From 'Mythology' by Edith Hamilton (one
of my most well worn books):
'For Pandora, like all women, was possessed
of a lively curiosity. She HAD to know what was in the box. One day she
lifted the lid- and out flew plagues innumerable, sorrow and mischief for
mankind. In terror Pandora clapped the lid down, but too late. One good
thing, however, was there - Hope. It was the only good the casket had held
among the many evils, and it remains to this day mankind's sole comfort
in misfortune.'
3-NOV-99
The year draws toward an end. It's
getting cold. I've been keeping this damn diary nearly half a year. My
friends in Ohio think I'm nuts... anti survival is how they put it. Same
thing. I can't describe to them how this feels, and unless you are able
to empathize very well, you'll just never understand.
I have succeeded in everyone's eyes but my own. Sometimes I feel trapped in a life, in a role, that isn't right. I can perform the role, but it's an act. The sad truth is, I've hidden who I really am away for so long that I don't think even I know what it truly is anymore.
I think my therapist is convinced I'm transvestite, not transsexual. Why do I FEEL TS then? I don't want to dress as a female. I want to BE a female. Most of all, in truth, I would like to be rid of my anger. It's down quite a bit, but that's because of drugs.
4-NOV-99
I purchased two books today: 'Confessions
of Gender Defender' by R.Ettner and 'Gender Outlaw' by K. Bornstein.
I'll give a review when I finish them.
Questions:
What have you got to prove, and to
whom?
Who are you living your life for, and
will living it for others bring your
soul to peace at the end of your days?
How can you accept love from anyone
when you don't love yourself? You are
the gatekeeper of your heart. No one's
love will be accepted until you allow
it, and if you hate yourself, you will
not allow it.
Whose happiness are you responsible
for?
Just some things to consider.
6-NOV-99
Well, I was going to talk about the
power of the need to be socially accepted. I was going to put together
an eloquent (don't they always SEEM that way) model, describe it with wisdom
and compassion, captivate the reader, blah, blah, blah.
First though. I want to state something. I wrote a friend of mine recently, in response to his (and generally most of my Ohio Friends') feelings that what I'm doing is anti survival. In response, I can only say, I have failed my duty to offer any kind of education on the condition of Gender Identity Disorder. I will try to remedy that in the near future.
And, in response to anti survival, let me say this. I WILL do whatever I can to ensure my survival. I have done things I was not proud of in the name of survival. I will continue to do what's necessary. Nothing is worth anything in my life, if my life ends. Believing there is no God, and having no proof in the afterlife, I am forced to do all that I can for THIS life to fulfill my soul. When the stress of the dysphoria drove me to seriously contemplating suicide, THAT is when I understood the magnitude of this. THEN, survival instincts kicked in. Remember, it's better to chew your leg off when you're caught in a trap, than die. I have done many dishonest things, in an attempt to survive. I am not proud of them. I have denied many truths to survive. But I believe myself strong. I think I'm strong enough to succeed in this struggle. I think it's time to face the truth of me.
I feel that my life to date has been a shell, an armor protecting the true self beneath. That shell is cracking. It is loosing it's integrity and is about to fly apart. I'm afraid, but I'm almost resolved to the fight. Almost. I've always been slow in making decisions. This one isn't finished yet, but close.
What's left to say tonight? Well, I'm tired. I need to sleep. Good night.
7-NOV-99
Well, let me NOW go into what I was
going to discuss yesterday. What is the strength of our need for social
acceptance? It may drive us to death, that is it's strength. Let me illustrate.
A young man is drafted into war, knowing the odds are high he will die.
He bravely goes off to war. Why? Because the knowledge that he will definitely
lose his family, friends, status in society, and probably go to jail, is
a worse prospect than risking death.
I have weighed all my social needs. I love my siblings. I love my friends I've gathered through my life. I love my wife. I have tallied that need. Against it I have put my need for self peace, and I can in no way make all things add up to my need to accept myself. If I hate myself, for living a lie, I will never be able to truly accept the love of others. How could they love me when I don't even love me? So, sadly, I resign myself to 'my time'. I need to fix what's wrong with me. I need to find the way to inner peace. I need to bring my soul into alignment. I need to change.
We NEED to be socially accepted, to a greater or lesser degree, depending on the individual. My need is very strong. I have to this point in life served my community to the best of my ability. I have tried very hard to be a respectable, productive cog in the well ordered machine of society. I can't take that anymore. I have no problem being a productive member of society, I just can't be a productive MALE member of society. And unfortunately, the pain of gender change may for quite some time occupy so much of my life that I will not be in other ways productive.
