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 So much baggage, unnecessary pain and suffering, and outdated ways of dealing with problems of the present.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.

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.

Good

One phone call made all the difference today. I heard my parents' voices for the first time in over two months, and I nearly cried. Talking to them seemed to relieve me of all of the stress I've been accumulating over the last several weeks. And a short time ago, talking to my family was the most stress-inducing aspect of my life. I'll never be able to be one of those people who goes months without talking to his family. I can't be that disconnected. I'd been lonely for months, even around other people who love and care for me, and I was starting to get worried that I might be depressed again. But those feelings vanished. When I hung up, I was smiling and happy. And I felt like things were finally going right for me. I felt like I was headed in the right direction. Maybe it was good to hear all of those things from them too. My family is crazy. But I love them. And I'll never be able to stop, and I'll never be ungrateful for what they have been able to give me, even if there were some things I wish could have been different along the way.
I tried to be the kind of person who turned his back on his family when they did not show immediate acceptance, but I'm not capable of that. It tears me apart. On some level, I think this is true for me no matter what type of personal relationship I have with someone. I suppose I will always have some level of love and concern for those who are no longer in my life. At the very least, I'm not one to hold on to bitter feelings. I don't believe that this makes me a pushover, though it did before I learned more effective and more appropriate ways to manage my affairs. There is a part of me that believes that some doors never really close, but the rest of me seems to want to fight that. Two parts of my nature are in conflict with one another, and I figure that it's better to let the fight play out than to interfere by trying to rationalize my emotional behavior. Everything is going to be okay.

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.

Sunset in July

I just opened my old journal, which I had found while visiting my parents but haven't had a chance to sit down with until now. It was from when I was twelve years old, and I am pretty amazed at how far I have come in the last ten years. I guess it's that whole growing up thing. My obsessions were pretty apparent, as I referenced them in almost every single entry. My handwriting was even more atrocious than it is now, and I really didn't seem to talk about anything other than facts and very basic statements of the emotions I was feeling. Learning how to turn even those basic feelings into words took me until high school, it seems.

I haven't taken my shot yet, and I was supposed to do that last night. I just completely forgot about it with starting my new job and being mentally prepared to convince people to buy shit, which means being mentally prepared to have conversations for eight hours a day. That's the part that makes me nervous. The other stuff is easy. I actually reorganized the entire stock room today, and my co-worker for the day is pretty sure that our manager is going to piss himself when he sees it. I think they were expecting me to just leave the place a mountain of cardboard boxes and crap thrown wherever it would fit while placing even more items in what little space was available. It was actually easier for me to just overhaul the entire room. Then I could know exactly where everything needed to go.

There are quite a few things building up inside of me right now. I'm at a very strange point of being in between caring and not caring about feeling attacked. I'm naturally pretty combative. When I feel that I am being attacked or that my friends are being attacked, I get intensely protective of them, meaning I will do and say things that exist ordinarily as passing thoughts. I also need to be sure that I'm not feeling attacked because of a combination of small things that have happened over the years. I want to try to separate those instances from the current situation. As I do this, I'm seeing that this in itself really isn't something I should worry about either. People are going to say what they have to say. They're going to say what they need to say in order to find happiness. The human brain is partly so fascinating because of its ability to rationalize irrational thoughts and behaviors so that it can continue functioning properly. It prevents errors from occurring by fudging the numbers. Your brain is 1984, basically. You don't even know what's real anymore, do you? And you might even be clever enough to come up with an argument about what constitutes reality in order to distract yourself from the terrifying possibility that your consciousness is built upon a rather shaky foundation of falsities.

I am angry. I am hurt. I feel a sense of betrayal unlike anything I have known previously...And I've been betrayed more times than I would like to admit. But temperance is the virtue around which I aim to center myself. I will let my anger dissipate. I will express what I need to express. Only then will I be able to forgive. But I honestly may fail this time. And I don't think that's ever happened before. I do not like what you have tried to turn me into. I will not be bitter. I will be free from this sinkhole and all its negativity. There is no blood on my hands. This is my return to purity. I will not run.

Envision my eyes, harboring depths so great that they seem almost black. But they are not cold, even to you. I am fire, while you are ice. I may melt you down, layer by microscopic layer, warming all those around with my presence. But this is always at a cost to myself. I will burn out. And you will be a puddle on the floor. We are elements that have been thrown out of balance, not meant to exist in the same circle in this age.

My sadness for what has been lost is slowly dissipating as well. The happiness of the memories that remain has begun to fill me up again. My brain will remember things as it needs to in order to progress along this journey, as will yours. But I still acknowledge the point at which happiness left this relationship, leaving behind a much more sinister core. And the fight against reality was causing the pain. I'm allowing myself the chance to be real now, and this upsets you. Your words will never bounce off of me but always flow through me, penetrate me. It is a connection I cannot sever, no matter how hard I may try. Even now, I spare your feelings by saying these things alone. You must realize--see it in my deep brown eyes--that I know exactly how to make you hurt from within. This is my last act of unselfishness--that bit of holding back. That not giving in to the anger and pain you have made me (and others) feel.

I am not immature. I am not inadequate. I define my own manhood, as always. I will not be brought down into that again. And I am guilt-free in saying what I must, as are you, obviously. There is no reason to hide these feelings now, and I'm not sure there ever was. My brain and heart have found a way to protect themselves: You're already gone to me. You've been gone. And shortly after I allowed myself to discover that, my life improved. And I began to feel happiness again. Real happiness.

I am real. I am not the source of your ultimate frustration. I am only a target, and I can only hope that that hasn't always been the case. You will need to find a new soul towards which you can project this negativity, if you cannot allow it to simply yet painfully pass through you. Choose wisely.

