Dyssonance

Blog has moved

2007-04-13T05:48:00.001-05:00

The blog has moved: Click here

Purses and Pricks

2007-04-12T07:06:00.001-05:00

Ok, I've now managed to move my blog (lordy, I am so freaking mercurial of late), and I'm sitting here on a Thrusday morning wondering why it is I just had to shove my stupid head into Topix in the first place.

Oh, and shopping for a purse.

My old purse is dead.

Not surprising -- i sorta kinda inherited it, so it was not only out of style, but older than the hills.

Which leaves me with a dilemma that I don't know how to survive.

Were I to actually have something akin to readers, well, it'd be nice, lol -- I could ask them to assist me in this.

I've never bought a purse before. Its my first time.

My current purse's contents are in a disarray beside the desk. Reused altoid tins (my bad, bad habit of smoking is hidden within them). My trusty victorinox Ranger. A flashlight. Lighter. 'mones. meds. scissors. tissue. tweezers. Aother flarshlight (?), two wallets (I was lazy last time and had reason to present as male, so haven't bothered to switch back yet), insect repellent, pens, folded up scraps of paper. a pair of earrings I thought I'd lost, and, of course, makeup.

I know have to add my cell phone to this mess (its recent, and I *hate* cell phones normally, but this one has saved my life).

I know I'm anal and chaotic. So it needs to be a bag that's well organized but lets me still throw everything in there, lol

And, lastly, it has to be cheap. In a few months I'll get a better bag -- this is my first one, and it just needs to get me through the hell of what I'm dealing with right now.

I'm thinking of this one:

Target, cheap, black, and should work ok for working in a call center. Yes, a call center. Not exactly glamorous work, but, well, you try getting a job as a TS.

I'm lost though. I've got to stay under 50.

Topix, on the other hand, is *really* pissing me off. I'm glad it is, htough -- I need to find a way to break away from it. Gain some sort of control over my interest in it. Drives me nuts though that there are people like "cam", who are intentionally postig all sorts of nasty stuff that's only hurtful to others. I really have a hard time really getting the mindset of someone like him figured. Pure FRI -- really sad.

Moving

2007-04-11T21:02:00.000-05:00

I like being able to write offline and then publish later.

I like it a lot.

FOr some reason, my tool no longer allows me to do that here. Therefore, I got annoyed.

http://dyssonance.wordpress.com/

Moved it.

Again.

*sigh*

Little things

2007-04-11T01:42:00.001-05:00

I'm bleeding today.

Bleeding days are not fun days. They are not good days. They are interesting days. They are bleeding days. They are days when I lose blood.

One would think that I'd be happy to do so, of course, I mean, hell, girls bleed all the freaking time, right?

Except, my bleeding isn't a sign of fertility or propriety of plumbing. My bleeding is a sing that things are not remaining stable as they should. My bleeding is a reminder that I'm supposed to be avoiding stressful situations and getting upset, that I'm supposed to be enjoying a diet I cannot afford on a constant basis (you go try and eat salad every single day, twice a day, and tell me how cheap it is).

Of course, I have a huge craving for all of it now, lol. I look at meat, of which I have plenty, and I'm non-plussed. This is a recent change, as well. One I am hoping is not long term and consistent (it is a craving, more than anything else).

Bleeding days are like pictures of my children. Reminders that I'm 2500 miles away from home and that I would do damn near anything for the money to get back home faster than I'm getting it.

And a reminder that I would do anything to get the money I need for what I am doing.

I cannot talk to my doctor. They want to do tests, and they want money I don't have. Thanks to my particular issue, I can't look up local doctors because, well, the doctors around here are more likely to attempt euthanasia than to try and help me, I think. Although it might be the same to them...

So I'm here, by myself, doing the things that I do, trying to scratch up enough stuff so that I can earn the money to head home.

Once I get home, things will be easier. The situation whereby I ended up here was so comically preposterous and filled with kindness and coincidence that I would be a fool not to have taken it for the sign it was.

But I don't have to like the lessons they teach.

Bleeding days are days where I fear.

I don't cry about them. The fear isn't of ending so much as its a fear of not reaching all the goals I've set forth. Its fear that I've overstepped my abilities and therefore not adequately understood all the odd little quirks about life as I know it.

Its strange, really. The deaths of those I've loved have often been accompanied by a sense of loss for what *might have been*. And yet, with this one, I have no such issue. with this one, it is all about what *needs* to be, what I can make it be, now.

Bleeding days are days when wondering about the past and the future becomes an examination of the present. When you see before you not mortality, but instead you see design, a puzzle, and sort of challenge to your sense of self and place within the greater scheme of things.

You never get a set time. No one can sit there and say to you, in the rather austere and sterile confines of an exam room in a busy practice that you got into by calling up a favor, that you have so many hours, and tat your time is fixed.

You get an estimate, a range. You get a set of markers along the highway that layout for you in no uncertain terms the slow and methodical approach that seeks to claim you.

You get a choice.

You can choose at that moment to let what lies behind dictate what lies ahead, or to let what lies ahead be dictated by what is now.

Or you can choose to reach a tad further, and be prescient, and let what lies ahead be dictated by what lies ahead.

On bleeding days, not a lot gets done. There are things to do, measurements to take, notes to write, analysis to perform.

I put mine off all day. The day was overcast, and the damn Topix site was compelling me once again to enjoin and feed that adrenaline rush that I get from a sense of interaction.

But I still had to do it. It is a bleeding day.

And now I see that my interest in that adrenaline is indeed, well and truly, killing me.

I won't stop, mind you. But I have to place it in its place, and take control over it.

In the film "Under The Tuscan Sun", Frances is startled by a repetition of her own words: "I love terrible ideas", and those words conspire with a moment that's too wholly a function of omen to ignore that leads her into the purchase of an old villa.

Its time for me to step back into the pursuit of my own terrible idea.

And that one I'll save for a day when I'm not bleeding.

For tonight, though, I keep as my company said film, and Chocolat. And, because it was so terribly ill timed, a trip into the past should time permit.

We'll see.

It is, after all, a bleeding day.

Folly

2007-04-09T18:11:00.001-05:00

Sometimes, we find ourselves in a position where we just can't take it anymore.

Where a sadness grips us so deeply and strongly that we can barely grasp it, barely come to terms with it. Unless we act.

Unless we take a few moments in our lives and build something.

Something "impossible". Something Foolish. Our own personal folly.

People use the words impossible and folly to indicate things that can't be done -- that shouldn't be done. Things for which the price or the consequence or the effort nvolved are too great for the reward that they see in it.

Disneyland was one such folly.

Getting on a wagon train and heading out west, young man was another such folly.

Trying to reach for the moon was a folly.

I have my own folly. I live it daily. And, like Kiwi, I'm doing it becuase I have only a few moments in which to find that single, small, heavenly slice of joy.

