July 1 - Canada Day
I just chatted with my Mom. What a woman! Heh. To celebrate her birthday
she got a tattoo and is planning to smoke a cigar tonight. They say that
craziness runs in the family… heh. Just kidding there.
Me again… later. Well… spent the last hour or so doing some voice training.
I wonder what will come out of this. Voice to me is very important, as
I have expressed. What I wonder is if the brain imprints the “starting
point” of the voice… so you use it when you don’t think about it. As an
example… I did about an hour of voice exercises… and waswalking around
from this ‘new’ place. I dropped a packet of sweetener in the kitchen,
and said “oh shit” in deeper voice. I just wonder if that gets replaced
as the permanent voice or not.
I spent my time speaking into the micro-cassette recorder from my
old journals I have printed out. Oh well… can’t hurt to try, I’d imagine.
I just read to myself the above paragraph… wonder if I’ll always be able
to do that.My voice box hurts a bit… guess I should lay off. Not
really much more to say… another day in Paradise so to speak…could complain,
but why bother?
The cast party was neat. But what was funny… on the way there, and some
on the way back… I’m trying to stay in the “higher” voice box range… and
then I shift down for the party. Meanwhile my throat is sending me signals
of “whew… take a breather”.I just have to laugh, if that makes any
sense. This seems to be a real crazy life I lead… would not trade it for
most others. Perhaps for a genetic girl… in all things there are those
ahead, and those behind. I can assure you, however… that there is a real
person here typing and feeling things… and I have a long list of things
to do and fix… I think the voice deal is the next big step. And, unlike
those ahead of me, I am not looking at needing that voice 100% in the next
year… I guess other than my own desire to have it, there is no “need” to
have it. Perhaps one day. Oh well.
July 2
The cast party last night reminded me that I moved here
for grad-school…. What I look at as being what is going to get me through
and keep me employed after my ‘transition’.
It’s like there are ‘reality’ things that I must deal with, and there are
‘desire’ things that I would like to deal with. ‘Reality’ says that if
I don’t get cracking on the set design, I will start off my grad-school
life on a bad foot. ‘Desire’ says I want to be more of a woman. ‘Reality’
acknowledges that, and suggests that I do design work in what-ever way
I choose… be it in a simulation of working in an office dressed as a woman…
to whatever degree (shorts/bra/t-shirt vs. skirt/bra/blouse). ‘Desire’
says I want to talk like a woman… sound like a woman. Both Reality and
Desire are committed to bring this about through training and practice.
‘Reality’ reminds ‘Desire’ that I am not in a position to lock myself away
from society… I need human interaction and contact with the outside world.
I know there will come a time when I can/will combine the two… with perseverance
and experimentation. ‘Reality’ comments that that point will not be for
another 34 months. And there you have it, I suppose.
I could skip my errands, take a shower, shave, and put on cosmetics… and
wear a dress and parade around my apartment. But is that really me? No.
Well… I’m kind of at a loss. Guess I could/should just get up and do whatever
I want… it is the weekend.
Me again - later. Almost bedtime. I don’t know where to begin. I can feel
I’m sitting on a gender turd… trying to get it out. Does God ever give
you snap-shots? I get them from time to time. Just a few minutes ago my
video stopped… and as the tape re-wound and I was flipping through the
channels, I came across 20/20, who was featuring a news-story about Terry
Prachet, transgender race car driver. I was glued to the set… like a deer
in head-lights… could not move. All I could do was go “that’s a TS?” Not
only did Terry look good, but she sounded great. A well-spring of despair
and doubt sprang within me.
A person of action, I grabbed for the micro-cassette recorder and just
started listening to my voice. And I don’t know what to say… other than
I have a long way to go. No excuses and all that… I believe in that. I
believe that everything is possible, and perhaps if Terry sounds nothing
like TJ… well… there’s hope. And I believe that is what God was showing
me. I’ve heard Dave… and I’ve heard Melanie Anne… and I’ve heard me. Melanie
says it took a while to develop from the monotone starting place… I hope
that I too can develop from where I have started. I feel like I gotslammed
against a giant rock face with a single foot-hold… and it is just going
to take time to explore and climb around.
I guess I am filled with hope. And yet, I’m feeling real empty… and questioning
things… but there has got to be a way. I’m trying not to run old tapes
or dig up shit from the past… I guess I just need some faith, and perhaps
work on things. I know it’s practice, practice and all that stuff. Perhaps
if I knew I was progressing… well… you know. And on that note… I’m not
sure what’s what. Perhaps I should make myself some lemon tea for my throat
and just bust through reading something ‘en femme’? We are our hardest
critics.