I don't expect I'll hear from you or see you again, and I'm working on how that makes me feel. I don't think I'm feeling anything either way right now. And I think I'm happy about that. That doesn't make me a terrible person. It just means that all of my feelings, positive and negative, about this entire situation have been exhausted. Now the healing can begin, and the truth will flow freely and unfiltered by such intense emotions.

I can only be a little sad that there are still some truths you (and all of us) are not ready to hear. Give it time.

Goodbye

It's not that I'm fighting to stay awake; I'm fighting to stay upright. I will probably lose consciousness if I put my head back down again. I feel uncoordinated and limp. Lethargic is the proper term here, but as always, I'm looking for the reasons behind it. I woke up around two in the afternoon, wandered in the direction of her house to recover my wallet only to find that--because of my inability to rise before most people's workdays were coming to a close--it was already too late to get it that day. I felt a little off at that point, but I decided to try the GLCC after getting a phone call from Lyndsey and taking a few minutes to clear my mind. I suppose I just didn't feel right because I only stayed for about ten minutes. I was lucky to have gotten that transfer from the trolley driver. Otherwise, I would never have been able to get back to Beechview. I turned on the TV and lay down on the couch. No one else was home, and it was really nice to just be there curled up by myself with a cool breeze coming from the other room, even if it was artificial. Something about it seemed nostalgic. It reminded me of a time when I felt like I was in control of many more aspects of my life. Maybe it was peaceful enough to put me back to sleep, and maybe my desire to capture the energy of that moment was enough to make me want to stay asleep. When Lyndsey came home, I literally had to force myself to sit up. My body was trying its best to disobey me. And my whole day has been wasted because of it.
No matter what the reason, my mind always goes back to the same thought: There's something wrong with me. Some people will say that there is, and some will say that there really isn't. I'm not so sure what the right answer is these days. There is merit in believing in both. But I can't live by either one of them alone, which is what I have tried to do for my entire life. I've lived according to the idea that I'm no different than anyone else--that I can do anything and everything and nothing can affect me so much as to prevent me from being a completely functioning and capable human being. And I've lived believing that I'm broken and incompetent and that no amount of help can fix me and that I'll be this way for the rest of my life. And there have been a lot of people who really want me to live in accordance with the latter belief, though they may say the exact opposite. I think that I am learning that there is something wrong with me, and I need to accept this, but I'm also learning that it doesn't matter. The people who really care about me will understand my limits, and they've often been the ones to recognize them before I have. Everyone has limits, and everyone reacts differently when pushed to those limits. I react in a way that is different from most, and it's not normal. And maybe that's what I mean when I say that there is something wrong with me. It's the definition of the external world that gets applied here, and fuck, maybe that's the problem. I've never used the world's words to describe who I am in any other respect, so why should I apply them to this part of myself? Part of myself? I act as if I can separate this little piece from the rest of my soul. I remember doing the same thing before I came out as trans. I believed I could live my life as genderqueer, going back and forth between man and woman, and while this works for some, I couldn't live two separate lives. I couldn't box up the pieces of my identity and put labels on them because I would always end up with some items that didn't belong in either box. And now here I am trying to decide what pieces of me are normal and what pieces are not. Normal for whom? This is the only me that I have ever known. And when I became aware that other people didn't think and act this way or didn't see things this way, it was a pretty overhwelming epiphany of sorts. I'll never know how it feels to not be this way. I think I did once, but I was on some serious drugs. As fucked up as I was, there were moments of clarity when I almost cried because I kept thinking: This is what normal feels like.

This is what normal feels like.

I remember having that same feeling another time, actually. It was very shortly after I started T. I started to feel balanced in a physical sense. But it's not the same. And maybe the drug-induced realization wasn't real. I don't know. I'd like to think what I have is real. Wouldn't we all?

Maybe this is what normal feels like.

I feel like I'm in the eye of the hurricane when it comes to deciding the who and what of my life, and maybe I've been so paralyzed because I recognize the importance of this point in my journey.

Some things are meant to stay in the past. Some people are meant to stay in the past. I do realize my own limits these days, and maybe I overestimate them at times, but I think I have this one right. I am no longer willing to expend unnecessary energy on certain people. My life has no room for this negativity, and I will not engage in this behavior or these conversations any longer. And that should be enough. I will no longer play a part in the destruction of my own self, and I cannot allow anyone else to do the same. End scene.

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.

One-Year and Many Thoughts

Well, this doesn't start with my freaking out, so that's a step in the right direction, but although this isn't going to be terribly negative and depressing, I'm fairly certain there is nothing positive about the situation either. I just used a lot of words to say nothing, which means I must be trying too hard to make this not sound whiny or desperate. I'm far from those things, really. I'm happy. I'm really happy with myself and what I have managed to accomplish, yet I'm also ashamed of myself and disappointed in myself, and I can't quite shake what I'm feeling. And then there are the things that I really can't talk to anyone about. I guess that is the downside to everyone knowing everyone else in your circle of friends.

I've made videos and written about this in a lot of other places, but maybe I should take some time to work this out right here. It's been just over a year since I began taking testosterone, and I could finish this sentence in any number of ways. Not all of the changes have been physical, and a physical change does not necessarily equate with a visible change. The emotions I experience have not changed, but how I handle the experience definitely has. I think I've improved in some ways, which may have nothing to do with the hormone at all, but I also believe that there were periods throughout the past 12 months during which the fluctuation in my hormone levels became an added burden. I'm thinking back to the difficult time I had dealing with my family and housing situations over the summer. I honestly could not figure out how to handle these things, and I felt like I was fighting with myself more and more. It felt like a physical battle, and I couldn't always come out victorious. And then I started failing to meet my obligations, which only made certain people harder to deal with, and that's where things began to get out of control. I have no problem talking about that situation anymore, and maybe that's one of the things I need to get off my chest.

