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. 

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

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.  

Peter

I've been waiting for words to come all day, and I don't think my emotions have entirely sorted themselves out.  I got a message this morning on Facebook. I had to check the news reports to make sure it was real. It still hasn't managed to feel real. You were 25 years old. Your car hit a retaining wall and caught fire, but we know little more than that.
Throughout the day, I've been getting hit with memories that have made me smile more than frown, and the most incredible thing about this experience to me is that just as you had this unique way of bringing together groups of friends from vastly different social circles in life, so you have been able to bring so many of us back together to celebrate the beautiful person you were, even though you have passed from this world.
I know I will never be able to capture in words all of the memories with which I am left. I'm not even sure about the exact day we met. I feel like you grew into a bigger and bigger part of my life as I began to grow into myself and open up to people who had been trying to get close to me for months or even years. You grew into such a big part of my life that I remember spending almost every single day with you and never wanting to be apart. You were the one to help me pick up the pieces when I thought my life had fallen apart, on more than one occasion, during the most difficult summer of my life. You always had this way of turning tragedy on its head. You made me feel much stronger than I thought I ever could be.
I remember how you, James, Joseph, and I were the Golden Girls, and you were Blanche, of course.
I remember finding a box of bagels and cream cheese with you on the corner across the street from the Cathedral, as well as being curled up in pain with you on the floor of the Rainbow office after deciding it was somehow a good idea to eat them.
I remember dancing with you at Kelly and Chance's wedding this summer and how we both laughed because we couldn't figure out who should lead.
I remember the random summer walks, playing board games on your floor in the blazing summer heat when you had no air conditioning.
You loved mugs. You had the best mug collection I've ever seen, and I fondly remember our trips to Goodwill where you'd buy about five or six at a time.
I remember that time where we lived together without actually living together and how we only had that apartment for about a month. It still felt like home. I think that's because we both wanted it to be so badly.
I remember that you didn't own more than one pair of shorts. You insisted on wearing long pants all year round. As Melissa said, this is because you are a hipster. But you always denied it. Proving the point.
Speaking of which, that night we decided to scale a fence and go tagging was one of the best nights of my college life. It felt like we were in Stand By Me. That was way better than studying for finals ever could have been.
I remember walking along the train tracks with you and Kelly in the summer of 2010, taking a ridiculous picture of the two of us biting the same piece of meat on a stick after already having taken so many absurd pictures before heading to Pride in the Street that same year.
I remember how you talked often about how you talked with Paul McCartney when you were in London, and I thought this was the coolest thing ever.
I remember how much you desired to find someone with whom you could start a family and have children. We both agreed you'd make an awesome dad.
You also loved hotels. And now I totally understand why.
I remember the time you carried me out of my house and into your car when I was too sick to even walk.
I remember how you always slept with a fan going because you just couldn't fall asleep otherwise.
I remember the way you used to hold me in just the right way so that the tension just melted away. You made me feel safe and loved. And you were one of the first people in my life to truly see me for the man I am. You were one of the few people whose understanding of gender made me sigh with relief. For this, you were an invaluable asset to the transgender community of Pittsburgh.
I remember how valuable an asset you were to the entire queer community of Pittsburgh. You seemed to know everyone. You've touched the lives of so many people. You always brought people together. Every time I look back at pictures of us out on the town, we are surrounded by at least a dozen loving friends. Even when you were going through your own periods of darkness, you somehow managed to spread light wherever you went. You had this way of making people happy and bringing out their love for life whenever you came near. I wonder if you knew just how important to our community you were. How many people will never be the same because you were a part of their lives.
 You helped me discover and grow into the person I am today, and you will always be a part of me. I miss you so much, and as I fight through this sea of conflicting emotions and struggle to grasp the reality of this situation, I think about what you would have wanted your closest friends and family members to do. As much as we must mourn the loss of a truly great and inspirational human being, we must also do you the honor of celebrating your life and continuing to work for the equality you believed we all deserve. It was tattooed on your hand, in plain sight, because you believed something so important should not be hidden. You were unapologetic about what you believed. And that made us all a little more comfortable with ourselves. You helped us learn to carry our spirits like you carried your tattoo. You helped us understand that we were not put on this earth to hide.
I think that is the most difficult part of all for me to handle. We were put here to live. And you embodied the idea of living life to the fullest more than anyone I knew, really. It seems cruel that the world has lost someone with such a zest for life--someone who had so much life left to live and so much more left to give. I haven't gotten all of these feelings sorted out yet, but this is what your memory has helped me learn in just the last half a day or so.
I had no idea that that dance this summer would be the last time I would ever see you. But it is truly one of the most beautiful memories with which you could have left me.
 Even though you might have laughed at me in life for saying this, I do believe you are here with me, helping me along the way in this process of grieving. I want to thank your spirit for staying with me, and I want to thank all the friends who have reached out to me with phone calls, messages, and comments just to let me know that they are here. We will help each other through this because we are family. I love you all, and this whole experience--being completely new territory for most of us who have never had to deal with the loss of a peer so early in life--has made a lot of us realize how precious these friendships really are and how valuable our time together can be. <3 p="">

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.

Progress

I've said before that it may be time to retire this particular blog, or rename it, or do something to change how it appears since it doesn't quite carry the same meaning it used to. But for now, when I need a place to write, and I need to be quick about it, this seems to be the best I can do. I am not really the same person I was when I started. This weekend helped me to realize just how much has changed about my circumstances, about my friends, and about me.

I feel duller somehow than I used to. I used to feel that there was something magical about my life, walking around with confidence that may or may not have had any basis in reality. These days, I still have confidence, but it's based on what I have done, not what I am. I'm not sure how I feel about this.

I've started to feel older. I am not as interested in the craziness, and I am definitely not able to mentally or physically deal with the constant drinking and partying anymore. The kind of companionship I desire is different, and I'm not always looking for that next big chance for me to get wasted and make an ass of myself. It's not that I don't like to enjoy myself--just that what I find enjoyable has changed.

