faith and irony

I used to be free.

I was a child who read science books.  My two best friends were girls.  We would wait for our parents after school and talk about life as we knew it then.  They were my secret friends.  It had to be that way because they didn’t want anyone to know they were friends with a boy, but it didn’t matter after school when everyone was gone.

Puberty was the most traumatic event of my life.  I began to see my two friends differently and was not at ease around them, I couldn’t relate.  Five years passed before I had another close friend.

 

I was beset by night terrors during my first year of puberty.  Shearing, crystal-vivid dreams of stretching across infinite space – into death itself.  I became obsessed with death, the fact that I would die.  I had panic attacks, crying fits of sheer terror.  They increased in frequency until they happened every morning at eleven for two weeks.  I had panic attacks about the panic attacks, knowing their terrible regularity.  My hands are unsteady as I write this and cold sweat drips down the sides of my body.  I remember these days like yesterday.

My mother was a single mother and she did the best that she could, but she could not foot the psychiatry bills.  She was at work most of the time that summer and I was on my own.

I looked to science and found no relevant information about death.  I looked to God and the clergy asked me to have faith.  In the meantime, I lost myself in digital worlds, Mario, Zelda, Baldur’s Gate.  This made things worse as I lost touch with reality.

I did find God eventually and the terror subsided.  But I was like a windup toy, just happy to be moving forward.

 

My stumbling journey into manhood was a forgotten chapter in my life.  I would occasionally have one of those dreams, drink a glass of water, and carry on.  But I never gave much thought to that period of time, until recently.

Now I am afraid that I lost a part of myself when my mind was soaked in testosterone and that she will never return to me – that my dreams and waking fears of death were singularly real.  I am all but forced to question the wisdom of this world’s design.

 

The irony of this is lost on me, and I hope that the past can be undone.  I don’t know how or when or why, but maybe someday.

 

Advertisements

november 25th, 2012 (on a sunday)

From my journal, six days before realizing that I am female:

Last night I had a glimmer of a thought of what is going to happen but now I can’t place it.  The day before, I woke up looking forward to something I can’t remember.  Is something going to happen soon?  Of course it is, but chances are technically slim that it is something that I have in mind…  if I had something in mind.

What is this thing on the horizon?

The thought I had last night was like a green aurora sunrise.  It was joyous and warm and I wanted to be there, I was there for a short moment.  It was as if…  I have no idea.  There is no analogue to this feeling, not in drugs or experience.  Maybe…  no.  It’s nothing you have seen or experienced before.  I can’t imagine anything that would make me feel that way.  There is also a clean-slate element to it.  Anything I imagine to compare it to has baggage that makes it different.  The new feeling is unattached to anything in the past.  This is so random and strange.

I woke up the day before thanksgiving and felt myself looking forward to something, I had assumed I was looking forward to being reunited with my old friends or that it was something from a dream, but these things didn’t fit.  I felt something was going to happen and I couldn’t wait.  What was it?”

 

waiting

I am a girl.  I think like a girl.  I act like a girl.  Sometimes I even look like a girl.

Am.  Am not.  Why is this so important?  Because you need to relate to people.  We are always interacting and gender is the primary category.  There are fundamental differences of behavior between men and men; and men and women; and women and women.  If you are not in a category, then social interaction is irregular.  You will be assigned a category anyway because…  well, just because.  That’s the way we work.  That’s the way things are.

 

I want to be seen as a girl.  I need to be.  I really, really need to be seen as a woman.  Men make me anxious and I try to avoid them.  I try to avoid myself.  I look in the mirror and try to look past myself.  I try to make the best of a hopeless situation.  I try everything.  Everything.  And nothing works.  My GF doesn’t want to know who I am.  My parents don’t know.  My counselors seem to think that I’m not who I am yet, which makes no sense at all.  The more I mess with this Rubik’s cube from hell, the more I’m convinced that I am royally fucked.