There's a knowledge there, a certainty as the tale comes to its conclusion.

we can all say there's a miracle beyond the credits, there's a new wonder beyond them. I'm going for that one, myself.

But we know. Just as Kiwi knew.

When you go up against impossible odds, and you succeed, even for but a moment, in standing for something that you believe in against the wave and tide and tragedy of impossible and foolish and selfish and insane, you come to a moment where there's something that *no* one will ever be able to take from you.

Glory.

And, for Glory, we all pay a consequence that's never too great.

2007-04-09T13:25:00.000-05:00

Mobile blogger test

Hidden in plain sight

2007-04-05T22:54:00.001-05:00

Sometimes, lol, you start to wonder about things that you encounter, and you feel this need to connect with something once again.

I've mentioned before how a particular blog had had a tremendous impact on me, and that I ws feeling frutstrated that I hadn't bookmarked it effectively.

When I asked around about it, I more or less got some suggestion here or there, but a few of them said to go to Amberspace and look there for the links. So, I did. And I followed the links she had there and hunted up differnet blogs and did his and did that and ... .. no dice, The mystery blog I had thought had been pulled down, and the the way that things went was lost.

So, then I'm catching up at The Road To Venus, and Kara talks about how she ran into Amber. And something she said about Amber made me perk a second, and so I headed on over and I dug into the blogs therein, and ...

Amber, thank you, should you ever have a reason to read this. :)

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I stopped smoking.

I need to work, to concentrate to focus on my ability to make something so I can make some money, and I quit smoking.

For the second time since I've been here.

I am an absolute idiot. I know how nasty my brain gets when I stop, and how distracted I become.

If I make it through to morning, I'll feel sorta good...

The New Colossus

2007-04-04T02:37:00.001-05:00

The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
—Emma Lazarus, 1883 av JC

In general, I avoid issues of immigration.

In Flatbush, Brooklyn, there stands a home built by a couple of indentured servants of Dutch extraction. It is the oldest frame house in America, iirc, and is known as the PIETER CLAESEN WYCKOFF HOUSE. My family traces its roots back to that home on one side, descended from one of the ten children of Pieter and his wife Grietje. While writing this, I googled a bit: http://depthome.brooklyn.cuny.edu/anthro/dept/wyckoff.htm

I was raised to be proud of my family. To remember an care for my heritage. One of the more damaging aspects of my becoming something of a black sheep in the family is that with the passing of my mother, I became the custodian of the family archives. The full extent of our family history. IT made sense at the time - I knew it better than anyone in the family, and I'm told I have a penchant for bringing dry stuff to life and fire.

That puts my family history in North America back to the early 1600's.

On another side, the lineage falls back into the early 1800's, but literally dries up trying to go back before 1812, because bluntly, there's no information available.

On my father's side, we have long questioned the authenticity of what little information we do know, and, since all the principles who did have any clue are dead at this point, well, its a bit of a challenge. But, it goes something like this: Around World War I, a Oglala Lakota Sioux member reportedly related to crazy horse joined the United States Army and traveled to Morocco at some point, where he met and married a wife that he then brought back home to the United States. Their son was my father. He was a singer, who had 1 little hit in the 50's ("G' ling G' ling Gee Gee", but also "tease me").

That would put me into the category of going even further back in the United States. What's interesting is that thanks to my personal issues, I've had cause to have my schtuff checked, and the only trace to Africa for me is Moroccan. Nothing notably south.

So I'm aligned as a native child (I consider myself an Arizonan first, American second), and then also a proud "old timer" family wise. I've got at least as much historical cache as the Mayflower folks in terms of immigration and settling.

Then I up and married a second generation Mexican. :D Needless to say, my family hasn't ever really put much stock in the whole "own kind" thing.

Lately, I've been involved in Topix a great deal -- I'll back off again here shortly, as there are money issues still popping up -- and, among the threads there, is one regarding an Ugandan woman seeking Asylum here in the states.

In reading a couple of the threads, I am struck by some of the postings asking, basically, why we should grant her asylum. Her reason is persecution in her homeland.

I'm an admitted jingoist. I love my country. I love the history and favor of it, I live the whole madness of it, the big things and little things.

I love symbols, as well.

One of our symbols is the Statue of Liberty. These days, most folks just think of her as "some big ass statue in new york". But she's a lot more than that.

I've never been to see her. Its something I would like to do one day.

She was brought to this country to celebrate Republicanism (something that many Americans these days have absolutely no clue about -- and believe me, it shows when you start to talk about rights and see the word "democratic" thirty freaking times in a row), but that's not what she ended up standing for.

When She arrived in this Country, she was christened "Liberty Enlightening The World". Making her and getting her here was an enormous feet for the time and day, involving many years and a sea trip that was basically described as pretty much almost a disaster.

She was built using donated money by French Citizens. The United States was unable to actually buy her. We had to build the base for her, though, and for years there was a great deal of concern over the waste of money or the reason for us to build something that was being built by foreigners who still hadn't figured out how to set up their own country.

One of the more famous stories of the fund raising was the newspaper request for pennies. It's true, and William Pulitzer, iirc, was instrumental in getting those pennies.

During that fundraising campaign, there was am Auction performed to raise funds. The poem, above was used then. It soon fell from memory, until just after dedication, and was affixed to the statue's base (inside the Pedestal) in 1903.

She faces the sea. Intentionally. She is a symbol of Freedom and Liberty, and Hope, and Safety.

She represents the United States. Who we are, and why we are here.

I believe too many people have forgotten that. Too many people dismiss all of it as sentimental nonsense -- after all, those ideals are all nice and fine, but we do have a country to run here.

I'm sure that Pieter Wyckoff felt the same. After all, who needs ideals. Like Liberty, Justice, Freedom.

Hope.

Safety.

They say she shouldn't be allowed, these Americans. They say a lot of things.

And I look to that poem above, and I shake my head. They say everything that shouldn't be said. Everything that is wrong and cruel and mean and so similar to the words once used so long ago to others, who had no source of refuge.

And so they had to go and start anew, in a wild place. Many died. Entire Towns seemingly vanished.

And as it grew, they remembered.

As do I.

It is unAmerican. We are the land of freedom, not the land of fascist border walls and denial.

I just wish we'd remember it sometimes.

The Monday Melee

2007-04-02T11:25:00.001-05:00

I'm getting brave and joining a "thing".

1. The Misanthropic: Name something (about humanity) you absolutely hate.

The lack of opposable toes.

No, really. I'm a klutz, and usually my desk is crowded and cluttered and covered with all manner of odds and ends, and when I shift around or reach for something, I knock things off. And opposable toes would make it a lot easier to get those things. (although, I'm dextrous enough to pick up small things)

2. The Meretricious: Expose something or someone that’s phony, fraudulent or bogus.

ugh. tough one. requires me to actually look for new icky stuff, since all the good ones have probably been done.