I can't see the complete picture yet. I am doing what I need to do to get to a next step in my life that is in itself uncertain. I would like to be at a place where I no longer have to play catch up. I would like to start building my future from a comfortable spot, but I do not know if I will ever have that chance. I may be feeling regret because I did pass up the opportunity to live that comfortable life. I hope I will create a better opportunity that will not leave me feeling as drained, but I will never know. I would like to be able to stop thinking about every hypothetical that comes to mind. I need a better mental filter, or at the very least, a better coping mechanism.

Saturday was hard for me in so many ways, some of which are more difficult to articulate than others. In addition to the obvious, it was the first wedding of a friend I have been to, and while I do hope it won't be the last, it too reminded me of things that no longer exists. Still, seeing so many old friends in the same place, and being able to dance with them all again...It made me feel like I was in the company of family again. I feel like the kid in Stand By Me who finally recognizes that he will never have friends like the ones he did when he was twelve. I may never have friends like the ones I did in Pittsburgh. While I have met some exceptional people down here, I am not quite able to open myself up, and I don't know when I'll be able to. I don't know if it is even possible anymore.

I feel loved and accepted. I am in the company of friends and family. I have the chance at making real money and fixing my financial situation, and I have solid plans about going to graduate school. Yet, something is still missing. And it was the same thing that was missing in Wilkes-Barre. I want to be able to share myself with someone again. I want to feel love. I feel like I am a better person because whenever I have been in a successful relationship, the other person and I have been able to connect in a way that makes me feel connected to the rest of the world too. I feel like I am more a part of the same experience as everyone else when I am with someone I love. But I don't exactly know how to go about finding love. I'm not desperate. I'm not in dire need of saving. I don't have any need to open up to anyone about problems I have been having, and even if I did, I can't get myself to do it. The person who can bring down this wall will be the one. Some people have managed to create cracks here and there, but they quickly seal themselves. My soul will know, but it is a painful game to play, and I do not know if I should be patient and let something fall into place or if I should be actively seeking this person with whom I want to spend the rest of my life. I'm leaning away from the latter because I have never been able to make that work.

I've also come to realize something else. I am attracted to men, and women, and all sorts of differently-gendered people. But when I really think about what would make me feel happy and fulfilled, I see myself with a woman--a woman who can float between femme and butch with grace. A tomboy with an effeminate side who can just as easily turn heads in Dockers as in a dress. Someone who can make each and every part of me feel like it is loved and cared for, and someone for whom I am more than a charity case who needs the collective pity of society.

When I find you, I will love you in ways you have never known possible. I will give myself to you after years of hiding that self behind a wall built from the fear of loneliness, helplessness, and depression. I will be able to give myself to you fully, as I haven't been able to do in so many years that I barely remember what it feels like to be human. Love is not safe. And maybe this is why I have not made progress.

I want nothing more than to be able to share myself with those closest to me. And with the rest of the world. I do not know what can help me reach this goal.

I have spent so much more time these days focusing on the kind of partner I want to be than on the kind of partner I want for myself. The right person will help bring out this person in me. Maybe I'm a little late in figuring this one out.

I may not feel better after writing this, but I feel that I have at least learned something. And that is progress.

Post-Pride Thoughts

So I've been in Annapolis for slightly longer than two weeks, with Capital Pride being this past weekend. For some reason I feel like I have been here much longer than that. Maybe it's the same reason I feel like I have known so many of the new people in my life for years. I feel at home. I feel like I will be able to make this place a home for myself--establish myself in a way that I've never been able to do before.

 For the first four or five days, I had a pretty difficult time adjusting. I felt sure that I would lose the ability to plan out my life and get myself to the gym and to job interviews and to potential shows, and the only thing I could think about at all was how much I missed my family and how much of their lives I would be missing. I'm not exactly sure what happened to change my outlook. I began to focus more on myself and what I had rather than others and what I would be missing. As much as I will always miss my family when I am away from them, I cannot live my life like I'm watching a movie. I've been sitting by watching others experience happiness by living their lives to the fullest. I love my family. We have become so close in this past year alone, and that is something that I never want to lose. If I can, I'd like to see them at least once a month. My outlook has changed quite a bit since college, as I am starting to more fully grasp the concept of my own mortality and theirs. It is hard to imagine life without them, impossible to envision never getting to be with them again. But that day will come, and I have no idea if that will be twenty years from now or forty or even tomorrow. I also don't know how I will be able to handle their getting old. It will only remind me that it eventually happens to everyone, even me, fucking Peter Pan.
Anyway, the obsessive thoughts about what they were doing and how I could not be a part of those experiences subsided and made room for thoughts about my own present and future. I have found a new gym and am taking full advantage of it, and I have found one job already working at a gym that hasn't even opened yet. Even though I don't have much fitness sales experience, the owner was willing to give me the opportunity because my passion is something that can't be faked. That and apparently I sound great on the phone. I may also get the opportunity to help teach kids' classes, and I'll be able to shadow the trainers there as well, hopefully allowing me to get my certification pretty soon. I've had more interviews and job offers in the last two weeks than I have in two years trying to get jobs after college. I was actually able to turn down a job today. I hate retail and never want to do it again, so I declined the interview for Vitamin Shoppe because I know how miserable that makes me. I don't have to settle. And that makes me feel amazing. Just having the ability to make that choice is uplifting and makes me feel much less stuck.
Part of the problem with Wilkes-Barre is that it made me feel like I would be exactly where I was for the rest of my life, and not just in the physical sense. Even though I love this place and feel at home, I feel like there is so much promise in my life. I feel like big things can come my way. I feel like I am in control of making them happen. I feel like I am in control. It may not be perfect, but I have waited so long to feel like that, even just a little. I am making things happen for myself, which means I CAN make things happen for myself. I'm trying to enjoy it without thinking too much, but of course, that never works out very well for me. So I am thinking.
I am thinking about all the ways in which I can live my life. And it is hard to make a decision about what I want to do for the rest of my life. I miss Neuroscience, but Public Health will probably provide more job opportunities that can actually be useful to the community. And with any luck, I will get to combine my passion for both of these fields at some point. But now comes the hard part: Where do I apply? Do I stay in this area or try to get back to Pittsburgh? Do people in Pittsburgh even care enough anymore? I'm sure some do, but I am also sure that some people expect and hope that they will never see me again. A phone call every now and then would be nice. Maybe even a text that lets me know that someone still cares. But even if they don't, I have options.