It’s no wonder we think about death. So many obstacles to overcome. As
always… there are those ahead of you, and those behind you. And those who
will never be able to be where you are… people who suffer from gender dysorphia
and can’t place it. I had some fun today in the mall… walking around
and such. I think I look like Liam Neilson’s Jedi character without the
beard and mustache. Today spent with my hair up in pig-tails… one on each
side.
Whist in the mall I turned down my old haunts to look at clothes and shoes…
felt like a little girl the whole time… even when I tried on some size
12 shoes… I ended up buying the pump flats from 3 weeks ago. I tried on
some open toe-shoes and such… if I was not made of sterner stuff I would
of walked out of there with more shoes… but you know my financial situation.
I switched into the flats in the mall parking lot, and wore them all the
way home and to another mall.
Since being home, I spent the night in my house knock-arounds… with the
flats for a bit. Mostly just relaxing and cuddling with my teddy bear.
Wondering what tomorrow will bring. It takes so much time. I know that
all will happen according to whatever God has in store. But today (as in
the past) I was given a glimpse of what is possible. Even the fact that
20/20 aired it… that says something about our culture.
I guess the most important thing is to be at peace with oneself. For me,
I like the way I am progressing… loosing male fat, growing out my hair,
etc. And I am diligently working on my voice. I’ve got at least 34 months
to come up with a solution… assuming I don’t win the lottery first. I did
by my ticket. Oh well… don’t know if this is going anywhere or not… I’m
here, and I’m trying. What else can I do?
July 3
Most folk sleep in on Saturdays… for some reason my body wont. I think
I used to sleep in more when I was with someone… just nicer to cuddle I
guess. My second/third thought was “can I talk like I did last night?”…
I was answered with an internal status report from my throat… a swallow,
some “we are here” pain, and a healthy spatter of phlem. I sort of prayed
out-loud to God, and the ‘voice’ was still there. I don’t know if I did
a good job of explaining how I felt last night… I was so tired.
So I’ll try again. I encountered a wall of sorts… a barrier. Up until a
certain point I had convinced myself that whist a transsexual, I needed
HRT to really change over. But, what happens when you prepare for your
transition, you’re taking care of your body and such, and you look in the
mirror and like what you see… and then you open your mouth and male streams
out? I deflate… the winds out of my sails. But last night I drilled through
that barrier… and the “real” me came out… gushing. Once I found my starting
point, I would not shut up. I have about 2 minutes of me on tape… just
talking… saying things I’ve always wanted to say.
And, what I am surmising is that for me there is a switch of sorts for
that voice. It’s like before I was a pre-pre-op who dreamed about transitioning,
wondering where he would fit in… so obviously male. And then after the
switch, I became a woman who sounded a little raspy like a man. Can you
pick up on the difference there? One is a man trying to masquerade as a
woman, and the other is a woman who is confused (but determined) to express
herself as best she can, because she *is* a woman. I hope I am right about
this, and I can continue to grow in these areas. A swallow from my throat
confirms the amount I will need to practice so I can progress… but at least
it is possible.
Convincing, I suppose… perhaps that is a good word. In my 2 minute vocal
tirade I talked about the need to communicate feelings… something which
is hard to do with a monotone, raspy voice. I guess another thing
is putting the right voice to the body… matching. I’ve known genetic women
6’+ who have had Minnie Mouse/Bernadette Peters type voices… and you wonder
if they have a tape recorder somewhere… the body and voice don’t exactly
match, but people don’t think to question it… because it is obvious that
they are real women.
When I started this 9 years ago I stood 5’9”, 235#, and had a very deep,
deep voice. I made for the not-fat, but nearly so male who had a receding
hair-line and good sense of humor. As an Air Force person, I had a buzz
cut. 9 years later I have grown a few inches in height and more than a
few around my waist… and exercise more regularly, eat more healthy than
I ever have in my life. And as I approach 30 I want to continue to grow
out my hair and take care of myself. But voice… that is how we communicate
with others. To have a voice you can use… that is my goal. And last night…
it’s like I plugged into that voice. I want to develop that voice… see
if I can extend the range and dynamic quality. Right now it’s on or off.
I want to express my passion in it… my joys, sorrows… and talk to others.
It is important to me that the voice match who I am… and up until last
night I would fail when I looked at myself in the mirror. It’s like
I’ve been working hard getting the mental me more female… the physical
me more female… and now I’m working on the last bit of the puzzle… the
voice.