Ah well, we'll use a goody: the old argument that gays make bad parents is fraudulent. It relies on an emotional construct and familiarity to hold water -- but breaks down utterly under examination.

3. The Malcontent: Name something you’re unhappy with.

My waist. And the situps are working fast enough, and hurt too darn much.

4. The Meritorious: Give someone credit for something and name it if you can.

I give Trishous credit for being true to herself no matter what someone hurls at her :D

5. The Mirror: See something good about yourself and name it.

I'm wearing size 8 jeans. And I look good in them.

6. The Make-Believe: Name something you wish for.

A private 40 acre retreat in the desert that's fully self sustaining.

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yes, I changed the name.

Dyssonance worked better for me, lol -- its less vindictive than the previous, and has the same overall qualities, while being more accurate :D

Same Sex Marriage, I

2007-04-01T00:08:00.001-05:00

You know what this is about?

This is about denying the right of others to have a family.

Despite what many propagandists would like people to believe, marriage is not a union of a man or a woman, nor two people who love each other.

Marriage is the social convention for establishment of a family. That's all it is. That's all it has ever been. The rest is window dressing -- ancillary crap that floats around and makes it all look more desirable.

Why should it be desirable? Because the family is the core unit of society, the brick of which civilization is built. The more desirable it is, the stronger the society, and more durable, and longer lasting. The most powerful societies in all of history have had extremely refined and broad definitions and declensions of family and familial obligation, all surrounding the critical aspects of kinship.

Who is related to whom.

In our society, despite the window dressing of feminism and the artificial construct of the nuclear family foisted on the country in the 1950's and 1960's for economic purposes, when a woman marries a man, she "leaves" her family and joins his.

This is signified by her taking his name. The modern extension as it has developed basically has him "leaving" his family as well, and together they create a "new" family -- but she still joins him.
That's the patriarchy at work.

They become related to one another through the civil act of union, normally called marriage in English ( from old French -- prior to that it was a rite of kyning, overseen by the cyth or cythu in English).*That's* what people are forgetting in all this argument and pissing contest, and, well, I'm finally tired of it.

There are only three ways to establish kinship in our society. You have to be born into it, or you have to marry into it, or you have to be adopted.

For all the talk of preserving the idea of family, opposition to the right of gays to marry is, basically, denying them the right to found a family -- to establish kinship. In short, they are trying to destroy families in order to save a narrow and convoluted artificial construct they want to label as the family. Social engineering at its best (and, admittedly, that's actually part of the job of a religion in society).

Kinship is what says you are someone's child. You are the child of *two* people. No matter how hard you try to wrangle it, there is no legal means for two gays to set up kinship for a single child as being related to both of them.

And legally -- that is, within the eyes of the society at large and in a manner that grants the benefits and duties and lineage and all that good stuff that so many people take for fucking granted because it is so deeply embedded in their lives that they can't see it -- is all that matters.

Screw the whole "acceptance" crap -- that's about as true as the idea of a "gay agenda" -- and realistically, most folks know that. Being gay is not heteronormative. It will never be "accepted" in a heteronormative society, with its rigid gender roles and tight little comfy niches that people have to fit into. This is about something *more important* that acceptance. Something outside that. This is about a fundamental right that is being denied.

So all that expensive and costly paperwork, all those forms and dues and tradeoffs that aren't passable at the federal level or recognized outside the state jurisdiction that people say should be "good enough", and that have to be updated at the same costs each and every time there is a life change, can do all the pretend stuff. They can mimic -- though not provide -- the whole issue of family.

But they are not "good enough".

They cannot make a family. Because they cannot establish kinship.

And Kinship is what this is all about: denying it to others.

Betrayal

2007-03-29T05:53:00.001-05:00

Nothing stings quite so harshly, or quite so deeply as it. In the world of politics -- especially online -- betrayal is wicked and callous and uncaring and its ever so common.

And, for TS folk, its an everyday occurrence.

We get betrayed by our friends in thoughtless moments of conversation, betrayed by old habits during casual outings, betrayed by those who have stepped up to speak for us, betrayed by those who seek to legislate for us, betrayed by those who give us the very care we spend so much effort seeking or avoiding.

Betrayed by our erstwhile Allies.

I'm fairly vocal, reasonably erudite, and I like to think that I have some sort of miniscule impact on others by being implacably accurate and correct when I argue with not a small amount of passion in favor of gay rights.

I'm not notably activist minded. I have little desire to exist before the cameras and within the press, to have my privacy removed from me. I am a one person at a time sort of girl, making a point of talking about it, and doing my best not necessarily to change minds, but to change knowledge -- and then hoping that it, in and of itself, will do the job for me.

It usually works. Comparable success rate in selling things using the same formula is about 65% when they don't want it, 90% when they do. The rest, well, they don't want it and don't care.

And I've been doing so for quite some time. At no small risk to myself, but, well, its worth it.

As I've been doing this, ENDA has been slowly winding its way through different congressional procedures, drawing support and setting up for what everyone, naturally, hopes will be a big ole active deal come next month. And, given the President signs pretty much everything that crosses his desk, that's expected too.

Except, you know...

Every single time ENDA has gone through this before, at the last minute, to get that one single vote for passage, they made a deal.

They, being the political action committee that does all of this work, compromise.

They cut something out. They reduce the challenges. They make it easier for it to get through, because its *that* important.

And the thing they compromise on is TS folks. They get chopped out, kicked to the corner, left in the dust. Like they have been for every single other major piece of legislation.

Its so bad, so obvious, so reliable a tactic, that they have gone to great lengths to swear up and down that they won't do it again. They have to stand up and tell us they won't do it again. They have to sell it to us that this time we're going to be safe too.

And it will be the same as before. They will still betray us. Everything else does.

Our Allies in this cause are, nominally, other GLB folks.

And, often, they are far more understanding, for more accepting, and far more able to deal with us. But, far too often, they are also far worse than those who we oppose on their behalf.

These soldiers of gay rights blow their horns loudly and proudly and walk out and face the enemy and use words for their weapons and knowledge as their shield, and have zero understanding or comprehension of the foe they battle, and wonder, in private, why they are so unable to win greater victories.

And then there are the TS people. Who do understand, and who do have sharper weapons and better shields, and who fight alongside them right up until they fall.

forgotten.

kicked off to the side.

left to rot in the sun.

My first, and most recent, experiences with transphobia have been with gay men. In both cases, they thought they had it all figured out. They felt that they, somehow, knew more about TS folks than we do. They call us gay men without guts, or lesbians who are too butch.

The first time, I was the target. It started simply enough, but ended in a wicked display of how fast from my little perch I can descend, and how vile I, too, can become. I don't regret having said the things I said -- the purpose was to make him feel as bad as he had made me feel -- but I am ashamed as I had to use arguments akin to those I fight each day, that were far more personal and a hell of a lot stronger.