Pride is different here. It was so much bigger. The parade was much longer, and people seemed much more excited about it. The festival itself was similar, but again, it was much bigger. I absolutely loved being a part of that parade. I loved getting to meet Ken Vegas, learning that he's just a real person--albeit an extremely talented one--and hopefully sparking a new friendship with someone just as interesting in the geeky kind of shit that I am. I loved that people were cheering for us and taking pictures--loved dancing in the street to the music blaring out of a speaker propped up in the back of a little red car with a big golden crown on top of it. I loved being able to provide that energy for people. I loved seeing the look on their faces when I jumped over three feet in the air...Everything about that day and the following night at the DC Kings' show (let's not even talk about the Saturday show), where I truly felt like a member of the family, even though I am not officially part of the troupe yet. This is how we should be as entertainers. No matter where we or from or what style we bring to the stage, we are family, and we all have at least that in common, if not more. I really felt that sense of brotherhood again, and if I could cry about anything that actually mattered, I'd be bawling right now. That is what I miss most about the HMH we started in 2010. Watching it turn sour hurt me so much. It was like losing a child. Maybe more like losing myself. Because I did lose myself to that. I lost what I had left of me, which wasn't much at the time. And when I tried to save myself, it only backfired. I am glad to see that things are finally starting to get back to the way they used to be.
Slight topic shift: Being single at pride is completely different than being with someone at pride. I didn't notice this much last year since I had other things on my mind. Last night, I realized that I may not know how to approach a relationship in a healthy way. I have only ever been a part of relationships where I have felt that I needed that other person to complete me. Even without being dependent on the other person, I would always lose myself in the relationship. I'd fall in love with the other person and his or her passions. I'd be so involved in them and us that I'd forget all about me. I've been in long-term relationships for a good majority of my adult life, and it's been almost a year and a half since I have not been. I am finding myself again. I am learning what it is that I love when I am all by myself. I am learning what makes me happy. I'm really learning how to live all alone for the rest of my life and still feel fulfilled. I still cannot shake that feeling of something being missing, but it is much less pressing than it has been. The problem is that now that I don't NEED anyone (or now that I am at least very close to that point), I am not sure how to get close to someone. I can't make myself vulnerable enough. I cannot find a way to bring down the wall. I don't know what I should be looking for in someone else either. And I still fear that no one will be able to handle me at my worst. I don't want anyone to have to, but I know that being with someone means that that someone will eventually get to know my darker side. Maybe I have to become more comfortable with that before I can move into the relationship arena.

Something else about nationals.

"i feel like i really made an impression on people. and i learned something myself. what i got out of this was way more important than winning. in fact, winning may have even overshadowed how important this lesson was for me to learn, so maybe there is a reason for the way things turned out."

Long shot

Just when I didn't think anything else could go wrong, it did. I've been working on this shit for six months. I've spent almost all of my free time and money on it. And now that I may not be able to go, four days before the competition, I feel at such a loss. I haven't felt disappointment like this in a long time. I can remember exactly when that last time was, and I can hear their voices in my head telling me that I would never be able to do it. My reason for persevering is to prove that I can. I want to prove it to myself more than anything, but it would be nice to silence the voices in my head that have been chirping away at me for years telling me that someone like me will never be able to succeed to any great degree, especially in the entertainment industry. I know you were wrong then, and you are just as wrong now. I don't want this to be the end of this journey for me. I don't want to have worked this hard just to not even be able to show up. This is too important for me to just let go and go home, even though that would be the easy thing to do. It would be the most comfortable thing too. I wouldn't have to worry about having a meltdown or making a fool of myself. I wouldn't have to worry about having to go it alone. I wouldn't have to worry about forgetting how to talk to important people. I wouldn't have to be afraid of proving them right. I am bigger than all of the bad things that happen to me. It doesn't look good right now, but the only thing I can do is trust that the right thing will happen in the end, and I will end up where I need to be. I am not even able to cry. I can't scream. It is all just held inside of me. But it's not the same as before. It's not that getting-ready-to-explode-out-of-your-skin feeling. It's fuel burning inside of me. But I need to learn how to control the flame. I will work until the very last hour. Why would I operate under the assumption that I am going to fail? I can do this. I need to do this. And I will do this.

Being Okay

I came home seven months ago against my will, without knowing anyone here other than my parents. I suppose you could count the people I used to know in high school, but I'm sure none of them really exist anymore either. I even got to know a few of them all over again. In so many ways, this part of my life is the low-budget sequel to my high school experience. I make just about the same amount of money, spend a lot of time wondering about the future all by myself, and I live in the same room. Best Buy is like a giant high school (many, many of them actually went to my actual high school) as well, complete with relationship drama, cliques, and house parties. And because of those house parties, I actually have friends I trust enough to randomly text or maybe even call (gasp) whenever I need something.

I find it interesting that I make friends with military guys so easily. I'm sure that says something about my personality, perhaps about my general lack of concern for holding my tongue when it would otherwise be appropriate. Also pretty sure the obsession with physical fitness has something to do with it. But it's not just that I can chat with them or find common ground. There really is some sort of deeper connection I can't quite figure out, like they would be the kind of friend that I try to be, because when it comes to putting your ass on the line for your fellow man, they've pretty much done that for a living.