There is a very large part of me that knows that he knows what he did was wrong. A huge part of me wants to believe that he really does feel these things--that my decision made sense in light of what was happening. I feel that he does indeed know that he played a pivotal role in helping to force me out, even disregarding the final incident. I'm struggling with this thought that I can't force out of my head. I keep seeing people here and there around campus--people with whom I used to be very close--and I receive nothing but positive vibes from most of them. I'm usually pretty good about picking up on these things, and I'm glad that I know this now. I now know that sometimes my negative emotions and feelings are not coming from inside of me, and being able to separate my own emotions from those of others has been immensely helpful. I want to start talking to them again. And I kept feeling terrible in trying to get this problem solved through the University because the only thing I felt like I was doing was getting revenge. I kept turning it over in my head, and it never made me feel good. Why would I ever want anyone else to feel what I felt? Why would I want to take from someone else what was taken from me? And how would that help me at all? I don't want him to lose it. I just want him to understand what he did and why it hurt me so much, and maybe I should have done this a long time ago. Maybe I should have had that conversation with him in person. It's funny because I know I was about to. I was going downstairs to have that exact conversation--to talk about how things had gotten so bad with the others that I felt like leaving. I wanted to talk about the fact that I knew why everyone was upset and had been upset, that I knew I wasn't always meeting the obligations that I said I would, that I knew something needed to be done. I prayed to be punished. I prayed to have someone tell me that I needed to make up for what I had failed to do. I prayed for someone to have an actual conversation with me instead of talking about me behind my back and mocking me for things that were completely unrelated. I prayed for someone to act like a fucking grown-up in that situation. Maybe I was getting so messed up and so easily frustrated because I was trying to get their attention--trying to reach out for them to help me when I knew I was not in a place to help myself. I know that I had become pretty vocal about things that bothered me. And I refused to keep quiet about the things that mattered to me anymore. And then conflicts arose. I'm quite an easy person to deal with in reality. I don't think I'm an unreasonable person. You just have to talk to me. But I know that's not easy. And because I know that isn't easy, I'm even more understanding. But I felt betrayed that night. I'm letting you all know. I felt like my heart had been ripped out by the one person I thought I could trust that night. The whole day had been a nightmare, and I had to walk from East Liberty to the house in the rain, and all I wanted to do was just sit by myself for a few minutes so that I could regain control. To be mocked for that--in the middle of it--was something I really couldn't take. I needed someone to listen. I could move again when I heard him come in. I moved downstairs. And the rest, as they say, is history.
I will never be able to get back what was taken from me in that final season. And that has hurt me more than a lot of people can understand. Anyone who was in it with me would have the greatest chance of understanding. I came that last day with my friends and fucking bawled my eyes out when you played cadences from my freshman year. Other than Mark, I was the only one who would have known them.
I see you guys all the time, walking down the street, in the Union. Some of you try not to look at me. I wish I could have honesty more than anything. It eliminates a lot of frustration and confusion. There was another person I thought would have been able to understand. We used to be friends. She surprised me. If I disappointed you, I need you to know the feeling was mutual.
Yeah, I still think about it. I have to think about it every time I pick up a pair of sticks or sit down at my set, every time my band friends talk about this or that, every time I pick up my keys, every time I listen to 311 EVER, every time I walk by the places we all used to go. I defined myself by this for a long time, and it IS a part of me, whether I want it to be or not. I do want it to be. But it would be easier to forget all about it. It would be easier if I could pretend that those 4.5 years of my life never happened, but I can't do that. I wouldn't want to. You gave me so much of myself. I learned my first little bits of self-confidence in those years. I learned so much about dealing with people and met some of the people who have helped to change my life, and I keep praying that one day they'll be back again. I want to say all of these things to you and more. I want to say that I gave you everything that I could have, and I know it wasn't what you wanted from me in this last year. But there was no more of me to give by the end, and I felt like everyone was chipping away at me. I can't apologize for just trying to get by. I can't apologize for trying to keep myself together and functioning. I can't apologize for being out of it because of not eating for 2 days and then coming to practice. I didn't want to be in those situations, and I didn't know how to get out of them, and it seemed like no one was going to help me. I did the right things for me. And that was never easy for me to do, and I'm glad I finally learned how to stand up for myself without throwing a punch. I walked away because it was the only control I could exercise, though it was most likely the only option I had left. I knew something bad was about to happen. I could feel a physical altercation coming with at least one or two people, and I wouldn't have been the first one to swing. I did the right thing. It's not selfish to want to protect yourself.

I didn't expect that to take so much out of me. But now I'm in the writing zone. Now things are coming pretty easily, and all I have to do is choose something. And boy do I have a lot to choose from.