I realize now, after my harsh inner voice has been silenced, what it is. I can see this little demon that sits in the back of my mind. I created it and fed it. I can see it clearly now. It was my mental representation of all the negative reactions I'd ever gotten when I approached the dreaded gender boarder. I fed that creature all the snide looks, all the comments ('Get a haircut, boy!'). All the feelings of guilt and disappointment. It is my vision of how society views my actions, and I believe it's voice is fairly accurate, if a little pessimistic. It is that which I have used to judge whether society will judge my actions appropriate to my assigned gender role (male). I have today stripped it of it's power. I take back any authority I invested to it to govern my actions. It can burn in hell where it belongs.
My revelations in the past week are to me profound. It's a long mental process, taking out every memory that is relevant, reading the emotional charge, tallying it, and putting the memory neatly away. Those tallies, they're huge, but all things can be weighed in that eloquent value system of desire. What do I want? I want to be happy. What makes me happy? My wife, mental challenge, comfort, friends, family, flavors, colors, music, sensations of all kinds, being alive and FEELING alive, feeling beautiful, ... many things, not listed here in any order. What is there to be gained? Love and respect of self, finally. What is there to be lost? Everything else. Is the loss of all the rest worth the gain of love and respect for self? .... and here the pause... the variables fly, the numbers crunch, and I sift through everything in my existence. And I waited... and five months later the answer returns: If I can survive, it is worth it all. This of course is worst case scenario, and I will probably keep much of what I fear I'll lose. Many things I lose I don't CARE about. Some of them cut deep into my heart. My wife, my brothers, some friends. I see them going. My job, my social ranking, my income level... not as important.
I at least have the knowledge that I've survived uprooting my life before. I can do it again. I'm flexible, I'm adaptive. I learn what I need to know to survive. I do this to survive. Hopefully to flourish. As I've said before, one can always hope.
Ulysses:
First, something from a song...
'I don't mind stealing bread
from the mouths of decadence,
but I can't feed on the powerless
when my cup's already overfilled
But it's on the table
The fire is cooking
and they're farming babies
while the slaves are working
The blood is on the table
And the mouths are choking
But I'm going hungry' - 'Hunger Strike'
by Temple of the Dog
I took six hours vacation off work today. My soul needed a breather. I decided I'd go to Forest Park, here in St. Louis. I wanted to go to the Art Museum. I decided I'd like to look at the beautiful view down 'Art Hill'. I sat on a bench under the pine trees at the top of the hill. The Autumn air was warm and full of the scent of the falling leaves. The wind was a little gusty, and the sky was clear, though there was some haze.
A man walked up and set on the bench next to me. He looked uncomfortable. I inquired, he said he had blisters. I asked why. He said he'd walked from downtown (about 7 miles), and his shoes were too small. He'd spent 7 years in prison, and had been released two months before. He said he believed in God. And that perhaps our meeting was God's doing. Well, if I am to be the servant of God, so be it. I took him to my car, where I gave him my lunch. He LOOKED very thin and hungry. He didn't wreak or seem hostile in ANY way, just... in a bad spot. He was several inches taller than me, but was maybe only 130lbs. He looked... lucid. You know? Together, sane. Against my natural desire to protect myself, I pressed on with my assistance. I felt reasonably safe in his company. I took him to the St. Louis Bread Company. We had breakfast. He got a big cinnamon roll and chocolate chip cookie, and soda. Probably desperately low on blood sugar. He looked so tired, and still... optimistic. His faith in God was shining in his eyes. His faith in the goodness of humanity shone there. I was touched. I had a bagel, and before we left, I bought some of their little sourdough rolls. Those things are indestructibly hard on the outside, and taste really good, sourdough, Mmmm.
Anyway we'd discussed what he needed to survive the winter. He'd been lucky that the weather had held, he didn't have a coat, and would likely freeze. Most important to him after the food though was his need to sleep. He'd said there were cheap rooms downtown, $28 dollars a month. I don't know if he was telling the truth. I felt for a moment that he was scamming me. His eyes didn't say that. They said 'thank you'. His voice said it too.
