persistence in denying the existence and rights of trans people, and the emboldening of hate groups around the country have drawn my attention away from some very positive things going on in my life. As difficult as it is, I want to focus on those things for a moment.

Last week, on my mother's birthday, I had my top surgery consult with Dr. Ramineni in D.C. The process was almost effortless, and the entire staff couldn't have been more professional. I walked out with a surgery date. All I need to do is submit my letter. Here's the interesting part. Throughout the process, I've felt relatively subdued. I know that I am excited, but it's definitely not showing through. Maybe I'm worried that something will happen to alter my plans. Or maybe it's just been so long--so overdue--that it just needs to happen like any other medical procedure. Maybe I'm just ready. Ready to take my final step toward living my truth. Ready to feel the sun on my skin in the summer. Ready to see myself for what will feel like the first time, I'm sure. I don't think it will fully sink in until that day, or until I see the final result. The emotions will come in time. Knowing me, they'll hit me all at once.

I've talked with two potential grad school mentors on opposite sides of the country, and both conversations went exceedingly well. The researcher at UMD wants me to come up for a visit to the lab after I submit my application. I finally feel like I'm moving forward with my career plans, and I do have a good feeling about at least one program. I'm worried about the financial burden of taking a drastic cut in pay to attend school again, but I know that will be temporary.

I'm 30 years old, and I decided to learn something new. I started learning to tap, and after four classes, there are some things I can do up to speed with everyone else, and many of these people have been doing this their whole lives. I'm still a beginner, clearly. But I've learned a hell of a lot in a short amount of time, and my focus has increased overall. I'm doing more. I'm getting more done in general, and I'm slowly getting better at regulating my emotions. I've been on the edge recently, contemplating whether I should return to the hospital almost daily. The only reason I hadn't? Grad school applications and those phone calls. I needed to make it at least that far. Now, I can take a break from work to tap for 20 or 30 minutes, feeling refocused and energized afterwards. I want to see how far I can get. However, the class is shifting to jazz for the next month, so it looks like I'll be on my own for the most part, at least for a little while. If I had the extra money, I'd pay for private lessons. I expected to enjoy it, but I've fallen in love with it, and I really want to get better.

All of this has happened within this past year, and I think that's something to be thankful for. Right now, I'm also thankful that my brother is alive. He was in an accident last night and had to have surgery this afternoon. With all the plates, screws, and bone grafts, I'm worried that he may not have full function in his wrist/hand ever again, but it looks like he's going to be okay for the most part. I'll know more tomorrow.

I feel like I'm still trying to synthesize everything that's been going on. I still sort of feel like I'm struggling to keep my head above water, but it's manageable right now. Taking this break from performing to focus on school and my own life has helped, and it's given me the opportunity to plan some really awesome numbers for my comeback after surgery.

Sunday, September 16, 2018

Grad School, Mental Health

It's been an exhausting weekend of performing and meeting with old professors/advisers to discuss my plans for graduate school. Luckily, my Sunday evening plans had been canceled, saving me the trouble of using spoons I just don't have right now. I have a lot to think about, and some of this feels like starting the process all over again.

My former research adviser noted that the main weakness in my application would be my lack of research experience beyond undergrad--pretty much what I expected as well. She also made the point that my research interests and desire to see my work put into practice when working with individuals with disabilities may align well with certain rehabilitation sciences programs, which may place less of an emphasis on extensive research experience during the admissions process. I've identified a few more program options over the past several days, but I honestly didn't expect to have to shift directions this much. I think I am still going to apply to my top choices in neuroscience/psychology while exploring these other programs.

I know I have a little less than 2 months to get everything in, but that honestly feels like such a short amount of time given everything that I have going on, especially if I have to contact a dozen or so additional people. I suppose I know what I'll be doing in my spare time this week.

Shifting gears a little...

I spent a lot of Saturday night following the show in a sort of trance, though I descended towards full-blown meltdown territory on the car ride back to the hotel. We had planned on staying out a little later, and I felt like I was fighting myself the whole time. I struggled to sit still and avoid screaming. I'm nowhere near that point this evening, but the urge to scream and thrash tends to come and go these days. I know I need a break. I'm taking one as soon as I can, while trying to avoid the need to say yes to everyone about everything. I'm scared that I won't make it. I'm scared that everything will fall apart again. I normally wouldn't even care, but I'm finally working towards something that matters to me instead of just getting through each day. But that's proving more taxing than I thought. I don't think it would be nearly as bad without the travel every weekend, and I know that's something that I'll have to consider in the coming months.

I feel like I keep losing my train of thought. I'm tired all the time but can't sleep. I wonder if this increase in medication dosage has actually made things worse. It doesn't feel any better, but I don't want to keep increasing doses because that's what always seems to happen, with pretty dismal consequences. I still wonder if I really need the medication--if I can resolve my issues by taking control of my environment more effectively--but I don't think that's a decision I can make right now. If the medication worked in a way that allowed me to do that, I could understand. It just seems to get me moving and out of bed, but with all the same mental anguish and anxiety. I'm so over all of this that I want to give up, but I also know that that leads to its own set of problems.

I don't know what the hell is going on in my life anymore.