Because, ultimately, there is a good, logical reason to deny gay rights. I've seen some folks come close, but they've never quite reached it, and I generally know why, but I will never, even to a friend, explain what it is until after they are secured -- or I switch to the other side.

The most recent time I was wasn't. It was a friend of mine -- one that didn't deserve what she walked into. One that has done more with less cause than the clod who accosted her has done. He put far too much importance on his efforts there, and claimed we were all the usual things, and said it nastily -- not pleasantly, but nastily.

It was infuriating. He blindsided her, and, in that moment, betrayed her.

And me, and every other TS who has ever spoken out on behalf of gay rights.

And every other gay man and every lesbian.

But, like I said, we're TS. Betrayal is an every day occurrence.

I just hope that, maybe, one day, betrayal itself with betray us, and we'll be free to be human again.Song: Lost In The Shadows (The Lost Boys) by Various

Passing Time on the mountain

2007-03-27T15:15:00.001-05:00

Been an interesting couple of days. Highly internalized.

This morning, I said goodbye to a friend.

I don't know her history that well. I don't *really* even know her name. In a strange quirk about me, I tend to remember and think of people in terms of the manner I was introduced to them.

So, say, I meet someone online, and then get to know them, even after I know their real name, I tend to use their online name. This is easy when people use both, but in the world of forums, one tends to rather quickly take on a special "moniker", your webnym, and that belongs to you.

Its stupid, I know, but I do it anyway. I'm odd like that.

I had wanted to sorta kinda celebrate this passing for her -- her time on the mountain is over, and she's taking a rather large risk and actually crawling out into the world.

For nearly two months, she's been someone I could talk to. Someone I could share things with -- talk about, listen, do the whole coffee thing. Which I *get* now. And enjoy. And I will miss her very much.

Friendship is complicated. Friendship is something I give freely, openly, to all and sundry. I have friends I've only argued with online. I have friends who don't think of me as one. I have friends that other people think are enemies of mine.

Friendship is free.

And, since I am heavily into the whole solitary thing, that seems to mean that friendships -- especially those which somehow help to validate things -- are important to me.

I like her. She's funny, she's smart, she's amazing at times and in ways that are hard to describe. And I miss her.

So last night, I made a special shifting of my sleeping patterns to go over an see her, and she was gone. But, later, I found what time she would be leaving this morning and made sure I said goodbye.

And now I've been freaking weepy all day.

Its a kind of mixed weepy, as well -- sadness and loss from her leaving, but also a bit of thrill and hope and excitement that I have to temper.

The second part is strange in light of the above, of course. But that's why its below.

I looked at my face today.

Probably seems odd to most people, I'd think, that doing so is noteworthy. Near as I can tell, people look at themselves all the time. I do know that a lot of the time its to look at a *part*: hair, lips, ears, nose, eyes...

I looked at my whole face today.

I don't do that often. I've avoided it since I lost my hair and the first damage from sun and smoking and piss poor diet kicked in. I don't like it. The nose is too big, the eyes seem hollow, the bald area on the top of it that offends me.

And I noted, as I looked at that face, that it was different.

I know it has to happen. Its part of the whole issue. But I wasn't prepared for it.

Because, I saw new things. Things which weren't so bad.

Including the fact that the old bald was now simply very thin.

That was a shock. I knew that hairs had come in, and I had gotten excited when they did of course -- but that died soon because I knew they were just sorta pretend hairs. Not real ones, and they wouldn't do much good. But it made me feel good.

And its been slow. And they have been growing.

When I lost my hair (and I lost most of it in my early 20's) I was devastated. They didn't have the things today, and it was well known that anything you ever did was going to be, well, worthless.

By the time they came out with them, I was too far gone, so, eh.

The other options were expensive, and secretive, and confined to late night infomercials. And that money had more important uses at the time.

But I had changed.

And it looked better. Not perfect -- my nose wasn't smaller or eyes less shadowed and cursed by dark circles I've had since I was 14.

but better.

And I could look at it.

right up until the tears blocked the view.

this, on the heels of the day before, wherein a top that I adore fit better.

Still growing there, but that also brought me to tears.

Its good stuff. Slept with a silly grin on my face last night, that was only taken away by this morning.

I also noticed I need to seriously stick to my old routine for skin care.

And that when I get back home, some people are going to be rather shocked. That's bad -- but, well, that's tough.

So good flight, my friend. Good flight, and good landing, and pleasant journey.

I miss you. And I am ever so glad to have met you. I'm a better person for having done so.

Reflections in a pane of glass

2007-03-25T10:23:00.001-05:00

Link to Taking Steps: phone booths, ii: the green room.

Little Light is an experienced blogger. That is, she's come to a point where her blog is fairly well know and she's fairly well read -- at least, so it seems to me.

I'm new at all of this. I learn fast the greater things, but the subtleties often slip by me at first. So I'm catching up on the subtleties.

Really new, to all of it.

I first encountered Little Light in a thread that I no longer recall how it came to me. It was a comment thread on a feminist site. I had been reading the blogs for about three weeks at the time, and was alternating between tossing them all aside or diving in wholeheartedly (and I've sorta settled for standing here and casually sorta nonchalantly waiting to see if I get noticed).

The comment thread had degenerated into a nasty, nasty flame war, and the subject of said flame war was TS folk. It hadn't started that way, but boy, did it devolve there. Toss in women of color, and a few others, and it got nastier than nasty, and makes for a great image of the difference between the WASP-y types and then pretty much everyone else in social outlook and conceptualization.

Its pretty cool, on some levels, really, but, on a more personal one, its sadder than all get out.

It was around the same time that I had been reading a blog that made all the difference to me, personally, in the world. I don't recall the name, and I lack the link, and I suspect that its no longer online (but for a programmer that lived in SF of Asian descent, I submit a huge thank you). There was a commonality of sensation between them.

In any case, I began reading her, and then fell into the obsession with Topix, and stopped, and recently started again.

I didn't link to de profundis, although it made me weepy, because that wasn't something I can adequately respond to. I could, prolly, but, well, that's not a place I want to go -- its angry and ugly and I'm so very, very tired of angry and ugly.

Then I missed a cute little one, and then there is this one.

This caught my attention.

I'm not an actor.

I did enjoy it, and did it in the usual way, appearing in pretty much every single school anything as a kid in grade and high school. Even participated in debate as well, and did fairly well there. But as an actor, I sorta suck. Much better stage crew. 3rd string fill in on an empty theatre night -- a wanna be at best, an example of how not to be otherwise.

My problem,though, is that I'm a con artist.

Not in the sense that I do major stings or anything remotely resembling grifting, but in the sense that I've learned very well the things she talks about regarding creating something that *seems* real.

More real than real.

It served critically as the means by which I wove my little shell around myself, created the presence that I have for others. But, always, there is a sense of guilt and regret as I moved through life, because that same capability, that skill at conning, led itself to other areas, and , in my youth, I was nowhere near as principled as I am now.

Indeed, if I were characterize myself back then it would be as amoral.