After the bread company, I swung by my ATM, took out $30 (leaving me pretty much bare bones gas money till the 22nd) and pulled into the parking lot of a business near my house. I told him to wait, I'd walk to my house, and get him a coat. I walked the rest of the way to my house, Got an old military field jacket then ran upstairs and got my change jar. I dumped the change into a plastic bag, put the bag in the jacket's pocket. I gave the jacket to Ulysses, as he'd introduced himself. No longer a nameless, faceless statistic. A tied and hungry man. I KNOW that life has it's struggles, and we're on opposite ends of Maslow's hierarchy of needs. All things told, I'd rather have MY struggles.
He asked how he could repay me, and said he'd like to take me out to eat when he was on his feet again. I told him he COULDN'T repay me, and that his obligation was not TO me, but to pass on the kindness to someone who WAS in need. I was not in need. A friend of mine taught me this some time ago. A simple truth. I dropped him at a bus stop, as he requested.
I was (and still am) chatting with Michelle, a TS friend, and I told her that what I did, I did because it's like I can feel ripples of compassion and hatred wash over me like a tide. And knowing these forces, I try to make as few hateful ripples and as many compassionate ripples as I can. Was Ulysses scamming me for a day's free ride? He might have been, but usually people's eyes don't look grateful when they're playing you for an easy pick. This man's eyes said 'Thank you'. How can anyone deny a little time, a few dollars and some clothing I'd meant to get rid of anyway? What was my loss? Nothing. What was his gain? I'll never know.
I returned to the Art Museum, my original intended destination. There were two classes of school children out front, and several folks looking non school related. I walked to the front doors, a security lady was just locking the door. She informed me the Museum was not open to the public until 1:30 on Tuesdays. That, I guess, allows city school students to enjoy the museum and not have regular patrons there too. Hmm. I still haven't gone... Back in a few!!!
10-Nov-99
Well, I didn't get back over to the
Art Museum yesterday. I didn't feel a need. I went there to see something
I don't normally see while locked in my fluorescent cubicle existence.
I wanted to see something of the beauty of humanity. I saw it yesterday.
Moreover, I participated in it yesterday. I went as far as I could to help
someone without feeling endangered myself. I hope Ulysses is all right.
I considered writing a letter to the other people where I work, reminding
them, while they're all wrapped up in their petty troubles, to consider
those struggling just to survive as the winter approaches. Sometimes I
feel like such a bleeding heart.
Anyway, something I realized yesterday seemed to hit a real chord with me. Maslow's hierarchy of needs go like this...
1. Physiological Needs: Air, food, water,
shelter. Survival needs.
2. Safety Needs: Social order, law,
savings.
3. Love, Affection and Belonging: love,
affection and sense of belonging.
4. Esteem needs: Self respect, confidence
and sense of self worth or value.
5. Self actualization needs: Needs
to realize one's potential, to follow one's dream.
Sound about right? I think it works. Ulysses was at the physiological level. I am at the self actualization level. In my case, attempting to be what I believe I am, drops my levels at both the affection level and the esteem level. As I've come to realize there is a community (regardless how small) of TG folks for moral support in St. Louis, my sense of belonging has increased, as well as my overall need for it is less I feel due to the Paxil. You'll note it's been approved to be marketed for use combating social anxiety disorders. Oh, by the way, NO, the company that produces Paxil is not paying me endorsements... yet... (big smile). So, where was I? So, with the increase of Self Esteem coming from my study and understanding of gender issues, I am left to become what I should be. Now, I just need to make absolutely sure what that is.
I came home from work today, dead tired, and took a nap. I dreamed of a dinner party, I as Lynn, had some friends over, old friends from Ohio, lured into the warm and inviting home by fresh baked cookies, cheese, wine... yummies. The dream was as warm as anything my mind has ever created. I wish for that. In every mental condition, in any state of depression, I wish for it. I've never allowed myself to understand the depth of this feeling, how wrong my life has been, and how every inch closer I move toward the realization of this dream, some unspeakable burden lifts from my heart. I've spent too many years staring into the Abyss. I feel like I'm almost awakening from a deep and troubled sleep, into a beautiful world, or at least, a world where beauty exists. Oh, how wonderful it would be to look in the mirror and not hate the reflection, to see instead beauty, potential, happiness. I feel I have gained some small measure of wisdom through my pain, and some small strength from my burden. If I succeed, I hope to have the courage to help others who are in pain. I'd forgotten the joy of selflessness. Lately, I've been pretty self absorbed, huh?