Wednesday, September 12, 2018

Rambling about "Motivational" Speakers

Oh look. More generic "inspirational" messages from people trying to be motivational speakers. Like, does this crap actually help anybody? I feel like I just watched 5 minutes of fluff and 20 seconds of an actual point. Granted, some of these people have done a lot for the community, but sometimes I have to roll my eyes because, while it may be just me, I take little comfort in those "everything is going to be alright"/"look at me! i did it so you can!" videos. I prefer people who provide a critical analysis of the problematic shit that fuels feelings of hopelessness, anxiety, and isolation among queer individuals. I'm not really here for your feel-good pieces, but I suppose that's what's most marketable because people love their easy answers.

I know there is a need for young queer people to hear positive messages, though, so I acknowledge that my feelings might be a bit misdirected. But I think they also need to know that it's okay to not be okay. That simply putting on a brave face and powering through isn't always the best choice for your mental health. "It gets better" has always been a problematic phrase for me.

Because it doesn't just get better. Not on its own anyway. You learn to make it better. You learn to claim agency in your own life, you learn to set limits, you learn to cope. It gets better when you realize that you have the power to make it better, even if that's just in small ways. And, as I've said before, better doesn't always mean easier.

The last thing I need to hear when I'm really not okay is that I'm going to be okay. Maybe that's true in a way, but unless I deal with whatever is making me not okay, I won't actually be able to let it go enough to be okay. My brain doesn't work that way. I obsess over mistakes I made 20 years ago, so you can imagine what real problems do to me. Sorry for rambling a bit, but I think I'm getting to a breakthrough point here. What do I need in those situations? First, I need to get it out there. I need someone to talk to me about what's going on, and not just on a surface level. It'd be nice not to have to have those conversations with myself: "What is the worst thing about the way you are feeling right now?" "Do you think anything specific/any combination of things is making this worse right now?" "Can you improve this by taking care of any of those other things first?" I appreciate supportive statements as well, but I feel that generic advice is unhelpful in these situations. I think that offering advice without knowing the full situation or asking what has or hasn't worked is kind of presumptuous. If one more person tells me I need to try deep breathing exercises, I will scream. Seriously.

I've learned a lot about how to manage my own mental health. And how not to. When I finally get to the point where I can't, it's usually because EVERYTHING has failed to help. I've never really had a decent therapist. At least not one who has been able to provide truly novel insights. I'm a shit show right now. I'm doing my best, but I'm not doing well. Sometimes I feel like running away. Running home, even though I am home. I've gotten to the point where I get anxious/overwhelmed by having to do anything at all. I'm taking a break from a lot of things starting sometime in October. I'm hoping this helps. A few days/weeks at a time just doesn't seem to work. I still fear that I'll have to return to the hospital before long. The thoughts hit me at random times. I feel like screaming quite often. I hate this medication and what it does to me physically. I wonder if I really need it. I wonder if getting past the withdrawal phase would change things. But I'm scared to try, and I'm scared to ask. It's not that I have a bad relationship with my doctor, but I wish I felt like I could really open up. It just feels...very sterile, I guess. 

The thing is, I am having more of those days where I feel fucking amazing. Where I'm bouncing off the walls ready to do everything, but still unable to focus on anything long enough to get a lot done. The problem is that I can hit rock bottom the same day. This can happen multiple times in a day, even in an hour. I keep wondering how I will ever be able to live with this outside of my own house. I've been fortunate enough to have a place where I can hide from the world to deal with this for years. If I want to move forward in my life, I won't have that luxury. Maybe that's been part of the problem, but I know I won't have the balance I need. I don't know what this means I should do, but I feel like I at least have to try. I'll just end up regretting it if I don't. 

I wish I could talk about everything that's going on, but I'm entering some new territory. It's largely positive, but things are probably about to get a lot more complicated. 

Thursday, August 23, 2018

This is 30

A few years ago, I remember writing something in a journal of mine that eventually became an Instagram post, fully filtered and angled appropriately, back when filters weren't entirely frowned upon by the faces in the shadows of the internet:

"Let me always feel like the best is yet to come."

So, I'm 30 now. That's a lot to take in for someone who feels both 15 and 55 at the same time. Obviously, nothing has really changed in the span of a few weeks, other than what I've known to be changing over the last several years. I'm still bald as fuck, and maybe that's the worst of it physically. I can't drink like I used to, but I don't want to anyway. However, the one major change that's been messing with me for the past 5 years is that my ability to handle mental and emotional stress has gotten progressively worse, rather than better. I can't seem to go a year without making a trip to a mental hospital. Medications just seem to lose their efficacy after a few months, and ECT left me at a loss for some of the most important memories in my life, and I'm terrified to risk that again. What's the use of being happy if you can't remember why you should be?