Not knowing what I want to do with my life is terrifying me, and no matter how many times I say that I am becoming okay with this, I'm not getting there quickly enough. I'm worried that the last several years of my life have been wasted studying things that I will never have to use, which was probably going to be true anyway, but I would at least like to know that my degrees are going to be worth something to me. I'm terrified that I'll never be what I wanted to be. But I hope I don't think that just because that's what everyone expected me to be. I'll come out and fucking say it already, and I've never said this before in my life, and you'll probably never hear me say it again. I'm a genius. I see things and understand things that most people can't. And people have known this since the day I was fucking born, and there has been nothing but pressure on me to be the kind of person that changes the world ever since. People have been filling my head with this shit for my entire life. It's funny because half the world was telling me that I'd be a scumbag and never get out, while the other hald was telling me I'd make it big and never look back. I'm not sure that either is true. I didn't apply to med school because I didn't want to do something I wasn't sure was right for me. I didn't want to devote my life to a career and have no life of my own when I got home at the end of the day. I didn't want to fix people or make them think that they were broken. I wanted to be a very progressive kind of doctor more concerned with preventive medicine and comprehensive care, but that wasn't what people wanted of me, and they made me think that I shouldn't be a doctor because of it. I don't know if I want to be a doctor because I don't know if I could handle being in school for that much longer. I don't know if I could put the rest of my life on hold, not just for school, but for residency, and indefinitely. I don't know if I want my life to be all about that one thing. I'm trying to find a way to do the things I want to do and help the people I want to help. I know I will probably have to go back to school at some point, but I have no idea when or for what, and that's scaring me too. I don't have the answers. But I also don't want to spend the rest of my life in debt and never being able to enjoy anything. I'm even terrified about getting a job. I didn't do so well over the summer with that job. What if I just can't handle having one? Then what do I do? I'm scared of fucking up at whatever I do pick. I've applied to like 20 Pitt and UPMC jobs. And I'm terrified about almost all of them. I don't want to get locked into something I have no intention of pursuing, and I don't want to fuck up at whatever I decide to do. And I hate looking at the list of things that you are supposed to know how to do. What if I suck at whatever it is they think I should know how to do already? And I keep wondering if this recent snafu with Julie is going to prevent me from ever doing research again, if I decide that that's the path I need to take. There are so many things I am interested in. There are so many things that I could potentially make a career out of. How am I supposed to make this choice? I have considered becoming a personal trainer for a little while. My mom thinks I should try that too. I love to perform. I love to teach. I love to help and serve. I love to figure things out and solve problems. I love to create. I have passion for a lot of things. I love organizing things. I don't know why, but I love making lists and schedules and making complicated things easier for people to understand. I have no idea how to sift through all of this. It was easy when I thought I knew what I wanted to do--when I could just dismiss everything else because I already had a plan. But I don't have a plan now. I don't know what the hell is going on. As much as I want things to change in some ways, I'm fucking terrified of this because I will need to find a way to ground myself all over again.

I don't want to graduate with the wrong name on my diploma. But that sentence alone reminds me of something else entirely. I want to be able to be in a functional relationship with someone. It hurts to know that someone doesn't think you are emotionally stable enough. So then maybe you talk about it, and then things are better than they have ever been for about two days, and then shit hits the fan, and you are so paranoid about freaking out that when a situation does arise to cause you to freak out, you are doubly fucked, and then it becomes even worse because the other person isn't quite sure of how to handle you when you get like that. I've been so bummed out about relationship stuff over the last 7 or 8 months, and I just can't make those feelings go away. I'm trying hard not to shut myself off from connecting with people, but I know it's been happening. A part of me wants to stop trying altogether. A part of me believes that I am not the kind of person someone else can be with for an extended period of time. It makes me never want to try again...not that there are many people I've actually been interested in anyway. I need to feel something. And that doesn't happen very often. I will know almost immediately if things could work out. And I hate that. I hate that I can't just go with things and have fun. I could say so much more about this subject, but that's another one of those things I feel I can't really talk about with anyone because, again, everyone knows everyone else, and shit's going to get around somehow.
I think I really am at the what-comes-next point in my life. And I don't know the answer. And it's hurting me. And I am scared and want to cry. But I can't always do that.
I need to make it through these next few weeks. I just need to get out of school. And I am not so sure that I want to start a job immediately after I graduate, which is what everyone wants me to do, and I know it's what I should do because I'm poor as all hell. But I need time to breathe. I'm going to go crazy if I don't have a little time. I'm hoping for part time in the beginning. Maybe that will ease the transition to being a real person.
"Whatever" is a thought that keeps crossing my mind. I keep thinking that I might actually be depressed, but I'm not sure that that makes sense. I get miserable sometimes, but I'm generally alright. But maybe alright isn't good enough. I am scared that people will think that this has something to do with my transition, when I know that that is the only thing that is keeping my head above water sometimes. That's my stabilizing force right now--that and performing. I was able to dive into my thesis for the last few weeks, and that really helped too. I enjoyed learning new things and synthesizing those concepts into something that was on track to be published. But my train got fucking derailed. I just feel like one thing has happened after another to fuck with me, and my reaction might be what is normal. I am supposed to feel upset about things like that. But how do I stop thinking about them. How do I let go of all of this baggage? I'm not sure that I've ever been able to really let go of anything. That's another thing about me that worries me.
Sometimes I get the feeling that I'm terribly alone because there are things that I wish I could talk about or wish I could share with someone. I miss having that. It's not horrible, but there are those days when I realize that I am alone and probably will be for a while, and it makes me sad. I'm also breathing heavily right now.
I'm at the point where I am scared to be open with some people. And then I end up spilling my guts to people who may not want to hear it.

Random: Apparently, everyone is moving to Portland.

I have met so many people who have literally changed my life all in under a year. And the people I thought were going to be around forever about a year ago are no longer in my life at all. And this is something that I can't quite deal with either. And now I am learning that many of these people that are now so important to me will be leaving too. It's hard not to feel like a loser that's getting left behind.

