Showing posts with label gender. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gender. Show all posts

Friday, February 13, 2015

Thinking Trans

Sometimes you forget how people would overlook you--how they'd stare and try to figure it all out in the twenty seconds it took to cross a crowded bar. They want to see which door you choose. Either way, you've lost.
You forget how hard you had to fight to be taken seriously as a man in this world, and you forget the price you had to pay for that respect. Some wouldn't call it that at all. Some may say privilege. And they may be right.
You forget the angst and the activism and just start living. The weeks pass and you pass and you finally get everything you've always wanted, along with a whole new set of misunderstandings. The assumptions may be different, but people claim you as their own, trying to squeeze juicy answers out of you until you are shriveled and worn. 
I still haven't lost that fear that someday there will be a problem in the locker room, a situation at the airport, a confrontation at the gas station. But I'll be damned if you think you can make me stand up to pee. 
Today, I remind myself how hard it still is for people who don't look like me. I've never had to worry about my chest--even though I do--and the color of my skin doesn't exponentially increase the chances that I'll be beaten bloody and left to die. 
I understand that I have become somewhat complacent, and I cannot be ashamed of this. But I can work harder to make sure others have the same luxury . And that's the road I have chosen. 

Thursday, January 22, 2015

Untitled Poem

All the love in the world will not make
My chest any smaller
My face any clearer
Standing by the mirror
I see half a human 
The other half 
Looming in the shadow of 
Someday

And all the squats in the world 
Won't matter in the end 
When I can't look at myself
Without wondering 
how I got this way
Inside my head
There's no exercise 
In any book I've seen
That can fix 
All that can't be seen 

All the time in the world 
I hear less often 
A mind gone mindless 
Is dead

Saturday, April 12, 2014

Trying to Decide if I Should Perform This

Do you know what it’s like when your eyes hold their breath?
I’m sitting here in this blue box built for a boy who’d rather build his own--perfectly pink, plastic-people-populated and perched perpendicular to my past, our lives intersecting where mine became his. Where pink became blue before either of us had ever been born.
I have fumbled my way through a series of pendulums, dodging left and right, falling face first in the mud and failing to see them swinging right for me each time I rose my head to breathe and I breathed in genderqueer and choked on an indecision that felt like sitting on the fence.  With a post up my ass.
And I wiped the mud away and fell backwards in time through the dirt and the dust of trying to forget years of looking at my body betraying every move I made and every pound I benched and every mile I ran, and I coughed up the night I first saw my chest flattened against my skin with her by my side
And before I could inhale that moment one more time the smell of my past caught up with my plans and I puked up the five-year-old, naked and peeing outside
And in the puddle before me I saw the second-grader who didn’t understand why her middle name couldn’t be Matthew and the fourth-grader with a rope around her neck and a knife in her lunchbox and the sixth-grader with a pen in her cheek and a face that never saw the light of day again, throwing fists and throwing chairs, and locking doors and running away into the seventh-grader who found music and got lost in the notes of sad songs, black clothes, and the chorus of “You’ll grow out of it eventually”
“You’ll grow out of it eventually”
Eventually. Eventually.
Eventually if you say a word enough it stops sounding like a real thing at all, like the sound of my birth name
bleeding out the mouth of the boy whose ex-girlfriend’s lips bleed for no one not even God anymore.
(Because she’s a man now.)
I lay there night after night, sweating out the years I spent as a genetic fraud, broad shoulders tucked tight, sleeping tight, breathing tight and then
I swallowed the pink and blue and white flag-shaped pill with a capital T on the back and a blank slate on the front,
Hoping to finally be able to fall asleep with a blue blanket pulled over my head and an empty needle in the can
but then came the side-effects.
I woke up in the mud again, just like now, coughing it all up, layer by layer
Unexpected expectorant, the not-this-again guanifisan,
Warning: Never change gender on an empty stomach.
Mucus covered labels no longer stuck to the inside of my lungs, no longer clinging to my alveoli like the child who became the girl who became the boy who became the man who clung to a blanket of blue and shut out a world of rainbows
And there they were, covered in snot, just lying there.
Genderqueer. Freak. Shim. Faggot. Sped. Retard. Butch. Twink. Nerd. Woman. Princess. Liar. Tranny. Female. Male. Lesbian. Gay. Asexual. Bottom. Top. Girl. Boy. She-male. Dyke. It. Masculine. Feminine. Nothing. Everything. Whatever you want already as long as you stop asking me what’s in your pants,
 does your family hate you?
 so what are you really?
What’s in your pants?
When are you going to get surgery?
What’s in your pants?
What’s your real name?
Oh and by the way what’s in your pants?
I’m tired of picking up snot-covered pieces of the people I tried to become—the identities I snorted so that I could just learn your name before you said you only dated real men and too bad you don’t have a dick and well I can still see the girl in you and you know
Sometimes it gets really old doing trans 101 when all I want from the woman whose name tag says becky is my fucking chicken quesadillas.
That’ll be 8.66. Please pull ahead to the next window and have your genitals ready.
Here’s your receipt.
So what’s in your pants?
Fine.
Four years and a lot of awkward conversations later, I can tell you that It’s pink and blue and people-shaped. No. Pink. Blue. A mixture of the two. Somewhere in between like the infinitesimal cracks between visible and invisible light, indivisible, no gender, under God, with liberty avenue and gender justice for all. A man. A-fucking man. Fucking men. Sometimes. Fucking women sometimes. Fucking sometimesmen and sometimeswomen and sometimes no times fucking at all.  

For B, Who Has Been Waiting

Peter came into Rainbow without really knowing me as Elise. (That seems so strange to write when it isn't on a medical form.) But he told me that he always perceived my energy to be masculine, and he said this and acted in ways that really made me believe it. There weren't many extraordinarily detailed conversations about the process: no Trans 101. Peter was the kind of person who educated himself on these details so that he could enter into a conversation with a trans person as an informed ally. He focused on me when he was with me, not my transition or my trans status. But what impressed me more was the he embraced genderqueer concepts in his own life. As a cisgender gay male, that's not an easy thing to do without facing some sort of backlash. The gay male community is full of bottom-bashing stereotypes and pressures of its own. I've grown to fear some of them myself.
He told me a few times how he knew there was a bit of woman inside him. That he didn't really care about his penis but found it quite useful. Peter had his own sense of style, both internal and external. The best part about that was that these things hardly ever had to be discussed. Two people who know themselves never have to defend their identities around each other. That's what was relieving. No walls.
I didn't have to prove my masculinity any more than he did. Or femininity. Or gayness. Or anything.
And that allowed us to approach both public and private interactions at a much lower level of tension.
He made me feel safe because of this. Not necessarily in a physical sense, but in every other way.