I know the reasons behind this are partly physically, partly psychological, and that the two are inseparable. I hurt myself. I'm broken and very likely can't be fixed, although--if I'm being really honest here--I haven't exactly been trying for the past year. Earlier this year, we drove 4 hours to Pittsburgh for an interventional radiology appointment, which we were informed was cancelled for me only when I had already checked in and filled out all the necessary paperwork. I was so frustrated by that that I think I just gave up. I spent three full years constantly focused on improving the pain, so much so that there wasn't really room for anything else in my life. I've made that room by pushing my medical concerns aside, but they still occupy a great deal of my emotional resources. My goal now is not so much to be pain free, but to be at a level of pain where I can still do the things I love to do. I want to dance again, on the floor and in the air. I want to be able to jump and land without feeling those painful vibrations throughout my torso. I want to be able to do simple things like make the bed and pick things up off the floor without holding on to something. I've gotten pretty good at avoiding tasks and working around my limitations, but I'd rather work through them. I want to feel useful. Even though that shouldn't be a requirement for a fulfilling life, it is for me. As I've said many times before, I want to stop feeling like I'm weighed down, both physically and otherwise. A little pain doesn't bother me, but there's only so much that one person can take. 

I fear that these physical limitations will only worsen if I keep up like this. I do a pretty good job of managing what I can by staying in shape, by keeping my muscles strong and functional, but I'm starting to feel like that's not enough. I've lived here over a year and still don't have a PCP. I also may not live here by this time next year. I feel like I've been hiding from life, sometimes by choice, sometimes not. 

I'm applying to grad school for the second time, but this time, my options are located all across the country. We're still working on what happens if I get into a school somewhere else and Jackson gets a different job at the agency. I've written before about my fears regarding my ability to handle the intensity of a graduate program, so I won't harp on that for too long. There's another possibility that terrifies me, though. What if I don't get in at all, again? What happens with my life? What direction will I take, and would there be any point in trying a third time with little chance of gaining any extra experience? I think my mind is already preparing me for that mental breakdown. The last time I received those rejection letters, I had just moved to Pittsburgh, ready to start a new life in a familiar place. I entered a new relationship a few weeks after moving there. Within a few months, I was in the psych ward again, and I haven't really had the time to stop and think about life for very long since. There was my injury, my medication-induced psychotic break, moving every 6-8 months, his cancer, his dad's cancer...It just never stopped. So I kept moving forward with life, without really knowing when I'd be able to stop and think about what I wanted it to be. 

I spend a lot of time alone these days, working from home. I've had a lot of time to think about grad school given what I do now. This is also the longest I've held any kind of job without having to quit due to overload. I know this is the right path for me. I'm just hoping that it's not too late for others to see that as well. I'm hoping that, yes, the best will be to come in this next decade of life.

It's been almost 10 years since I began my transition, since I first posted a video in March of 2009 crying my eyes out about how much harder my life was about to get. While it's hard to believe that parts of college were over 10 years ago, I remember many things pretty clearly. For the other stuff, it's probably best that I don't remember it. I remember seeing my chest in a binder for the first time, my first drag show, the beginnings of HMH and TransPride, the places I lived and the people who came to know me. Many of them have long since moved on from Pittsburgh, with more and more leaving as time goes on. Most of the people that made Pittsburgh home for me are gone, but there are new faces, and I'm the one they look up to now (or despise, with no in-between). Pittsburgh will always hold a special place in my heart, and I frequently feel drawn back, and I can't always explain why. Cruze is closing in a few weeks, and that itself feels like another nail in the coffin. 

Last month, I got the chance to do something few people will ever get to do. I became the first completely pre-op trans man to model for Andrew Christian. I still can't believe it. It still feels unreal. I was supposed to do an AC fashion show at the end of the month, but due to some issues with overbooking models (or so I'm told), they pulled me since I was traveling the farthest. I spent very little time in LA, but it also felt like home, but in different ways. It had that new-home feel. It felt exciting. Full of opportunity, but a bit overwhelming at times. I still don't know where I belong, and I expect that it will change throughout my life. I still miss my friends. I long for us to be together again. I've figured out that that's what they mean when they say the "good old days". Things were a lot simpler overall, and we were all in the same place trying to navigate our lives. We celebrated our victories and mourned our losses together. I hate to feel these connections slipping from me. I guess this is growing up.

It's late. I'm about to head to the gym after being sick for over a week yet working non-stop. Sometimes, it feels like that's all I have to keep me sane and out of the house. I don't know where I belong, or what I'll be doing 5 or 10 years from now, but I want to be in a place where access to like-minded people isn't so limited. I want to be in a place where I feel in control of where and when I go, even if I never learn to drive myself, which seems more and more likely every time I think about it. My issue is that, until I feel more emotionally and mentally stable, it's hard to tell which options would be best. Here's hoping that this next year of life brings me the answers I need, or at least sets me on the path to finding them.

Wednesday, August 1, 2018

LA Trip: Still Processing

I haven't quite fully processed the past week, which seems like it's lasted a full month. Last Monday, I flew out to LA to be part of an Andrew Christian photo shoot--the first non-op trans man to do so. My level of comfort fluctuated throughout the day. Despite AC being an internationally renowned underwear company, it was a nude photo shoot, some of which involved some pretty neat underwater photography. At the end of this month, I'll be doing an AC fashion show in Columbus. I met Andrew last week, and I'm told he'll be in Columbus as well. Is this real life?

I'm insanely proud of myself, yet I still feel like I could have been in better condition. I still feel terrible about my body, but I think that's been changing, even over the past week. I can't describe how comfortable I felt on Tuesday. I never thought that word could describe me, completely naked and surrounded by a full crew, experienced models, and three other trans men who have already had top surgery. My comfort wavered a little during the day, but something about the experience felt so natural. Holding a conversation while naked seemed to get easier as the day went on too.