I read something that made me angry the other day, but it made me happy as well. And regardless of which emotion I ended up feeling throughout the night, I cried. I wanted to be angry at her, but I was really angry with myself for being so hurt by something that has nothing to do with me. That might actually be why it hurts. I am not ashamed to admit that I am envious of your life. But I am not upset. I am happy, and I am thankful that you understand how unique your position is and how many lives you have the ability to affect from it. And I hope those lives are affected in positive ways, and instead of harboring this negative energy and having it seep out into the real world, I have no choice but to let it go. I'm on my way to being happy. And you are already happy. And we had nothing to do with each other's happiness. And I am learning to be okay with that. I'm learning not to be sad. It's hard to forget about the moments of the two of us that I can still see in full color--about how you were part of what changed the course of my entire life. But I understand that I do not have to, and the beauty of my life is that I don't have to play by the rule that says I need to be the jealous ex-boyfriend. I can just be an old friend. And maybe a new one, one of these days, if our paths ever cross again. Awkwardness is just going to be part of this whole experience, but we don't have to try to force it out of the way. Let the awkwardness come and go as it pleases, and it'll probably depart sooner rather than later.

I was so worried about never finding another soul that fit quite as nicely as yours, but then I did, in the most unexpected of places. And now I feel the same way about him. I can only assume that the same thing may very well happen again. But I am still young, and patience is a thing that is relegated to certain scattered aspects of my life. The pressure is on to settle down and start having babies, as every day I see new notifications about who is engaged, married, or pregnant. I see their wedding pictures. They're looking into each other's eyes like the world could be burning down around them and they wouldn't care. The power of the camera to capture the aura of two souls wrapped around each other--two spirits blending together and radiating love--is something I have always respected. Their pictures more than anything make me feel exactly what it is that I do not have in my life. And then the pain becomes very real.

I do wonder if I will ever feel such an intense love again. I wonder if I will ever be able to look into another person's eyes and truly believe that I'll be doing the exact same thing thirty or forty or fifty years down the road. I wonder if someone will ever see past the broken parts of me or maybe even love them just as much. I wonder if the person I may find will be able to take me at my worst, which is something that no one else has been able to do. And I wonder if it will be my fault if they can't.

I'm scared of losing things. I'm very scared about life right now because I may be at a point of no return, if such a thing exists. I'm still scared of making the wrong choice, even though I know that there isn't one. I may have made the wrong choice a few years ago when I decided to pass on medical school, but it was something that I had to do, and the only reason I would even argue that it could have been wrong is based on information I obtained after the fact. I was going to say something about having learned some very important things in the past two years, but that is actually just as meaningless. I am here now. It is so easy to forget that this is my present experience. That it matters too. That I need to make it matter by continuing to do things that matter. I may not be where I want to be, but I do have at least some ability to make this more like the place in my life I DO want to be.

Where am I? I am in my old bedroom, but it is not the same. I changed it shortly after moving back home. I repainted the walls, removed the old posters, eliminated boxes and boxes of useless junk and filed the rest of it away under "memories". It looks very modern, organized. Everything matches in here, as opposed to the chaotic assortment of patterns and colors I amassed between moving into this room for the first time and moving away for college. I still do not feel like there is enough of me in this room to make it more than a comfortably decorated room in which I am staying. I'm a guest in many ways. I'm trying to make this place feel like it belongs to me, but it does not. I am in my parent's house, not mine. Nothing can change this back to what it used to be. And I'm not just talking about the room.

My favorite holiday was his favorite holiday too. I watched him get excited about decorating the house and scaring away little children. It looked spectacular, and I remember getting off work and trudging through the cold and the light misty rain after getting off the bus just to make it back in time to see the last of the trick-or-treaters heading home. I remember playing with the puppy in the yard and watching her grow enough to be able to climb the stairs without being terrified. When I went back to get my things last month, she was even bigger and now more fearless. And when he hugged me goodbye, I didn't want to let go. I never want to let go, and that's my problem. I could keep going further and further back into the past, getting caught in memories of getting caught in moments with people who aren't just blips on the radar. I'm so scared that I have lost the ability to feel the extremes of felicity, perhaps because of my frequent mental excursions into the past.

It may not seem like I'm ready to deal with my life yet, but I feel that I am getting closer. And it all started by taking the risk of going over someone's house a few weeks ago. I get more confident each time, yet I am still fearful of making mistakes. I am probably going to be okay. I might even be more than okay, but right now, I've got a space heater, a brand new computer, fifteen pounds of muscle I didn't have 6 months ago, and football drinking buddies. I'd say that constitutes a little bit more than being okay.

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.

Step-Down

It's over. I'm completely sober, and I don't even think I'm tired. But my reign as Mr. Cattivo is over. I cannot even believe how much has happened in these last twelve months. But I think I said that already.

Everybody surprised me tonight. I really am proud of these guys for how much they have grown.

Let me also just say that I absolutely loved being in the backstage dressing room with Lady Rose and Tamara. That was perfect planning on Renee's part, and that definitely contributed to reducing the awkwardness that could have ensued.

What was awkward was staring out and seeing the first few rows of people giving me death glares the whole time. It's surprising how easy it is to ignore people who hate you when you just have to look beyond them to see the smiling, screaming faces.

But everyone was professional. It was nice. The way it should be.

And of course I cried, but I don't think most people noticed it. I don't think many who did had any idea why. And that's fine with me. Only I need to know.

I'm proud of what I have done. I need to keep thinking of it that way. I just hope it matters.

I'll probably have something more coherent to say when I've processed everything. But this is all I've got for now.

It also feels funny to try to congratulate someone who has blocked you on facebook, so you can't tag them anyway. But still, nicely done. And congrats to everyone.

Night.

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.

