No no, nothing that drastic, heheheh
I'm published now, a piece of my work is going up on an online journal soon, and I'm doing a public reading tomorrow at a book launch, and taking my writing, my message, my story further has always been a bit of a pipe dream to me.... and it looks like I'm getting a shot at it.
Because of this, I've obtained my own proper domain, and will be leaving Blogspot behind. My marketing genius love has been quite adamant that this needs to be done, and ya know what?, I'll listen to the expert dammit :)
If you are interested in following my story, you'll be able to find everything here, and future writings at YetAnotherTransBlog.com.
This one is going to stay alive as long as blogspot doesn't nuke it, it's been a good home to me, it's helped me find my voice and it's been a lot of fun learning the ways of the web (even though at a basic level), but it's time to move on
Love you all, and thanks for making me feel like this has been a success, over 13000 views since I've started, makes a girl feel loved
see you on the other side
Sunday, 14 December 2014
Tuesday, 25 November 2014
I float
The following is an attempt at visualizing a possible event in a vague and obfuscated way due to the subject matter. Does that make it fiction?, I'm not sure. I'm trying to pull a surrealistic approach with words as opposed to with visual art, I think this would be an interesting piece to be turned into a visual medium along the lines of the animation in Pink Floyd's "The Wall"
anyway..... here goes
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I float
Yet I float within something, some enclosure, and the enclosure is shrinking. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, but it's shrinking
It moves, I rock gently within. Sometimes I get thrust up against the walls of my enclosure as the movement becomes rapid, agitated, violent. I rebound, I learn that the walls are soft, malleable, I can press into them and they embrace me and slowly push me back to where I rest.
Sometimes the walls push in, almost to touch me, searching for me, I draw away from that, it..... scares me
At one point my world changes color, there was nothing before, only the rocking motion, the warmth, yet now, there are things, things to see. The world becomes brighter at times, as the rocking increases the world becomes rosy, then, after a while, the world becomes dark again, the rocking slows, then is no more.
I wait, feeling the rhythm that has been with me since I can remember.
Then even that changes. I hear.
Sounds from outside my world penetrate the stillness. As with the rocking, when the world is bright, the sounds are more prevalent, when the world darkens, the sounds subside, disappear.
The rhythm is now more than a feeling, I hear it, it sinks within me, and it soothes me. I feel a part of me responding in kind, as though I am the enclosure, and it is me
Time passes, my world keeps disappearing, I have less and less room to float, my cage envelops me.
A new feeling grips me, something wrong, something that should not be... pain...fear.... felt for the first time
My cage rattles, a fierce cry sounds out through the walls, I feel it within me, all around me
The brightness of the world disappears, the sounds disappear, I no longer feel the cage, the world, the floating. There is simply nothing
so I wait
and wait
Time passes
there is someone in here with me, I don't know how long I've been here, I don't know where I am, but there is someone in here with me
we examine each other. We drift together, twirling, experiencing, I revel in no longer being alone. But the other feels.... different.... it doesn't feel like I feel.
The other retreats into something, there is not just someone in here, but there is something, a new something. I can no longer feel my world, I simply... am... but I can sense the other, and where it is, and it is in something that seems very familiar, but I can't place it, but I want it, I don't know why, but I do
I try to go where the other went, but something stops me, pushes me back, a current, keeping me away.
so I wait
I know the other is there, but it is hidden, it waits within, and as time continues to pass, the something grows. I can feel the other, but it no longer is interested in me, it no longer leaves the thing, the growing thing, the expanding thing
so I wait
I feel nothing. I see nothing. Yet I know my world is once again shrinking.
and I wait
As suddenly as the other appeared, it is no longer.
I don't know where it went, where it could have gone, but then, I didn't know where it came from, where I came from.
I let myself drift closer to the something, it feels empty now, the current that was there before has vanished as well. I let myself curl around it, and I find that there is a small current, almost imperceptible, and it isn't pushing me away.
I give myself to it
I am within the something, not with the something, and I realize, I've felt this before.
although....
something about it feels different, I'm not entirely part of it, I feel forced in, like I don't fit
all those ideas leave me when I feel it again, the rhythm, the soothing, calming, rhythm. I feel the floating, I see my world again, I hear my own rhythm
and while something still feels.... off.... I am thankful that the darkness is gone, that I feel again, that I am somewhere.
I float
Yet I float within something, some enclosure, and the enclosure is shrinking. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, but it's shrinking
And when once again the enclosure begins to envelop me, to hold me tight within it, I feel fear. I remember the darkness, the nothingness, I don't want that again.
But then, I hear that cry, I feel the pain, but this time, something new happens. A gash of light appears, my enclosure, torn open, the cries are louder, frightening. Things appear, enormous, terrifying, mind shattering noises, colors never seen before burning me, the sense of panic, sensations unknown, pain from within, pain from without
and I scream
anyway..... here goes
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I float
Yet I float within something, some enclosure, and the enclosure is shrinking. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, but it's shrinking
It moves, I rock gently within. Sometimes I get thrust up against the walls of my enclosure as the movement becomes rapid, agitated, violent. I rebound, I learn that the walls are soft, malleable, I can press into them and they embrace me and slowly push me back to where I rest.
Sometimes the walls push in, almost to touch me, searching for me, I draw away from that, it..... scares me
At one point my world changes color, there was nothing before, only the rocking motion, the warmth, yet now, there are things, things to see. The world becomes brighter at times, as the rocking increases the world becomes rosy, then, after a while, the world becomes dark again, the rocking slows, then is no more.
I wait, feeling the rhythm that has been with me since I can remember.
Then even that changes. I hear.
Sounds from outside my world penetrate the stillness. As with the rocking, when the world is bright, the sounds are more prevalent, when the world darkens, the sounds subside, disappear.
The rhythm is now more than a feeling, I hear it, it sinks within me, and it soothes me. I feel a part of me responding in kind, as though I am the enclosure, and it is me
Time passes, my world keeps disappearing, I have less and less room to float, my cage envelops me.