Which brings a new question… what is the ‘right voice’? Since I’m not at
that final resting place yet… is the voice of today the same as the voice
of tomorrow? My concern is that I don’t sound falsetto… you know? Fastest
way to clock somebody is if they have the pitch of Minnie Mouse and resonate
like a fog horn. My voice is right there… right before the point of resonance.
I’m trying to extend the pitch without turning on those resonating speakers.
Oh well.
As of today, early July, my plan of attack is a once-a-day hot-tea session
reading aloud into the microcassette recorder. I tape about 4 sentences,
rewind, and evaluate. As for the rest of the day, I find that I try to
speak from my new place whenever I can, but I am trying not to talk for
the fun of it… because it is a strain on my voice, and as far as I am concerned
it is no achievement to destroy your voice in the process of tuning it…
too much slack and the guitar does not work, to much strain and the chord
will break. As in all things, balance is the key.
Switching gears a bit, I would like to get more spiffy today… mostly because
I like once a week to see how far I have come… mostly it’s just my hair
that makes a difference. I can almost get a decent ponytail in the back…
almost. I still wear my bra every day in line with my "Real Life Quiz”,
but it’s nice to prepare for when my one-day hubby takes me out… coordinating
colors and such. If you see him, have him contact me… because I have not
met him yet. I guess that is a fantasy of mine… to meet an open minded
male who can see the ‘diamond in the rough’ of sorts. But… well… you know
the male sex drive… I have no clit, no breasts… but if I can meet someone
who can dig who I am as a person, and will work with me on the other… well,
a girl can have dreams, right?
I got invited to a party, but we’ll see where I am then… if I’ve just exercised,
and I want a night on my couch alone, then I’m not going. I’ve got to start
to think about what I want, and doing it… regardless of what that means
in terms of clothes… in other words if I want to go downtown and look at
the river-walk, then “it’s okay” to wear male drag… that does not make
me any less of a pre-pre-op TS. Let hope my voice continues to develop…
I am not giving up on it.
Me again - later. It’s funny… the chatter in my head… the little voices
of doubt have taken on my ‘new’ voice… heh. I was updating my budget… thought
I would comment on that too. It’s odd… being here… and not knowing what
you are going to do… on the “map” that I have on my fridge it has my remaining
college years… and then there’s a bubble to ‘Theatre Job’… and then from
that a bubble to “Special Project K”… but I’ve got a monthly spreadsheet
from now till then… and it’s neat to think about having money for electrolysis/hrt.
Even now, I can ‘save’ for that by not spending money now… my current currency
is credit debt. I have not used a card for about a month now. And to see
a slight upward trend… well… it just makes me feel good.
July 4 - Independence Day
I have done some pretty hard things in my life. I feel
like I’m attempting the impossible… trying to get my voice more female…
yikes! But it has to be achievable somehow. I’ve decided that voice surgery
may be an option for me… of course that’s 34 months down the road, but
it seems like it will never happen. Still… I keep trying. I’ve decided
to avoid any low-resonance as much as possible… keeping it at what I consider
to be a “middle” point. But whew… it is difficult…. Feel like everything
I say gets run through an equalizer or something. Meanwhile my throat is
actively trying to heal itself… I guess it’s just a wee bit out of shape…
had 27 years of programming for a male voice. Oh well. I guess I should
cut myself some slack or something.
July 5
Well, the last day of my 5 day vacation of sorts. Hopefully today will
be less chatter on my part. I’m not sure what I will end up doing. At some
point I need to exercise, and at another I need to work on some ideas for
a set design. I’m not sure how I’ll accomplish either. There’s two problems
I’m dealing with. One is that I am afraid of my own voice, and Two is that
I can’t seem to leave my house.
My voice is not female sounding… I’m growing to dislike it. I’m working
to change it, and of course this is like day 5 of trying to extend the
range and cut out the resonance. But I’ve noticed that I don’t talk to
myself anymore… no little comments. I’m lonely I suppose. I’m not at the
problem fixing phase yet… more into identification I suppose. According
to “the plan”, I am to practice a few minutes each day and leave it at
that.
Melanie Ann reports that once she found a foot-hold, she could do it for
about 30 minutes and then the pain got too great. Andrea James says it
takes a good three months of steady practice to make a difference. So,
in all fairness to myself, the fact that I don’t “sound more female” after
5 days… well, I should not be too concerned about that. But you know how
that’s like… it’s like when your car gets targeted by pigeons after you
have just done 4 hours of waxing… so you have this shiny machine… perfect
except for a tiny drop of doo-doo.
One for perseverance, determination, and just plan bull-headedness… I’ll
press on. I hope that one day the lights will come on so to speak and the
voice chords will part allowing something I like to come out.