New computer

It seems fitting that this is the first place I visit with my new computer. Call it a symptom of growing up in a society more concerned with technology than almost anything else, but my computer is very important to my life, partly because it is the vehicle through which I can access most of the important memories in my life. I felt like my old computer was a fitting symbol for the past seven years, with a heavy emphasis on "past". So much baggage, unnecessary pain and suffering, and outdated ways of dealing with problems of the present. A new computer means a new start, a literal blank slate just waiting for new memories to be recorded. I haven't forgotten the past seven years, which are securely locked away on an enormous external hard drive sitting right next to me, but those years can't be my focus right now. While I would have preferred to wait until I had a bit more money saved, it was definitely becoming urgent: The poor old Dell couldn't even open a Word document without completing freaking out on me, let alone handle what I needed it to do with Photoshop and Audacity. Computer rage is a really interesting phenomenon, and I imagine road rage is similar. There's no reason to be as upset about something so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but somehow, people always get worked up to the point of wanting to throw their computers in the lake. It's actually quite satisfying to have that option.
Maybe we like to break things so much because we enjoy having that power over the material objects that have taken control of our lives. Maybe it's nice to feel that humanity, and maybe it brings us closer to separating ourselves from the supposed "necessities" of our present age. Then again, some people just like to smash shit.

Mostly unrelated: I came out to two more people at work today, and I seriously think I made a girl's brain explode. It never gets old, at least when the good kind of brain exploding happens. However, I am finding it more and more difficult to be the educational voice ALL THE TIME. Sometimes I just want to talk about normal things like being pissed off at the Phillies, not having enough money to get all the cool things I want, and where I want to go on a vacation that I probably won't be able to take for ten more years. I don't mind talking about it, but I find that I am choosing to delay the conversation these days simply because I don't want to spend the next three weeks of my relationship with someone explaining gender theory and all that. And that can get pretty awkward for cash register conversation.

I feel like crying tonight because it feels so wonderful to just let go of the things that have been hurting me. It feels amazing to know that I have the ability to let go and that letting go does not mean giving up. I want to cry because I can't believe that it is getting easier, and I wonder if it should be doing so. Does it make me a bad person to stop caring about the things that once hurt me or affected me so much? If not, what does that mean?

Interjection about work: I got pretty confused when two separate customers decided to "joke" with me about being upset by saying rude things or making negative comments. I definitely did not think either person was joking, and then I became pretty embarrassed by it. It didn't help that the one lady kept laughing at me afterwards, but what can you do?

Also, don't get pissy with me when I ask to see your ID when you've clearly written "Ask for ID" on the back of your card. But this one just makes me laugh.

I still find it very strange that almost everyone at work hangs out with one another, even though there are about 50 people that work there, including my ex from high school, a kid who dated my friend in high school, the supervisor who used to play roller hockey with me, and the occasional formerclassmatecustomer that doesn't recognize me. I was invited to a party next weekend, which I'm assuming means I've infiltrated the social structure of store 342. Christ. I'm fucking weird. lol

I may not be on the verge of freaking out, but there is one thing I would like to have happen. I would like for the heavy feeling in my chest to go away. I've noticed that it's been a constant in my life for years. It's always there. Maybe there are those brief moments when it goes away, but I live in a constant state of anxiety. I never thought anything of that until I learned that most other people don't have that issue, at least not to this degree.

Jon called me out of the blue a few nights ago. At 1230 in the morning. I haven't had that happen--where someone just wanted to talk and didn't want something from me--since we broke up a few months ago. And before that, he was probably the only person that did. I'm not sure who came before that, but I suppose that's irrelevant. Whatever. It was NICE. It was nice to be the person someone could call just to bullshit. It was nice feeling like someone not only needed me but wanted me. Trusted me. Something so simple and so small made me feel important. I need to stop being scared of telephone conversations because if I feel this way about it, maybe some of my friends would appreciate a call from me just as much. A no-strings-attached call. If only I still had all of those numbers.

I am getting so excited for Boston. I haven't had a friend adventure in ages. Hell, I'll probably cry then too, but I've been crying at weird shit lately. Roller coasters, random pictures, etc. I tear up now more than I ever have. Maybe I'm just okay with that now.

I like not having to be anything in particular. But I don't like not knowing what I want to be.

I'm still working on that playlist. I need to make it just as long as the drive to DC will be, which shouldn't be hard since there are some very specific songs attached to my overall memory of Pittsburgh. Is this necessary? For me, yes.

Now, since I'm not able to sleep, I'll listen to more music. I might even get some performance ideas out of this that don't involve publicly humiliating someone else.

Night.

Pride?

Pittsburgh Pride 2012. I have way too much to say about this to start writing in the middle of a Dunkin Donuts that I'm going to have to leave in a few minutes. There are way too many people here, and I need to begin the journey back to Lincoln so I can begin the journey home. I did a lot during Pride. I got a lot accomplished and had some great conversations, met some wonderful new people. But I'm not really sure I had a good time, overall. I didn't have a bad time. But I'm not sure if it was fun. It's pretty pathetic to wear a crown, march in a parade, and have people within the community ask the question, "What are you supposed to be?" But I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything more. Drag queens were mentioned as handing out beads during Pride, but the Post Gazette failed to mention drag kings. Then there was the drag queen who introduced me in the following way: "This is Dylan. She's a girl." I had more negative interactions like that than positive ones, frankly. I spent most of my time on guard during a time when I am supposed to not have to worry about this stupid shit. And another time, when I finally thought things were going to calm down and the fighting was going to stop, I was quickly reminded of my place as I watched a whole group of people-who-are-not-Dylan join the rest of them. This was the first time during Pride when I felt like I didn't really belong. I've always gone with groups of people. I took a cab this year and spent a few minutes talking to people here and there. Thursday was the best night for me, by far. And I had more fun doing the non-Pride related things with my friends than I did on Sunday. I feel like there are more and more ignorant assholes at Pride every year, and the worst part about it is that even the sober ones have no interest in learning. They'd like to remain ignorant and keep saying hateful things.
Tonight, I'll be taking a cab downtown by myself again and getting on a bus to go back to another place where I'm going to feel just as alone. Maybe it doesn't matter where I am. In that case, I guess I can go anywhere I want to. But this whole week has really killed my motivation to be or do anything. There's more, but I need to get away from this awkward circle of college freshmen.