Like I said, I'm still processing all of this. I'm still working on my body image issues. If that were all that's going on, I might be further along. I managed to do something else that's been terrifying me for months: I asked people to write letters of recommendation yesterday. Applications don't open until September 1st for most schools, but I want to stay ahead of the game this time. I want to have enough time to tailor my statement to each school. Plus, I need to have my shit submitted by mid-November to avoid having to take the GRE again.

These are two big fucking things right now. Then there's drag, my schedule for which is about to get a little crazy come November, when I travel to Memphis to perform.

I'm waiting for my phone to charge enough to go to the gym. Not only am I preparing for this fashion show, I'm trying to keep my mental health under control given the stress of life in general. They recently doubled my dose of Abilify, so tracking these next few weeks is going to be important. I'm still having a lot of focus issues, and I'm starting to consider asking for help with that again. I'd finish work much more quickly if I could stay on task for more than an hour at a time. I'm used to being the kind of person that doesn't move for 8 hours, so not being able to maintain focus is really weird to me. It's been about two or three months of that, and I can't exactly figure out why.

I'm actually surprised I've maintained enough focus to write this, though I still feel slightly distracted.

I'm going to try to readjust my sleep schedule again, which feels like fighting a losing battle every time. They took me off the medication that was supposed to help me fall asleep because, as always, it stopped working very shortly after I started taking it. Even when combined with an antihistamine. Then there are the times when I sleep for almost 2 days straight. I haven't even been able to figure out a pattern.

I'm starting to ramble. Maybe I'll be able to get more out later this week.

Oh, there's one more thing.

I turn 30 on Saturday.

Monday, July 16, 2018


I'm not okay, and all I want to do is wake up up, even though I know there is nothing you can do to help me. I just can't stand being alone with my thoughts right now. I am overwhelmed to the point that I can't do anything that I actually enjoy anymore. I'm trying to survive this, but all I can do is get up and work. I have nothing left, and there's no reason for that other than it's just how I am.

I can't even get the rest of this out. I just need to go lie down.

Friday, July 6, 2018


Tonight is one of those late nights alone that has my mind pulled in about fifteen different directions, each one needing more attention than I have spoons to give at this point. I just got back from the gym, so I'm filled with the overwhelming desire to do everything yet too overwhelmed and unfocused to get anything done. 

I'm hoping to apply for grad school this fall. I haven't taken the GRE again. I've only briefly talked with the people I hope to have write my letters. I haven't even begun studying. I'm terrified that I won't do as well this time since my brain has been fried. I'm terrified that I won't get in. I'm essentially paralyzed and can't make any more progress. I'm even terrified of making the list of things I need to do. And I'm not sure what things need to go on it and what things don't. 

I don't want to screw this up again. I'm worried that I'll never get another chance.
Or that that third chance won't even be worth taking.
I'm worried that I won't be able to handle the environment during or after school.
I'm worried that my journey has to end. 

I know all of this, yet I still can do nothing. 
The guilt of being so out of control just exacerbates the problem. 

What's more is that I feel like I've failed my fiance again because I never feel like I'm good at helping in certain situations. No matter what I try, nothing seems to work. I just want to give you the right answers. To solve everything. But I can't. And I hate it. 

It's so quiet. 
I have a photo shoot Saturday.
I have a show Sunday. 

I need to make time to study. To set a date for this test. 

Do you see what I mean? 

I know I can do this, so why am I so stuck? Mental health, you nasty bitch. 

I think I just got four more mosquito bites. 

I don't know how to explain the feelings I have right now. Of love. Of loneliness. Of fear. Of confidence. Everything tends to happen all at once, or to come in waves, which sometimes takes me from high to low and back again in a matter of seconds. It's dizzying. And the fear that that will never end...well, the knowledge that, yes, it absolutely will continue for the rest of my life and there's nothing I can really do to change that, sucks. 

I don't want damage control to be the story of my life, and I feel like it has been for a while. 
I want my thirties to be different. 
That feels weird to say. 
I still feel 12 years old. Just as confused, if not more. 
A friend and I figured out that secret a long time ago.
Everyone is just faking it. No one knows how to adult.
No one knows what the fuck is going on, and we're all secretly waiting to be found out. 

Work has taught me how to fake it until I make it. I just submitted a project proposal for a chance to work on a neuroscience portal for a major pharmaceutical company. They asked me to do it, and after a few rounds and 6 pages of absurd detail later, I did it. I had not one clue what the fuck I was doing. But I learned. I frequently have to work on papers outside my area of expertise, and google scholar has become my best friend. 
I also just killed a mosquito. So two wins for me, I suppose.

That's my story. Constantly feeling somewhere between "I'm actually really good at what I do" and "I'm a talking potato".

But maybe someday I'll be a potato with a PhD. 

Wednesday, June 27, 2018

Musings on Exercise and Brain Function

Working out has saved my life more times than I can count. The chaos of Pride, my fiance's new job, and a full performance schedule until pretty much the end of the year caused me to lose focus on my workout routine. Day by day, I became less and less capable of functioning. More and more things started to feel overwhelming. Then one day, I was barely able to breathe without screaming. I couldn't avoid the thoughts of ending it all just to stop feeling that way, despite my seemingly contradictory existential death anxiety, which likes to creep in at random times throughout the day and night. It only took about two weeks for me to get to that point. I knew going to the gym would solve my problems almost instantly, but I was too far gone to make it alone. 