I also feel weird because I love the people I am living with, and this place really does feel like a home. But I am at the point where I feel like I need a space that is 100 percent mine. I want to create my own home. I want to be able to have this fresh beginning and have a place where I am always in control. I haven't had that in quite a while, and that has probably been contributing to my general state of fucked-upedness. I've found a few good places. There is one that I am really hoping for, but I would need two roommates, and as I said, I don't know if that is an option. I'm scared about living with most people. Three bedroom place in East Liberty for less than 900. And it's a really nice townhouse. The other is the one that I really want. A one bedroom in East Liberty that's 10 minutes walking distance from my gym. And it has exposed brick and hardwood floors and it's just beautiful. 650 a month. I need a job so I can do this. But I feel funny because I'd like to be able to share my home with someone, even visitors, but I am scared that everyone is leaving me. It's completley irrational. And that irritates me too.
I think I could go on forever. I kind of want to because I have nothing better to do, which probably isn't helping me right now. I think there are things that I should be doing, but my brain can't focus on them because it has all of this other shit swarming around up there. I wish there a way to fix that without drugs.
I realized that my legs aren't getting better when I went for a run today. I really need to get this scan and find a new physical therapist. But I want to be able to afford it. Yet anothre reason why I need a job. See job gripes above to understand the vicious nature of this predicament.
I need a new memory card. I am very upset that I cannot find the other one because there are still pictures on it. It has to be with my stuff somewhere.
Not having a desk/bed/level floor also messes with me. But I am way more concerned about getting my name changed than having any of these things. But that whole process seems daunting, and I can't do this by myself. I was upset when they didn't come back with me to work on things last week because I knew that I could potentially freak out, and I wanted someone there to get me out before I could cause damage to myself or my situation. Ugh.
I feel like I am just bitching about things now. I'm stuck in this negative space again and need to find something positive to talk about.
Even with the pain, it felt good to move outside like that. But the pain is unbearable and is preventing me from just GOING.
I need a bike.
So many random thoughts in my head. So much to do. But somehow, thinking about that bike is making me happy.
But then again, I need money.
I know it's time to stop when the thoughts don't form paragraphs anymore.

"Dylan"

Even though it was in an email, it happened for the first time today. I'm not sure what to make of it yet. I'm not sure if things will actually get better, but this is a start.

Maybe I just want to hear what it sounds like when they say it out loud. I might cry.

Here We Go Again (EDITED)

And I was going to look back through my phone to see the parts of that conversation that were important. But my phone is pretty crunchy right now. Do I really need to start putting stickers on things? I hope this will never happen again. I guess it's clear to me that my family is the only thing that affects me this badly. I've even tried to explain that fact to them, and they just laugh at me. They pretend this doesn't exist too, just like almost everything else about me. I know I really shouldn't have answered the phone. But I was feeling so pressured because it was the third call of the day, and we were at about three emails as well. The first one really made it sound like things were going to be better. And I fell for it. But when he answered the phone and greeted me in the same old way, I knew things were about to get bad, and I knew I should have just hung up right then. But I let it go for a minute and tried to catch him right there and explain that it wasn't okay and that I didn't think he really understood. And then there was screaming. And then I just hung up. But then there were more messages, and then I just couldn't let one of them go. I wanted to at least right one thing. And I think that was my bigger mistake. I can't let things go. I can't let things like this sit in uncertainty. So I tried again. I always try to make peace. I always try to make everyone happy. I always want that perfect ending. I guess I have to realize that it just isn't going to happen for me. They're never going to love me. They're never going to want ME in their life. They want someone else. They want to ignore me. And I can't do that. No self-respecting individual would. Tonight made me realize that this is the way it has to be until I can hear those words and believe them: "Dylan, I'm sorry." What I got tonight: "Elise, what the fuck is your problem? What's wrong with you? What the hell did we do to deserve this? Etc. Etc."
It's the same old story on that end. And it's about to be the same old story on another one too, unless I can somehow prove that it won't happen again. You mean too much to me to let this get in the way. I don't want to be something you can't handle.

I'm doing it for real this time, and nothing they can say, other than what I noted above, is going to change my mind. I won't be able to deal with it otherwise. And I shouldn't have to.

I love you. Please don't give up on me.

This was just a roadblock.

I don't want this to change your mind, especially after the conversation we had the other day. It was one of the best and most honest I've had in a while, and I don't think I've ever been able to say things like that to anyone else. I feel so completely comfortable around you. I still want 'us' to happen.

But I still understand your concerns.

I was doing REALLY well, especially today. Maybe that's why I thought I could handle that phone conversation. Maybe that's why I thought it would change things.

Thank you for telling me to hang up tonight. It was the right thing to do.

I can control myself. You've been right this whole time. I do have the ability to do that. You see that part of me every day. I can be like that more often than I am. And that's what I've been working on. I also have been working on a way to let people know when it's happening and to let them know that it is absolutely okay to leave me alone, and it's sometimes better that way.
The drama is going to stop soon. I'm going to make sure of it. That's been part of this whole plan I've been working on.

That solution might be to take a semester off, which I guess would equate to taking a year off since the only classes I absolutely need are offered in the spring term only. But that would give me a chance to work and raise enough money to take those few classes that I do need. It's not ideal. But we have to work with what we have, and right now, I can't afford to graduate in the spring. This is my reality, and I am okay with it.
I'm constantly surprised by what I actually can live with.
I do need to finish this semester, however.
I am getting help from SJ on Saturday to get my shit out of Greenfield.

Things actually are coming together for me. And it's awesome. And I don't want you to think that tonight is an indication of the way things will be in any way.

Even the things I still have left to do tonight, I'll be able to do now. That's pretty ridiculous. I never would have been able to focus on work after something like that before. But now, I'm ready to go do more laundry and read some chapters in this book. And that makes me really happy.

It ALWAYS looks worse than it really is.
You never have to worry about my hurting anyone, including myself.

I was going a year plus without problems. I see no reason why that can't happen again. And those were pretty stressful times as well.


I'm serious about not letting this get in the way of anything. And I'm willing to do pretty much anything to make sure it doesn't. I just want you to trust me about that. If you can offer me that, I know it'll be a lot better off.
If you can believe that I am capable, then it just helps me out that much more. I don't want to feel like you think I can't do this. I can.

Give me some time to show you that this isn't what it's going to be like.

You're on my mind a lot.
You make me smile.

Please let me know when I am doing stupid things. Don't let me get away with it.
Hold me accountable.