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Something Cute From Paper-Gender Math

I am thinking of a gender between one and three
An algebraic mosaic of x and y like sex
and why
do I write stories of my life between the valleys of my veins
Carve the dreams across my body
Starve the soul only a mirror can love
A numerator standing stop a vinculum of uncertainty with nothing underneath,
undefined and falling
searching for the common denominator that binds me to the x's I can never see
To the y's I can never know
Negative me plus or minus the square root of every lie I've ever told and ever smile I've ever faked
and every excuse I haven't even thought to make
I'm thinking of a gender between one and me
That isn't just a symbol of values long forgotten
A gender with ups and downs
Curves and swerves like the sine wave
that was my very first road
into the blankness of queer.
Every calculation became a question with two answers
Equally valid and to an equation
I can't even remember
Like the calculus I learned to forget
when they asked me to integrate. I laughed
and lived
and left the note in a bible in a motel six
in a town that couldn't even count that high
The hated (per)mutated masterpiece
that is the variable I.
Imaginary and unwilling to accept my fate,
I have taken to the Cartesian sea,
hoping to one day drift right back to the origin
where x and y meant nothing and it was all the same to me my mom and the boys next door.
Up the slope I go,
the letter m.
Acceleration made flesh.
A force to be reckoned with given enough distance
and time.

Sunday, September 30, 2012

The T in LGBT

Why is the T in LGBT when it has nothing to do with our sexuality? I've seen this question arise in a number of support groups for trans people, and I really think we need to look at this from a different perspective. We don't need LGB people to help us or fight for our rights. We need to fight for theirs. Allow me to explain, briefly.

Trans people live in contrast with the binary model of gender/sex that exists in our society, and what we are fighting for is the recognition of our gender identities as valid and the right to express our identities in whatever way we choose. And that is not a right that we alone deserve. All people deserve this right, and I believe it would greatly benefit the people in our society to not have to conform or face social isolation, among other things.

Much of the violence perpetrated against LGB (and T) people, from the time of childhood, is based upon behaviors, mannerisms, preferences, etc. that heteronormative people associate with the "opposite" gender. There is the pervading belief that real manhood and real womanhood are observable and quantifiable, and that one is less of a man or woman if certain criteria are not met. This greatly affects LGB people because society characterizes people who don't have a certain number of manly or womanly traits as gay without hesitation. Well, not all gay men are effeminate, and not all straight men are macho. I'm not even arguing for the idea that many trans people first find acceptance as members of the gay community. Aside from this, we are fighting for the same rights. As a transman, I am fighting for acceptance as a real man just as much as a so-called effeminate gay man. I'm not in the we're-just-like-the-rest-of-you-straight-people camp. No. We are different. We don't have to pretend to be straight or act in heteronormative ways or have body parts that are heteronormatively associated with the gender with which we identify in order to be considered real and granted the real rights we deserve.

And since sexuality, sex and gender are so linked in our society, homosexual behavior is considered a transgression of gender norms as well. We're all breaking the same rules. And we are fighting for LGB people, trans people, and straight people, and everyone else to be able to express their sex, gender, and sexuality in whichever ways they choose. Do you know how many times people have commented to me that certain people just "act too gay" for them? We're fighting against that mindset. People seem not to have an issue with gay people as long as it can be ignored or hidden, but when the gender transgressions occur, it cannot be ignored. Many young boys learn to fear and hate gays because, as they grow up, they are fighting to attain manhood/masculinity, which is incompatible with any sort of feminine behavior or transgression, which homosexuality is again a part of. In fighting for our rights to express our own gender identity, we are fighting for gender justice for all, to quote the IDKE slogan from 2010.

Now I think I will go post this in response. I never do that, but I think this might be one of those important times where people might actually get it.

Monday, July 30, 2012

T

It's the distance between myself
and my thoughts
that got
me coming back.
I'm this.
That.
His life is this life because of the "t"
and the difference between
vial
and vital.
the one letter
that changed my face
into the finest facet
of my life.
it's nice.
the difference between a lie and the light.

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Yet More Gender Shit

I'm a transman with a very low tolerance for people within the community who feel that, in order to affirm their trans identity and represent it to the rest of the community, they must rely on binary stereotypes. I do enjoy a great many stereotypically masculine things, but I also do some very stereotypically feminine things, and those things are just as much a part of me as the others, and I am not ashamed of them. I'm trying the best I can to prove to those around me that these things we call masculine or feminine are just attributes that cannot be partitioned objectively. My "feminine" attributes are included in my own personal definition of masculinity. From a lifetime of experience, I feel that my essence is masculine, and anything that comes from it, regardless of how society may label it, is rooted in my internal sense of masculinity. I do not need to reaffirm my masculinity by using external definitions to shape my behavior, and I do not need to represent it to the rest of the world in stereotypical ways.

Another person may describe hir internal essence as feminine, a mixture of the two, neither of the two, etc. To me, it's the same sort of issue I have with arguing that they are still men's clothes when a woman is wearing them.

My head seems to be all over the place tonight, but I have to say this as well: I know what it is like to not feel masculine. There are times when situations arise to disconnect me from my internal masculinity, and this masculinity is NOT replaced by femininity. It is an emptiness. A feeling of nothingness. Femininity is not the absence of masculinity, and again, this is known from the inside, not the outside.

I've been ranting about gender a lot lately, and I'm glad. I was having a lot of doubts about feeling disconnected from some of my friends because of the way I view my own gender, but when I opened up, I found that there are many more friends of mine who actually share similar ideas about what role labels play in how a person is represented in the community.

Shifting gears just a tad...

I don't think that I believe that I should have been born male. (I'm still working on this one.) I don't generally believe in the phrase because things either happen or they don't. Oddly enough, that's one situation where the binary thing kind of works. Perhaps the only things that "should have" happened are the things that DO end up happening.
I was born in a female body. And perhaps there were things already in me at the time of my birth that would lead me to discover this trans identity of mine. I think this is the body that I was meant to have, and I think I was meant to make this decision to change it. If I want to use the same old terms, my body and mind didn't line up, but I see nothing wrong with that, just as I see nothing wrong with making the decision to align them. Believing that there is something inherently wrong with being a man born in a female body seems insulting to those who do not choose physical transition. For me, I knew it was wrong to stay. For me.

I'm going to have to develop this further. I have so much to say about this because of a few recent conversations that have really helped me get closer to a person who is remarkably like me, as I've been privileged enough to discover over the last several months.