And while we’re on voice stuff… how do you know what matches… in other
words, can you place the voice with the person? Listening/Watching Melanie
Anne’s tape, I look and hear a complete person… “oh, that’s what she sounds
like”… the voice, personality, and body fit key-and-lock. On the 20/20
deal from the other night I remember seeing Terry and thinking the same
thing… the voice fits. Rewind the tape, and compare TJ and Dave… and their
voices fit their bodies. Mix and Match… can you see Dave talking as Melanie…
or Terry as TJ? No… not even close.
So… when you are playing “Piano Man” with your voice… going up and down
and all around… stretching those chords like a rope of cooling hot taffy…
how do you know where your voice is? I’ve been a Mimic for 25+ years… I
can hear someone talk and there’s a good chance I can reproduce them. So
how do I know “where the real me” is at… how do I know what “Karen’s Voice”
is?
My first few days of microcassette practice had me doing Minnie Mouse for
about an hour. And, the next day I was doing Minnie again. I can keep the
Minnie voice up. But, “Big Foot” that I am… the voice and body don’t match.
If you can think of my voice as being an envelope.. I can twist and turn
it… and not find the voice that I like. What I’m searching for is the flap
of that envelope… I want to get it open so I can explore the inside as
well... and get into that space.
My throat is still sending me a flow of pain, letting me know something
is cooking down there. But, as I said at the start, I am afraid of my own
voice… I don’t talk as much as I used too. Maybe this is going to take
a longer period of time than I thought… but you know what it’s like to
wait… or to want something you can’t have right now. Feel like Beruca Salt
“I want it noooooow!” Wish I could give “little Karen” a hug and say “one
day… one day you’ll speak with these pipes… be patient, okay?”
Page Two, as Paul Harvey would say. I live in one of the most beautiful
areas of the United States, surrounded by more greenery, livery, and examples
of the wonders of nature than I have ever seen before. I live 10 minutes
from one of the largest cities in the US, with more things to do than in
any other place I have lived. My apartment is the neatest set-up I have
ever had, with over 500 videos to choose from. I have a kick-butt computer,
from which I can launch any number of applications to keep me occupied.
I have recently made friends with new people, who hold a thousand hours
of new, stimulating conversation.
Why in the world then, do I choose to remain in dark apathy to everything
around me, afraid to open my mouth for fear of the deep resonance that
comes forth, but doing nothing so that I may be able to wear a bra (and
on weekends nail-polish) and not too concerned about cleaning off the cosmetics?
I mean really! Why do I do this? Last night I spent 2 hours just driving
around this city in the dark because I did not have to change my clothes
between the inside/outside? I’m living like a Vampire or something… cannot
go outside during the day… seen only once or twice in the darkness. I mean
my potted plants see more sunlight than I do. That’s not healthy for me.
Is it?
Feel like I need Ramirez (Sean Connery in Highlander) here to give me a
verbal whoop’n… “Listen brother. Ya cannot proceed like this… you’ve got
34 months to go… worry about this later and just enjoy life… just don’t
get married and you’ll do fine.” Then Scotty (James Dohan from Star Trek)
would say “Captain… the toilets have flooded up the warp drive, it’ll take
time to make repairs… the hamsters are running as fast as they can… why
not take a break from all this and go outside… you’ve got 34 months of
shore leave… we’ll live off Tribbles till ya git back…” I don’t know why
my moral supporters are all Scottish. “If it’s not Scottish it’s crap!”
Seriously. I know my voice will work out. If I can’t adapt it on my own,
then either I’ll live with it or do the surgical deal. And as for life…
well, that will catch up. Perhaps I just need to take a day off from the
‘real life quiz’… it’s no good if I loose my humanity in the process. But
surely you can understand the desire I have to meet others on my own terms.
I can choose to go outside as I am and take what they give. I used to be
all “fuck them if they can’t take it”… but as recently as last night… there
I was on the banks of the river, facing away form the occasional passer-by.
And I could feel the hair rise on the back of my neck. I’m sure in the
twilight of dusk, they could see nothing… but did they? Did they see my
almond-shaped eyes, and the coffee-bean nail-polish. Did they question
my shaved legs? I don’t think so. But that fear is still in me. Once or
twice I was ready to rise to my full 6’ height and brandish my aluminum
chair as a club… Big Foot in action. But they left me alone… people caught
up in and exploring their own lives. I’ll avoid the pity party topic of
“normal people” and relationships for the time being.
And there you have it. I’m kinda out of whine fuel. I like to think of
myself as continuing on. It’s easy when I’m the only enemy I face. Me vs.