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.

Family Speech from YouTube

This is the written version of my Family video. I figured since I couldn't sleep and I was on this kick, I might as well do what I said I was going to do a while ago.
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In my family, ever since I can remember, we’ve had a certain saying that became much more important when our family had to go through serious issues with my brother’s incarceration and we became physically separated from him. Always Together Forever. We would write it as AT4E in all the letters we would send and say it every time we said goodbye. And now I think that my family needs it again. It’s not something that’s only applicable to his situation or to situations in which there is a conventional type of loss. This kind of reassurance matters just as much in unconventional circumstances, and I would argue that it matters more since we are less likely to encounter such reassurance in the larger social sphere. This kind of love should be unconditional. It’s an all-the-time thing.
My parents once I asked me why it was so important to me that they accept me or respond positively to my choice to transition. (I hesitate to use the word transition, even, because I don’t believe I’m changing into something that isn’t already there.) So, why is their support so important? It’s not that I expect total agreement at any point, and I certainly didn’t expect it at the outset. I expected exactly what did come—severe anguish, outrage, disgust, disbelief, depression, and a sense of loss on their part. These feelings are understandable, but at some point, family needs to understand that this decision belongs to you, and that your feelings are indeed stable and rational—that you have thought it through deeply and painstakingly and that you are aware of all the risks, physical and otherwise, that may arise as you proceed with transition. At this point, family members need to step up. While it is important for trans people to understand and empathize with their grieving family members, it is also important for the family members to realize that this situation is not about them. Furthermore, they need to move past preconceived dreams that they had for their child’s future and start to understand how much happier and fulfilled their child will be living the life that he or she truly desires.
Again, why does it matter? Parents who reject their children often say that the child has also rejected them to find family and comfort in friends and that it shouldn’t matter to their child if they support them anyway. But, like most of us in this society, we have grown up with the notion that family loves unconditionally—that they are there when you have nowhere else to run—that when the rest of the world is bombarding us with hate and oppression, we may find solace and comfort in the arms of those who taught us to be the proud, shining people that we are. The last thing that we would expect from these people, who have been there with us throughout the ups and downs of our lives, is a supplement to the transphobic onslaught we are likely to face by some. The last thing we need in our times of desperation and fear are shots of I told you so. When all else goes wrong, and we are forced to hide our true selves from the rest of the world, what we desire most is that safe space with those who supposedly know us the best. We desire that space where we can be and say anything we want—where we don’t have to worry about putting on airs or keeping our guard up. We want the people and places that hold our memories. We want community and stability and familiarity. In short, we want a place where we can be home.
It’s a true test of the family as a whole when something like this arises—when a child tells you that he or she is transgender and wants to pursue gender reassignment options. It’s a test of that unconditional nature of love—the love of a person as a person and not as a normative model for gender. The transgender child bursts a protective bubble that this society has created around the revered “traditional family” model. We shatter norms that most people cling to, hold onto for dear life, as if they risk drowning in the sea of difference that lies beneath their raft of glass. How is this accomplished? We introduce “the Other” into their environment. We bring the foreign, the unknown and feared, right to them. It’s something that just can’t be ignored or dismissed. It’s the same sort of shattering of worlds that goes on when people erroneously assume that cancer, diabetes, and alcoholism are issues that affect other people and families, and not themselves. People unfamiliar with the concept of transgender and transsexual people immediately conjure up popular media representations of the Jerry Springer tranny. They fear being labeled freaks. They fear being different. Yet they somehow do not look to us, the transgendered, in these times. Do they think that we don’t know this same fear? We face this fear every day, and many of us have learned to embrace being different, turning the problem completely around, loving every bit of who we are as individuals, no matter what the fuck anyone else out there has to say about it. I think that parents of trans people should really look to their children to see how strong this has made them--look at their children to see how proud they are of their identity.
Another question several members of my family asked me, quite accusatorily, was why didn’t I tell them first? Why did I have to tell all of my friends and use internet means to convey this information to some? Why did I leave them in the dark to be blindsided by this when they received a phone call from a family member who happened to see my facebook page?
I can first say that I didn’t intend for my parents to be informed by anyone else. I had planned to tell them myself. And that’s the tough part. It’s something you have to plan for. a lot. Coming out as trans to your parents takes unspeakable courage. It takes everything you have to work up to that. You lose sleep over it. You cry over it. You turn it over and over in your head and try to figure out exactly how you are going to do it and when. And a lot of the time, you know exactly how your family is going to react. In my case, I knew that it would be bad. To quote Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird about the level of courage you need for this task… “It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what.”
It’s like facing a firing squad. Signing up to be a kamikaze pilot. You risk losing everything. You risk losing the love of the most important people in the world to you. You risk losing your home. You risk your education, if you are financially dependent on them. It’s a huge burden to have to deal with the issue of having to tell your family, and for this reason it is hugely important to build a strong network of social support before you tell them. It’s important that you have somewhere to turn when disaster strikes—that you CAN make that 4 am phone call in hysteria to your best friend. It’s important to surround yourself with people that understand you and will love you no matter what may happen with your family. This social support network is what often prevents depression in cancer patients, what helps the newly divorced move on with their lives, which helps all the grieving in the world carry on to the next day. With this support network and with our composure the best that it can be, only then can we approach our families. It is not that we have not thought through every little detail of the process over and over again. It is not that the thought has suddenly arisen out of nowhere. It is not a whim. It’s not a game. And it isn’t something that goes away. It’s something that most of us have known all of our lives, whether we have had a name for it the entire time or not.
We ask that you understand these things. We ask that you respect us. We ask that you try to learn as much as you can without feeling the need to cram statistics of death and unemployment in our faces. Do not assume that we aren’t aware of what awaits us. We are very aware. And that is why we need you more than anyone else. We need you because we know that things aren’t perfect for anyone in this world, and that being different makes it a hell of a lot harder. We need you because we have so many wonderful memories with you and want the opportunity to create more of them with you. All in all, what this really means is that we need you, because we love you.