A new feeling grips me, something wrong, something that should not be... pain...fear.... felt for the first time
My cage rattles, a fierce cry sounds out through the walls, I feel it within me, all around me
The brightness of the world disappears, the sounds disappear, I no longer feel the cage, the world, the floating. There is simply nothing
so I wait
and wait
Time passes
there is someone in here with me, I don't know how long I've been here, I don't know where I am, but there is someone in here with me
we examine each other. We drift together, twirling, experiencing, I revel in no longer being alone. But the other feels.... different.... it doesn't feel like I feel.
The other retreats into something, there is not just someone in here, but there is something, a new something. I can no longer feel my world, I simply... am... but I can sense the other, and where it is, and it is in something that seems very familiar, but I can't place it, but I want it, I don't know why, but I do
I try to go where the other went, but something stops me, pushes me back, a current, keeping me away.
so I wait
I know the other is there, but it is hidden, it waits within, and as time continues to pass, the something grows. I can feel the other, but it no longer is interested in me, it no longer leaves the thing, the growing thing, the expanding thing
so I wait
I feel nothing. I see nothing. Yet I know my world is once again shrinking.
and I wait
As suddenly as the other appeared, it is no longer.
I don't know where it went, where it could have gone, but then, I didn't know where it came from, where I came from.
I let myself drift closer to the something, it feels empty now, the current that was there before has vanished as well. I let myself curl around it, and I find that there is a small current, almost imperceptible, and it isn't pushing me away.
I give myself to it
I am within the something, not with the something, and I realize, I've felt this before.
although....
something about it feels different, I'm not entirely part of it, I feel forced in, like I don't fit
all those ideas leave me when I feel it again, the rhythm, the soothing, calming, rhythm. I feel the floating, I see my world again, I hear my own rhythm
and while something still feels.... off.... I am thankful that the darkness is gone, that I feel again, that I am somewhere.
I float
Yet I float within something, some enclosure, and the enclosure is shrinking. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, but it's shrinking
And when once again the enclosure begins to envelop me, to hold me tight within it, I feel fear. I remember the darkness, the nothingness, I don't want that again.
But then, I hear that cry, I feel the pain, but this time, something new happens. A gash of light appears, my enclosure, torn open, the cries are louder, frightening. Things appear, enormous, terrifying, mind shattering noises, colors never seen before burning me, the sense of panic, sensations unknown, pain from within, pain from without
and I scream
Sunday, 23 November 2014
AMAB / AFAB
These terms started being used maybe a year or two, or at least, that's when I first came across them.
I've never been one for overt politeness, I prefer raw truth, and therefore always had an internal resistance to the whole concept of political correctness. The age that I am, I saw this phenomenon in my mid teens and how it galvanized people into groups, either for, or against.
Recently, I heard / read / something which stated that political correctness isn't about whitewashing ideas or words, it's about accuracy, an accuracy that many people can't see, or don't want to, it's easier using the terms we were raised with after all, be damned those who have problems with it.
AMAB / AFAB means Assigned Male / Female At Birth
First time I heard it, I admit, I rolled my eyes.... oh sheesh.... why do we trans people have to be so picky about everything, c'mon. If you were born male, you were born male, yes transitioning into female is true, and accurate, but fuck, admit it, you were born a boy.
I see it in a different light now
I've mentioned before, if not here, then in speaking with others, how the longer that I spend as myself, I come to realize, that I was never actually a boy, never a man, never male.
This knowledge has been gleaned from becoming closer to women, being allowed deeper into their circles of trust, hearing their stories, drawing parallels to my own feelings. Yes I was socialized male, but I never took that socialization to heart, it never stuck. As I started dating men as my new true self, I also came to realize, more and more, that I was never one of them
Yeah, I have a lot of insider information that cis women don't have, but it doesn't mean that I was ever one of them.
My old name was used on Friday, that shitty day, and it cut me to the bone. Telling Andrea about this later that evening, she commented on how even though that is no longer me, it still is part of my past, part of my reality, and while it may hurt, I should acknowledge that.
No I said, it never was part of my reality, I know this now. I've always been Dawn, whether or not the world has seen or accepted that.
My old name was part of the assignment I received at birth. A child was born, the child had a penis of appropriate size for a newborn infant, and simply to that quirk of birth, she was assigned male. Along with that assignment came a male name, a male upbringing, male socialization, and a constant hammering from the world that I was male.
But it was never true, it was never me, never who I was meant to be.
No wonder the suicide rate for trans people is so terrifyingly high
My old name is a vestige of that mistake that society forced upon me, as is my bone structure which was allowed to develop through a testosterone fueled puberty, my lower voice, my larger hands which give me trouble buying nice bracelets
It fills me with joy now that children who were mal assigned have the chance (and still only if they're lucky) to not be forced to go through that, the false puberty, the wrong path. If only I had been born 25 years later, but that was not my path
AMAB is not a term to whitewash anything, to ignore reality, it is, in fact, the most accurate description of a trans persons history possible. This isn't political correctness, this is truth, confusing yes, unusual perhaps, but truth, absolute, undeniable, truth
I was born female, but assigned male, and it took me 35 years to shed that
nothing more
nothing less
I've never been one for overt politeness, I prefer raw truth, and therefore always had an internal resistance to the whole concept of political correctness. The age that I am, I saw this phenomenon in my mid teens and how it galvanized people into groups, either for, or against.
Recently, I heard / read / something which stated that political correctness isn't about whitewashing ideas or words, it's about accuracy, an accuracy that many people can't see, or don't want to, it's easier using the terms we were raised with after all, be damned those who have problems with it.
AMAB / AFAB means Assigned Male / Female At Birth
First time I heard it, I admit, I rolled my eyes.... oh sheesh.... why do we trans people have to be so picky about everything, c'mon. If you were born male, you were born male, yes transitioning into female is true, and accurate, but fuck, admit it, you were born a boy.
I see it in a different light now
I've mentioned before, if not here, then in speaking with others, how the longer that I spend as myself, I come to realize, that I was never actually a boy, never a man, never male.
This knowledge has been gleaned from becoming closer to women, being allowed deeper into their circles of trust, hearing their stories, drawing parallels to my own feelings. Yes I was socialized male, but I never took that socialization to heart, it never stuck. As I started dating men as my new true self, I also came to realize, more and more, that I was never one of them
Yeah, I have a lot of insider information that cis women don't have, but it doesn't mean that I was ever one of them.