Me. There was a moment of doubt yesterday that was “run the car off the
road… kill yourself… you’ll never sound female… and you’ll never transition.”
I had to tell myself that the only sure way to keep me from transitioning
was to kill myself. So long as I’m alive, there is hope. And, I had to
remind myself that I am the only one who will pay for my transition. In
America we are on our own… no government support or help. Makes my stomach
turn when I think about Europe… where the government will pay for your
therapy, meds, and even surgery. Because they recognize it as a debilitating
thing… a handicap that can be solved. Not like here in the States. But
that’s old news.
I’ve no love of our system… our social system. Sometimes I think the only
way anyone takes notice of you here is when you come very close to suicide.
And at that point all they want to do is dope you up. It was the Church
of the Subgenus who came up with the “Or Kill Me” idea… based on ultimatums.
Walk into your bosses office and say “Give me a raise… or kill me!”… the
idea being that anything was submissive to death, so you would get what
you want.
My own experience with unsuccessful suicide is that you are charged exorbitant
fees and given a Band-Aid with a smiley face on it. I was released with
the understanding I would seek help. Naturally I used the one-free-session.
What came out of it? The Doc said “Gee... it’s a bummer you have to
wait for electrolysis and hormonal therapy.” Everyone walked away, applauding
themselves for “saving another troubled youth”… and life went back to normal.
I was just as seriously upset, depressed, and unhappy as I was before…
I felt like the world had skipped a beat… and continued.
There’s a part of me that I inherited from my Irish grandmother… her spite
that says “oh yeah… well watch this!”… and I die in some way. I’ve played
with the idea… but I know the outcome… I would be doped up… charged exorbitant
amounts of money… and left alone again. In the extreme perhaps a lobotomy
and my parents stuck with providing for me till they are out of work, then
I become a ward of the state. What’s sad is that I know a TS in California
who pays for Premarin through Welfare money… can you believe that? Homeless
people can get TS assistance… but not help to get them out of being homeless…
Meanwhile “working” home-owners don’t get help if they are TS? Only in
America, I guess.
Again… no help for being a transsexual. Save the fucking whales and not
the human beings. Give a dollar to the asshole with the fireman’s boot
at the intersection and drive on… you’ve done a ‘good turn’… you’re a good
person… fuck the person next to you… they’ve got to fix their own problems.
Wouldn’t you get more satisfaction knowing you helped someone you knew,
in a way that you know would help them personally… rather than blindly
giving some miniscule dollar amount to some unknown cause? Not in America.
And perhaps not in life. A person can’t get mad at being born with only
one leg, or being born a paraplegic. What’s different is that mental illnesses
or dehabilitiating things… even if they are correctable… they are not as
visible as a wheel chair or a scar. That’s not someone else’s’ fault… you
dig?
But… some people have the cash to deal with those problems. Women who get
radiation treatment to remove the “unsightly” blue-vein lines from their
legs. People who get cosmetic surgery because they don’t like the shape
of their nose. Lens corrective surgery because people don’t want to wear
glasses and hate contacts. You see what I’m saying… these are all secondary
things… it’s only a matter of where you draw the line. Getting angry at
a parent or God for one of these “imperfections” is fruitless. Be thankful
that they can be corrected… and for sure some are more ‘curable’ than others.
If you accept mental illness and mentally disabling deals along the same
lines… well… here’s where Europe has America beat… because the government
foots the bill. I never thought I would be an advocate for big government.
If asked “what do you want?” I would say 200 hours of electrolysis, access
to HRT… and perhaps one day surgery. The surgery I think should come out
of my pocket… perhaps even the electrolysis. But in my own case, my Mom’s
offer of medical treatment has never full-filled itself. When she offered
for Ritalin to combat my ADD’ness behavior… the checks never came, and
I canceled the appointments. When she offered to pay for the mandatory
Prozac… that never came either. But to get out of the mental home I had
to pay out of pocket… $78 I believe was the cost. Worth every penny. Our
system asks you to get help, but does not provide it. I don’t have $120
an hour for some person to say “bummer with your life...”…. Blah. Oh
well.
Life is full of choices, but saying “one day it will all be better” is
not enough. Doping people up is not enough. I’m talking about a cut-back
in medical costs and litigation in this country. If someone has a legitimate
medial need, let them have it. They do that with ER currently, even if
it is an exorbitant amount… I’d gladly sign away 10 years of indentured
service right now to complete electrolysis and HRT… take a cut in pay…
whatever it takes so that in 2 years time I have no beard and a more female
body.