Amoral and possessed of rage. Closed off from others. Hmm -- any wonder I have a terror of being a sociopath? Despite the fact I almost certainly am?

I know those senses of practicing, of blurring, of observing little details. I pulled mine from images larger than life, directly. Films and books predominantly, taking chunks of those iconic figures and blending them together.

When you start to lie so often, so readily, so deeply, everything becomes a lie. You learn about the secrets of lies, how to take 90% of the truth and 10% of something else -- and, for a con man, that's always from the mook, the target -- and make it seem real, even though, ultimately, it is as hollow as an empty promise.

You learn the value of packaging. Marketing. Salesmanship.

And I am told I am a great salesperson. I have difficulty believing it, because I don't do closes that well. I do usually close, but it is *always* up to the person being sold to to make that final decision, and I never push.

Another bit of the con.

I developed a very distinct persona growing up. It was bracing -- one tends to either like me, or hate me. Very little in between, and when there is, its also based on something about me that is intentionally memorable, something that is decidedly out of place, that distracts and fixes attention.

Something I pick for precisely that reason.

And like her carefully practiced role, I developed this persona, this shell of a person worn as armor around my body, forged by clothing and demeanor and this weird ability I have of sorta figuring things out about people by looking at them (the Internet is good that way -- I can rarely see those I talk with, so I don't have to deal with that, don't have to use it).

It was what they expected in part, and what they did not, in part -- but that was always something that was still within their grasp.

I wore glasses when I repaired computers for living. I had two pairs. One of them was literally held together by solder and wire and black tape. The other was fine.

Guess which ones I wore when dealing with customers as a geek.

And what did they always remember?

And every night I still wished. By my teens, I literally begged for the Devil to do it. Would have sold my soul. In my 20's, it was begging, pleading, deal making -- just a few years, and then I can come back to this hell, or even one year, just one, just, please.

And I cried each morning as I put on my suit again. Letting it support me, letting it carry me through the day, a smiling and unpresuming person of no special interest that would almost always walk away with your money in his hands if you had it and he wanted it. And you'd feel good.

While I felt dirty.

Not because of the con, though. That's working or surviving and hey -- ultimately, everyone does that (I in turn would give that money to people who asked me for it -- groceries, gas, beggars, bystanders).

And now, oddly enough, I not only have to take away that armor, strip off that shell, and discard those hard fought for tricks and little bits that allowed me to avoid the nastiest of things.

I also have to find a way to jump through hoops of others' devising, hoops that the "old" me could tackle with little more than a smile and an aside. Without running a con.

And then, from there, I get to start it all over again. Only this time, instead of the suit being too big, and too heavy, and too plastic, it will be genuine,

authentic

and organic.

And I'll still be running cons, just to survive...

Transition Stories & More...

2007-03-24T02:41:00.001-05:00

Not sure how this one will come out. Could be short (feels like it), but that usually means it'll be long.

Yesterday, after rising at the peculiar hour of 6:30am (the last week or so has played havoc with my usual sleeping patterns which are still struggling to reassert themselves), and actually managing to find myself connected around 8 ish, I worked pretty much non stop until about 6:30pm.

When I say non stop, I mean that if you total up all the moments that I got up from this chair (potty, food, tea, stretch) and all the moments I did something not work related, you get a sum total of just under an hour.

I mean, I sat down and I worked like I really work.

Most of it was spent on my company website, although a bit of it was to spy on the community that I stepped out of without warning about 6 months ago as I cam to deal with this strangeness about me that has taken over my life.

6 months ago, I was working hard on getting things set up for what was supposed to be, in the end, a New Year's release of the site. After the collapse of the last team of people working with me, I sorta lost the heart. Four years of constant, unending, nerve wracking effort, gone. And While I should accept some of the blame, I don't -- I put it all on the heads of two people who got all pissy and we up and had a massive catfight that took 6 months to wreak its whole fallout.

And then I got hit with the collapse of my denial.

So, for six months, the site has been, in the most mild of terms, dead. I have, at best, popped into the community itself about, oh, 6 times. Each time very quietly, and without trying to attract notice.

And it appears that I somehow had managed (though God only knows) to have developed a whole crew of people who actually give a damn about me. I came across several threads asking, and, of course, no one had a clue. There was fretting.

I'm rather startled, and exceptionally pleased.

But wait -- it gets better, lol.

As I worked on the new site today, someone noticed I was doing so. And then someone else popped in. and then someone else. There was a post saying "yay, you are back".

Its a little thing. Really. The whole time I have been sorta absent, I've still kept in touch with my closest friends in a private group, but, well, they are close friends, lol.

But that little thing -- that simple act of celebrating that I've returned when I haven't the foggiest clue of who they are, lol -- meant tons.

So I have this little wave crest inside me, and once again I'm in the zone, happy and thinking and excited and ready to make it count like nothing else.

Yeah. I'm back :D

Oh lordy, they are *so* gonna be surprised.

Now, among the things that are happening at the site is that my enjoyment of this one here has led me to consider actually setting up a blog there. For some of that "viral marketing" crap I talked about earlier. Also, it allows me to sorta set things up as a bit of a wild outsider who doesn't give a damn -- a rebel and a cowgirl, who takes the bull by the horns in one of the most politically correct places I've ever encountered.

Don't expect a link, lol. That particular part of my life will remain separate from this one, forever.

Which is where I come to the next part.

I received an email.

Emails don't come often to me under my main account at present. I like that. It gives more weight to them. My biz account, of course, gets about 300 messages a day, a third junk, another third stuff I don't give a damn about, and the last third mostly stuff that takes about an hour to burn through.

What's more interesting, is that I don't give out this new email account.

And I got an email.

Addressed to me. Not by error, not by mistake. I hope to find out how and why at some point, but, in the interim, I should note the email asked a question:

"Hey, trannie, I thought all you trannie bloggers had transition stories. Boo hoo's and bullshit about mutilating yourselves to make you feel better. Where the hell are yours, or are you faking it?"

As you can tell, it was from someone who has a deep and abiding love of trannies, whatever the hell they are.

I'm not a trannie. No, really, I'm not. I'm a transsexual, but I *despise* that word. I mean, come on -- look at it. It has all the visceral aesthetics of a lump of dirt, and that's insulting lumps of dirt. Its an ugly word -- bad combination of letters, no appeal. And then there's the whole definition, which is nasty as well, plus the connotations and stigma's associated with it and all that.

Bleh.

I'm just me, and I'm modifying my GUI. Yeah, GUI, lol. Gender-based User Interface.

But, more to the point, why don't I talk about transition stuff?

Well, that's because this isn't about a thematic presentation of life as a TS.

This is about me. And transition, while it occupies a very large part of my life, is not all there is to me, nor will it be. This is about me living my life. Good, bad, indifferent, there it is.

Mine are here, as well. I pulled old archived files and moved them around. They are are here, somewhere. The heartache ad misery and all that crap.