My old name was used on Friday, that shitty day, and it cut me to the bone. Telling Andrea about this later that evening, she commented on how even though that is no longer me, it still is part of my past, part of my reality, and while it may hurt, I should acknowledge that.
No I said, it never was part of my reality, I know this now. I've always been Dawn, whether or not the world has seen or accepted that.
My old name was part of the assignment I received at birth. A child was born, the child had a penis of appropriate size for a newborn infant, and simply to that quirk of birth, she was assigned male. Along with that assignment came a male name, a male upbringing, male socialization, and a constant hammering from the world that I was male.
But it was never true, it was never me, never who I was meant to be.
No wonder the suicide rate for trans people is so terrifyingly high
My old name is a vestige of that mistake that society forced upon me, as is my bone structure which was allowed to develop through a testosterone fueled puberty, my lower voice, my larger hands which give me trouble buying nice bracelets
It fills me with joy now that children who were mal assigned have the chance (and still only if they're lucky) to not be forced to go through that, the false puberty, the wrong path. If only I had been born 25 years later, but that was not my path
AMAB is not a term to whitewash anything, to ignore reality, it is, in fact, the most accurate description of a trans persons history possible. This isn't political correctness, this is truth, confusing yes, unusual perhaps, but truth, absolute, undeniable, truth
I was born female, but assigned male, and it took me 35 years to shed that
nothing more
nothing less
Friday, 21 November 2014
You're actually doing wonderfully
Had a very rough day today, one that left me in the bathroom crying again
I felt the spiral coming on, I reached out to a number of friends, knowing that Mara was busy with the inlaws tonight, and unfortunately, no one was available.
Texting with her on the way home, feeling sad, angry, lonely, just wanted to go home and self destruct, get some green from my neighbor and smoke myself into oblivion. That is a huge warning sign for me, I can partake socially without ill effect, but these feelings?, no, they weren't going anywhere good.
I needed love, I needed some care, I needed to weather my ship against someone else rock for a little bit, draw upon their strength, give me time to mend my sails and tar the hull.
It wasn't coming easily
So I simply asked, if I could partake in dinner with them, and the answer was yes. She even thanked me for asking. She isn't woo, isn't introspective or analytical, she didn't calculate this, forcing me to ask, not knowing that was exactly what I needed to do to get myself out, but that's what happened in the end.
Reaching out can be so hard to do.....
We all had a little dinner, didn't focus on any of the bad, just ate, talked, and shared companionship and love. Then I walked home, declining the offer of a partial lift to my place, knowing the walk would do me good.
Waiting for the red light to change, staring aimlessly across the street, I see a woman catch my eye, her face breaks out into a huge grin. She waves
I realize who it is.... Andrea.... faithful readers will remember the impact she had upon me during the summer of last year, but since then we had essentially drifted apart, no longer parts of each others lives.
We greet each other, share a long hug, and she quickly takes my offer to check out my condo with me just for a bit and catch up.
Of course, we ended up chatting for almost two hours
I tell her about my new relationship, the woman I've fallen in love for, the challenges that it has awoken inside me, the aspects of myself that I had left to deal with, the fears and anxieties I've been feeling for the past while, my stresses, my spirals, my dark shadow. She understands the shadow, she understands depression, panic, anxiety, and the destructive force it can have upon you. She draws parallels, ones that make sense, that work, and we share.
I make her sad with the pain that I've felt, my panic attacks, but again, she understands, she lives this as well. She had wanted me to fill her with happy stories, how wonderful everything is, and I begin to focus on that, and I share those stories.
Meeting Mara - such a wonderful story.
Our lives together.
My new family.
The support and love I receive.
Who I've become, my body, my smile, my truth.
The small joys I can experience.
My dreams, our dreams.
And through all the darkness that I have trouble not focusing on, she says something beautiful, something I need to remind myself of more often.
I'm in a wonderful place.
I have love.
I have support.
I have friends that care and look out for me.
I have someone by my side willing to fight for me, for us, for who and what I am, the truest ally anyone could ever be.
I have my own truth.
I felt the spiral coming on, I reached out to a number of friends, knowing that Mara was busy with the inlaws tonight, and unfortunately, no one was available.
Texting with her on the way home, feeling sad, angry, lonely, just wanted to go home and self destruct, get some green from my neighbor and smoke myself into oblivion. That is a huge warning sign for me, I can partake socially without ill effect, but these feelings?, no, they weren't going anywhere good.
I needed love, I needed some care, I needed to weather my ship against someone else rock for a little bit, draw upon their strength, give me time to mend my sails and tar the hull.
It wasn't coming easily
So I simply asked, if I could partake in dinner with them, and the answer was yes. She even thanked me for asking. She isn't woo, isn't introspective or analytical, she didn't calculate this, forcing me to ask, not knowing that was exactly what I needed to do to get myself out, but that's what happened in the end.
Reaching out can be so hard to do.....
We all had a little dinner, didn't focus on any of the bad, just ate, talked, and shared companionship and love. Then I walked home, declining the offer of a partial lift to my place, knowing the walk would do me good.
Waiting for the red light to change, staring aimlessly across the street, I see a woman catch my eye, her face breaks out into a huge grin. She waves
I realize who it is.... Andrea.... faithful readers will remember the impact she had upon me during the summer of last year, but since then we had essentially drifted apart, no longer parts of each others lives.
We greet each other, share a long hug, and she quickly takes my offer to check out my condo with me just for a bit and catch up.
Of course, we ended up chatting for almost two hours
I tell her about my new relationship, the woman I've fallen in love for, the challenges that it has awoken inside me, the aspects of myself that I had left to deal with, the fears and anxieties I've been feeling for the past while, my stresses, my spirals, my dark shadow. She understands the shadow, she understands depression, panic, anxiety, and the destructive force it can have upon you. She draws parallels, ones that make sense, that work, and we share.
I make her sad with the pain that I've felt, my panic attacks, but again, she understands, she lives this as well. She had wanted me to fill her with happy stories, how wonderful everything is, and I begin to focus on that, and I share those stories.
Meeting Mara - such a wonderful story.
Our lives together.
My new family.
The support and love I receive.
Who I've become, my body, my smile, my truth.