And I’ve always been royally fucked, except I thought I was making headway until now.  Now I just don’t know what to do.  I’ve always known what to do, but not today.  Not tomorrow.  Probably not ever.  So I wait.  I wait around my kitchen, my study.  I lie awake in bed.  I muse to myself and wait.  I have no idea what I’m waiting for.  This makes me smile an ironic pointless smile.  This isn’t like waiting for a bus or a train.  Nothing is coming.

 

This isn’t logical, it just is.  I wait because there is absolutely nothing else I can do.  I’ve spoken to everyone I could find until I’m blue in the face and no one even gets it, let alone has a solution for me.  I’m afraid to talk to other trans people because I don’t want to be convinced to get surgery or other medical procedures because it is tempting and, I feel, utterly inadvisable.  Maybe this is what I’m waiting for.  Maybe this is what I’m doing wrong.

 

So I’m waiting.  I’m waiting right now.  I don’t know what the fuck I’m waiting for and there’s no way to stop because I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT I WOULD NEED TO STOP DOING!!!  OMG, this is…  not that bad really.  I’m just used to knowing things at this point in my life and suddenly, without warning, I don’t.

 

june 14th, 2013 (on a friday)

From my journal:

“What I feel now is not true hopelessness, it is not full absence of hope.  It is shock and panic and fear as I contemplate how my newly realized identity changes things for me, changes my future.  But it is a positive change in the long run.  I am more stable.  And I am arguably more realistic, not living in a fantasy of anything that I could imagine to make the world make sense in my terrible ignorance of my true self.  I even seem to have the ability to write now when I could not write before.  My old journals are an exploded debris field of confusion and pain, longing and despair.  Now I know.”

 

it got real

The world makes less sense than it did three weeks ago.

I read some other trans girl blogs.  Most are out of date.  I read Trans Girl Diaries.  I don’t laugh, but am fascinated, terrified.  I search for queer blogs and am overwhelmed by a universe of noise.  All-in-all, I am struck with the sense that my life will not become better.  Things may not get worse, but they will not get better.  This is not entirely a result of reading about SRS and HRT and contemplating a life of isolation – the fact that my life will be nothing like the movies.

My GF is having reservations about my girl-ness, serious ones.  I check my phone, is it Wednesday already?  I can’t believe it.

 

I sit awkwardly at work and write this.  I don’t know why.  My mind is restless.  My schedule is full.  I need to perform experiments and make phone calls and fix machinery.  My coworker acquaintance from another building keeps asking questions about how stuff works on this floor.  I try my best to act naturally (yes I know, I shaved this morning and I have girl lips…  and girl hair.  Please stop looking at me I’m trying to write about it) but I’m sure I give myself away somehow.

 

And I’m pretty sure my GF wants a real man.  She said so.  I know I’m a girl but I still take offense.  I’m not a ‘real’ girl and if I’m not a ‘real’ man then I’m not a ‘real’ anything.  Technically, someone in my position can use the pronoun ‘they’ as in epicene they.  Instead of, “she went to the store” you can say, “they went to the store” if the person’s gender is unknown.

I feel nauseous.  I am not they – I looked this up some time ago and cried myself to sleep.  Yes, I’m pathetic and TMI all around, but I don’t give a fuck.

This is today’s lesson in grammar that no one uses.  You also shouldn’t use semicolons.

 

june 3rd, 2013 (on a monday)

From my journal:

“I think often of what to write about in the blog, of when it will be indexed, of what people will think, what it will do, whether to pull the plug.  I feel healed by it though.  I feel like it just doesn’t matter when I look in the mirror.  I looked myself in the eye this morning, pointed to my eyes, and pointed at the eyes in the mirror, whatever this means.  Literally, it means, “I see you” in an aggressive sort of way, but this was playful.  In place of nail polish (I had an allergic reaction to the feed me basecoat last night I think) and feminine hair (there’s really no getting around my hairline or the fact that my hair just wants to be left alone for the most part), I feel like just knowing who I am and putting myself out there is enough.  As I wrote yesterday, it has to be…  at least now, in the moment.  Things may or may not get better, but I need to realize myself right now.  I see you.”