I don't know if I need to say something else tonight. Today. I mean, it is almost six in the morning. If I do, maybe it should go in another post.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

For the Book, Perhaps

I meant everything I said last night. I never really felt sexy until I got to be Dylan for the first time. I mean, I know that other people may have perceived me as such at various times in my life as a female, and I was aware of that. But I couldn't feel it. That was a very external kind of sexiness that didn't really belong to me, and it always felt like coming out from under water when it was finally time to take it off. I'm not the first person to say it, but drag was my gateway drug. It was when I realized that my drag persona felt more real to me than the person I was trying to be in real life that I knew something big was on the horizon. Drag wasn't so much about doing as it was being for me.
It wasn't an instantaneous realization. And it wasn't an entirely pleasant experience. Dylan had to be yanked out of me, and there was a time when I fought back with all I had just to keep him inside. I was terrified of losing everyone and everything. I was terrified of being a freak. So I slid myself into genderqueer, attempting to believe that I could fluctuate between man and woman as I saw fit, but each time I gravitated toward the masculine end of the spectrum, I was better able to see the emptiness of the person that existed on the other side. The thoughts kept coming back, and I would just cry as I watched video after video on YouTube and began to realize that this was REAL. I opened the book signed by Scott Turner Schofield, made out to a straight tomboy named Elise, and let the tears come crashing down onto the pages. I sat on my bed for a long time staring at the graffiti my girlfriend and I had painted on the wall, words uttered by an estranged drumline instructor named Will: "Nothing worth having is ever easy."

It would still be months before I could bring myself to say the words. But they were there. And I could feel them rising from deep down inside, rising into my throat and getting stuck there. When they and I (and he) finally came out, she told me that she knew this day would come. I think we all did.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Question

How many more of us have to die?

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

A Little About Me

I remember seeing my chest the first time I put a binder on. I was in my old room at Bates, and Kelly was there. I was wearing this shirt--the same one I'm wearing now. You'd never know it was meant for a female body. It's white with a splash of purple that just seems to ooze down the front. I remember seeing my chest the first time and never wanting to see it another way again. She was looking at me. But I was too busy looking at me. I almost cried. It was like seeing myself for the first time--like I was a toddler fascinated with the image in front of me, slowly coming to the realization that this image is the physical manifestation of what I've always understood as the person up inside my head. I felt like I had a body. I was starting to feel that I could own this body. I started learning that the greatest thing in the world that you can possess is your own self, inside and out.

I tried putting this shirt on without the binder underneath. I couldn't stand looking at it. The shirt is too tight to hide anything, and the feeling of this particular cloth against my bare skin made me want to jump right out of that skin. If you haven't figured it out by now, I've got a pretty fucked up sensory system, though it can do some neat things too. Every shirt feels different on my skin. And each feeling can evoke something different within me.
My sense of touch is very heavily connected to my emotions. Certain kinds of touch will elicit negative emotional responses, while others can elicit very positive responses. And I'm not talking about anything sexual at this point. I like my clothes to fit tightly (generally) because loose clothing equates to light touch or grazing of the skin, and it makes me uncomfortable. But something about knowing that you can see the secret of my chest inside this and a few other shirts of mine really fucks with me, and so I use this binder for the security it gives me. It also gives me constant pressure, however slight, on my upper body. I love pressure. I love connecting with other people through pressure. Squeeze. I love the way I feel when I work out because I can feel the blood rushing to my muscles, creating that sense of pressure, and it calms me. It focuses me. It lets me feel in control.
I like motion. Sometimes I have to be in motion. This becomes very difficult when I am trying to sleep, but my mind and body are at war with one another. Sometimes it becomes physically painful not to move. Sometimes I can't control the writhing or the tossing and turning. Sometimes I just have to MOVE. I kind of feel that way now, but moving my hands across the keys and watching the words march right into their places almost feels like I'm moving somewhere. I'll be in a different place when I finish writing this, at least mentally.
I obsess. And I get stuck. I have trouble doing more than one thing at once, and I don't really get grey areas. I have trouble with vague directions. And, similarly, I am overwhelmed and confused by having to make choices when there are many, many options. I need a step-by-step. I need black and white. It's not that I can't comprehend the other ways of looking at things. It's just extremely difficult, and I may need to take a different path to get there. It might be much more convoluted than the conventional path, but that path might be the only one that can get me where I need to be.
I'm getting better at this, but I hate when my foods mix together and would prefer them not to touch. Mixed tastes overload me. And my body opposes certain tastes altogether. I will instinctively spit out anything that is too bitter, which includes coffee, or anything that has an odd texture. I have no control over this reaction. If I try to swallow, I have to try not to throw up. It is very painful. I am terrified of trying new foods because I don't want to have this reaction.
I am extremely sensitive to the temperature of water on my face. I twitch/writhe somewhat violently when it is too hot or too cold, and I have to prevent myself from screaming.
Some kinds of pain are extremely intense for me, whereas I can tolerate great amounts of other kinds of pain.
Sometimes I'm in a bubble. It's like I'm behind a screen watching the rest of the world watch me. Sometimes I can't see beyond that little screen that's in front of me. Sometimes it's like there is static on the screen. Sometimes some things seem like they are in 3D when everything else is flat--like they are in color when everything else is in black and white. Sometimes certain things will attract my attention like a siren and I won't be able to focus on anything else. These are the things that can help me tune out the rest of the world--that help me when my sensory system is on overdrive. MUSIC. I can lose everything else entirely. I won't even register that you have spoken. I won't notice things that I normally would. Music is that thing that everyone else has to shut up for because it's clearly the most important thing going on. It's my obsession. Everything is music. I started talking the other day, and I had to force myself to stop. We were in the car having a conversation about why certain songs are so popular. I think that, just as we have mapped out according to scales/pitch what the most pleasing frequencies/combinations of sounds are to the human ear, there must be higher levels of composition (song structure/chord progressions/rhythmic integrity/etc.) that the human ear prefers. It's a theory I want to develop more, and I probably would have kept blathering about it if I hadn't caught myself. I could talk about music forever. I always want to keep playing. Music is the way I connect with the rest of the world. It's how I feel closest to other human beings. It's my way of being social. I can understand other people better through music. And writing is music to me. There is a rhythm to everything I write, and that's how I find which words go where. Everyone writes with a different rhythm too. I love all the different genres of person that I can experience when I read things that different people have written. I'm doing it again. I'm getting lost in my own musings about random shit. Pardon me. I do it frequently. Sometimes I like to have people with whom to muse, though.
I'm impulsive. Sometimes these things are harmless. Sometimes I poke people. Sometimes I push buttons. I really like pushing buttons. I play with the buttons on my phone constantly (when I have a phone). At least I don't nipple-tweak people anymore...or write on their faces. I think it took me until late in high school to figure out that that wasn't an appropriate form of interaction with your friends.
I have ridiculous attachments to inanimate objects, especially my phone and keys. I feel like I have lost a person from my life when I lose these things. I illogically attribute human qualities or attach emotions to inanimate objects as if they could think and feel the love I harbor for them. I get very upset when I lose anything that I consider important. Everything I own means something to me and stirs up all sorts of feelings, so I never throw anything away.
My hands are the most real part of me. I do a lot with them. And I don't think I could live without them.
Sometimes I can't talk, physically. Sometimes I just can't break down the wall.
This is just a little bit about me. It all started with a shirt. This is another example of what I like to call the web effect. And just think of all the things that I couldn't get out because they happened too fast up there or were on a different ring of the web. It upsets me when I can't get those things out. That's why I have taken to typing things more lately than writing them by hand. I lose way too much when I write by hand.
So yeah. This my brain. It's screwy. But I love it. It lets me remember stupid things like Mark saying that we had to be up in the band room at 7:27 AM before one of the home games two years ago or read insanely quickly or think of connections that don't really make sense to anyone else. And I also love when I find people who actually do understand those connections of mine--the ones that I make and the ones in my head. I've found a lot of them recently, and even if they don't quite get it, they are interested enough to learn, and that makes me happy. I'm also really interested in the way other people's brains work. I love knowing how other people think. I love knowing why. I always want to know why. It sucks when there is no reason why. That also messes with me.
I like that I understand myself. It puts me in a better position to understand other people. I now have a point of comparison. I still suck at understanding people when they act in irrational ways. I feel like everyone should operate logically all the time. I expect this, and I know that I don't even do this 100 percent of the time. But it also disturbs me when I don't do it or when I am incapable of doing it. And then when I notice that happening, it freaks me out and I feel like I have no control, and it makes things even worse.
I had no idea this was going to be quite this long. I thought I would be done after the first paragraph. I might need to move. I might need to go for a walk and listen to music and fool the world into thinking I'm still a part of it as I'm doing this.
I suck at sleeping. I just can't shut off.
So yeah. Again. This is a bit about me. But what about you? I'm curious.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