The small joys I can experience.
My dreams, our dreams.
And through all the darkness that I have trouble not focusing on, she says something beautiful, something I need to remind myself of more often.
I'm in a wonderful place.
I have love.
I have support.
I have friends that care and look out for me.
I have someone by my side willing to fight for me, for us, for who and what I am, the truest ally anyone could ever be.
I have my own truth.
Wednesday, 19 November 2014
The bubbles of society
We may do our best to determine who we are, our gender, but at the end of the day, it's society that truly determines it for us.
We're always told to be ourselves, to not give a damn what other people think, it's not always that easy unfortunately. You see yourself through the mirrors of other peoples eyes, the reflections in their actions and reactions to us. I'm not talking about big serious interactions here either, this is every person that walks by you on the street, the person that makes your cup of coffee in the morning, the person sitting next to you on the bus.
Many of us, no matter what makes us different, will submerse ourselves in worlds that match us, entering a bubble of safety, maybe we'll live in an area predominantly filled with those of our culture, or of our visible race, or even our sexuality.
When it comes to gender, unfortunately, there is no bubble waiting for us. There are support groups, there are friendly venues that we can visit from time to time where we may see someone in whom we see ourselves, but for the most part, we exist within our own bubbles, and it gets lonely in there, and bubbles pop so easily.
Our existences depend upon the kindness of strangers, and the acceptance and support of friends. No one lives in a complete vacuum, and even if they do, it's not a life I would wish on anyone.
When we step out of our homes, and enter the world, it is so often an event. Makes me think of the joke that gay folk use in gaining acceptance, they go shopping, they don't go gay shopping, they take vacation, they don't take gay vacation, they get married, they don't get gay married. For the trans folk, it often feels that the joke doesn't fit, we don't shop, we shop while trans, we don't go to a bar to have a drink, we have a drink while trans, we don't even just walk down the street, we walk the streets while trans.
When things go well, is it because the world is slowly becoming a better place?, is it because people didn't realize, or didn't see what we are?, is it that they simply don't care?. Unfortunately, it's impossible to tell, and due to that, it's difficult to gain strength from it, and, in my experience at least, the strength gained from it gets smaller and smaller as time goes by. Unlike for everyone else, we often come to forget who we were, and what we are, so why wouldn't a walk to the corner market be uneventful, I'm simply a <insert personal gender identification here> going to the market, what could be more banal than that?
But then it happens, it always happens sooner or later. The double takes, the screwed up foreheads as people investigate you, the reminder that you are not like us. And it can appear from anywhere, from anyone, and it can cut to the bone if you're not ready for it, and seriously, who should be forced to be ready for it all the time. Then, even worse, are those that see what we are, and go out of their way to make sure we know it, they misgender us on purpose, they snicker, they wave their privilege in our faces.
You come to feel on edge. Quicksand under your feet. You become more and more sensitive to things. The strength depletes leaving you a husk if you're not careful, and it's so hard to refill that reservoir of strength.
And you want to leave
And you want to run
And you want to scream
And you want to lash out
And you want to hide
But in order to live, you can't hide, no one can
So you go on, and you take your lumps, and you do your best to live with the knowledge that so much of the world sees you as less than, other, not-entirely-human, an untouchable. Even those that have no problem with us, can be our friends, ask them, would you date someone like me?, would you sleep with or love someone like me?, would you take me home to meet your parents?, too often, the answer is a look of fear, a look of shock, like they've been found out, and you have your answer, and they don't need to say a thing, and no matter who that person is, or what they mean to you, all of a sudden, they have become one of them
and it hurts
but sometimes we get lucky, we find a person who doesn't see what society sees, they see what we see, they see who we really are, and that doesn't mean seeing the old within us, but only the new, the truth, who we are. I don't think it happens very often, and even within their worlds the cuts still happen, but they are there to love, to support, the true definition of an ally. They represent what the world should be, but unfortunately, through our eyes, they often get to see what the world really is. They learn the sad aspects of our world, they see how it affects those who are truly looked down upon, they learn new aspects of privilege that they never needed to know, and often, that hurts us as well, we never want to bring pain or doubt to the heart of someone that special. And if we're truly lucky, and truly blessed, they will stand by our side, strong and proud, and share their strength with us even as we show them the rotten underbelly of our realities.
it's not easy being trans, it's still better than the alternative, being.... him.... wrong.... but it sure as fuck aint easy
We're always told to be ourselves, to not give a damn what other people think, it's not always that easy unfortunately. You see yourself through the mirrors of other peoples eyes, the reflections in their actions and reactions to us. I'm not talking about big serious interactions here either, this is every person that walks by you on the street, the person that makes your cup of coffee in the morning, the person sitting next to you on the bus.
Many of us, no matter what makes us different, will submerse ourselves in worlds that match us, entering a bubble of safety, maybe we'll live in an area predominantly filled with those of our culture, or of our visible race, or even our sexuality.
When it comes to gender, unfortunately, there is no bubble waiting for us. There are support groups, there are friendly venues that we can visit from time to time where we may see someone in whom we see ourselves, but for the most part, we exist within our own bubbles, and it gets lonely in there, and bubbles pop so easily.
Our existences depend upon the kindness of strangers, and the acceptance and support of friends. No one lives in a complete vacuum, and even if they do, it's not a life I would wish on anyone.
When we step out of our homes, and enter the world, it is so often an event. Makes me think of the joke that gay folk use in gaining acceptance, they go shopping, they don't go gay shopping, they take vacation, they don't take gay vacation, they get married, they don't get gay married. For the trans folk, it often feels that the joke doesn't fit, we don't shop, we shop while trans, we don't go to a bar to have a drink, we have a drink while trans, we don't even just walk down the street, we walk the streets while trans.
When things go well, is it because the world is slowly becoming a better place?, is it because people didn't realize, or didn't see what we are?, is it that they simply don't care?. Unfortunately, it's impossible to tell, and due to that, it's difficult to gain strength from it, and, in my experience at least, the strength gained from it gets smaller and smaller as time goes by. Unlike for everyone else, we often come to forget who we were, and what we are, so why wouldn't a walk to the corner market be uneventful, I'm simply a <insert personal gender identification here> going to the market, what could be more banal than that?