Love and Marriage

There's nothing like a three-mile, three in the morning walk to get the gears turning. The strange part is that the most striking revelation occurred to me just as I sat down to type about something else. But I suppose they are pretty related topics, now that I think about it.
In the past two days, I've congratulated two friends on their recent engagements, and in the past two years or so--thanks to the extreme level of creepability made possible by Facebook--I've watched people from my past grow up, tie the knot, and even have kids of their own. I have so many feelings that extend in different directions when I think about the idea of starting a family, including the events leading up to and following that decision.

So what was my revelation?

I have a deeply-rooted desire to be a provider. How to go about that was easy in my previous relationship because, even though we were both queer as all hell, we both had this nostalgic sort of fancy for inflicting our queerness on accepted institutions and traditions. It was easy to be a provider in that kind of framework because society already has this nice little blueprint for boys who date girls. Finding ways to express your love in ways that the other person (and those around you) can understand didn't seem that difficult.

But I'm in some new territory now. I love my boyfriend, and we've been together for what probably amounts to a few years in "gay time". In reality, it's been about 8 months. But when I start to think about the future, I get stuck. Who's proposing to whom? Who is taking care of whom? It seems sort of ridiculous that these are the things that get to me, but I'm big on needing an avenue through which I can express my love for another person. And being in that position is the best way that I know how. It's empowering and feels the most natural. What is killing me about my life right now is not that I am completely useless or worthless in general. I know I've said those things before, but I think it has more to do with my ability to be the type of person I want to be. I know the role that I desire, but I am so far removed from it that it is creating this ridiculous conflict in me. I'm dependent on other people for so much right now. And I can't stand it. I never could. Even when I was younger, I always preferred to take charge of my own affairs, etc.

I want to be able to just swing by and pick him up to take him somewhere special. I want to be the one to get down on my knee and make him cry when he sees what I have for him (what the hell do you get a guy for an engagement anyway?! stupid heteronormative protocol). I want to plan trips and go places. I want to be a solid foundation. And I might be simultaneously closer to and further from that state than ever before. I'm at a point whose equivalent is having a word on the tip of your tongue. I can taste it, but I fear that I might be hallucinating.

It's been on my mind. There are things I miss about being in a relationship with a girl, but it's not like I would trade my boyfriend in for anyone in the world right now. It's just that I miss how EASY it was. This is my tale of the loss of the privilege that comes with assumed heterosexuality. Or even of assumed behavior, for even in gay relationships we tend to cast each partner as more like this gender or more like that, trying to fit them into a heteronormative framework. My relationship is nothing like that. I miss the ease of expression, the ease of being carefree in public, the ease of understanding the expressions of love by the other person, etc. It was convenient, and no explanation was required.

But I would not sacrifice my love for the sake of convenience. It's just interesting. We're building our own framework--our own language of love that must necessarily go beyond diamond rings and flowers and little black dresses. It's hard. Sometimes the signals don't quite come across. Sometimes things are confusing, and it's hard to know how to feel when you can't find a way to get even the simplest emotion out of you. There are no rules, and we're making them up as we go along. Thank God it's like using pencil. There are actually very few things in life written in Sharpie, and even some rubbing alcohol can help in a few circumstances. (I guess it's also fucked-up analogy day.)

In thinking about all of this, I wonder how things would be if every couple decided to break out of this framework. You'd really have to get to know the other person to find out the best ways to express your love instead of, for example, just buying your girlfriend flowers because you know that girls like it because that's what guys are supposed to do, etc. If you weren't placed into a role from the minute someone asked you out, which would you choose? How would you go about finding that role for yourself and helping your partner find their own? It seems so freeing...and so idealistic. People like the established framework because it's easy. It's an easy way out of trying to make connections beyond the surface level. Just some food for thought that I'm probably going to revisit later, especially with the genderqueer group.

On a related note about privilege...I do indeed recognize the privilege of being able to marry my partner tomorrow if I wanted to. There is that little air of guilt about all of it, but it's not a guilt that makes me angry towards other people for making me feel that way. Recognizing privilege isn't about feeling guilty, as many of my white cis-male friends have commented in the past few months. It's about awareness. It's about stopping and thinking about the systems we have in place and about your place and actions within those systems. It's about taking the awareness you have and using your privilege in a way that helps those without that same privilege. You can be a voice for someone else. You can make other people with your same privilege understand and continue to spread knowledge and awareness. Shame, guilt, anger...This isn't part of it at all. Those things aren't intended, but they are common first responses to feeling threatened. In many cases, privilege is something you're born with. You shouldn't feel guilty about something you can't change. But now that you have this awareness of the powers afforded to you by your privilege, what are you going to do? That's the critical part of this whole movement. What are you going to do now that you can't ignore it? I think that's enough political ranting for now, but I appreciate any comments you might have.

This is completely off topic, but it just hit me as I started looking around my room at all the things that I have to pack away yet again. Each time I move, I have to decide if something from my past is important enough to be a part of my future, but that's a topic for another post entirely. In my ongoing apartment search, I've been looking for the perfect place. I desperately want to have a place that is at least semi-permanent. I want it to be just right. But I know that's probably not going to happen, and I know I will consider it another crushing failure to accomplish even the most minor of my life goals.

I'm suddenly reminded of how helpful Livejournal was with having current song and current mood options to go along with your posts. I think I might just start doing that again. I suppose my current song would have to be the one that played before I walked in the door: Just a Dream. Current mood: Melancholy.

Dylan out.

Being Out

It is because of senators that are allowed to remain in office when they so clearly believe that death should come to transpeople who defy the arbitrary laws of gender expression constructed by our society that I will never be able to live as stealth. It is because of those who fear and hate a seven-year-old transgender girl scout that I cannot remain silent about the issues that are important to me--the issues that affect the lives of millions of people both like and unlike me. Silence is just not an option.

Home Improvement

I'm prepared for this to be excruciating. My heart is heavy. My brain and body are equally troubled, tortured, and are becoming useless. No one ever wants this, of course, but I still feel the need to say that this is the last place I ever wanted to be, though I may have suspected it at various times in my life. Still, it's one of those things you never actually think will happen to you, like a heart attack or cancer.