Observations: Almost 15 weeks

I feel more in control of myself, both mind and body. Because of the way my brain works, this can't be the case all the time. I don't shut down as often, but when I do, the whole thing seems more intense. And maybe that means that part of me is becoming more real as well. If this is the case, then I should be better able to deal with it.
But I can feel the difference inside of me. I feel less like I am looking at the world from under the surface--less like I am grasping to break the tension above. Maybe that's not really true. I know these feelings are still there. Sometimes I am so disconnected from other people. I know there is nothing I can do about that. But I can choose to fight. And I'm getting stronger. I'm getting better at breaking my own shell. I am realizing that I do have the control that I've always desired. I just need to learn how to access it.
I was playing drums today. My hands are better at doing what I want them to do. And I see something different when I watch myself playing in the mirror, and I happy. Like said, I feel more real. My body and brain are feeling less like separate entities. Now the struggle is connecting the whole of myself with the world out there. People sometimes fail to realize the paradox of becoming closed-off/shutting down/having a meltdown/whatever. I guess I just can't deal with the world on its terms. I can't take all of the shit that keeps coming at me. It really is just too much to process. But I don't choose this, at least most of the time. I want to be out there with everyone else. I don't want to be locked in. But I still need to figure out how to handle myself when those things happen. And I do feel like I'm getting better. I feel like I have one fewer disconnect on my plate. And now I can start to focus on the other big one. Maybe improvement in one has bolstered my ability to deal with the other. It's exciting to know that I am gaining control--that it is possible to gain control.
I feel at home in this skin of mine, for the most part. I don't feel like I am hidden behind my eyes. The rest of my face is starting to tell the story. My smile is genuine. I am a real person. I feel real. How can anyone say that I am doing the wrong thing?

Sunday, February 14, 2010

When Someone Else's Book Tells Your Story

"It finally dawned on me that I had not been able to grow up fully because I was never going to be an adult woman. I knew that the only way I could grow up--really be an adult--was to become a man."

"While other men talked about wanting validation as men from their fathers or other role models, I listened to my inner self, recognizing the validation I had received over the years, the connectedness I had always felt with other men, recognizing that my masculinity was natural and real, as natural and real as that of any other man in the room, and that if I had stayed in a female body my masculinity would still have been natural and real, because that masculinity did not depend on the possession of a male body."

"Being true to oneself creates the integrity and self-respect we need to have if we are to extend that respect to others."

"Identity has often been a powerful organizing tool, but it should not be mistaken for the ideal model of community. Identity is not a rigid, monolithic social box into which we can each place ourselves, where we will permanently remain. We are all becoming something, and we can strongly identify with different aspects of our lives at different times, or new elements may be introduced into our lives that we must integrate into our identity, such as parenthood, chronic illness or sudden disability, falling in love with a person we wouldn't have imagined being with, or finding a new career. These evolutionary events often draw us into new communities and new identities. The tendency to 'fix' people's identities as encompassing only one aspect of themselves, or as being unchanging in their various aspects, is equivalent to expecting a person to only eat apples because he or she was eating an apple when you met."

"For me, community exists when I don't have to be afraid to let others around me know who I am, when I don't have to worry about surviving hostility simply because I am different in some way, whether that way is gender- and sex-related, or because of the color of my skin or my family background or my occupation. I want a community in which I receive the same respect I give to others, and the same level of services and opportunities that others receive, a community that is conscious, caring and respectful of all life and all human expression that is not harmful to others."

"Being a man is more than looking like one. It requires knowing what is expected of a man, and choosing how to go about meeting or not meeting those expectations at any given moment."

"I wanted to change my body because I felt invisible. Inside a female body, I felt as if I couldn't fully exist, as if the masculine part of me was compressed inside me to a degree that was not just uncomfortable, but downright painful. We all have hidden components of our personality or selves that we either want to protect or yearn to have others see. We all also have to find the balance for ourselves, bringing out those hidden attributes or somehow finding that place of comfort in our own skins, in our own lives. We all want to find fulfillment. For some people, that means something as as simple as changing hairstyles or driving a certain car, for others it means serious exercising and buying a new wardrobe. For still others it means giving up a boring job and attempting to change careers, or going back to school to get that MBA or PhD. For some people it means adopting a new religious practice or confirming the one in which we were raised. For others it means adopting an androgynous or overtly confrontational style of dress and grooming. For some of us, it means changing our sex visibly, legally, internally, and externally--fundamentally and dramatically changing our bodies."

"This is what normal feels like."

"I am the one who has to live inside my body. This is my body of knowledge."

"Every time a stranger called me 'sir' or 'Mr. Green' in person or over the telephone--something that had been happening for decades already--I felt as if I was less and less able to laugh about it. It seemed I was becoming a man in spite of myself..."

"Being different from both the girls and the boys, I was reluctant to engage in interspecies contacts."

"As I relaxed into the comfort zone of each new relationship, I privately resumed my own internal concentration on hiding my discomfort with my female body."

"Trans people don't know more about sexuality just because they are trans. In some cases we may know even less because our own confusion and fears have allowed us less sexual experience."

"I finally learned that I really do know and accept who I am, and I don't have to rely on my partner's appearance, sex, or gender to validate or reinforce my own identity."

"The extent to which we convey the truth of our experience is the extent to which any audience will receive us."

"The pain inflicted by the refusal to acknowledge the lived experience of a person if vicious and debilitating."

"It was a great relief to be able to shake off layers of defensive behaviors developed to communicate my humanity from inside my uncategorizability."

"So why tell anyone about my past? Why not just live the life of a normal man? Perhaps I could if I were a normal man, but I am not. I am a man, and I am a man who lived forty years in a female body. But I was not a woman. I am not a woman who became a man. I am not a woman who lives as a man. I am not, nor was I ever, a woman, though I lived in a female body, and certainly tried, whenever I felt up to it, to be a woman. But it was never in me to be a woman."