But then it happens, it always happens sooner or later. The double takes, the screwed up foreheads as people investigate you, the reminder that you are not like us. And it can appear from anywhere, from anyone, and it can cut to the bone if you're not ready for it, and seriously, who should be forced to be ready for it all the time. Then, even worse, are those that see what we are, and go out of their way to make sure we know it, they misgender us on purpose, they snicker, they wave their privilege in our faces.
You come to feel on edge. Quicksand under your feet. You become more and more sensitive to things. The strength depletes leaving you a husk if you're not careful, and it's so hard to refill that reservoir of strength.
And you want to leave
And you want to run
And you want to scream
And you want to lash out
And you want to hide
But in order to live, you can't hide, no one can
So you go on, and you take your lumps, and you do your best to live with the knowledge that so much of the world sees you as less than, other, not-entirely-human, an untouchable. Even those that have no problem with us, can be our friends, ask them, would you date someone like me?, would you sleep with or love someone like me?, would you take me home to meet your parents?, too often, the answer is a look of fear, a look of shock, like they've been found out, and you have your answer, and they don't need to say a thing, and no matter who that person is, or what they mean to you, all of a sudden, they have become one of them
and it hurts
but sometimes we get lucky, we find a person who doesn't see what society sees, they see what we see, they see who we really are, and that doesn't mean seeing the old within us, but only the new, the truth, who we are. I don't think it happens very often, and even within their worlds the cuts still happen, but they are there to love, to support, the true definition of an ally. They represent what the world should be, but unfortunately, through our eyes, they often get to see what the world really is. They learn the sad aspects of our world, they see how it affects those who are truly looked down upon, they learn new aspects of privilege that they never needed to know, and often, that hurts us as well, we never want to bring pain or doubt to the heart of someone that special. And if we're truly lucky, and truly blessed, they will stand by our side, strong and proud, and share their strength with us even as we show them the rotten underbelly of our realities.
it's not easy being trans, it's still better than the alternative, being.... him.... wrong.... but it sure as fuck aint easy
Sunday, 2 November 2014
Cyclical meanderings....... part 7...... telling stories
Those that know me, or have read my words, have often called me a storyteller. It's something that not only do I enjoy hearing, or knowing about myself, it's deeper than that, it's how I see life, it makes up a big part of my perception of reality, we are all stories, partially written, partially unwritten, and none of us knows when our last page will be written.
Some of us can fill hundreds of pages a year, others remain in the same chapter for most of their lives, circling, cycling through the same experiences, patterns, connections, both with themselves and with others.
I don't know how long I've seen the world this way, but I've always told myself stories, I remember doing so as a child, but it's impossible to say why I did it, or why I still do it now, what it means.
Reality is strange, let's face it, that's why religions are so powerful, they give people the story that they should live by, they take away the fear that one day, our story will end, the lights will go out. We often wonder what will happen after we die, I do as well, will the story continue somehow?, but there is something else even more important to wonder, what happened before our story began?. Billions of years have passed before any of us got to start our story, write our first page, say "I'm here, I've arrived". That's pretty freaky, at least it is to me
One of my favorite authors wrote once, "God is the book of the universe". That hit me hard when I read it, especially as an atheist, I don't have that predefined story, it's always been up to me to write it for myself. To me that line means that our stories are all intertwined, twisted up with each other, with our pasts, with our ancestors, with our future, the people whose stories have made ours possible, right back to the beginning, of time, of existence. God is the summation of all of this, the ultimate story, as though we are all part of an incredible story of reality itself, and any part of anyone's story can ultimately affect the universe as a whole.
weird stuff
I'm adding this piece to my cyclical meanderings posts because as usual, none of this is what I wanted to write about, happens a lot to me......
What I wanted to get at are my own personal stories, the ones that live within my head. Not necessarily the ones that become true, in fact, almost none of my personal stories have ever come true, as if they all exist within parallel universes, parallel realities. I've always loved the multiverse concept, strikes me as true. Anyways.....
Like everyone, I have desires, wants, fantasies of what I want my life to be, what I think would be my perfect existence. These manifest within me as detailed stories, without any conscious effort I'll find that my mind is living through a scenario, an encounter, perhaps a conversation with someone, detailing a possible future truth. I see it, I hear each word spoken, I see where it occurs, the catalyst that creates the situation, the outcome, the emotions that go with the entire event. I feel feels that don't actually exist, haven't happened, essentially, it's all in my head. Makes me sound a little nuts doesn't it?
I remember being in high school, college, university, wondering where my life will go, wondering if the person I'm currently romantically involved with with will be the one. That's always been big in my mind, who am I going to share my life with, who will be the warrior, the lover, the partner, that will face this reality with me, will share my story, will change my chapters as I change theirs. Change me, as I change them. My catalyst, as I catalyze so many others.
I would live these possibilities within my mind, imagine them, feel them, and yet, life always surprised me as the story I ended up living was never once, not one single time, what I expected to happen, what I had foreseen. I often read other peoples futures, I see where they are going based on where they are now, and for others, I am so often right, it's as if I can read their minds, read their wants and desires, and see what is in store for them. Again, weird as fuck. But when it comes to me, as introspective and analytical as I am about myself, I'm never right.
This has actually had a pretty negative effect on me in the long run. While I've experienced many absolutely wonderful things in my life, loved and been loved in return, it's never happened as I dreamed about, and due to this, I found that over the years I've stopped dreaming of the good things, the good possibilities, the true desires I have, because if I never foresee what actually happens to me, then each time that I see something that I want, or dream of a future that I want, it's as if I'm cancelling out that possibility. Every single wonderful thing that has happened to me in my life has been a complete surprise, so if I keep dreaming of wonderful things, I almost guarantee that they will not happen.
This has led my internal stories to become darker, instead of dreaming of the good, I dream of the bad, I try to find every possible shitty thing that will happen to me, live it within my own mind, feel the pain and loss, in hopes of cancelling it out, to guarantee that it wont happen. After all, if all the good things that I dream about don't end up happening, all my hopes get rejected by the universe, if I dream of the bad, maybe the same thing will happen to those. I feel happy stories, stories of the direction I truly want my life to take, and I consciously stop them, and turn them dark instead.