My 4 hour stint in the ER last year cost me about $4000. All they did was
pump “stabilizing” liquid into my IV. They offered me a Diet Sprite, and
charged me $12 for it. I left that place owing lots of money, and everyone
shaking finger at me going “naughty boy… don’t ever do that again.” My
Mom did rush to see me, and I am thankful for her visit. Her closing comment
was “I’ll kick your ass if you do this again.” Would she? No. If I do it
again there won’t be any bit of me left… so what good does that comment
make? All people can do is say “I’m sorry”… you know? And that sucks. I
guess I could take responsibility and see what it would take for me to
become a citizen of the Netherlands so I can get free health care. All
I guess I’m doing now is blowing off steam.
In the dark times… I wonder what would of happened had I said something
sooner… when I was 12 or something. Occasionally you run into someone on
the web who claims to be 17 years old… and waiting to be of legal age for
hormones. I used to hate them… I guess that’s sour grapes. But my attitude
is changing. Mostly because of life, and the things that I have learned.
And I suppose also regrets. I have few… one of them was not saying I was
TS sooner… but I think most TS would say that.
But… well, I have a pioneering spirit… and I think it is a mistake for
a person to deny themselves an experience. It’s like eating veggies as
a child… your Mom says “how do you know you don’t like it, if you’ve never
even tried it.” That little annoying ditty can also be said of being a
man, or a woman. If you’ve never been a man, how do you know you want to
be a woman. I’d expand that to say Husband, Wife, Father, Mother… etc.
So for all those TS people who got to that point and then transitioned…
give yourselves credit on that. And this hit me last night as I was talking
to a person who claimed to be a 13 year old TS.
I mean… I had a good idea from an early age that I was TS, but I don’t
think I could be as confident as I am now that I am transsexual if I had
not gotten a taste of what it was like to be a grown man. Know what I mean?
It’s sort of like the last ejaculation you have right before SRS… just
so you can remember what it was like later on. I find great understanding
from the “Baker’s Wife” in the musical “Into the Woods”… and I highly recommend
anyone who has never heard it… it’s available on CD in music stores. It
is of the same caliber as that “Sunscreen” song that was popular last year…
the advice is not as obvious… but I think the Baker’s Wife is a personification
of the fear/rationalization that we all experience whenever we make a decision…
it’s not limited to just TS issues.
Anyway… a core of regret is not doing something… before moving on, why
not give it a try. Some people are sure… very confident… but there’s really
no way of knowing, is there? I guess that’s why I say anything is possible.
But… for myself… I’ve been in good relationships with women… almost married…
had real good sex as a man. Been a Scoutmaster… you know? I feel like God
gave me a taste of what “being a man” was like… and I would not of had
that if I had come out of the starting gate at 18 on estrogen.
And, to be honest I’m a wee bit envious of the Fathers and Mothers that
I have known who are transsexual… because they will have an experience
I won’t. My exposure to Premarin in 1994 has made me sterile, so I can
never have kids of my own. I’ll never be a Father of my own kids. Since
I was not born with a uterus, I’ll never be a Mom… never experience what
both my own Mother and Sister have… the pains of labor and such… I’ll never
know that. I’m kinda a genderless person who can somewhat phase into the
male side of society.
But even that is fading… I was most uncomfortable at a party the other
day… I fit into no social category… was not allowed entrance into the circle
of women, and cared nothing for the conversations of men… like the ghost
in the darkness… sort of passed between them. And I want more of that?
More ostrazation, more isolation. Yes… yes, take it gladly… I spend all
my time invisible now… how could it possibly get worse? At the party there
were 2 girls who I could of shagged… but I passed on it. I had my eyes
on 3 men… but they looked past me because I did not have breasts. I could
follow their eyes when they walked…. The girls showed more cleavage than
a Cosmopolitan cover, and the guys were locked on target. And you know
what? Part of me wanted to be one of those girls… and another wanted to
be a woman who would of walked out because she was “not that kind of girl”…
in the end I left because I could not interact with anyone there.
The Tampa Gender Identity Clinic would suggest that what I am experiencing
is all part of the process of deconstructing the false male self. My Mom
would say “get out of your head”… I’d like to say “troubles… go fuck a
duck”. But really, I find myself not fitting in anywhere anymore. I don’t
enjoy doing anything I did “as a man”… and I feel like I don’t have access
to female things yet. My feelings are legitimate, and I’m getting sick
of them. I know I’m doing everything I can to expedite the process… but
I don’t know what else to do… people say “enjoy the moment”… but I feel
that I can’t enjoy it… I want to progress… I want electrolysis… I want
hormone therapy. Reality says “you can’t have it now… get used to it… because
you’ve got 34 months to go”. And I guess that is where I feel the pain…
and I see death as being a release from that pain.