On to another subject, fantasy. I've been captivated with heroes all my life. I had these little (mego?) dolls as a boy, Spider-man, Batman, Robin, Captain Kirk, Spock, and Bones. Spider-man was my favorite. I had a toy 'Eagle' from 'Space 1999'. The first female I ever remember REALLY noticing was Linda Carter as Wonder Woman. Had I been given the opportunity, I think I would have loved Narnia, unfortunately I didn't get introduced to the Narnia chronicles until I was a teen and saw 'The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe'. Funny, I listen to a musical group called 'Phish' and they have a song called 'Prince Caspian'. My life and interests all seem like a tapestry, weaving back into itself. Anyway, I had a point here... somewhere...
Superheroes (Copyright held jointly by Marvel and DC comics!), fantasy, science fiction, all of this fascinated me. There is something almost innate to the story of the superhero involving two lives, two entities in the same person. Peter Parker/Spider-Man, Bruce Waine/Batman, Clark Kent/Super-Man, on and on, all struggling to integrate their two lives, and to do what's right. The fear of discovery always looming as a threat. Fantasy and science fiction always seemed to me to allow one to step aboard some fantastic vessel, or through some incredible portal into worlds unseen before, where anything was possible, where one HAD to throw away notions of strange, because EVERYTHING was strange.
I lived my life in these worlds, popping my head up long enough to see if I still hated my life. Inevitably, I did. Some of you may have been in these worlds WITH me. Some of you who know me have spent considerable time in the kingdom of Krade, in the world of Aragnatha. Dungeons and Dragons... gotta love it!
In the depth of my dark days, at the onset of puberty, when my shame and self loathing was nearly complete, my brother gave me a comic book. It was X-Men, issue #174. It SHOCKED me. There were no fights in the whole issue... unless you count one shot on the next to last page. It was visiting the lives of the students and teacher in Professor Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. The student's were 'Gifted' with the x-factor, a genetic condition used to determine if someone is a mutant. They all possessed strange gifts, or curses, depending on your view. The teacher himself, Professor X, was trying to regain use of his legs, but psychosomatic trauma prevented him from using them. He was a study of pain and frustration. Ororo Monroe (Storm) walked in on a private moment between the Russian born farmboy who could transform into solid steel, Peter Rasputin (Colossus) and the young jewish newcomer capable of 'phasing' through solid matter Kitty Pryde(Sprite...later Ariel...then Shadowcat...ahem..I KNOW I'm a geek). Kitty had a huge crush on Peter, and Ororo felt she had interrupted, an awkward moment. Ororo had recently changed somewhat in temperament and appearance, leaving Kitty who had been very close, wondering what was going on. Ororo felt like something of an outcast in a group of outcasts. Kirt Wagner (Nightcrawler), probably most visually disturbing of this group of mutants, with long thin tail, pointed ears, indigo fur covered skin and glowing yellow eyes, spent a quiet evening with his love, Amanda (yes, even demons or fuzzy-elves need love). And Scott Summers (Cyclops), stalwart leader of the X-Men, there from the beginning, was basking in the love for a woman he had recently met. Someone who looked for all the world like his lost love, Jean Grey. Was this his second chance? Was she somehow a reincarnation of his love? Did this prove love transcends the grave?
It was a good story, especially for a gender confused 13-year-old (Hey, wait, Kitty Pryde was 13 then too! How old is she NOW?? I BET she ain't 28!). The message I took away was there IS a home for the freaks, the rejects from society. Moreover, they should still serve and protect a world that fears, hates, and persecutes them. To Jack Kirby, Stan Lee, John Byrne, Chris Clairmont, Paul Smith, John Romita Jr., Jim Lee, Wilce Portacia, and many others, thank you for making my teen years a little easier, allowing me an escape and yet reminding me of some truths of humanity.
My point in all this... I am ABSOLUTELY sure I had one....Ah, yes. This: I knew I was using fantasy as an escape, until I could handle the reality of my existence. Then, later, I also used drugs. The problem was this, until several days ago, I had lived with the belief that 'Lynn' was just another part of the fantasies, a vestigial remnant, something that stayed beyond it's usefulness. She's not. Far from it, she is the princess for which the protective castle of imagination was constructed. I have summed up something which has only come to me in pieces over a long time, my friend. That piece of information was hard won, and still, after scrutinizing it HARD, it holds up as truth. I am transsexual. I have no shadow of a doubt that to be more happy than I am now, I will have to become what I should have been all my life, Lynn.
Wow, That was ALOT for one night. G'Night!
11-NOV-99
Well, what now? I spoke with my wife
last night. I showed her what I've written recently, and told her it was
my plan to transition. We stayed up late talking about it. She cried, I
cried. We fell asleep still friends. I kind of worried that I'd come home
and all my stuff would be on the front porch in plastic bags. Instead,
I came in, and everything seemed the same, and my wife seemed to be convinced
that I would change my mind in the near future. I don't think she gets
it.