I could write about how the other day my ex called and we talked like we used to do and she sounded really good and happy and then broke the news that my sons are still a little miffed at me for the timing of my current debacle. That was little bumming.

I could talk about how I'm still practicing my voice, but that I don't like it at all, and need to start over again and find a new spot for it that isn't as "reaching" if you get what I mean.

And, odds are damned good that when I reach a point of one of those things weighing heavily on my mind, I will.

But, in the meantime, I'm going to keep on keeping on. :D

Catch ya later :D

-------------------------

Update on the current goings on, lol.

Yesterday morning hostess came and visited and suggested that come a few hours from the time I write this, we'll sit down and "talk about my future, and the building blocks of who I am".

Which should prove interesting. I highly suspect that people don't *quite* get the whole thing about me liking myself. Hopefully, I won't find myself bereft of lodging as a result of what I believe will continue to be attempts at bettering me as a person.

1 - I'm posting this at a quarter to 4 in the morning. My inet wasn't shut off. That's a startling change of pace, and a most welcome one. As I endeavor to start my second round of caffeine intake, it will give me the ability to set up the blog, hopefully before they appear to start that whole concept.

2 - THe reason I was able to sit and get so much done yesterday may, indeed, be due to the Rage. I mentioned that I use it to fuel everything, and suddenly I have energy again. I just hope that It doesn't ever build up like it used to, and that I'm more able to deal with it.

Meeting a Tree

2007-03-23T10:04:00.001-05:00

IF you ever chance to meet a tree

With thick old trunk and wide canopy

Stop for a moment and just make known

How thankful you are that it chose to grow

You know how people are...

There's something, well, different about this. Something unique and special and strange that I'm starting to find that I like. I'm starting to get a grasp of the whole Blog thing, and I'm beginning to realize the subtle intricacies of it.

For the last three or four years, I haven't really paid too much attention to blogs. They weren't all that exciting to me, weren't all that interesting. The ones you often hear about generally fell into three groups:

Politics
Gossip
Viral Marketing

And, well, I just don't have a whole hell of a lot to say that I suspect would be of great interest to anyone beyond myself on those subjects.

Poultices: I like small government, fewer entitlement programs, better accountability, more freedom, more defensive posture.

Gossip: I kinda check in on American Idol when the headline is good in the little drop down, but I could care less who else is fucking up their lives beyond all recognition when they have bazillions of dollars and haven't given me any of them.

Viral marketing: unless I'm doing the selling, no thank you -- I haven't the money to buy whatever crap it is you are hurling out that won't make me a better person anyway, and if I'm interested in it in the first place, then its likely already on my list or getting ready to be bought.

But this whole Blogging thing I like.

I like it because it allows me to be me. It allows me to vent my thoughts and see them there before me, and possibly work through a few things. I don't have to worry about the f'd up connection twixt my mouth and brain that works at about a 60th of the speed, and requires me to be retain a train of thought whilst effort is being made to derail said train by those I'm speaking to.

It means that I can be a selfish little bitch all I want to be. It means that I can put up my silly little doggerel and that I can play with concepts and ideas and also that I can just say pooh to the things I want to say pooh to.

It means I can cry when I want to cry, exult when I want to exult, share when I want to share. Its means that when someone wants to know about me, inside, they can come here and get one viewpoint that they will *never* get any other way.

See, in person, I'm generally quiet. I sit there, and I smile. If the conversation is about something I have an interest in, I'll pipe up on occasion. When spoken to, I can be animated, but, well, if I don't know you, and I'm not comfortable around you, I generally become a wallflower of the worst kind.

Once I am comfy, though, I'm a nightmare. I have strong opinions that I like to think are well reasoned and based in something less nebulous than some half assed argument tossed at me with a bit of flaire by whatever radio jackass happened to be on the station when I was stuck in a stall during rush hour. And I defend them passionately and forcefully, my body language kicking in and expression stern.

But, mostly, really, I just sit back and watch. Its more interesting that way.

here I don't have those restrictions of social interplay that I don't particularly care for. The people I do like to talk to are all odd anyway, and putting a bunch of odd people face to face in a room is a recipe for the fomenting of rebellions or the collapse of Civilization-As-We-Know-It.

All of which, really, is to say this: I like to blog because it gives me a way to think that's best for me, and that isn't going to take up boxes and boxes of space in my storage that people will never want to read anyway.

And yes, once again I am without inet as I write this. Last night seems to have been a bit of a reprieve, as I gained a bit of extra time that I made use of (roughly 4 hours more than the usual, which lulled me, and then was cut off).

This whole thing has, basically, made me have to avoid Topix. Which, in part, is the Goal. I haven't posted because I haven't come up with a new name under which to do so, and I'm unwilling to plop down my efforts under a name that doesn't have at least some direct bearing on me as a person. I have to change name because if I don't, those who control my access (for the moment, at least) will opt to shut it out and down on seeing me post.

eh.

It has meant that I get to enjoy other things, though.

Things that bother me:

1 - Blogger doesn't let me upload files. I know there's an FTP thingy and all that, but, well, its annoying. The picture thing is cool. And there are other little bits and pieces I like.

2 - I actually got to keep my hosting for another month, (or, 20 days, as the case may be) so while I write this, I also have a wordpress blog set up and ready to go, with three wonderful domains pointing to it. But nothing new going to it.

I may, however, simply use it to host the files for here, and then perhaps do a repoint or something.

3 - home is a long way from here, and I miss it terribly.

4 - I keep retreating more into boymode. That realy irks the crap out of me, as it means I'm getting defensive, and I haven't pinpointed the way to step out of it yet.

5 - Life isn't as colorful when you can't see.

and that's enough for today...

Tightening the noose.

2007-03-22T08:19:00.001-05:00

When I lived in Tucson, lo those many years ago, and went to school, money was always something of a challenge.

It came from the jobs I had at the time (7-11 clerk, Sizzler manager, some other one I don't recall), from the schools I went to at the time (the career college and the Uni), and from whatever odds and ends I could pick up selling off my library.

After the collapse of the roomie sitch (4 bedrooms, 7 people) I went from place to place. Towards the end, I was living in a different apartment every two months, moving just ahead of the court system, until I finally crashed out in a tiny little furnished studio, living on koolaid, tea, and that standard staple, ramen by the boatload.

As miserable as I was in a lot of ways back then, it actually wasn't bad.

The last couple of years in the one bedroom in Glendale were actually pretty nice, as was the year in the Studio there back when.

When I made plans to get here, I had determined I'd need 3 grand to get back home. That would give me enough to pay rent, deposits, and utilities for 2 months whilst I ran for the entry level job at the call centers I've chosen. It would, ideally, give me a tiny bit of breathing room, allow me to be less in a panic mode when I arrive, and give me a brief respite.