"By claiming our identity as men or women who are also transpeople, by asserting that our different bodies are just as normal for us as anyone else's is for them, by insisting that our right to express our own gender, to modify our bodies and shape our identities, is as inalienable as our right to know our true religion, we claim our humanity and our right to be treated equally under law and within the purviews of morality and culture. To do that, we must educate--if we have the ability and emotional energy to do so. That is what visibility is about."

"People can argue abstractly about the "real-ness" of my life all they want, but it doesn't change the fact that I exist or the qualities of maleness people observe in me."

"The longer my hair grew, the more consistently I was perceived by strangers as male...There is something about gender--not sex or sexuality--that transcends clothing, hairstyles, body shapes, voices, and even the conscious awareness that a body has a particular sex."

"I also knew that whether or not I ever changed my body, I would always be not completely male and not completely female, even though I knew I would fit in the world better as a man. I would always be different than other conventionally gendered beings. And ultimately, by changing my appearance to reflect my masculine gender, I did not narrow my perspective to obliterate the feminine, but in fact I broadened my own understanding of what it can mean socially to be labeled 'man' or 'woman.'"

"Gender is a type of language, and there are some very adept individuals capable of speaking many dialects, as well as derivative languages."

"As we throw off the yoke of early oppressions and remove the barriers to being ourselves, we are left with--ourselves."

And this is how the book ends:

"Just like anyone else, when transsexual people lie down at night and shut our eyes, helpless in sleep and vulnerable as infants, whether we have someone's arms around us or whether we are all alone, we know that all we have to live for is to be the best version of our most authentic self that we can possibly be. Through our introspection and experimentation we can come to realize how very like others we are. We can come to accept the mysterious, the feared and misunderstood aspects of ourselves, to appreciate the whole self, to recognize our differences and similarities, to rid ourselves of anxiety concerning sexuality, to understand the body as a vessel of the spirit in an intrinsic way. For some observers, our journey seems a step outside the boundaries of society; for us, once we have arrived at our own balance point--no matter what that looks like to others--we can recognize our humanity and understand our connections to other people. Though others may persist in excluding or tormenting us, and though we may be driven initially by anger or eventually by compassion, once we find that balance point of self-acceptance we can experience an inner shift toward a kind of peace. The beacon of that inner peace living in each of us enables transpeople to endure, and once we bring it to the forefront of our lives, the resulting self-assurance will eventually speak to and calm the fears of others."
----------------------------------------

quotes from Becoming a Visible Man by Jamison Green

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

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

Monday, October 26, 2009

Cleaning House

How do I figure out how to say what I want to say? Every time I think of doing this, my heart literally hurts, and my stomach tightens and churns. My body has developed a characteristic response to fear--a physical manifestation of the psychological disturbance that would otherwise go unnoticed save by people who have an eye for catching those in deep mental turmoil. This fear is my pain, but that's not the only pain I have to worry about. I worry about their reaction and what this all means for my relationships with them. You see, I know that my parents would never turn me away permanently. Well, my brain knows that, but that won't stop my insides from writhing about as if the reverse were the case. But my friends...They aren't obligated to stick around. They can just as easily choose to turn away as they have chosen to stay.

And how do you even begin to explain this to people for whom the concept is entirely foreign? People make careers out of explaining this stuff and theorizing about it. This is the stuff of dissertations and other forms of scholarly discourse. People dedicate their lives to discovering adequate and accurate representations of "transgender", and I'm supposed to be able to justify this to people in a few minutes or in an email. It sounds crazy to me. You know what else is crazy? Spell-check doesn't recognize the existence of the word transgender. I think that says something.

There's an element of desperation. But I am not desperate. I am hopeful. There is an element of fear. I am afraid. I am excited. I am anxious. Nervous.
This is who I am.
It's how I feel.
Imagine waking up and looking in the mirror and feeling disfigured, even if the rest of the world thinks you look perfectly normal. Beautiful they may say to you. Maybe handsome, depending. But you feel like something is missing or something doesn't belong. You don't know what but something is definitely wrong.
My whole life, I've been in the middle. I'll always be kind of in the middle. I guess I've known for a very long time that I'm not a girl. Never was. Dressing up in high heels, eyeliner, and all that jazz for me is true drag. Sure, it's fun sometimes. But it is other. foreign. not of Myself. Woman was never an identity I could embrace, not out of disrespect for that identity but because I could never figure out a way to connect myself, not fully. And I don't really connect as fully a man either. But I have found a connection with transgender. I'm neither and more than either one. This decision is simply my way of expressing that. Maybe I shouldn't have said simply. And I know that I don't have to adhere to anyone's idea of what being a man means. I'm doing this for myself. I want this because I want to feel like my body and soul align, and I want the world to appreciate me for who I am to myself rather than for who they think I should be. I know I can do something about this. I have the tools to change things if I don't like them.
We're all so mutable, really. Girls have it easy. Excuse me, biological females. I mean, we all start out that way. Excuse me, maybe I should have said biological females who are transitioning in comparison with biological males who are transitioning. Phwew...Now that we're clear...I mean, we all start out that way. Testosterone comes in and transforms the body into one that is typically considered male.
What's the difference if it happens in the womb or right now? I've felt so incomplete, so much younger and more immature than my friends. Maybe that's just that prepubescent feeling. I've been waiting. I guess I've been secretly waiting for things to just magically occur on their own. But that just doesn't happen. Every month I run further into my shell because I just can't stand dealing with that ultimate marker of femaleness. The bleeding, swelling...It horrifies and terrifies me. I feel like I could say so much more.

Maybe you just need to ask the right questions.

I may not have all the answers worked out yet, but I have the feeling that I wouldn't be able to do that alone anyway.
I'm scared because I have no idea where this will take me. The rest of my life?
Things are going to be that much harder for me. I'm aware of it.

But I don't want to survive. I want to live.

I know I'm going to meet people out there who will never be able to accept me once they know "the truth." Truth in that sense doesn't mean very much. It's almost silly to even point out. The truth of a person is who that person has been to you. Does knowing what's down there really count enough to change that? I'm not going to go all philosophical on your ass about what constitutes truth because that'd be lame. It's crazy to think of my family's reaction too.

I know I'm not ready to be saying all of this. Indeed, a lot of this was meant to be said tonight in front of everyone, but I just couldn't figure out how to do it. So I failed again, in a way. I've needed to tell them for a while now. I know I've missed things, and maybe a few things are even more unclear.
I've lost a lot of sleep over this. I keep weighing my options. And the same thing keeps happening. The ultimate point I keep reaching is that I WANT THIS. I am afraid. There are innumerable and ever-present uncertainties.
Defining myself and choosing who I want to be.