12-NOV-99
Not much to say, really... My Therapist
doesn't think I'm TS, my wife doesn't
thing I'm TS, sigh. I had a guy
tell me today I was starting to look like a 'jock'. Hah! One word that's
NEVER been used to describe me before. He was referring to the weight loss.
I'm getting lean looking. I had a lady at work today say she was watching
a biography on Ester Williams, and said at one point, she was romantically
involved with the actor that played Cochese (sp?), never heard of the character.
Anyway, they'd been dating for a while, and one night she caught him in
a red wig, and dress. The lady I worked with I think was waiting for a
shock reaction from me. I asked her who that was harming?
I, by indirect teaching should be a close minded 'Archie Bunker' type. I learned through inference that 'Faggots' are bad, godless people. However, I was one of them. I had to hate myself, and I did, for a very long time. I don't think I hate myself anymore, but I certainly am having trouble adjusting to the notion of relearning my whole existence. Some things are changing already. My stride is shortening, for instance. I look at my feet, and they look big to me now. I've been comparing myself to females for height and stature. I'm big, for a female. At least as far as mass goes. 5'5" is an acceptable height. Size 10 shoes are acceptable (if a tad big) for that height. Too much muscle though. It's hard to lose for me.
My need to hide in realms of fantasy is gone. My fears have been dragged into the light, examined and exercised like demons. Could there be any other reason that motivates me toward this goal? I don't know. There is still some unresolved emotions of how I feel about my parents. I need to talk to my dad some day. Some day soon.
I've been feeling somewhat stressed even with the Paxil in the last few days. Could be workload at work. Tight deadlines coming up. I'm constantly tired it seems. I feel often like just getting really stoned and not thinking. That, I guess is the last thing I should do. Into my fifth month though. That's alot of thinking time. I'm tired. With a few reprieves, I've been thinking about this, analyzing every piece of me in detail, for five months. How long can it take? I'm not THAT interesting! (laugh)
15-Nov-99
Two items need thought through. First,
am I staring across the fence at greener grass? And second, why am I afraid
of being alone in a crowd?
Is being a female so enthralling to me because it is my base nature, or because I simply see what I perceive as all good benefits and I'm blind to the hardships therein? Am I looking at it reasonably? Am I being realistic? Good questions. What would I be running from in THIS life? Responsibility? If there were anything I would wish to flee from in this life, that WOULD be it. I am the 'heavy' in the parent set. I get to be the harsh authority for my stepson. I HATE that. I hate that it's always me who has to be yelling or lecturing, and worst of all, I HATE trying to act like a father, having no concept what a father ought to be. I never had a father, and I never felt like I should be one either. I shouldn't be a parent of any type until I straighten out all the crap sloshing around in my head.
I have this clear memory from childhood, one of my first. I was at the county fair, with my older cousin, I think. We stopped in the crowd of people, I turned to look at something, and when I turned back, they were all gone, just waves of unknown faces, none of whom knew me or cared. I was alone. I was so frightened. It was only a few minutes (if that) before they realized and came back for me, but it scared me to a level I can't describe.
Just in case any of you wonder, no, I'm not a COMPLETE basket case. I don't fear spiders or snakes. Actually I get along with pretty much all the little critters on the planet. I don't mind being alone in the wild. There's no fear there. I don't have significant fear of heights. I'm totally comfortable in the water, darkness, enclosed places.
Why am I going on? I need to pull out EVERYTHING that has the LEAST chance of being significant to the problems at hand. So, on and on I dig. When one vein of mental ore has been depleted, I move to the next. I see now why my therapist says this is a slow process (sigh).
Maybe it's fear of abandonment, being left alone, and no-one caring. Maybe that's why the thought of changing genders is so frightening to me at the same time as being so tempting. Maybe I'm afraid after changing, I'd be outcast, shunned, abandoned by EVERYONE. I'd be alone, happy with myself, but with no-one to share that happiness with. That would be so sad.
You ever get sick of being you? I get sick of being me. I want a new life! One where I'm not so frickin hung up! (smile) If you're NOT gender dysphoric, it probably seems like a stupid thing to get all bent out of shape about. A few small scraps of flesh between our legs. So...unimportant in the big picture, but that small area decides alot. It shapes how you're treated by society.