He sacrificed sleeping that night to go with me. He gave himself a migraine just to pull me out of the darkness when I couldn't do it myself. I don't know how to thank him for all the ways he shows how much he loves me. Words are never enough. 

It's day 2, and the world already seems a little less terrifying. I feel more capable of taking on new projects. I'm less afraid of failing. That's not to say that these don't represent major obstacles anymore, but working out allows me to broaden my view of the situation so that I can find ways around them. 

This is what I want to study. I want to research how something as simple as lifting weights can fundamentally alter brain chemistry, structure, and function. Particularly in people like me. I've seen these effects in others too. I've heard story after story of how physical activity has transformed the way people view themselves and the world around them, and I've been fortunate enough to be the catalyst for change in many of these situations. Knowing more about the neural mechanisms underlying these changes will provide greater insight into brain function in general, and in various populations. 

There's so much work to be done. For example, wouldn't it be interesting to compare the effects of resistance training to those of commonly prescribed antidepressants/antipsychotics, or the combination of the two? To cardiovascular training alone? In people with depression versus controls? What does the brain look like before and after resistance training? Does functional connectivity change, particularly in executive function networks? If so, can resistance training be implemented to help people with disorders affecting executive function? 

The funny part about all of this is, working out is the only thing that is going to allow me to have the functional capacity to do any of this research. A few days ago, I thought about scrapping the idea of grad school altogether. If I could barely function doing what I do now, how could I ever manage the work involved in getting a PhD and finding employment in the field? 

I'm pretty sure these ramblings will find their way into my personal/research statement, which is definitely impersonal at this stage. 

I'm starting to feel like I've got this. Who knew some lat pulldowns could be so powerful?

Wednesday, June 20, 2018


I got halfway across the parking lot trying to get to the gym today. I broke down crying. Then I tried an hour later, and it happened again. Even though I have my medicine again, my anxiety has been worsening for weeks. I don't know how to fix this. It hasn't ever been bad enough to do this to me on my way to the gym. That's usually the one thing that can save me from episodes like this, and now I'm not sure what to do to fix things. I can't even stop my whole body from shaking right now. I want to tell myself that it's okay to not be okay, that I should stay home tonight and try to take care of myself so that I might be able to avoid this tomorrow. But what if I can't? I know I shouldn't be thinking like that, but if you can tell me how to prevent my brain from doing what it always does, you're much better at this life thing than I am. I already feel like most people are. Maybe they're just better at hiding it than I am.

I want this to stop. I hate this. I don't even have much to say, but I needed to do something to keep myself from screaming and waking my fiance. I want to run away, but I have nowhere to go. I may try one more time tonight, but even that thought is making things worse. I've already failed twice, and I can't get it out of my head. I can't stop the physical feelings, which are just making the screaming inside my head worse. How do other people do this?

For the longest time, I had no idea that people didn't deal with these overwhelming feelings of anxiety. With constantly feeling on the edge, terrified, and overloaded. I've never NOT been this way. I understand neurotypical people about as much as they understand me.

If I can't go, things will just get worse. I know I won't be able to handle this right now, so that means they are going to. I need to figure out something to do. I don't think I'll be able to stop myself from screaming, and that's even more terrifying.

I want to keep writing, but I have nothing.

I'll never be able to overcome this. This will always be a part of me. And I feel like I'm destined to fail at everything because of it.

I'm surprised I'm even still here.

Tuesday, June 19, 2018

Post-pride depression

Pride 2018. I'm still trying to mentally recover from the weeks of exhaustion, which were well worth it at the time and may still be. I'm just having a hard time readjusting to the real world, where I spend much of my time alone with my thoughts. I had forgotten what it was like to be able to spend time with friends every few days rather than every few months, but I had also forgotten to take care of myself during my visit to Pittsburgh, which made things more difficult after returning home. Post-pride depression is one of those phenomena that deserves further research. I keep seeing posts from friends who also seem to be struggling with mental health issues right now.

I don't know how to explain it to some people. That feeling when you know you need to do something, when you actually really want to do it, but your brain and body just refuse to let it happen. The guilt you feel when you can't do something simple for yourself then just makes it even worse. It's hard to escape the cycle, and it's even harder when you've already got to deal with anxiety, intrusive thoughts, and an overwhelming desire to scream and cry for no reason. It's not easy to separate these components in the moment. Sometimes you feel it all at once. You freeze because the alternatives are much, much worse.

This is the second time I've run out of medication without being able to get a refill. I'm again trying to fight hating myself for not being able to survive three days without these pills. I'm also trying to fight hating this mental health agency, which is pretty much the only option down here. Therapy at this place hasn't been very helpful at all. Every session felt more like small talk with a stranger.

My fiance has a new job working for the government, which is all I'm allowed to know or say. The days are long for him, but they haven't changed much for me, and maybe that's contributing to my depression. It's nice to spend nights together, but I'm at a point where I feel numb most of the time that I'm not feeling down. I had a few manic moments today when I started listening to music, pacing the floors in excitement, thinking of all the things I could do for an upcoming show. It was a helpful distraction, but it was short-lived.