I'm in class, and it's really hard to breathe. I'm getting dizzy from thinking about approaching people, and my professor's words are just flying over my head right now. I feel so far away from this classroom. My mind has been all over the place. Dealing with this is nuts. It's not the transitioning that worries me this much, although that still does to quite the extent. I'm worried about my family and friends. I wonder if anyone else in this room has any idea what the fuck is happening in my head right now. My mind's a fucking hurricane. Hazy. I don't know how much longer I can put this off, but I don't want to miss anything.


So this was the end. I wrote most of that during my last class of the day. I don't even know why I went. I had just finished taking an ASL test, and I have no idea whether I aced it or failed. I don't really even know what happened in that last class.

And how is this going to make sense to anyone who doesn't understand that gender is a continuum and that most people don't fall on either side anyway? Now that that's out there, let's say that I'm in the middle again, and maybe that makes more sense. But let's say that I want to shift to the side a little bit. Fluidity. Not just going with the flow but making your own waves. Finding your current.
So what does that make me? Like I said, I'm both and neither, but obviously that really doesn't make things easier for the everyday human being. So yeah I'm a boy. I'm a trans boy. Does that make me a straight guy? No. I was never a lesbian. Fluidity. I go both ways, as they say. So I'm a queer, as always.
What does this mean for me? What do I have to do? I guess those are also topics of interest. It's hard to tell what other people may not know, being so immersed in it myself. I imagine that's how some professors feel. They are so far into the subject already that they can't even explain the basics anymore. I try not to be that way.

So, first I'd have to see a therapist. Since a lot of people in the medical community, at least the people important enough to have a say in the publication of such texts as the DSM, believe that being trans is some kind of disease. Gender Identity Disorder. Like there's something wrong with you for liking blue over pink or wanting muscles instead of curves. Like you are a freak because you play with a toy of a different shape and color than the one that supposedly belongs to your gender. Maybe it has wheels instead of hair you can brush, but the rest is all plastic, right? Maybe it was even made in the same place. They think there must be something wrong with someone who goes to the other side of the store to buy clothes. Are they really men's clothes if a self-identified woman wears them? Does that make her sick? What about a man in a dress is so despicable to people? Simple human desire for self-expression has been medicalized so that societal norms have been incorporated into the biological definitions of maleness and femaleness. We begin to take these as facts of being human when they are nothing more than social constructions that have varied across time and place. Basically, we're being labeled as mental invalids because we don't fit in to what society thinks we should be as men and women.
So after telling my tales to this therapist and jumping through the necessary hoops,and after living full-time for a certain length of time( 6 months or so to a year, maybe shorter...maybe longer), I'll be given a letter to take to an endocrinologist saying that I understand what the treatment will and will not do. I'll be given a prescription for testosterone. I'll have to get regular checkups and heart and liver function tests. I would take T as an injection once every two weeks for the rest of my life. Some changes are reversible. Others are not. There are risks of liver and heart problems, as I alluded to, as well as risks of male pattern baldness. And did I mention that rights for trans people aren't really in existence? I could be fired at any time for being trans. I could be beaten and raped and murdered. It's a very real thing that happens all the time, even in this country that supposedly claims equality for all its citizens. I'm aware of the risks. But I'd rather live than exist. I'd rather be happy as the person I have always wanted to be than miserable trying to pretend to be the person everyone thinks I should have been.
So T...What will it do?
My vocal chords will thicken, and my voice will get deeper. Facial hair. Body hair. Increase in musculature. No more menstruation. Body fat redistribution. Oilier skin, maybe worse acne. More RBCs. More bad cholesterol. Less good cholesterol. Rougher skin. Emotional changes. Increased appetite. There are a few others...but basically, it's puberty all over again.

I know this is getting pretty long, so I'll stop here and continue in another post if you don't feel like reading anymore. The next stuff is a little different anyway.
Thanks for being patient.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

One

It's a word like she that cuts into me, that esh being such a harsh sound, you see. I know you think it's hard to switch, and wouldn't you know? I guess that really makes me a SON of a bitch. But just think of how tough this is for me. Do you think I'm using to being called he? And what happens when I walk into the next room of people I haven't told yet? It's like I'm the ball being passed back and forth across the net or maybe it's monkey in the middle or something, but it's just kind of dizzying. People can't be surprised by this, and I'm sorry I'm not more articulate, but you really should know by now how this all started happening. Anyone who's been paying attention knows what I'm doing, though I have to wonder about the people who see facebook and completely ignore it. I'm telling you right now if you are trying to be polite, the fact that you are not acknowledging my decision is pretty fucking rude. But I'm not trying to be mean here. I really wonder. Do some people just not get it even when it's spelled out for them in black and white? I guess it's blue and white in this case. It's just one of those things that people need to know. And I want them to know it. But seriously. Do you know how exhausting it is to have that conversation with someone? Think of how many people I'd have to tell. I understand that my coming out is something that I'll have to do over and over again until the day that I die, but can't you make it a little easier on me. I assumed that at least one person would approach me about it. And maybe people are afraid. I understand that. But don't be afraid to upset me. Don't be afraid to pry. I just don't feel like initiating 100 percent of the time. And if you really don't care that much at all about where my life is going, at least respect my decision enough by acknowledging that the decision has been made. I'm not really pointing out anyone in particular. Nobody really seems to have gotten the hint, and maybe I was too subtle about it. I don't know.
Believe it or not, I've been working on things for a while. On paper. In my head. I think I started working on this even before I knew I had an option. Most of you will have no idea about all those sleepless nights I had to go through to get where I am with this. I don't expect people to really get it. But what I do expect from people, and maybe this is way too optimistic, is a desire to understand. And I don't expect that from everyone. But I don't think it's too much to ask of my friends. I want to understand everything about them, even though I know that's pretty much impossible. But the effort is still there. That's what counts.
Telling my family is going to be the hardest part of all, and I really want my friends to be involved somehow. I am so afraid of my mother's reaction. Indeed, that's been the part over which I have lost the most sleep. I've told a few friends in the Crew, and pretty much all of my queer friends know. It's like I'm living two lives right now. I know I started this as a kind of poem, but it got a little off topic. Things have been jumbled like that lately.
I haven't written a lot here because most of it has been that kind of personal stuff I would have been afraid to post. But now I realize that I can't live like that. I can't hide who I am for the rest of my life. I'm so fucking scared of this, yet I'm unbelievably excited. This is the person I am supposed to be. I know there is nothing wrong with me, and I know that doing this is the best thing I can do for myself because I was wearing myself out trying to make myself fit into something some( body) that I'm not. I'm tired of being self-conscious. It's so draining to feel like your mind and body live in two different worlds. I couldn't stand it anymore. And I know that there are going to be a lot of people who have had these expectations for me whose dreams get royally ass-raped by my decision. And maybe there will be a few things I'll have to sacrifice in order to achieve this as well. But I'm looking at what's going to make me ultimately happy. I'm looking at what I've always wanted. I'm tired of people not being able to see past this exterior that doesn't fit me at all. It's really annoying.
I was walking to my office at the LRDC with one of my best friends this afternoon. We weren't even talking about gender at all. We were talking about exercise. "...I might as well change the one thing that I can about my life and make it exactly how I want it." Maybe that's why I've always loved exercise so much. When everything else in life sucks, you can always count on it to work the way you want it to. As long as you put in the effort, you'll get what you want. It's the fairest of all things in life. This is the same. If I'm not happy, there is something I can do about it. And why not do it now? These are the best years of my life, and I don't want to waste them pretending to fit into a category in which I clearly do not belong. This is a very positive decision for me. And there are so many new things ahead for me. I really hope you can all enjoy this with me. I know I'm going to need you guys for this. I really hope you find this.
to my friends who have become my family,
to the Crew,
and to Rox.
--Dylan