The end result of this is that I often live in a sad place within my mind, expecting the worst, feeling emotions based on fear instead of hope. My personal demon of anxiety uses this against me, throwing worst case scenarios at me time and time again. Bringing me lower, deeper into fear. And it sucks
but there is still this belief in me that if I allow myself to dream of beautiful possibilities, that I am destroying them, making sure that they wont happen.
Lately though, the good stories have been coming back, what I want, where I want to be, and they feel good. And it's scary for me to allow them in, allow myself to live internally within a happy place, my self programming is fighting against it, telling me that I'm fucking it all up. We need hope to live, we all do, we can't live in darkness and expectation of things to go bad, it's such a weight to carry.
I think a big problem that I have with all of this is that I focus on those happy realities a little too much, as I am a storyteller, the dreams and possibilities that I see are precise, exact, as if I'm directing a movie within my head with everything perfectly controlled, so if the reality doesn't match exactly, I don't feel the happiness that I wanted to, expected to, and I take it as a loss. Kind of self defeating isn't it?, yeah, I know.....
For my own personal well being, I need to allow myself to have these dreams of beauty, let them override the dreams of darkness and loss, yet at the same time, I need to learn how to not need for the good stories to actually occur exactly for me to feel happiness. I need to see them as lovely dreams, while still accepting the beauty that occurs to me so often, without any regret that it isn't exactly what I wanted, but knowing that my own story is getting brighter, more beautiful, that the possibilities truly are endless
And for every dark possibility, there is a bright one. I will never be able to think of them all, and every now and then when something works out just as I had hoped, or exactly as I had feared, then so be it, just means that particular roll of the dice hit snake eyes, or double sixes, nothing more, nothing less.
but it's a hell of a lot better to live with beautiful possibilities for the rest of my story isn't it?
I'm sure there's a term in psychology for all of this, lol.
Some of us can fill hundreds of pages a year, others remain in the same chapter for most of their lives, circling, cycling through the same experiences, patterns, connections, both with themselves and with others.
I don't know how long I've seen the world this way, but I've always told myself stories, I remember doing so as a child, but it's impossible to say why I did it, or why I still do it now, what it means.
Reality is strange, let's face it, that's why religions are so powerful, they give people the story that they should live by, they take away the fear that one day, our story will end, the lights will go out. We often wonder what will happen after we die, I do as well, will the story continue somehow?, but there is something else even more important to wonder, what happened before our story began?. Billions of years have passed before any of us got to start our story, write our first page, say "I'm here, I've arrived". That's pretty freaky, at least it is to me
One of my favorite authors wrote once, "God is the book of the universe". That hit me hard when I read it, especially as an atheist, I don't have that predefined story, it's always been up to me to write it for myself. To me that line means that our stories are all intertwined, twisted up with each other, with our pasts, with our ancestors, with our future, the people whose stories have made ours possible, right back to the beginning, of time, of existence. God is the summation of all of this, the ultimate story, as though we are all part of an incredible story of reality itself, and any part of anyone's story can ultimately affect the universe as a whole.
weird stuff
I'm adding this piece to my cyclical meanderings posts because as usual, none of this is what I wanted to write about, happens a lot to me......
What I wanted to get at are my own personal stories, the ones that live within my head. Not necessarily the ones that become true, in fact, almost none of my personal stories have ever come true, as if they all exist within parallel universes, parallel realities. I've always loved the multiverse concept, strikes me as true. Anyways.....
Like everyone, I have desires, wants, fantasies of what I want my life to be, what I think would be my perfect existence. These manifest within me as detailed stories, without any conscious effort I'll find that my mind is living through a scenario, an encounter, perhaps a conversation with someone, detailing a possible future truth. I see it, I hear each word spoken, I see where it occurs, the catalyst that creates the situation, the outcome, the emotions that go with the entire event. I feel feels that don't actually exist, haven't happened, essentially, it's all in my head. Makes me sound a little nuts doesn't it?
I remember being in high school, college, university, wondering where my life will go, wondering if the person I'm currently romantically involved with with will be the one. That's always been big in my mind, who am I going to share my life with, who will be the warrior, the lover, the partner, that will face this reality with me, will share my story, will change my chapters as I change theirs. Change me, as I change them. My catalyst, as I catalyze so many others.
I would live these possibilities within my mind, imagine them, feel them, and yet, life always surprised me as the story I ended up living was never once, not one single time, what I expected to happen, what I had foreseen. I often read other peoples futures, I see where they are going based on where they are now, and for others, I am so often right, it's as if I can read their minds, read their wants and desires, and see what is in store for them. Again, weird as fuck. But when it comes to me, as introspective and analytical as I am about myself, I'm never right.
This has actually had a pretty negative effect on me in the long run. While I've experienced many absolutely wonderful things in my life, loved and been loved in return, it's never happened as I dreamed about, and due to this, I found that over the years I've stopped dreaming of the good things, the good possibilities, the true desires I have, because if I never foresee what actually happens to me, then each time that I see something that I want, or dream of a future that I want, it's as if I'm cancelling out that possibility. Every single wonderful thing that has happened to me in my life has been a complete surprise, so if I keep dreaming of wonderful things, I almost guarantee that they will not happen.
This has led my internal stories to become darker, instead of dreaming of the good, I dream of the bad, I try to find every possible shitty thing that will happen to me, live it within my own mind, feel the pain and loss, in hopes of cancelling it out, to guarantee that it wont happen. After all, if all the good things that I dream about don't end up happening, all my hopes get rejected by the universe, if I dream of the bad, maybe the same thing will happen to those. I feel happy stories, stories of the direction I truly want my life to take, and I consciously stop them, and turn them dark instead.
The end result of this is that I often live in a sad place within my mind, expecting the worst, feeling emotions based on fear instead of hope. My personal demon of anxiety uses this against me, throwing worst case scenarios at me time and time again. Bringing me lower, deeper into fear. And it sucks
but there is still this belief in me that if I allow myself to dream of beautiful possibilities, that I am destroying them, making sure that they wont happen.
