Tag Archive | Gender Dysphoria

Losing my secret piecemeal

20161014_144317I went and sat down in the HR manager’s office at the end of my shift just to talk before heading out for the day. We were talking and I brought up that I wanted to find a therapist because I felt that I had some issues to work through. She said I didn’t but I disagreed. That’s when she brought up my Facebook page, and asked if this was the issue I was needing to talk about.

The fact that someone else knew about this part of my identity would have sent me into a panic a few months ago, but the idea that I’m not a secret no longer terrifies me. The more people know, the freer I feel. It’s like I expected the world to end because people were finding out about my gender identity. What I’m discovering is that, at least within my small circle of friends and acquaintances, it’s really a non-issue. They accept it.

I still feel a need for therapy, partly because of my gender identity, but also for my feelings of repressed rage and self-loathing. I’ve become somewhat adept at keeping my anger at bay, but when I’m exhausted, as I was last week, all my angers, resentments, fears, and feelings of rejection, came bubbling up to the surface, damaging a friendship in the process. Maybe irrevocably.

A think a large part of my problem stems from keeping myself a secret for so long. It took a lot of energy to conceal my true identity that I didn’t have much to spare on socializing. I never learned how to date, not really, and making friends has always been a problem. I’ve always felt like an outsider, alone, rejected, unworthy of love and affection, that I latch on to any scrape of hope whenever there’s even the remotest glimpse of it, and I fall apart when it turns out to be an illusion. Worst still, I don’t recognize genuine affection when it slaps me in the face

It’s a lot to process, and accepting that I really need help has been hard for me. The macho, I-don’t-need-no-help part of my personality is still trying to keep a firm grasp on this secret that has become an open secret, and soon a widely known truth. I’m not strong enough to muscle my way through this, nor wise enough to deal with the process of coming out. I need guidance, first on a purely therapeutic level, then on a spiritual level.

I’m thinking about telling a priest friend of mine. We started college together, over twenty years ago. We both started out as music majors, and both served as musicians at the Catholic Student Center, I on the guitar, and he as a singer. I changed majors and eventually dropped out. He accepted the calling to serve the Lord, which I didn’t find at all surprising. He is a good man, and a good priest.

At some point, I recognize that my family will have to be told, but that’s still some time away. I still don’t know if I want to transition completely, or if I’ll be content to be a part-time woman, which is an odd thing to say. I hope you understand what I’m saying. I present myself as male because that’s what’s expected of me. It’s as natural as breathing. But I long for more. I wish to no longer put up pretenses. Maybe then, I’ll find someone to love, someone to love me, too.

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Hero

20160603_184413I’m a role model!? I never thought of myself as such, and I certainly don’t feel the part. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but it’s an eye-opener to be sure. Whatever it is, it’s humbling, given that I’m just a boy, dressing like a girl, wishing she could be a girl, but knowing that that final plunge is one I will never take.

But her? She has a courage I lack, a determination to be who she needs to be, despite the hardships blocking her path. She’s my hero, my role model. She inspires me.

After my last post, I received a message from one of my followers. I don’t often get private messages, and when I do it’s usually some porn starlet seeking followers, are perverts wanting me to scratch their tranny-chasing itch. It’s creepy and a little insulting.

This one, however, was from a mother telling me about her son who wants to transition to female. Mom didn’t say much, and revealed a few intimate details that shall remain between us. What I will share is that my writing seems to inspire her son. Mom even sent me a picture with her son, and she’s beautiful. Her son, that is. Mom is too, but that’s tangential to the story.

I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the picture. My female side is in awe by her beauty. She’s young and beautiful, with a wonderful smile and gorgeous hair. I’m a little jealous, to be honest. My male side is like, whoa! Who’s the hotty?! My two sides crack me up sometimes. Then I realize I’m forty and creep myself out. Aging sucks!

But more than her physical beauty, it’s the fact that she’s able to be completely honest with herself about who she is that I find remarkable. She found the courage to be frank about her gender and then found a way to tell her mother. I could never do that. I’ve made my peace with living in the shadows, only making brief forays into the light, and this young woman is eschewing the darkness to bask in the glow of the sun.

I envy her!