Friday, September 18, 2009

Identity

Last semester I took a course called Deaf and Society. Since a large part of this course involved examine Deaf identity, our professor gave us an exercise in determining for ourselves the most important components of our respective identities. We were told to list five things about ourselves, and as we finished our lists, we each walked to the board to jot them down. Some walked more purposefully than others; some more hesitantly than others. I was freaking out because I had recently begun defining another part of my identity--carving it out of the marble--and I was worried that it wouldn't be ready to reveal. But that's not the part that interests me most. Every list began in the same way. "Woman." "Man." Is this really how people define themselves above all else? For me, having that at the top of the list seems stupid. It tells me nothing about that person at all, though it may provide me with a huge list of stereotypes about that particular classification. Let's just say that my list didn't begin that way. In fact, neither one of those words was even on my list. Even our professor's list began with that item, and I was almost certain that it would have begun with "Deaf" since that seems to be the most prominent part of her identity. She mentioned that Man/Woman always comes first for her because it's just so obvious, so inherent, a basic fact of life, something that just IS. I was astounded, but only for a moment. That's the way a lot of people see things. They don't even question these things. Well, you know what? It's not always as obvious as you might believe. And it's never as clear cut as you think. And it's not something that needs to be the sun of our social universe. And it scares me that not one other person in that room firstly mentioned a quality of personality or something truly defining to the individual. Instead, I saw a homogeneous set of responses that made me want to scream. People weren't reporting who they think they are. They were reporting the presence of a certain set of genitals and/or hormones. This isn't to say that you can't be proud of being whatever gender you are. But is that really the most important thing that you can list about yourself? Is that really how you would like to be defined if you could only choose one word to do it? And maybe I'm just really weird in that I've spent pretty much my entire life without ever placing myself into either one of those categories. It's not like I wasn't aware of my own body, and it's not that I forced myself to believe anything. I grew up being a person, doing whatever I wanted and being however I wanted without questioning whether the behavior was appropriate to my perceived gender role. People always say things like boys shouldn't do this or girls shouldn't do that, but that never mattered. Yes, I did a lot of stereotypically male things, but I also enjoyed a lot of pastimes that are considered female-typical behavior. It just seems silly to say that you can't like something because you have a vagina. But the whole time, I never really conceptualized myself as fitting into the group of girls at my school. And while I always felt more comfortable around the guys and did feel like that group was a better fit, it wasn't exactly a perfect match either. And I didn't think that much of it. That was just how things were for me. And I love that about myself actually. I'm lucky to have grown up with this view. I don't even know how that happened, especially considering the area in which I was raised. I was naturally different, and maybe there were a lot of people who tried to change me, but my parents were never among them. I don't think they knew exactly what they were doing, but they were essentially raising a gender neutral child. I am reminded of a few times in my life when my parents encouraged me to pass just because it would make things a little easier (shorter lines for restrooms, 100 degree days at the ballpark, etc.). They saw nothing wrong with this, and they saw nothing wrong with how I dressed, cut my hair, or spoke. I never understood why it mattered that some clothes were placed under a sign that said "BOYS" and that some were placed under a sign that said "GIRLS". I always wanted to tell people that they were allowed to walk over to the other side and try them on. But they probably would have been afraid that they might like it. This is such a complicated issue, and I'd love to say more about it, but the whole thing has been haphazardly thrown together because I just couldn't stand holding it in any longer. It's funny. I'm about to go to a college party at the Drumline house. If you want a striking display of heteronormativity, go to a party thrown by straight kids. It's like a mating ritual.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Distracted

I'm supposed to be studying now, but I can't concentrate. I've been thinking about something for a few days, and it's been something I've thought about in the past. I really never thought I would have to think about a decision like this. It's hard for me to even mention it. If I did make the decision, I'd be absolutely annihilating any chance of joining the military. And I can't even begin to think about the reaction I'd get from my family. I've just had this ridiculous knot in my stomach for about three days. I have no idea what I should do. Part of me wants to do what I have always done and just forget about it for a while and to tell myself that I come pretty damn close anyway. I'm sure everyone knows what the hell I'm talking about by now, and maybe that's a little scary too. And maybe it's not something that I should do. How am I supposed to know? There's a part of me that wants to do, and there are parts of me that are terrified of what could happen to me (on many levels). But I guess if I weren't scared out of my mind, I'd really have something to worry about. And I don't even know because some days, I look in the mirror and I'm perfectly happy. But sometimes I'm not. Sometimes things just don't match up, but there are times when things feel perfectly aligned. And I worry about the same things that everyone does, I suppose. I wonder what my friends would do. I'm sitting in my office now, and it's taking a lot of energy to keep myself from breaking down and crying. I have a meeting with someone at 1, and I don't know if I'll be able to concentrate on what I have to do. I really wish I could take some time, but I doubt it'd be helpful. I'd probably just browse the internet and worry more. If I could start studying, that would take my mind off of things, but I really don't know if I should ignore this anymore. And maybe nothing will come of this, but it's still nice to know that you have everything in order--to be sure of it all. I keep wondering if this is what is supposed to happen to me. Has my life pointed to something like this all along? I guess if you look at any pictures of me, well, ever, you might think so, but until a few years ago, it was never something that crossed my mind either way. I've always just been myself, and it's never mattered one way or the other. Part of me thinks that there would be no reason to do it because I would still be me. But part of me thinks I might be a happier or more confident me. I'm really not sure, and I wish I had a clue of what to do. I can't even believe this is happening. And I have no idea what to do about the part of me that just enjoys being a little different and enjoys messing with perceptions. My head just feels so heavy. Maybe it just comes in cycles and I will forget about it. But the thought has more than crossed my mind more than once. I guess this is why they make you try it out first. Even that seems like it would be exceedingly complicated. God, I hate pronouns. When you think about it, that's really the only thing that would change if I were to try it. And maybe no matter what I am, I'm always going to be a queer. I'm going to wear the same clothes that I have. I'm going to do the same things I've always done. Too much is happening in my head right now. Web effect. I would love to talk to someone about this, but I would hate for that person to assume that I'm like everyone else who has thought about this before. I would hate to be labeled before I got a chance to say anything. Objectivity is the enemy here, which is rather unsettling for me. And ultimately, it's a decision that I have to make, but I don't believe that means I should make it alone. And part of me wants to say that if people could just stop paying attention to stuff like this, there would be no need for such changes. Fuck. Everything only ever happens all at once, it seems. It's 12:34. I'm making a wish.