Lately though, the good stories have been coming back, what I want, where I want to be, and they feel good. And it's scary for me to allow them in, allow myself to live internally within a happy place, my self programming is fighting against it, telling me that I'm fucking it all up. We need hope to live, we all do, we can't live in darkness and expectation of things to go bad, it's such a weight to carry.
I think a big problem that I have with all of this is that I focus on those happy realities a little too much, as I am a storyteller, the dreams and possibilities that I see are precise, exact, as if I'm directing a movie within my head with everything perfectly controlled, so if the reality doesn't match exactly, I don't feel the happiness that I wanted to, expected to, and I take it as a loss. Kind of self defeating isn't it?, yeah, I know.....
For my own personal well being, I need to allow myself to have these dreams of beauty, let them override the dreams of darkness and loss, yet at the same time, I need to learn how to not need for the good stories to actually occur exactly for me to feel happiness. I need to see them as lovely dreams, while still accepting the beauty that occurs to me so often, without any regret that it isn't exactly what I wanted, but knowing that my own story is getting brighter, more beautiful, that the possibilities truly are endless
And for every dark possibility, there is a bright one. I will never be able to think of them all, and every now and then when something works out just as I had hoped, or exactly as I had feared, then so be it, just means that particular roll of the dice hit snake eyes, or double sixes, nothing more, nothing less.
but it's a hell of a lot better to live with beautiful possibilities for the rest of my story isn't it?
I'm sure there's a term in psychology for all of this, lol.
Tuesday, 28 October 2014
Strength..... part 2
Not really a followup to the last post entitled "Strength", but that's what this is all about
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mara says that I'm the strongest person she knows, and that is a big part of her love for me
I don't often feel that I'm very strong, I'm me not because I feel strong, but because I needed to survive, and that other version of me wouldn't have lasted too much longer...... is that strength?.... I don't know
At the beginning of this year I was dating a man, and socially, it was easy. People saw us, and unless they remarked on our height (he was 6'3" or something like that, I'm 5'10" flat footed so even when I wore heels I was still shorter), we were essentially invisible. We fit the expected narrative, a man and a woman, they had no need to look at us closer. It was easy to feel like we fit into the world.
I thought back then that it was a possibility, and I know quite certainly now, that this was / is a large factor in my attraction to men. When I spend time with a good male friend of mine, who is also quite tall, I also feel that cloak of invisibility upon me. People take us for a couple, because after all, that's what men and women are if they are spending time alone aren't they?, and never look twice at us. And it soothes me, helps me feel like I fit in this world
I sometimes feel like an imposter....
But I'm in love with a woman, and I hope to spend my life with this woman, and I never in a million years thought that her gender could have such an effect on me
When we're together, we're a lesbian couple. People look longer, or look twice, at non traditional couples. Then they notice me, as if they are seeing through me. They see her, clearly cis, clearly.... normal.... so they expect to see a man next to her, and they look deeper at me, and they stare, and they wonder, and I feel it all
even she is starting to notice it, and it brings her pain for me, because she loves me
she feels I'm strong for living my truth every day. I feel she is the strong one for voluntarily entering my truth, supporting me in it, going through it, seeing this darker side of the world through my eyes and my pain, something she never needed to see or to know. It may affect the way she feels about people close to her, it may affect the way she connects with some members of her family as our lives intertwine more and more and she finds that perhaps, some of them will not accept me, will laugh at me, at us, behind smiling eyes. I don't feel right in affecting her this way even though it is her choice, and she does choose me, choose us
"not loving you is not an option" she says to me
she is remarkably strong, she has to be to be visible with me, and it seems that I need to find a new strength as well
because being with a woman, as a trans woman, can often be a reminder of how the world still doesn't see me as an actual woman. Especially when it comes to men, and how they interact with us. I have to put up with so much less shit than she does in many ways, I'm not objectified in the same way as she is, subjected to drunken pick ups, men don't automatically assume I'll sleep with them if I talk to them. All of this of course assuming they know I'm trans, and if they don't, well, then there is real danger and fear for me, they treat me like they would treat any other woman they are sexually interested in, then they *figure me out*, and anything could happen at that point, including death.
I should be happy that I'm not subjected to the same patriarchal bullshit shouldn't I?, but I'm not. Each time the the world treats me differently than it would any other (real) woman, and now that I'm with a (real) woman I'm reminded more often, that the world doesn't actually see me as a woman. The world treats women like shit in so many ways, and many of those ways are not applied to me, because I'm not actually a woman in their eyes, I'm "other", or worse, a man dressed as a woman, pretending
something to be feared
it's a (real) woman's cisgendered privilege to suffer true misogyny, how fucked is that?, and how even more fucked is it that I want to feel what she feels, what all the other (real) women feel.... so I can be reinforced by society that I actually am.... a woman
I want to be able to flirt and accept flirting without fear for my safety, or my sanity. I want to be able to make light jokes about sexuality, without having people recoil from me as they picture themselves actually *touching* someone (something?) like me. I don't want to be the only woman in a circle that a man shoots his hand out for a handshake, when he has given all the other woman our classic french kiss-kiss thing that we do (and this has happened too often to me), or have the only other girl in a group that I happen to be in referred to as the *only* woman present. I want to be able to feel safe and accepted in a sexual space, especially a queer one, yet even in the queer spaces, I'm still othered. I want to be able to have everything that she has, that I see her enjoy, yet, I can’t. Even though she accepts me fully as a woman, and truly and honestly knows me to be one, the way that the world treats the two of us differently, especially when we’re together, is a reminder that I’m not the same as her, a recurring, gnawing, reminder. A slap in the face, a knife to the heart
I want to be completely accepted as a woman, for who I am, and what I am, in all situations, but let's face it girl, that's never going to happen in your lifetime. Maybe one day, and maybe I can do what I can to get us to that point, but I'll never get to benefit from it
For the first time ever this morning, I felt dysphoria about my body. I am firmly in the camp of genitals do not equal gender, yet when I looked at my naked body in the mirror, I winced, I didn't like what I saw. But this is a symptom of all the microaggressions I've been experiencing lately, as the tall somewhat-more-masculine part of a visible lesbian relationship. After all, if I got that surgery, it wouldn't make any difference in the end, people don't look in your underwear before deciding how to gender you, but seeing myself in the mirror this morning was kind of tough, and I didn't like that feeling. I could sink tens of thousands of dollars into facial feminization surgeries, yet there would always be that person that could clock me, could remind me that yes, I am different, wrong, to be feared, an other. Plus, my mental and spiritual well being would become tied into not being seen as trans, and as soon as I'm seen as trans, I fear it would destroy me
That's not the strength I want, because it's not strength, it's hiding, it's avoiding the problem all together, which is entirely my right to do so, but it's not the path I want
but at the end of the day, even with the extra challenges that it brings, I love being her girlfriend, and she loves being mine, and she's there for me as much as I am for her. Neither of us will be able to hide, and my truth will affect her, and change her, and she knows this, and yet, she still chooses me
chooses us
and that makes me one of the luckiest girls in the world
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mara says that I'm the strongest person she knows, and that is a big part of her love for me
I don't often feel that I'm very strong, I'm me not because I feel strong, but because I needed to survive, and that other version of me wouldn't have lasted too much longer...... is that strength?.... I don't know
At the beginning of this year I was dating a man, and socially, it was easy. People saw us, and unless they remarked on our height (he was 6'3" or something like that, I'm 5'10" flat footed so even when I wore heels I was still shorter), we were essentially invisible. We fit the expected narrative, a man and a woman, they had no need to look at us closer. It was easy to feel like we fit into the world.