The events of the last couple of days has made me rethink that well planned sitch out so that I am now going to go for the minimum needed to get there, get any place I can find (typically one of the arm and a leg monthlies), and pray I can keep going. Downside, is that this plan only cuts my needs in half.

However, I am being handed lemons. And, as anyone who knows me is aware, lemonade is one of my favorite drinks.

So, I will, barring forcible removal, figure out a way to stay.

Doesn't help I've been been told I need to stuff it on one hand (I'm not against compromise, just against violating my principles), and on another hand I'm being reminded just how complex my principles really are.

Ah well. Consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, right?

Rage And Illusion

2007-03-21T09:33:00.001-05:00

del.icio.us tags: Rage, Illusion, help, blegging, bad day, principles

Today was a bad day.

It didn't start out great, but it didn't seem to be heading that way.

Prior, I mentioned that I dwell where I do at the whim of another.

This other, in the interest of saving me from myself, has taken it on themselves to become my teacher and parent, to elucidate the nature of my being (to which, one would nominally expect, I would be the person of first response), and inculcate within my flesh things which they feel best represent the direction they have for me. Forget my right of self direction and determination -- I am in their debt, and so must accede to their wishes, correct?

Have I noted before that I have 3 particular problems in my life, of which one I had thought was solved, and the other two I'm working on?

The first problem I have had since I was but a wee chile, a peculiar lass (to be sure). It is told as legend among the family, an example of the wilfulness and power inherent in that child. It appears that, at some point in my earliest life, one would ascertain around 72/73 for the timing thereof, my dearest mother (aye, she of the two spoonfuls previously) did something unto me which struck so deep and fierce a chord in me that a kernel was lodged behind my breast bone, in that space I have spoken of before, that metaphorical heart.

This kernel was built out of resentment and frustration and enforced denial. Fairly heady stuff for a child of that age who, until said time, by all accounts, was mercifully without either temper or tantrum, and was, I was assured, like unto an even more angelic version of mine own son.

I spoke, literally, not a word unto my mother for 6 months. Some accounts claim a full year, and that it was shock and wonder that I ever actually did. Not to ask for something, not to do something, not to know something, not to express something, not to acknowledge something. If she said dinner was ready, I went to eat. If she said it was bed time, I went to bed. If she asked me a question, I shrugged or ignored it.

I have, myself, been paid in kind for such behavior -- my youngest daughter did the same to me for some three years, and still retains a reticence of verbal interchange in the extreme.

Such things are fundamentally deep.

Since my nebulous memory is already fragmented and timeless, one might note that this was around the time that I blacked out all prior thought from my life, and that it was a good five to 6 years later than my ability to store and recall personal details was somewhat improved (earlier postings demonstrate this).

To that core, which, as a child, I neither understood nor could comprehend, I added each and every further occurrence of such things. Piling denial and frustration and resentment in a sort of massive ball of twine that one could physically feel within one's core, like focusing your attention on your hand and noting that it is there, I could feel it with each and every breath.

When you put that much anger and negativity into one place, such a small place, when it is filled to the brim, it leaks out.

It started full.

And thus was born my Rage.

The second problem is that I am, likely also as a result of the event aforementioned, inherently predisposed to defy authority.

Despite my ongoing efforts and my firm belief in the principles of this nation, my willingness to accede to the demands that it makes of me are based solely in the manner in which I live my life, and when its principles conflict with mine, I always choose mine. Like my opponents who claim that their God's law is of greater import than those of the US, I claim that, for me as an individual (and no further), that my Laws are of greater import as well.

I'm just lucky they both get along so well, truly.

Whenever anyone presents themselves to me with authority (and, to be fair, it is only when they use that authority on me, personally, not others) it becomes a sticky wicket.

I have a very quick temper, and short fuse (fault of the red hair I lost), and it leads right down into the bomb that is my Rage. When I was young, I did not deal with it in a mature manner: I released, and the subject of my ire was usually fairly well targeted but bystanders were usually affected as well.

As an adult, I developed the principle of withdrawal -- the better part of wise valor, for while I can be (and often am) wrong, I am more often correct, and I learned to use that very same rage as I grew to enable me to learn faster, do more, and, ultimately, prove my point. In the work world, this usually led to my getting fired, but occasionally also resulted in my promotion -- was a roll of the dice, and the odds always seemed good.

The third problem is that I am, generally speaking, a loner. That is to say, I am happiest when alone, in solitude. I dislike loneliness, but that can be solved with simple discourse and companionship of some sort -- its the interchange I like. If I need a crowd, I can venture to the mall, and sit in the food court or on a bench and make my never ending observations. If I need a touch, and love, and sharing, well -- I've often been luckier there than I care to admit, but I have had long and sad periods without such, and I suspect the ones going forward will be longer and sadder -- but, in the end, I can hang with that. Not well, but, yes, I can hang. However, being alone does not, in and of itself, make one lonely, and often the solution is little more than five minutes of contact with someone else, when I should need it.

This works well for me, as an individual, as well. I am a writer, first and foremost, before all other adjectives that one might grant as appellation, that is what I am in my core. I am artistic of temperament, and solitary of function, and I prefer by far the demesne within my head to the wider world around it; although, ultimately, what occupies that space is, indeed, the world around it.

As a person of artistic temperament, I am not particularly given to routines not established by myself, and as one might surmise from the foregoing, I am extremely independent and not well suited to the daily task of cleaning or whatnot, until and unless it annoys me (which, typically, I allow it to do about once a week, otherwise relying on whatever is handy at that time).

These three factors, and their concomitant extrapolations, make me something of a difficult person to live with. Or around.

Now add my being TS into that.

I happen to like myself, on the whole, rather a lot. I know myself well, and although I'm still subject to the human foibles, as a result of having heeded that age old admonition, I can take them in stride and deal with them as they come along. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always deal with them -- and in my own way at my own speed and time.

But, that notwithstanding, I would not want to live with me, if my world was constructed around routine and security.

I am not safe.

I have committed assault and battery on several people. Never once my wife or children. I have come close to such, on occasion (the older boy, notably, but also to my mother when I was younger). I have assaulted someone who was my best friend at the time -- a bad thing, since I usually keep my circle of friends small and compact. I am familiar with physical violence. It comes readily, easily, simply. It feels good.

It scares the shit outta me.

For the overwhelming bulk of my life, I have had to constantly be aware of this little dragon nestled inside me. I have had to control it, to limit it, to channel it, to use it, and all those many things that are necessary when one has so called anger management issues so that its impact on my life (which was considerable) was minimized. Daily. Hourly. Moment by moment.

So good was I at doing so, that I taught a course in it. A course I was supposed to be taking. I taught more methods of anger management and channeling than the good doctor overseeing the course had ever heard of. And, truly, there is nothing more empowering than anger. Harnessed, anger is like a nuclear generating station with the output of the sun. It can power thought, muscle, creativity, learning, and more. With it, one can perform feats of physical prowess that are astonishing and outside the norm without much harm, and that's uncontrolled. Imagine being able to harness it.