I can rationalize not killing myself, because that is certainly a way to
prevent me from experiencing any bit of life as Karen. In fact I’m sure
any conscious attempt I would make would be halted by Karen. So I’m stuck.
I want days to pass… and I’m not really interested in living them… I want
to be alive… but I want it to be the future. “well, you can’t always get
what you want”… no. No… you can’t. All I can do is suffer. “well, you choose
to suffer.” I choose to suffer? Taking a knife and carving my initials
into my thigh is choosing to suffer. I sit alone on my bed and suffer.
I go outside and I suffer. I talk to other people and I suffer. I go to
the park and I suffer. I suffer by not doing anything, and doing everything.
And I sure as hell don’t want to die, and I sure as hell don’t want to
be doped up. And I’m out of solutions. So if I go into the corner and stare
at the wall… that don’t mean I’m crazy… it just means I’m coping. But nothing
can be done. Other than to exist.
And from that... well... I walk away. JRR Tolkien said that "not all those
who wander are lost"... and perhaps that is to be my life for the next
34 months. If I hear another cliche or excerpt from "Life's Little Instruction
Book" I'm going to start to line dance... do the Electric Slide wherever
I am... only because that's the only option I have. Tevia asks "and why
do we do such things? Isn't it crazy to try... to be the fiddler on the
roof..." Perhaps. Perhaps it is more like Quixote’s comment to "Dream the
Impossible Dream"... because that is who I am right now. To be where the
Brave dare not go. This is my quest, no matter how far... and like Quixote...
I must do it because to do otherwise would make me restless... which is
where I think I am today. All I can do is press on, and help those who
stumble from time to time on their own quests. Regardless, life goes on...
the heavens spin... the wheel turns.
Me again - later. Much later. I did it… went out to the park, exercised,
sang a song, did a dance… watched a movie, and found out that the green
jumper I bought many moons ago fits and looks nice with the flats I bought
the other day… heh! Guess that’s the icing on the cake. Life goes on.
July 12
Amazing how the days can go quick, and/or slow. Last three or so days went
quick because I was so busy doing theatre stuff… now, well… I’ve given
myself tonight off so about an hour ago things went back to snail speed.
When I got home today my first reaction was “I am hungry, I will eat.”
Whist in the shower I decided not to opt for the facial shave, and I did
a good job explaining to myself that it was okay, I could take a day off
of the ‘real life quiz’… but sure enough, three hours later with tummy
full I am sitting here wearing a brown outfit… deliberating if I want to
paint my nails or not. Something about completing the picture.
I got here because whist challenging the robotic chess board to another
match, I passed the bathroom and had to do a double take at the mirror…
there she was… that woman I live with. She sort of stuck out her tongue
and went “phhhhffft!” at me. Something about having a week-old beard will
make that happen sometimes. So I shaved. And my thought was more… more…
more. So here I am, looking like a wet dog because my hair is all wet.
But with a smiling face and just the right amount of blush.
Thought I would get on and say something prolific… but nothing really comes
to mind. One of my many fears about the future is that time will pass and
I’ll forget who I am… where I want to go. Life can offer some very good
diversions from time to time. A most recent one for me is a woman I just
met at school who is just plain cute in the same way that I aspire to be.
There have been a few sleepless nights where I have been craving having
a warm body next to me in bed… and she’s been fitting the bill. I never
really dismissed being a lesbian… but I think this is just my sex drive
taking a peek around and seeing what is happening. I guess it’s been about
a year since he’s seen any action.
My cold has gotten worse… had to stop the voice-training for a while… can’t
sound all female with a male throughout that is in pain and sends you warnings
in the form of phlegm… at least I can’t.
Heard some inner voices today that had not been around in a while… they
were saying something about how no matter what I do now, I’ll never know
what it is like to transition (or live as a woman) till I do it. I don’t
know where it came from… or what it means. There are many things we do
that we are not 100% sure of the outcome… most religious folk I know base
a belief system on that… I think a challenge for some is to visualize how
things are going to be.
One of the enlightening things that I have encountered in my own travels
is how I can wear my hair in a very female way and get away with it. Yesterday
I wore pink and purple hair ties… normally I wear black so they are not
as noticeable. But my hair is getting long enough now that I can do things
with it. Not long enough for a ponytail using my bang hairs… but getting
close.