I'd like to walk up to a group of ladies, and be accepted as a peer, not looked at unanimously as an intruder. Do you know how awkward that feels? I feel like a fake, a fraud, a poor actor when I try to hang around guys. I only feel comfortable talking to 'geek' guys, one's with no stereotypical macho interests. I feel fine talking with women, assuming of course that I'm allowed into the clique.
Let me close this evening by saying what I think my nature is. I think I'm a maker, a creator of sounds, sights, smells, tastes...everything within the perceptions of humanity. My mind creates things. That is what I am meant to do. My current state of unease wastes ALL my mental processing time. At the end of the day, I have nothing left to give to creation of beauty, and THAT is what feeds my soul. I need to find comfort with myself, so I may get back to what I was meant to do.
16-Nov-99
Well, I just finished putting in links
to the web sites I have found most useful to me in information. For all
of you who wonder what Gender Identity Disorder or Gender Dysphoria is
like, I would refer you to those links. They're written by experts... in
theory... (smile).
Had another therapy session today. Joy. I guess maybe I'm expecting too much too fast. I don't know.
I've also noticed after an initial volley of e-mail, I have heard NOTHING from almost anyone for ... months? A damn long time, anyway. Outcast, leper, unclean. (sigh) I guess I should have seen it coming.
17-Nov-99
Another dream of war. I understand
this one. I am a soldier in an army advancing on the ruins of a city. As
we approach, I see men being killed, blown apart before my eyes. We are
advanced scouts there to determine if the city is held by hostiles. Our
commanders plan on destroying everyone in the city by use of nerve agents
or gas or something. We scale a stone wall, and several soldiers I'm with
are killed by sniper fire. As we reach the city ruins, we see there are
civilians there, women and children mostly. Presumably the men have been
killed or are off fighting. We are tired from marching all day, and the
locals invite us to eat. During the meal, I am unable to eat, regardless
of the knots in my stomach. I keep looking at one of the women who served
us, she seems very nervous, I think it due to her fear of us. Maybe she
thinks if she feeds us, we will leave her and her family unaccausted. I
don't know. I finally pick up a piece of meat from my plate and raise it
to my lips. Just then, the soldier next to me starts choking, and vomiting.
Several others soon follow. The food was poisoned. The woman I had been
watching had slipped away while I watched my comrade die. I take my sub-machine
gun and pursue, with several other soldiers into the ruins. We enter a
building (perhaps once a hotel) into a large room. The squad moves across
cautiously. And from behind an overturned table comes a grenade. We dive
for cover. It detonates, killing several men. A young girl bolts from behind
the table into the next room. A soldier follows, only to be killed be a
booby-trap in the doorway. I can see the girl in the next room, glimpses
of her as she pokes out from behind a table to throw another grenade. I
have lost my weapon, but quickly see another lying near me. I dive
for the bolt action rifle. I take aim, looking through the scope of the
weapon at the little girl (perhaps 8) in her dingy white dress. I fire,
but do not wish to kill her, I miss completely and she does not flee in
fear. Another grenade comes in, and again I dive for cover. This time the
explosion blows my left leg off just below the knee. I don't feel any pain.
I must be in shock. I quickly work the bolt, reloading the rifle and take
aim. I have the chest of this little girl in the cross-hairs. I feel sick,
but know it's either her or me. I squeeze the trigger and see blood for
a microsecond before her body jerks out of the scope's field of view. Then
silence, and I awaken.
I am left throughout the day with a sick feeling. I don't think it's guilt. Who was trying to survive? The shell? The false avatar I put forth to represent me. Is that persona so hard pressed to survive, that it would murder the little girl? Yes, the little girl was trying to do the same. Between the two, who has the right to live? Inner conflict sucks.
My two halves aren't learning to become one. Each is fighting for it's right to be, and in my sleep, I'm left to face the horror of war, played out on the battlefield of dreams.
At lunch today, I had an overwhelming desire to visit a nearby gunshop. I wanted to look at a 38 or .357 snubnose revolver. I considered getting one if I transition to prevent anyone from messing with me, but today, I thought about buying it as a ticket out. After all my work, I don't feel like I've gained an inch. I still can't accept the reality of the situation. I still can't accept that I'd actually DO what I feel is nescessary to attain happiness. Every time I want to talk to anyone about it, there's no one there. Everyone I know personally thinks I'm angry about something, or just confused. I don't have the conviction of belief to accept that I am right. All I have are these very clear emotions and no physical evidence. And guess what? I don't trust my emotions.