I will interject with this random thought before continuing: I will never be normal. I just want to be capable. Regardless of success or failure, the latter is necessary for me to be (happy).

I don't know where to start, or how. I don't know why I am hurting so badly or why it happened at this particular time in my life. I am tortured by the fact that I need to know everything, all the time. That fact alone is not something a lot of people can quite comprehend. It's hard to understand pain you've never felt before. I suppose it's even harder to understand pain you've never let yourself feel before, for whatever reason. Maybe it was intentional or maybe it was self defense. I've been thinking a lot about last summer and how I could not see what was happening, and I have no idea how I am supposed to feel yet. There's a letter I never answered, and I am not sure I ever will, but the fact that I went back to refresh my memory should tell you something about the way your words have affected me and probably always will, whether I like it or not. Don't take that for any more than what it is.

For the record, "I told you so" is not an appropriate response.

I've slipped into something I haven't been able to control. I deleted the word "can't" from that sentence, so maybe even this is a start.

Transition does not automatically solve all of your problems, for those of you that seem to think unwavering happiness is the natural end to the course of events in the physical process. What I have come to find is that I am just now beginning to deal with problems I could not confront before. Your body tries to respond to the most pressing threat, and so does your mind. Transition was something that needed to happen in order to move forward with my life, and that means enjoying life as well as dealing with its unpleasantness.

It's become clear that I don't know how to do the latter very well. I ended up where I did because every coping skill that I have ever learned has recently failed me. Because I believed (and am still fighting against the belief) that my life--my job, my ability to deal with stress, my ability to be happy, my financial situation, etc--will never any better and that I will be stuck in this place of depression, anxiety, and limited capacity to function...forever.

I struggled to get myself out of bed every morning for weeks upon weeks, maybe even months. And that was until I just couldn't do it anymore. So I didn't. And I quit my job. But I had already checked out of doing things that make me happy because everything I love has now become everything I fear. I am stressed by everything, saddened all the time. Sometimes there is no reason, and this is something that I can't stand.

I spent three full days in the crisis center because I really didn't know if I could trust myself to be alone with me, and I really couldn't take another day of being home. I didn't move from my bed for almost two days, and I barely ate anything at all while I was there. I kept turning over the thought that this is how my brother might feel every day of his life, surrounded by people he cannot connect with and unable to do anything on his own. This is the hardest thing I've ever had to do, and it's only going to get harder. But it might get better. I'm hanging everything on that one little word, and everything in the logical part of my brain is telling me that it's a really stupid way to go about living. But clearly that part of my head has been sucking lately. Or maybe logic just doesn't have anything to do with it.

It's obvious that I can't hold a job right now, no matter how much I want to and no matter how much I need to have money. Sometimes I still don't really believe that this is who I am and that this is what is happening to me. The fact that I can't have a job right now is just one more thing that makes me terrified that I will never get out.

But when you are isolated for three full days, you start thinking even more. And that really sucks if you already think in overdrive all the time. But it's not something I was able to avoid. So I barely slept and I didn't sleep at all during the night. But I thought, and something in my realized that I needed to stop waiting for the people there to make me better. I needed to make the first move or I wasn't going to get anything out of being there. And I wasn't going to get out of there period. I could barely speak when people tried to talk to me, and I couldn't breathe or look at them, but I did what I had to do during those last 36 hours or so. I did it all because I just wanted to go home. And maybe that sounds stupid because you would think that I would want to get better. But going home was part of that. The fact that I WANTED something...That meant everything. That I was doing something in order to achieve something I wanted, and that must have meant that I thought enough of myself. That I thought I was worth the effort. And no matter how miserable or useless I feel, I need to keep thinking about that. There's a part of me that does want to be here, and it's the same part of me that wanted to get out of that place so badly. It's that part of me that wants to want to do things that used to make me happy. It wants things. I want things. I don't always know what they are, but that's everybody, I suppose.

I am terrified about the decision I might be making. It's something I had in the back of my mind, and when someone else made the suggestion when I hadn't even mentioned it at all, I knew I had to think about it again. PA school. And I'm still thinking. But another thing that's really tough for me, which I learned or rather re-learned over this past week, is believing and trusting that I don't need to know everything or do everything or have everything today or even soon.

I am allowed to be unsure. I am allowed to be unfinished.

I am 23 years old, with two college degrees, a beautiful transgendered body, a boyfriend who loves me for who and what I am, a clean and well-organized bedroom (thanks to the boyfriend who loves me), who is going to nationals for drag in a few months, who is going to go back to school, who is going to make big things happen in this city I've learned to call home, who is not going to let depression, anxiety, fear, pain, or a different way of thinking stand in his way anymore.

Now all I have to do is believe this. I will make this real.
I am allowed to be unsure. I am allowed to be terrified. But I will not allow myself to lose this fight. If I can bring myself to think that my body deserves to live, then my soul should have that same chance. Obviously, it's going to be hard. Here it comes again, and I think it's fucking ridiculous how it appears again and again throughout my life. It's like it should be a tattoo or something.

Nothing worth having is ever easy.