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."
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quotes from Becoming a Visible Man by Jamison Green

Christmas Eve 2K9

this page won't load, won't let me see your face
it might be digitized but at least its
inches from mine
and this place
this place
scares the hell out of me
yet
somehow i wish i could be here a little more
texted
unexpected
something to stay for
i didn't know life had this many edges
for me to live on

i told my doctor yesterday more than
afraid to hear his reaction
but he assured me,
hugged me
for a long time.
and said it's not a matter of right
or wrong
but what you need
to do for yourself

merry christmas

it's good i guess if good is
as much as we pretend it to be
if fake things can be
just as good
if you don't make any more
out of anything
than you absolutely have to
if you forget
that there's another life out there
while you sit around this tree
if you forget your gift to yourself
to belong with them on christmas eve

December'd

Don't feel like I'm feeling anything. Tried writing some poetry but it didn't work. Maybe it's the fight I'm having with my eyelids. Maybe it's the one I'm having with mom. I'm not asking for permission, which is what I think they think. Do I really feel like talking about that now? Life needs a pause button. Not even all of it. It's like I've got 4 or 5 different screens playing. I just can't watch all of them at once, and I hate it when I miss things. I need to Tivo my own life. Too many things to worry about. Not enough things I can do about any of them right now. Focus. Enough for a few more weeks before I crash. But the ball's going to keep rolling right on through the end of this semester. What the hell am I even saying? I hate having to use expressions like that. It makes me feel lazy. I don't like when words don't mean anything anymore. I want something evocative out of what I read (and write). You can't give me a good mental image with some trite expression, but sometimes, that's the only thing that works to convey meaning. It's only surface meaning, though. To do the job right, you need more than one coat of paint. Each layer builds upon the next, ultimately leading to that seamless, shining finish. It might take a little longer, but the end product is definitely worth it.
I don't always do that here because sometimes I just need to vent. Sometimes I just need to get the mixed up feelings out of my system, and whatever words those feelings find are fine. And those feelings are mine, so why should I worry about the criticism from outside?
I'm really getting in a rut here with these random rants and disconnected postings of mine. It seems fitting, considering the general pattern of events occurring in my life right now, and by pattern, I mean lack of a pattern.
I really wonder if my mom still reads this. I wonder what she thinks of me as a human being after having seen all of this. Maybe she hasn't even read everything. Maybe she only managed to read it that one day to find the worst things I had written about my family in my entire life. I'm not going to be ashamed of what I wrote that day. Everything I said is true. And feelings are neither true nor false, and since I was feeling those things at the time, I see no reason to have to erase them and pretend that that part of my life didn't happen. I acknowledge both the good and the bad.
I'm not making any sense again. Maybe I just needed to feel like I did something important by writing something down.
I had a not-so-productive conversation with my parents tonight. I was at the gym when they called, and there was no way I could go back to working out after I got off the phone with them. Bad things would have happened. My mom is convinced I'll get cancer or something horrible will happen to me as a result of T. My dad expresses similar concerns only because my mom was able to find something on the internet that indicated the risks ( most of which/the major ones I believe she failed to recognize as extraordinarily rare). They also think the situation is identical to that of bodybuilders injecting themselves with shit-tons of it so they can be freaks. I tried explaining that there is completely different reasoning there, but they seem convinced that I'll just keep wanting to take more and more. I don't know how to make them see that these situations are vastly different and should never be equated. Oh and my mom thinks that it's going to fuck with my brain. Now she's even more convinced that my decision is irrational. I can't believe she doesn't think that I understand the risks. I've been looking at this for way longer than she has, and I've talked to way more people than she has, yet in finding some random shit on the internet over the course of only 2 days, she thinks that she has it all figured out. Now, I know that I don't know everything, but I'm pretty sure that the mortality and morbidity rates for trans people are the same as in the general population. I'm also pretty sure that there have been studies done to prove that testosterone actually increases working memory by a little bit. I feel like they're going to go crazy over these things. I don't know how to alleviate these concerns. I hope that they are just that--concerns. I hope that they don't go nuts over trying to change my mind. I wish they could just express concern without having to insult me or demand that I do something different. It's really aggravating.
They keep trying to change my mind. I think my dad sort of got the idea tonight. He said that it seemed like I was going to do anything to defend my position and not listen to anyone else. I suppose that's partly true. They aren't going to change my mind. Only I can change my mind. I understand the risks, and they are risks that I am prepared to take. My mom even accused me of not knowing what will make me happy. She said that there is no way that I can know that. I asked her if she knows what makes her happy, and she said that she doesn't all the time. When I told her that I wasn't talking about transient happiness, she just started evading the question. I ended up pointing out that maybe she should start thinking about it. Why is it so damn hard for people to think? I know what makes me happy. And I do know what I want. Why can't people accept that? Why must my parents try to diminish that? It's a very good thing to know what you want out of life? Am I supposed to wait until my life is half over before I start to live it? I don't see much sense in that. I don't see much sense in waiting years and years to do something that I know I will do anyway. It's not like I'm going to start T tomorrow either. I have already explained that I need to talk to a professional about this for a while before I do that.