I'm getting more worried about grad school. About whether this is something I'm even going to be capable of doing, physically and mentally. Taking a week off for Pride means I have to push myself a little harder these next few weeks. My productivity pretty much stops after 6 hours. It's hard to believe that anyone would ever hire me given that kind of stipulation. Feeling like this is as good as it will ever get is also pretty depressing.

Then there's that whole existential death anxiety thing that invades my consciousness, often multiple times a day. It's absolutely terrifying, and sometimes it makes it hard to even get the motivation to do anything. Other times, it just paralyzes me in a way that I can't fully explain.

I just want to make it through this and feel okay again. Then I can work on feeling happy. I know what my brain is doing to me. I know why most of this is happening. But it doesn't make it any easier to handle. It doesn't make me more capable of getting out of this place.

I've been preparing to go to the gym for over an hour. But I know this is one of the few things that can help snap me out of this. I just need to be able to leave my house without crying. Even thinking about it is making it hard to breathe. I wish I had someone to go with me right now.

Breathe. It's okay. It's okay to not be okay.
Nothing worth having is ever easy.

And nothing seems to be working right now.
But I'm still going to try.

Saturday, May 12, 2018

Mental Health, Abuse, Surviving

The last few months of my mental health journey haven't been the greatest. I started feeling worse and worse, to the point that I decided not to refill my medications once they had run out a few weeks ago. I was fine at first, but it wasn't long before things became more and more difficult to do. Then, one night, my mood dramatically shifted in the negative direction, and I just crashed. I essentially didn't move from bed for 10 days. I've been back on my medicine for about 4 days now, and I'm only just beginning to feel like myself again. With major events coming up in just a few weeks, this has been one of the primary drivers of my anxiety/depression. I'm beginning to feel like I'm in control again, and I just hope I haven't lost too much time.

I don't feel at liberty to discuss the details of recent events. All I can say is that a long-term abusive situation almost ended in murder. Watching history repeat itself has been so difficult, especially when you've been made out to be the villain. But watching their strength in claiming the label of survivor, in moving forward and beyond the pain and years of manipulation, is inspiring. Rediscovering yourself is not always easy, nor is it painless. Abusers know how to control your emotions. They study your responses over time and learn how to get what they need from everyone involved. They will try to claim victimhood, to escape responsibility and consequences in an effort to get back to how things used to be--to their version of "normal". It takes strength beyond measure to disengage from a toxic, even dangerous relationship. You (plural) have that strength, and you have a family to support you.

As before, I will always stand by those who have survived, those who have escaped. I will always tell the truth for those whose voices have grown too tired, especially when others aim to silence you. Not only will you continue to survive, you will thrive as you rediscover your true self and the love with which you are surrounded. And we will do whatever it takes to help you when you need it most, when you feel like doubting yourself and your decisions. You are my friend(s). You are family. We will never abandon you.

I have more experience than I care to discuss right now. Even now, I wait for a day I feel will never come. When she finally has had enough. I wish I could say more, but it's been made clear that it's not my story to tell. I have to fight back tears when I think of what could have been for one of the most important people in my life.

I guess the point is that I haven't just seen or heard.

I know.

I may have what some people consider extreme reactions to anger. I just want to point out that I'm on high alert for a reason. It is by this point a built-in response mechanism, and I have little control over how terrified I appear. Interestingly enough, when someone directs that anger toward someone I love, my response is markedly different. I like to think that explains what kind of person I am without having to do it in so many more words.

I posted this here for a few reasons. Trigger warnings aren't my thing, but I can draft a title that gives people the option to avoid the subject, even temporarily. I needed to do this for myself as much as I did the people I love. I have a lot of my own deeply buried issues to deal with, and I'm sure I'll need to revisit this in the future. But, right now, it's not about me. It's about everyone who has ever lived through abuse, about those who have escaped and those still trying to find the courage to. I refuse to contribute to silence surrounding domestic violence. I refuse to let the abusers win. That's something we can't do alone, and I've seen such a tremendous outpouring of support in the last few days. It makes me feel confident that this ending marks a new beginning. That we will see that light shine again. However, there is still someone out there who needs that same support from the community. Friends, please don't hesitate to reach out to them as well.

My brain is doing that thing where it's going to circle back around. So, I will leave with this:

Monday, February 12, 2018


I'm in a weird space right now. Earlier today, I came to the realization that maybe my getting better was really just a hypomanic episode, since I've been on a bit of a downward spiral for the last couple weeks. Others tell me that this depressive episode is the anomaly, likely because they're trying to make me feel better. Unfortunately, most people with my type of bipolar disorder are depressed more often than not, with episodes of hypomania at varying frequencies. There is no getting better here. There is only managing, and I've never quite been able to do that for very long. I'm worried that I'm starting to repeat the cycle, and I don't know what to do to keep things from getting worse.

I fear that I will never function well enough again to do the things I want to do with my life.

That fear itself is paralyzing. Why try if I will never be a functional member of society? If I will never be able to go to grad school, have a family, etc.?

I fear that the only response here is to increase my dose of lithium, which may be the cause of my months-long gastrointestinal issues after all.