Reflections on Coming Out

I vividly remember being angry this time last year because so many people, both gay and straight, had failed to understand the importance of coming out. Indifference is one thing. Outright condemnation is another, and trying to convince someone that "acting like everyone else" is the only way that queer folk can attain equality is equivalent to saying this: "We can't accept you for who you are, and we aren't comfortable giving equal treatment to people like you, so you should be like us. Then you'll deserve it. Problem solved." And if we don't feel comfortable pretending to be like everyone else, then we deserve to be treated as inferior. You can't ensure equality by attempting to eliminate difference. Do this, and you perpetuate the inequality. And it makes it that much harder for the next kid to come out and face a world of people telling him that the only way he can have the same rights as straight people is to act just like them, whatever that means anyway.
I could go on and on about this type of backwards thinking in the world of straight white males, but the truth is that my own community still has a long way to go in terms of treating its own members as equal. Think about how LOGO portrays the LGBTQ community. I don't see much of anything but cisgendered gay men. Let's make it a little more personal, though.
Coming out as trans opened me up to a whole new world of prejudices, and they came at me from both sides of this mythical line. Suddenly everyone thinks that I have to be straight. Suddenly I am called out for not acting enough like a man. Suddenly, I am treated differently in conversations with strangers and friends alike. I can understand people with no exposure to the queer community making such assumptions, but the difference between one's gender and one's sexuality is still perceived through a heteronormative lens, regardless of the onlooker. Are we still telling gay men that they should become women? No. Why shouldn't it work that way for me? I have so much more to say, but I feel very uncomfortable because I am not alone right now and feel like the only reason this other person is awkwardly sitting here is because I am here. And I don't know how to say what I need to say to make him understand that I need to be as far away from other people as possible right now. I can't write when there are other people around. I can't tune out the discomfort enough in order to do it well, so I'm feeling like things are very disconnected right now because I am constantly worrying about this situation. And now I don't even know what I was saying anymore.
Coming out keeps getting easier for me. Liking myself for my queerness keeps getting easier too. I am not shy about this part of myself. I am quite proud of it, and maybe that's because I'm making up for all the time I spent being ashamed of who I was for over twenty years. Maybe ashamed isn't the right word. I was...disconnected. And I guess I really didn't care. I could be proud of my accomplishments or skills that I had mastered, but never of myself. I was never proud to just BE, and I guess I felt like I needed all of those things to fill that space. Coming out as trans felt like coming into the world and being allowed to be a part of it. Even before I started hormones, I began to feel more real because I was the person who chose that. I allowed myself to participate. I allowed myself to experience the world. I became exposed. And things began to change.
There are other kinds of coming out that aren't as easy. It's still not easy for me to accept that my brain works differently. It's not easy to accept that this comes with limitations. And it's not easy to accept that there is a good chance that this is as good as it gets in terms of how I react to things.
How many other kinds of coming out do people face every day? Everyone does it, and I think we'd all be a lot better off if we had an entire community behind us.
Feeling disconnected again. But I need to get it all out. Coming out is important, you young gay people. Staying in the closet is staying invisible, and that's exactly what a lot of anti-gay individuals want. It's a way to keep us divided and to fool the masses into thinking that we are a freakish minority. On a more personal level, coming out is important because you can finally stop being afraid. You don't have to worry about being discovered. And people won't be able to hurt you with your own identity if you truly love and accept yourself. But that's not easy. I know.
I want to connect this with an experience I had earlier today at work. A rather rude customer said something to the effect that I have no business working in a GNC because of how small I am. I was just stunned because he also wouldn't drop the subject. Before I continue, I'd like to point out that I've never had any of the really big dudes talk to me like that. It's only people who are smaller--often smaller than I am--who feel the need to prove something. But even knowing this, I had a hard time. I started to feel like shit about myself. I started to wonder if that's what other people see when they look at me. I started to feel like everything I am doing is a waste of time. And that's when it hit me that I've begun to experience a whole new kind of inadequacy based upon physical appearance. Standards for men really are just as unrealistic as those for women, but it definitely depends on the environment. I feel like I could explain that better at another time.
I felt inadequate for a little bit. But that went away. I love my body. I love that I am in control of it. I needed to remember something that I tell people all the time when it comes to working out. Well, a few things. (1) Know your own body type, and use that knowledge to make it the best it can be instead of trying to be something you are not. (2) Never compare yourself to anyone else. It doesn't matter how much the girl over there can lift or how far this guy over there can run. Concentrate on what you are doing and making yourself better. If you let what someone else can do discourage you or make you feel inadequate, you have already lost. You have defeated yourself, and you'll end up denying yourself what you are depressed about not having been able to do in the first place.
The same philosophy can be applied to anything at all, not just working out. And that's what is extremely difficult for most people to understand. You need to concentrate on making yourself better instead of trying to make yourself as good as someone else. Being proud of your own identity is far more effective than comparing who you are to someone else. Don't try to be that other person. These points do connect rather nicely, don't they? lol

CouchCouchCouch

For a few weeks, I thought that working at GNC had taught me that I would never be able to stand working in such a heteronormative environment for an extended period of time. But I started to think about how people within my own community respond to the idea of being transgendered, and I'm not actually sure which group I've found to be more accepting. Maybe the people I work with don't have a clue what really goes on with being trans, but they're always respectful when they want to know something, and sometimes you can tell that they really think about how their questions will affect you. I see genuine curiosity in these people and in a lot of the straight people that have interviewed me for whatever reason. Most of the bullshit that I've had to deal with has come from within the gay community. I feel that young gay men in particular are the most problematic. The way the questions are phrased, the way I am seen as an object, etc. I know that this is not a complete picture, and there have been other times in my life where the majority of my frustration came from having to deal with ignorant straight people, but I think the present situation is very interesting.

Topic shift. I'm working on my outfits for Mr. Cattivo. I'm getting excited about it. I feel pretty proud of the one that's almost done, and I've been really excited to do this number for a while now. I can say that I don't care if I win and that I just want to do the number, but I would definitely be lying. I always want to win. I don't know who doesn't. And I have to go through all of the motions with the idea in my head that I am doing this to win. Is that complicated since I am good friends with and live with someone against whom I am competing? Eh, not really. I'm mature about it. I'm competitive, yes. But I'm not an asshole. I'm down to the wire here, and I know it, but I've got a handle on it this time around. I'm in such a different place than I was a year ago (in some ways). And in some ways, that's entirely a lie.

The TV is making it hard for me to write. I have a lot of distractions coming up. That'll be good for me. They make me less likely to worry about making meaning out of my life.

I need to work on music and costumes and my bio tonight. I need to get those things for the bags for Friday. And it's almost 7:30. This isn't looking good right now. I also have to work until 6:30 tomorrow. Ugh. I need to tell people something tomorrow, and I don't know if they are going to like it. But this is something that I have to say because I don't want to explode.

Time Out.