Friday, May 1, 2009

Spring 2009

Fall certainly fell away from me. I watched it melt in the sun from the stands of the stadium at the Sun Bowl, smiling (at least, trying...no, maybe I was really crying) as they took the field yet another time, eight instead of nine, twenty-six. Not twenty-seven. It's hard to believe how much closer I became to those twenty-six, having been forced into a state of separation whose suffocating spell I hope to break in the coming weeks. My mind wavers a lot when it comes to the individuals, at least some of them, but I could not have survived without this group of guys. Through drumming and drinking and stupid we have passed and shall continue to, and what I wanted all season long was the chance to dance, but what I needed for years was the chance to say thanks because even though I never got my chance, I got through hell, not unscathed in any way but a far better human being. I looked into his eyes later that night, after the formal awards and the drunken drum major speeches, and I could see that this hurt him too, and that somehow made everything a little easier to take. A few drops of my soul still soil that carpet. A few drops of my soul I give in offering. I promise I will not take this for granted. I promise I will try. And that alone, is finally, enough.
This semester, I saw several sleepless nights. Thankfully, I was not alone for all of them.
My professors annoyed the shit out of me, with the exception of one. Syntax was a disappointment, Synaptic was a joke, and The Spirit that Physics Broke may very well have been the story of my life had this life not been so well fortified--had this spirit not already survived these years of experience. Yes, my grade is pathetic and nowhere near indicative of who I am. But maybe the other grades aren't either.
I saw New York City and got lost in Central Park, which normally would have terrified me, but I think the thing I needed to happen was exactly that which did. I saw Oklahoma City and nearly lost my mind.
Both of those trips taught me that I'm no longer on the outside. I'm inside the circle now and can't imagine finding my way back to believing those things. Ignorance knows no boundaries it seems, and it's fascinating what people take as common sense these days. "None of us are guys. Why would you want to go in there? You're not a guy." So matter-of-fact. She was almost laughing. Is it really that simple for some? That's sad.
"So, as a bisexual female..."
"Well..."
"So, as a bisexual male..."
"Um, you're getting closer, but..."
It was the first time (but not the last) where I felt that my internal dictionary was different from everyone else's. I somehow picked up the revised edition and found myself staring back at those old pages, which I could see quite clearly through his eyes. He really didn't know. "Well, why aren't you just a lesbian then?" He just didn't get it. He's the kind of guy who never will. I'm fine with never being able to grasp something. I'm not okay with not making an effort.
And then there was the basketball game that was supposed to be mine--my chance to make up for an entire marching season of silence. And then I found out who else was going. And I knew that chance was gone too. But I made the best of things. I had fun and screamed relentlessly. We lost. But what a ride.
Pride Week happened, and sleep became a dream itself.
Tension. My house. We were all pissed, and no one had reason to be. I felt like I had enough going on and didn't want to deal with it. I still don't.
The last week of classes came upon us, and the sun graced us with its fleeting presence in the prologue of summer; we devoured the pages (and the fried rice), salivating over the prospect of turning the page to find Chapter 1 of the Summer of 2009. But that book slammed shut as finals week consumed our souls and forced our faces into books without sunshine. I lived in the library, toiling over my final portfolio for the one class that kept me sane all semester long; calculating and memorizing and pondering for Physics, which was probably a waste of my time anyway considering how the grades were finalized; cramming more Physics and Brain Stuff (I mean, Synaptic Transmission) into my brain, while cramming Cheetos, Twizzlers, and eventually, cheap chocolate Easter bunny into my face.
"Chicken Soup for the Neuroscientific Soul"
"Oh Christ, it'd probably be toxic."
I remember not even going home that night. We went to her place, and I just couldn't stand being awake. My alarm went off, but she told me to stay. I stayed for as long as I could. It was 7 30 when I decided that I would save Joseph from suffering alone. It was only right that we should die together. Enter chocolate bunny and exit sanity. "If it's not pretty when I walk out of that God damn exam, I'm going turn around, walk right back through those doors, and punch Dr. Wood in the face." Well, we raped that exam. And it was pretty. So it was off to the Pete to renew my locker for the countless hours I new I'd be spending in the gym for the summer, then off to Schenley Plaza. We just lay there for hours. I took my shirt off and didn't care that I wasn't wearing a bathing suit top. Eyes closed, we talked about everything and nothing in one of those conversations whose details are irrelevant yet with which you are so glad to have been associated.
My parents finally called. They were sitting right across the street. We drove up to see my brother, and I made it back to the Valley around 8 pm Saturday night. I'm still here but not for long.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Bored and Bad

I am a girl who just happens to be a boyfriend.
I am a boy who just happens to be a girlfriend.
Confusing?
I know, and those things only make sense when said just like that. If I had to choose, I'd say I'm her boyfriend because I've never been a good girlfriend. I don't know how to be a good girlfriend, but I'm pretty sure I have some clue about how to be a good boyfriend. I know someone who just says friend every time he refers to his boyfriend, but I'm sure that has a lot to do with his relationships to the people with whom he is talking. I keep trying to tell myself that it doesn't matter what they call me, but I have this horrible obsession with knowing things and having definite answers, and the fact that I can't tell people what I am anymore is really getting to me. The truth is that I am a lot of things at once, and I always have this feeling that whatever words are used neglect the rest of me at any given time. I wish there were a word that could capture that kind of person. Since there really isn't, I'm trying to form a combination of my own. Obviously, this goes way beyond boyfriend or girlfriend and gets all the way down to boy or girl. Maybe I'll never find the right words. If that's really the case, then I have to start looking for a way to be okay with that.
Telling my parents is becoming a bit of a problem. More specifically, I'm having a difficult time communicating with my mother. (I'd say that communication with my dad on the matter is almost non-existant.) I want her to understand, but a huge part of me knows that she will never fully understand this and thus may never fully accept it. Her beliefs, which have been shaped and beaten into her by this wretchedly backwards atmosphere from the time of her youth, contrast so sharply with mine, and the definitions she uses are so outdated to me that I can't even imagine opening up for discussion. I desperately want to be able to talk about this kind of stuff with her because I have been able to talk to her about absolutely everything else that happens in my life. It's a huge part of me. It's basically who I am. If we can't talk about that, I'm not sure what that says about our relationship.
I thought I'd have a few more insightful things to say. I thought I'd be able to articulate this way better than it seems I have. I'm sure I could eventually. I guess I just picked the wrong time to write.
I had a few other things I wanted to write about, such as the past semester, AF crap, and a situation related to the above that involves my future as a possible parent, but I don't think I can do justice to those topics either, at least right now.
I may come back to this later.