I know things are getting bad because I notice myself taking longer to get myself ready to do anything. I feel disconnected and demotivated most of the time. The flashes of motivation sometimes last only seconds, and this tug-of-war is exhausting. I'm not making phone calls. I'm not talking to anyone or making plans. I know what's happening and feel powerless to stop it.

I don't want this to be my life. To be my forever.


Saturday, January 27, 2018


I was going to wait on this until I had heard back from Jason, but here is the piece I submitted to FTM Magazine's online publication. We were asked to describe what masculinity means to us:

"It’s three in the morning, and I just got back from the gym. Like so many men my age, I couldn’t help but snap a few selfies in the sauna after a particularly intense and productive workout. I’d been sick for two weeks prior to this evening, so I didn’t expect to feel so proud of those pictures. But then I saw them, and I became enveloped in emotions I had almost forgotten I could experience. Those pictures took me back to the day I got my first binder, when I stood looking in the mirror with tears in my eyes, as it all came together in my head: “This is how it’s supposed to be.” I saw my chest in a new light. I had finally come to see the physical progress to which I am so often blind—a phenomenon I’m told is experienced by numerous trans men. Is this what masculinity feels like? Yes…and no.

I feel lucky to live in an age where the queer community has come to embrace the notion that gender—and, by extension, masculinity—is limitless. Most of us, however, grew up with a different definition of masculinity. Hegemonic masculinity, which refers to the social construct that seeks to maintain men’s dominant position by reinforcing the idea that women and “non-masculine” men are inferior, has shaped our perceptions of manhood since our first breaths. As a young child, I rejected femininity wholeheartedly, seeking to distance myself from women and girls as much as possible. I prided myself on my traditionally masculine attributes: my strength, my appearance, my manner of speech, and my distaste for pink, among others. Transition was my gateway to freedom of gender expression. Although I did spend some of my early days in transition trying to prove my masculinity, the simple switch of pronouns was enough of a spark to allow me to embrace some of my more feminine attributes. Even before starting testosterone, I suddenly found myself attracted to the color pink, and it finally felt okay to express myself in “non-masculine” ways and media.

Today, I define my masculinity as limitless. I am masculine. Therefore, anything that comes from me is by extension masculine, whether I am flexing shirtless in the gym or dancing in a corset and four-inch heels. I’m constantly re-evaluating my gender in the context of the world around me, and I’ve even come to question this definition, which essentially states that gender labels are arbitrary and meaningless. If we lived in a social vacuum, perhaps that would be sufficient. However, some parts of me feel that this argument still seeks to reject the feminine pieces of my soul. Learning to be okay with being labeled feminine has been a huge step forward for me. It is an aspect of the gender revolution that should be the key focus of men who wish to support the movement: You cannot fight for true equality if you continue to distance yourself from women and the feminine based on arbitrary standards. Perhaps then “limitless” for me means that I am masculine, I am feminine, I am all that lies between and outside of these terms, and I am so much more than any descriptor of my gender can ever convey.

I see so many young trans men fighting for their place in this world, pursuing the ideals of hegemonic masculinity in order to prove their manhood. I want you to know that gender is not a mathematical concept whereby increases in your femininity detract from your masculinity. Femininity is not the opposite of masculinity. When I think of terms typically
associated with masculinity such as strength, courage, and confidence, I cannot envision a feminine person alive today—particularly when thinking of trans women—who do not possess these attributes in one way or another. The same is true when I think of traditionally feminine attributes or descriptors (e.g., soft, vulnerable, emotional). These parts exist in every masculine individual, and a healthy outlook on life involves acknowledging and channeling these aspects, and using them to improve upon yourself.

At some point during transition, you realize that regardless of how much work it may have taken, your true identity is the one that feels effortless—the one that prompts the least internal resistance and frees you from those feelings of fear and inadequacy. As the high of beginning your transition wears off, you will settle into yourself and realize that your identity may have evolved since the beginning. Once I transitioned, I felt less and less compelled to adhere to the standards of hegemonic masculinity. I no longer felt like I had to play catch-up by overcompensating for my femininity. My masculinity is now inseparable from my femininity, which I have embraced wholeheartedly. It is a lightness unlike any other to know that your soul is no longer divided."

Friday, January 26, 2018

Random Musings on Gender

I wanted to write, and to write something meaningful. But that’s just not happening today. The burst of creativity I felt while reading the final book by Oliver Sacks—who helped fashion me into the type of neuroscientist I am today, with my penchant for provocative language, for writing scientific material with as much flair as any novelist—suddenly seemed to vanish as soon as I placed my fingers on the keys. It’s getting more and more difficult to write by hand, as the thoughts seem to flow through my mind ever more quickly, and I am limited by the confines of the human motor system. So, let’s try this.

I’ve recently seen so many posts from trans men undergoing phalloplasty, prompting me to examine my own feelings regarding my genitals, which many people would regard as the basis of my transness. Indeed, that’s all so many people seem to focus upon. While I’m not necessarily thrilled about my overall anatomy, my genitals have always kind of been irrelevant to me. What I have works, and it’s never been particularly important for me to even have the appearance of a penis, except maybe while performing traditional masculinity on stage. I tried packing a few times early during transition, and I could never get comfortable doing so.