21-Nov-99
I had this weird emotional bubble pop
Saturday morning. I ended up laughing and crying at the same time. And
somewhere in the process, I think I found a way to forgive my mother. Releasing
that hate felt very good, very necessary. I don't know if it was ALL the
pain, but it was... enough. (smile) I'm an inch closer to happiness.
Dear Mom, you didn't fail. I'm alive, and I will prosper. I will atain all there is that is good in humanity. Thank you for giving birth to me. I may not be what anyone expected, but I hope to exceed their expectations.
I was watching the end of the X-Files a minute ago, and a young man (a serial killer) was revealing to his therapist that he was in fact a monster, pulling off his wig, revealing his bald head, then his ears, revealing only rudimentary holes. He WAS a monster. As he approached her to attack her, she reached up and touched his face and expressed her sympathy. Given the opportunity to surrender then, he charged Fox, and was shot to death. It broke me. Two or three minutes of television cut me to the quick. He had been playing at being someone he knew he wasn't, he was unaccepted by those around him. He was the freak, the monster, and ultimately ended his own existance. It was a path I've looked down, one which has become clear, and one that is always available. Failure... death.
I won't take that road, unless every option is explored, and there no longer existed the possibility of happiness.
24-Nov-99
Wow, there is a path for the many,
and there is a path for the others. Most people will never understand beyond
the surface of reality. Many people will live their lives seeing only the
surface of themselves and others. I wonder if there is anything beneath
what they're showing me? Sometimes it almost feels like there are these
soulless humans, almost automatons, going through the motions, but having
no spark.
I think I can almost see the beginning of wisdom (Do I keep saying that?). Those of us who are... different, we may not be allowed down the clear, well trodden path of the rest. In some cases, we are not even allowed to travel with a companion, but these struggles make us more than we were before. And if we reunite with the walkers of the clearly defined path, will we shine in our accomplishments and be seen for the extraordinary rarity and beauty we possess? I never wanted EVERYONE to like me, I just want all the people I love to like me, and all the rest to be understanding enough to just leave me alone. There are other people's views I don't understand. As a matter of fact, I find many of them ludicrous, but I respect those individuals' right to their beliefs, and I leave them in peace.
Did I mention this before? I read the personality types for Meyers/Briggs (or a varient perhaps (Keirsey?)) that marked me as a INTJ, third time I've taken the test, third time I've fallen into that group. The test is reading accurate, I think. But I read the description of the personality types, I am a 'Mastermind', a contingency planner, I cast my net of logic into the future and pull back probabilities and possibilities. (Something like Azimov's Psychohistory?) Or... something like that.
Anyway, I wondered if I could somehow be lying to the test, so I read the other descriptions, and looked for likely match to my personality. I came across several possibilities, and ultimately decided that 'Councelor' sounded most like my possible 'true' personality. Councelor is INFJ. Hmm. I scored INTJ, I feel like a INFJ. Yes, I do FEEL like that. WHEN my emotions are allowed free reign, my personality shifts.
27-Nov-99
Well. I'm struggling out of my turkey
enduced coma! (smile) Whew, I'm up about 5 lbs. I plan to go have a nice
Tai- Chi session here shortly. My neck (actually I think it's my trapezious)
is really out of whack, and has been for a while.
Yesterday, I again felt this voice well up, telling me that I was simply wrong. A freak... You know? I looked up the definition of Freak. I in fact fit the definition. Possibly two of them. Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary 150th Ed.(The one here in my office) Ohh, after rereading maybe ALL of them...(smile). Anyway. I stopped, I willfully told myself to stop, and then began an internal dialog of how I was not bad. I tried to asure myself that my differences are alright, that they enrich the tapestry of the human whole.
It worked, I think. I felt good. I accepted myself, and with that, I felt the release of all my anger toward all those I felt had put me in this place in life. Strange, the lynchpins of the mind. One thing releases many others.