The other day I was in the Mall and I noticed a group of middle school
age kids. Three girls and one boy. All of them had their toe-nails painted.
So who knows what the next generation of people will be like. The last
few days when I know I am not going to meet anyone I know I’ve been wearing
fingernail polish. That’s a neat feeling… to be driving down the road way
and see them in the sunlight. No big victory, I’m sure… but a small step.
I guess I could become “that strange cross-dressing theater person” in
my apartment complex… but I like coming and going as I please… not really
wondering what people think.
July 13
When mood shifted felt like I was in the wrong place… so I switched over
to more female dress/appearance… since I don’t have any black flats I’m
wearing whites. Makes me look like Minnie Mouse or something. Really I
don’t know what’s up in me… just a sudden calm. I guess every day can’t
be 100% stress. As I was reaching for my bra I thought about when I bought
my first one many moons ago… I had to laugh. While I still get some jitters
now-a-days, I do more now than I have ever done in terms of shopping for
myself. But… there’s nothing like buying a bra… especially your first one
when you are just starting out and wondering “why do I want to wear one
of these things?”
I think also too, it must be a slightly odd feeling to wear bras every
day when you are fully transitioned and on the hormones for a bit… they
actually serve a purpose then… to keep breasts out of your way. Oh well…
no deep insights today… just me a little tired. My Mom visits in three
days… I have not given any great thought to when she gets here how I will
act/dress, etc. I’ve been doing the ‘real life quiz’ ever since I got here…
this will be the first time in about 6 weeks where I may break the routine.
She may arrive and say something like “oh, please feel free to dress/act
how you like”… and at that point I’ll guess I need to make the call. I
don’t feel out of touch/place if I miss a few days… I think that’s more
practicality than anything else. We shall see.
Oh well. I did a good job of not buying shoes today… went into Payless
to browse… of course saw things I really wanted. It’s hard to justify buying
something that is not “a need” right now. Got some email from my sister
too. Wish I could help her out. I thought about offering her shack space
here with me. I don’t think she could hack me, however. Hmmm. Oh well…
getting very sleepy… take care.
July 14
There is a difference. I don’t know exactly what. But as I was sitting
there about an hour ago in my boxers and white T-shirt, watching Red Dwarf,
I wondered about not wearing a bra. I did not put it back on after my shower.
So I got up and put in on… got on my favorite skirt too. And an hour later
I was watching another Red Dwarf, and it just hit me that there is a difference.
I think in a philosophical way it’s true that gender is garmentless. But
I would also say that in a psychological way it’s true that garment is
important. Just thought I would write down my experience. I had to smirk
while I was waiting on the tea to steep. Heh.
July 15
After a bit of dinner, I wondered what I would do with my night. With my
Mom coming to town this would be the last night for about 5 days that I
could “dress en femme.” I was quick to get up and get spiffy. But in the
end I decided upon my usual house knock-arounds. I figure I might as well
be comfortable. What will be odd is during her stay at night when I go
to reach for my bra and don’t wear it. I don’t think that says anything
less about me, and it certainly does not alter my plans for the future.
I made a mental observation whist getting dressed… something about reverse
gender stereotypes. I wonder if there is a bit of danger for transsexuals
in deciding that their chosen gender need follow certain behaviors. I’m
not talking about the way you sit in a skirt… crossing your legs, etc.
But… one of the things I’ve encountered is people trying to act like the
other gender. I guess for me it is accepting myself… not really fitting
into any sort of program or label. The therapist who approved me for Premarin
had a certain perspective of “what women are” because of what she did in
her own life. Is this not really one person’s expectations of gender behavior?
Sure there are deviants from an established norm…. but it seems like a
step in the wrong direction to limit oneself. Perhaps this is just my perspective
and idea of who/what I am.
I have not cracked the voice deal yet. At some point I got sick… I think
I was overly-enthusiastic and stressed out my voicebox. I suppose the slow
road is best. In my case, I really don’t have much of a rush anyway… still
34 months to go. Sometimes seems long, other times short. All the time
I want to be there now. Would I give up 3 years of my life… to cut corners?
Chances are no. Still… to be 30… oh well… as I say, always one ahead of
you, always one behind you.
Had a neat night a few ago… sat there and remembered back through my summers.
Amazing how much we can change from year to year. Felt some time echoes
today whist I was on the phone talking theatre with the Director… in a
year I’ve learned the lingo and am designing a real, going-to-be-used set.
Today I did some wood-graining. I could not believe it was me doing it…
seemed so impossible… know what I mean? But in my hand was the brush… and
even today was doing stuff on my own for the first time. I think I’m earning
my wings so to speak.