I thought back then that it was a possibility, and I know quite certainly now, that this was / is a large factor in my attraction to men. When I spend time with a good male friend of mine, who is also quite tall, I also feel that cloak of invisibility upon me. People take us for a couple, because after all, that's what men and women are if they are spending time alone aren't they?, and never look twice at us. And it soothes me, helps me feel like I fit in this world
I sometimes feel like an imposter....
But I'm in love with a woman, and I hope to spend my life with this woman, and I never in a million years thought that her gender could have such an effect on me
When we're together, we're a lesbian couple. People look longer, or look twice, at non traditional couples. Then they notice me, as if they are seeing through me. They see her, clearly cis, clearly.... normal.... so they expect to see a man next to her, and they look deeper at me, and they stare, and they wonder, and I feel it all
even she is starting to notice it, and it brings her pain for me, because she loves me
she feels I'm strong for living my truth every day. I feel she is the strong one for voluntarily entering my truth, supporting me in it, going through it, seeing this darker side of the world through my eyes and my pain, something she never needed to see or to know. It may affect the way she feels about people close to her, it may affect the way she connects with some members of her family as our lives intertwine more and more and she finds that perhaps, some of them will not accept me, will laugh at me, at us, behind smiling eyes. I don't feel right in affecting her this way even though it is her choice, and she does choose me, choose us
"not loving you is not an option" she says to me
she is remarkably strong, she has to be to be visible with me, and it seems that I need to find a new strength as well
because being with a woman, as a trans woman, can often be a reminder of how the world still doesn't see me as an actual woman. Especially when it comes to men, and how they interact with us. I have to put up with so much less shit than she does in many ways, I'm not objectified in the same way as she is, subjected to drunken pick ups, men don't automatically assume I'll sleep with them if I talk to them. All of this of course assuming they know I'm trans, and if they don't, well, then there is real danger and fear for me, they treat me like they would treat any other woman they are sexually interested in, then they *figure me out*, and anything could happen at that point, including death.
I should be happy that I'm not subjected to the same patriarchal bullshit shouldn't I?, but I'm not. Each time the the world treats me differently than it would any other (real) woman, and now that I'm with a (real) woman I'm reminded more often, that the world doesn't actually see me as a woman. The world treats women like shit in so many ways, and many of those ways are not applied to me, because I'm not actually a woman in their eyes, I'm "other", or worse, a man dressed as a woman, pretending
something to be feared
it's a (real) woman's cisgendered privilege to suffer true misogyny, how fucked is that?, and how even more fucked is it that I want to feel what she feels, what all the other (real) women feel.... so I can be reinforced by society that I actually am.... a woman
I want to be able to flirt and accept flirting without fear for my safety, or my sanity. I want to be able to make light jokes about sexuality, without having people recoil from me as they picture themselves actually *touching* someone (something?) like me. I don't want to be the only woman in a circle that a man shoots his hand out for a handshake, when he has given all the other woman our classic french kiss-kiss thing that we do (and this has happened too often to me), or have the only other girl in a group that I happen to be in referred to as the *only* woman present. I want to be able to feel safe and accepted in a sexual space, especially a queer one, yet even in the queer spaces, I'm still othered. I want to be able to have everything that she has, that I see her enjoy, yet, I can’t. Even though she accepts me fully as a woman, and truly and honestly knows me to be one, the way that the world treats the two of us differently, especially when we’re together, is a reminder that I’m not the same as her, a recurring, gnawing, reminder. A slap in the face, a knife to the heart
I want to be completely accepted as a woman, for who I am, and what I am, in all situations, but let's face it girl, that's never going to happen in your lifetime. Maybe one day, and maybe I can do what I can to get us to that point, but I'll never get to benefit from it
For the first time ever this morning, I felt dysphoria about my body. I am firmly in the camp of genitals do not equal gender, yet when I looked at my naked body in the mirror, I winced, I didn't like what I saw. But this is a symptom of all the microaggressions I've been experiencing lately, as the tall somewhat-more-masculine part of a visible lesbian relationship. After all, if I got that surgery, it wouldn't make any difference in the end, people don't look in your underwear before deciding how to gender you, but seeing myself in the mirror this morning was kind of tough, and I didn't like that feeling. I could sink tens of thousands of dollars into facial feminization surgeries, yet there would always be that person that could clock me, could remind me that yes, I am different, wrong, to be feared, an other. Plus, my mental and spiritual well being would become tied into not being seen as trans, and as soon as I'm seen as trans, I fear it would destroy me
That's not the strength I want, because it's not strength, it's hiding, it's avoiding the problem all together, which is entirely my right to do so, but it's not the path I want
but at the end of the day, even with the extra challenges that it brings, I love being her girlfriend, and she loves being mine, and she's there for me as much as I am for her. Neither of us will be able to hide, and my truth will affect her, and change her, and she knows this, and yet, she still chooses me
chooses us
and that makes me one of the luckiest girls in the world
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