Then the next wave. I got home from a walk, and there was a message on my answering machine. It was my team leader from work, asking me to call him (at his home number). When I returned the call, he was given the unpleasant duty of informing me that my boss had died. This man in question (MB), my boss, my friend, had passed on. Earlier this year, his (MB's) 16 year old son had been diagnosed with leukimia. After struggling for 6 months with chemo, he was poised for the doctors to do a bone marrow transplant. The transplant was postponed do to a minor fungal infection in the lungs. That infection ended up killing my boss's son. During the 6-month treatment period, my boss suffered two heart attacks. In the span of three days he was required to attend his 18-year-old son's high school graduation and his 16-year-old's funeral. This man usually took one week of work off every year, the week of Thanksgiving, when he would go visit his extended family. While there yesterday (wherever 'there' is), MB suffered a fatal heart attack. Monday I will probably be attending his funeral. MB is a man who leaves this world, with me feeling not a bit of resentment or anger toward. He was kind and understanding. We shared recipes. Actually he gave me the location of a web site with salsa recipes on it, from which I have made a mango salso three times. Once he informing me of a position in our web shop possibly opening up, and that I was virtually assured the position, but by next morning, it had been taken. I was really pissed. I felt like I'd been toyed with. He understood it was my primary desire for career movement. He took me to lunch that day, and we talked. He was a really good guy, and I'll miss him.
28-Nov-99
First, a couple links: Intuition and
healing ... http://www.intuition.org/idxtran.htm
And dream interpretation... http://www.sleeps.com/analysis.html
I'll try to remember to add those to the links page soon... um... sure, it COULD happen... (smile).
I have mostly given up on a rational understanding of my dysphoria. I don't think chromasome testing or MRI would satisfy me if they came back negative. I would then just be miserable and have no evidence to prop up my logical side of my mind with. The two links above are aimed toward inner understanding. Speaking of which, two more dreams:
First Dream: I see a figure walk out of a dark hallway. It is me. My clothing is loose and flowing, like robes. The figure of me, after passing out of the hallway, into the open room, turns around and faces where I have just come from. To the left is the men's restroom. To the right is the lady's room. I stand there, between the two, and the pressure in my bladder builds. There is no decision that seems right, and while waiting to solve the delema, I piss myself.
Second Dream: I am in the company of a charming lady, physically beautiful and eyes that seem to shine. She seems interested in me romantically, and in attempting to find my 'on' button, begins to dress me in beautiful women's clothing, all pale cream colored, rich smooth silks with a hint of sweet perfumes. It does in fact begin to make me amorous, but her male lover, who seems to have been watching in the shadows attracts my attention, and I approach him. While I feel in him some attraction, I also feel in him hesitation, because his lover, the charming woman, is watching. She is now hurt that her charms failed on me, and worse, that I now try to seduce her love. It was just a weird awkward social moment.
I think the second dream speaks to much of the silence of my friends. Before, I could be in their presence without any thought of sexual content being present. Now, none of my male friends will want to be with me due to the strange crossed signals I may create in them, and in myself. (sigh) Goodbye, all things I loved. Goodbye my friends, my family. I will not hate you for leaving me. I hope you can all find it in your heart to accept me some time in the future. Moreover, I hope I can accept myself.
29-Nov-99
New pages of interest...
Brain Sex... http://www.microniche-inc.com/cedarhurst/brainsx1.htm
Left/Right Brain thinking... http://www.helpself.com/brain.shtml
I came home and was crushed by a wave of depression. I'm on the highest dosage of the strongest SSRI on the market, and STILL I get hit with these crushing waves. I hate myself alot of the time. I don't want to be a 'fag' or a freak, or a 'guy in a dress'. I want to be normal. I want to be left alone. Most of all, I want that unspoken promise fulfilled; If you attain these things in life, you will be happy... Good job, good standing in the community, good wife, nice home. I have them all, but they all feel like the wrong life to me. Like I'm a place holder for the 'real' person to eventually step into. I tried to convey this sense to my SO, she doesn't get it. The more I try, the less she gets it. I've nearly come to the end of my trying. I have nothing to live for. My life is a thin venere of normality placed over a very large pit of feces. I will never, even in groups of social missfits and outcasts feel like I'm anything but... wrong. How can I beat that?
Oooooh, HAPPY, HAPPY! (smile) So... do all you readers have your razorblades out and your drano milkshakes ready? Damn, am I down today or what?
I think this is part of the problem. I don't know if I've mentioned it before; I'm not male, but I'm not female. I'm too gray, too far female to ever make a convincing male without daily vigilance and taxing effort, but I'd also make a weird, butch, militant, smart-ass female. So, where does that leave me? Suicidal. Seriously. I'm in a really dark place now, and I look for someone to reach out to, anyone who might understand... and there's no one for me. I'm alone, and I'm frightened and confused. My best friend (my wife) and I are drifting apart. I feel it in tiny movements. I suspect within two months, we won't share the same bed anymore. I feel like a total piece of shit doing this to her. She has felt fucked with enough in her life. I don't want to add to that.
She asked me what I would gain from all this? I'd get to wear a dress. That's all she sees. (sigh)