I feel for her because I know being trans isn’t easy. There’s a lot of uncertainty and a tremendous amount of risk involved, yet she steadfastly seeks to walk that path. How is that not courageous? How can I not be awed by her strength? How can I not be moved by her mother’s devotion? It’s too amazing not to share!

I’m only a storyteller telling the stories I have lived. I feel like a scared child, poking their head out the door only to pull it back in again, shutting the world out again, then writing to tell you all about it. I won’t completely close the opportunity to come out to the world, but I highly doubt I will. For those who choose that path, I pray you find love and peace in the world. And for you, it’s not much, but I’ll extend my hand in fellowship and friendship. You’re a braver woman than I can ever hope to be. You are my hero.

God bless.

Living a convenient lie

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Lolita fashion costume from loveburlesque.com

I feel horrible. I’ve been neglecting my writing, but life has a way of getting in the way, but that’s no excuse. I’ll do better in the future, but I’ll have to figure out some sort of posting schedule to keep me on task.

I’m sitting here, in my bedroom, feeling as though I’m missing a part of me. You ever felt that way? I do most of the time.  I live in a world where I can never truly be myself. I have to act as though I’m (somewhat) manly, although I would rather be wearing a cute dress or skirt. I would rather be wearing heels than sneakers. I want to dress like a princess, but I’m cursed, left to wander the barren wasteland, sentenced to wear these garments of shame.

Pants, yuck!

I know, I’m being facetious, but at the same time, I’m telling the truth. I feel as though I’m a pretender, living a convenient lie about myself, that I am who I pretend to be. I’m not. Not really. Not that I’m not the man people see everyday, but there’s more to me, more than I allow anyone to see. I’m some freak of nature, neither man or woman, but both at the same time. Does that make any sense?

This is the image I want for myself. Sad isn’t it? Back when I was in my twenties, I may have been able to pull it off, but now that I’m nearing forty? Forget it. Still, I think it’s interesting to think about who we are, how we see ourselves versus how others see us, and how we want to be. I want to appear manly, but sometimes I wish I could give up the pretense and just be the silly little girl my heart yearns to be.

I envy those who could. I envy those girls who gave up pretending, who stopped living imprisoned within their genetic makeup, and did  something to realize their true image of themselves. Sex and gender are too complicated to define via genitalia, The penis does not a man make, nor the vagina a woman. It’s painful when the largest sex organ, the brain, is at odds with the body.

So I hide behind the beard, shielding myself from the fact that I will never be pretty, nor beautiful. I will never be anyone’s princess. I will forever be the beast, angry and alone, praying for Death to take me, but who seems to be enjoying my torment.

Maybe someday things will change, but not now. I will put on my mask, trudge down the path that fate has dealt me. I wish I were strong enough to become who I want to be, but I’m not. And so I suffer, no one around me knowing, or caring, why I’m always in such a bad mood. Try living a lie. It isn’t easy to maintain a fiction and remain happy.

And thus bitterness is born…

 

Of dream…

William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1825-1905) – Sewing (1898) Via Wikipedia

I used to have a fear, growing up, of falling asleep and waking up a girl. I call it a fear, but there was also a hope component. I wanted to be a girl, but I didn’t understand the feeling. Back then there was no internet. I thought I was just weird. I was a boy, and that meant growing up to be a man. That I could actually grow up to be/become a woman never entered my tender mind.

I remember a dream. I was either in elementary or jr. high school, but I still hadn’t reached puberty. It took place in the gym. We had to walk out into the middle of the gym floor. I can’t really remember why exactly, but I do recall being in line waiting for my turn. I looked down and I was wearing a dress, complete with pantyhose. Curious, and probably with a bit of trepidation, I lifted up my dress to take a look. I didn’t have a penis. I remember feeling satisfied, giddy with excitement, and I walked out to center court feeling confident.

I’ve never told anyone that dream, not even my best friend. As much as I love my penis, I sometimes wish I didn’t have one. I really do want to be a woman. Anytime I’ve ever dressed up, although I felt self-conscious about being found out, I also felt a little more confident. It felt right to dress as a woman, like I belonged.

I would love nothing more than to wake up tomorrow morning to find that a miracle had occurred, that my deepest desire had been granted, and that I was a woman. I know that’ll never happen, and I know that I’ll probably never transition. It’s not something that I will ever pursue, but the thought lingers still. I dream of being the girl I should have been born to be.