To me, the essence of transness is the understanding of your social otherness, which isn’t necessarily rooted in anatomy. As a child, I gravitated towards not just the masculine, but to other boys. I longed to be with those like me, even though I had a keen understanding of my difference from an early age. This gravitation had nothing to do with genitals, secondary sex characteristics, or the desire to change my body. This was a young boy simply trying to be a young boy in a world desperate to manipulate him into becoming a girl. The fragility of hegemonic masculinity may explain so much of the fear surrounding transness. When your entire identity is based around having a penis, encountering a physically and emotionally strong man with a vagina means having to confront the notion that your entire understanding of gender—and of yourself—may be flawed. Rather than facing this reality, most cisgender men never fully examine that fundamental question: What is manhood without your “manhood”?

As I’ve mentioned previously, my masculinity is something I define as limitless. My gender as limitless, encompassing both the masculine and feminine. Even in accepting the feminine components of my gender identity, I see these as irrelevant to my anatomy, firstly because it does not make sense to me to categorize parts of my body using gender terms. That is, having a vagina does not make me any more or less feminine (or masculine) than any other person. It’s simply a part of my body, like an ear or a toe. While I view my chest in the same way, I can never fully feel like it belongs to me. This part of me DOES feel foreign and grotesque most times, and there is not much I can do to change that. No amount of desensitization training will ever make these two lumps of fat feel like they are a part of me. Again, this has nothing to do with masculinity for me. I don’t feel like less of a man because they are there, unless you count feeling irritated that only trans men who have had top surgery seem to be considered valid, even within our own community. I just don’t want them there, although they have no bearing on my identity at this stage. Perhaps this is because it has been almost 9 years since I first came out as trans. My perception has shifted over nearly a decade of living as a trans man who has never been able to afford a name change, let alone surgery. The severity of my dysphoria has largely dissipated, as I have become so much more comfortable with myself, as I have reached the stage where I can simply focus on living my life. On being, rather than on transitioning. 

Make no mistake, I believe that transition never truly ends. I am constantly re-examining my gender in the context of the world around me, and for this I am grateful. Perhaps that is what has allowed me to evolve to this point of separation between body and identity. Yet there is somewhat of an internal conflict here, as my body is by extension masculine, since I am masculine. The choice of words seems arbitrary these days. I could just as easily say that I am feminine. I could look exactly as I do, behave exactly as I always have, and just as easily say that I prefer feminine pronouns. The point here is to use what feels right. It’s such a simple concept, yet we complicate it by trying to tell ourselves that our anatomy defines our gender, or the ways in which we can even express or embody transness. Once you separate identity from anatomy and biological determinism, things suddenly get less complicated.

“What if I wanted to identify as...?”

Barring any ludicrous options designed to pick a fight, the answer is always the same. Don’t make it any more difficult than it has to be. You are allowed to exist. Always.

Sunday, January 21, 2018


I'm the kind of person who gets terrified when I receive private messages because it's really difficult for me to figure out how to respond, especially if they include compliments. I agonize over it for days or weeks before I respond sometimes, no matter the content of the message. As I try to figure out how to do that social thing, my anxiety continues to increase as more time passes between the initial message and my response. It's kept me awake at times. Well, this sort of thing in addition to every other thing that induces extreme anxiety.

Anyway, I just responded to like ten messages today, and you honestly don't know how proud I feel. It may seem like nothing, but being social is not something that comes easy to me. It's not that I don't want to or don't enjoy it, but the energy cost is high, and it takes almost all of my spoons to maintain my composure/overall impression in a social setting. I'm constantly analyzing the interaction, choosing the most appropriate response based on my analysis and my understanding of the other parties in the situation. It's a process that requires an intense amount of effort, particularly with new people or when there is small talk involved. One of the things I loved about the drag scene is that I could make friends so easily just by talking about a shared special interest, rather than nonsense.

I've learned that alcohol helps in these situations because it reduces my anxiety, as well as the stimulation I receive from the environment (lights, sounds, smells), freeing up some of my reserves.

There are some people in my life where none of this seems to apply. People with whom effort isn't required. People who know that I may say the wrong thing or nothing at all. People who don't just tolerate my weirdness and over-analytical nature, but who actually love me for it and want to be around me and my weirdness. I'm so grateful for these people.

The past week, even though I've been sick as all hell for several, has been so different for me. It was just one medication change. One that I was afraid to even take due to the potential side effects. It's been a little over a week, and I haven't felt this kind of motivation or clarity in probably four or five years. I've broken down crying at how much time I wasted not being able to function, not being in control at all.

I'm doing things that I love again, some of them for the first time in years. I'm making actual plans. I'm getting up in the morning. I'm talking to more people. I'm feeling connected again. And it's not killing me. I feel energized rather than depleted. And it's all coming down to one thing: With the help of a fantastic medical team (Johns Hopkins and EastRidge Health Services) working together, I am absolutely and finally ready to live again.

Thank you so much to everyone who has been there for me in one way or another these past few years, even though I've been distant. I want you to know that it wasn't by choice. That I miss you. You probably don't realize how much I do miss you and care about you. I think about so many of you as I try to fall asleep at night. I just hope it's not too late to be part of your lives again. I love you.

And, I can finally say without guilt or shame, I love myself. Thank you all again, and I'll see you soon.