There's no way to convince my parents, it seems. Everyone I talk to has to have an agenda. That must be it. I need to talk to independent people who don't have experience with this because those who are gender therapists or trans endocrinologists are biased and they'll tell me anything. That seems kind of ridiculous to me. I hope I am not the only one. NOT EVERYTHING IS A CONSPIRACY. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. And sometimes a doctor is a doctor who will tell you the facts. And sometimes they recognize what risks are worth taking. If you're going to decrease someone's chances of suicide by 2000 percent by doing something that will increase one's chances of having liver cancer by less than .5 percent, well...The choice seems obvious. That's the way most people see it. What's the point if you're not going to be happy with your life anyway? What's the point of any of that health if you can't enjoy it because you make yourself sick all the time worrying about this? The risks are there. I am not denying it. But they aren't at all common. And I wouldn't be stupid about it. I'd get checked out all the time because that's what you're supposed to do. If you don't, you're an idiot. I've always been extremely concerned about my health and wellness, and it bothers me to think that my parents don't believe that I have considered that at all. I don't think they get it yet. If I weren't 100 percent sure of this and 100 percent ready to deal with everything, I wouldn't have decided that this was the right thing for me. I wouldn't have said anything at all. This isn't some game that I'm playing. And it's not just something that's going to go away. I keep getting frustrated by the things they say to me. I feel like they just want me to get tired of arguing with them and give up on it. But that's not what would happen. I would get tired of arguing them and do it anyway, and I don't know what that would do to our relationship. But I need them to understand that I am not looking for their approval here. I'm looking for them to attempt to understand the situation. And part of that is understanding that I don't need them trying to force me out of this every step of the way. Part of that is understanding that this is my decision and that I do not need them assaulting me with their opinions of it constantly. I'm reaching my limit with that, and I'm generally a pretty patient person. I can wait a little longer for them to understand that, but I have no idea how I can explain that to them if they don't figure it out for themselves.
I will make that call in the afternoon tomorrow.
And why is money such a huge concern when there are way more important things to be worrying about in this situation? They keep asking me where I am going to get the money for this, so I assume that means that they won't be helping me out. I'm fine with that. I have a plan.
I don't know. I'm just sick of always being on the defensive about my own life. I'm sick of my parents not respecting and/or trusting my decisions. They do this all the time, and I don't know why I expected it to be different this time.
I have a lot of things to do tomorrow. I need to get my act together and really focus during these last few weeks, but that seems impossible with all of this happening. I seriously think the best thing would just be to not talk to them until the end of the semester, but I know they won't react very well to that, and I feel like things aren't exactly in my favor right now and don't want to push the balance further away from me.
I should probably go to sleep considering I have class in 6 hours. I had planned to study for that class tonight, but every time I talk to my parents, I lose all my focus. I just get so worked up about things that it becomes impossible for me to do my work. That's really a problem. I need to explain this to them, but again, they aren't very likely to understand that either. While I can slack off most of the time, there are just some things for which that doesn't work...like when I have to turn in something instead of just studying for a quiz. I need the time to work on the shit. I can't fake that. Argh.
I don't know. Maybe I should just read some more. I say "I don't know" way too often. But it's true. There are a lot of things I don't have answers for. And I feel like that isn't always my fault. A lot of the time, I do have answers but fear that others may see them as the wrong ones. But with this--with being trans--it's completely different. It's something that I just don't worry about when it comes to the opinions of other people. I know that this is what is right. This is what I want. I can't stress that enough for my parents. This is who I am. If they could only see how living like this has improved things for me, then maybe they'd get it. But they are stuck several hundred miles away and have been for the past four years, so it's easy to see why they think that this is unexpected and doesn't make sense. I don't think they understand that I am definitely not the same person who left for college several years ago. How do people forget things like that? Were they really the same people as they were in high school when they graduated from college? They might have been. My dad never left home. My mom transferred from Michigan State after a year. Maybe they never changed. I don't know. But I grew up a whole lot when I realized what kind of world was out there. I had an idea, but I really didn't know what to expect. I knew things would be different. They were. And things just started to make so much sense. I am so much happier now than I have ever been. I can honestly say that. As lame as it may sound, I've finally found myself. And that just kicks ass.
I feel like I repeat myself a lot. I know I do. But sometimes I need that. Sometimes I need to remind myself that I'm the one that matters. Sometimes I worry way too much about how other people are doing that I forget to take care of myself. I guess that's the vice of my chosen profession. If it's not, it should be.
It's past 4 AM, for those of you who REALLY need to know. ;)
I ended up at Eat N Park tonight with good people. I had a great time, even though I barely said anything all night. Just being there was enough for me. At first it didn't feel like it should have been. I felt like more should have been going on between people. But that's not what tonight was about. It was about being part of that group. It was about just being together without worrying about saying anything or doing anything. It was good. And I'm glad I was able to recognize that.
I'm getting a little tired. I should probably sleep. I know I keep saying this.
I have no filter right now, it seems.
Right now? lol
Yes, I rarely use knives. I'll stab a fork into the meat and eat it like that. It's not even something that I think about, unless I'm in some really fancy restaurant where I have to be all self-conscious.
I'll probably say something that's completely inappropriate in the context of the conversation, and I may not pick up on forced subtlety. However, I am great at picking up the things you DON'T know you are conveying. It's easy to tell with things like that because you can't hide them. They are pretty much the same for everyone. You can't hide things like that because you have no idea that you are doing them. It's kind of cool, the science behind body language. It's a valuable skill. Yet I still manage to mess up basic things from time to time. It happens.
Oh yeah, and sometimes I just have no idea what the fuck to say. A lot of the time. Small talk is almost impossible. But there are some times when things are completely fine and I can talk about anything.
I'm sure there are other ridiculous things that I do that I'm just not remembering. Nothing to worry about, really. Except those random panic attacks, but that hasn't happened in a while. I'd like to think that I know why.
Alright, I'm actually going to be now. I think I need something profound at the end here.

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You have a choice. Live or die. Every breath is a choice. Every minute is a choice. To be or not to be. --Palahniuk