It was more all consuming than even transition is, more ever present on a daily basis than anything else I've ever dealt with.

I used it to drive my binge writing, channeled it into my need to keep moving, developed my stubbornness around it, and let it hurl me forward more often than not. It allowed me to do more than most other people did, because I could exist with less.

And, of course, the downside to it is that since I was burning so bright, it was, and is, inevitable that I will burn out sooner.

Like so much of my life, it is killing me.

Faster than the cigarettes I roar through far too fast at even a pack a day. But, fortunately, the other thing shall kill me sooner, barring damage to my heart and liver.

I do not drink often. I can be either cruel or morose under such influence, and the combination of the former with my Rage is a bad idea.

I had thought it was gone.

Anger is not rage. Frustration is not rage. Resentment is not rage. Rage is all three of those things combined, and you toss in hurt and remove rational thought. Becoming enraged is to lose all knowledge, all thought, all humanity, and to become a thing of violent fury, like a tornado; without beginning or end, timeless, for all that matters is that shining, brilliant glory of pure and unvarnished malevolent madness. It feeds itself, like a fire at critical mass, and eats off of slights and injuries. It delights in pain and anguish.

You cannot stop rage. All you can do is either wait for it to pass, or kill it. And, like the werewolf, once you kill the rage, you kill the person. You can contain it, but you cannot stop it.

You can get all romantic -- music soothes it, love cures it, kindness defeats it.

Its fiction.

On that day when I finally broke through denial, I felt it fade away, that knot in my chest. Over three days, it literally seemed as if someone was pulling on some string that led into me, drawing it out in a constant stream (off to the right, no less). Like the worlds longest stitch being pulled out.

It scared me, but, well, I accepted that. Although I had used it to power everything about my being, and I knew that without that rage I was going to be weaker and slower and sleepier and *less* than I was before, I was ecstatic that it was gone. It made me a better person to lose it. And, after over 30 years of fighting with it, trying to get rid of it, it was akin to a dream realized.

It stayed away for about three weeks, then came back for a few hours, but it couldn't hold on, couldn't find purchase within me, couldn't manifest the fire.

And then it was gone.

Or so I thought.

I write this entry while I am offline.

I am offline in order to disabuse myself of some notion that I am supposed to guess about.

You will find I dislike guessing. I will do it, but not without effective information, and only when there is no source or means for me to find the actuality out -- and then, whenever possible, I will avoid making actions as the result of my guesses.

I am not offline by choice. I would much rather be working hard and furious on the means by which I had planned, until earlier, to succor myself from the situation I am in.

I don't play head games. Yes, I will debate and I am pedantic, but the purpose there is to explore and participate. I do not debate a great many topics, because there is no sense in doing so when there isn't common ground shared. Without common ground, I am unlikely to engage in much dialogue at all, other than to ask a question, usually.

I don't have ulterior motives. Why I will leave for another post, but, in summation: I don't have ulterior motives because by not having any, I gain one: to screw with everyone's expectations. People expect you to have an ulterior motive, and, since I am odd, by not having one, I move outside of them. I am very Wysiwyg. Although I'm currently modifying the gui. Ask me a question about myself, and If I can discern the answer and it is not too private, I will answer. And there are few things about me which are private. Those that are, are so irrevocably. I do not, however, commony volunteer things I consider semi-private (save, perhaps, for this blog, lol)

This is the second night in a row that I am so offline. Without explanation or warning. I am being taught a lesson of some sort, as if I were a child, at 42 years of age.

I am 2500 miles away from home. At 10 miles a day, that is 250 days away on foot. I have a cell phone. I can call for rides. With a bit of luck, I can get home in 3 to 6 months - maybe less, but I'm not going to get my hopes up.

And yes, I can do that.

I can do that because in the process of trying to do what they seem to think is *helping* me to become a better woman or a more refined person, they have caused me harm.

Grievous harm.

They have allowed the Rage to return. They have brought it back, and yes, for a good minute it took everything I had to contain it, to not lash out and destroy, to hold back harm, to deny it egress.

And it found purchase again. I can feel it. A black pit of cold, cold fire that even now nestles into the old, familiar ways.

I've cried now, for 6 hours about it.

And that fed it too.

Tomorrow, which, for me, is merely a few hours away, there will be repercussions. I will post this. I will make contact with those few persons I know who know about me and who might be of aid.

And I will begin heading back home.

To be homeless.

With my rage.

But still my own person.

Never again shall I confuse the illusion of aid for the reality of such. I can no longer afford trust such as that.

Once I am free of my pit, once I have escaped from the situation I find myself in, I shall never allow it to happen again.

I have to thank them, as well. Not merely for the kindness they showed in allowing me this brief respite, but also for showing me that I was wrong about rage.

It never goes away. It just takes a vacation once in a while.

Two spoonfuls

2007-03-20T09:50:00.001-05:00

Tomato soup

Its a peculiar thing for me, that essential concoction of broth and fruit-that-is-a-vegetable-but-is-not.

Historically, things to which I have a negative emotional connection are things which I excise.

This, that peculiar substance, is an exception to that rule -- and insofar as food goes, is the only one that readily springs to mind, given, how it does, that its presence serves to remind me so immediately of the loss that broke me.

Two spoonfuls.

Given after watching her struggle with the spoon for the first time, then unable to deal with the straw.

The first, and last, time I would ever do for her what she somehow managed to do for me when I was but a squalling bundle. And the circle had been completed, for even as she had fed and changed and seen to my comforts, so had I done to hers.

After the first, she smiled, nodded, affirmed that it was good.

After the second, she died.

The moment is ingrained in my essence. Seared viscerally into my being, such that I cannot consider the thought of partaking of that simple substance without recollection, cannot banish it away from me, cannot dispel the hex that surrounds it and the power of its presence.

I like it with pepper and basil. Mostly with just pepper.

I rarely make it from scratch. Doing so, using fresh tomatoes of several different varieties, adding in hints of little others, like a sort of cook's V-8, is enjoyable, but time consuming and costly, as soup, like other things full of complex flavors, takes time to set, and realize its potential.

So, to the can I go.

I'm not picky. I don't like to have to use a can opener, preferring the little pull tabs, but once in a while I still have to think ahead, and I know that the large can is able to provide me with a longer lasting and more filling meal than the small one.

So, often, I end up with Campbell's.

It warms one inside, slightly startling as it hits the back of the throat, and if warm enough (as I'm wont to like it) you can feel it as it slides down the chest, behind the hardness of the ribs, protecting that fragile little metaphorical heart as well as the real one, the heat passing into that heart and in a way that's similar to chicken soup I suppose, it suffuses it as well.

From there, you can feel it land in the belly, and from there it spreads out into the whole body.

The downside to canned soup, of course, is that you have to mix with an equal part water (though I confess that I am on occasion inclined to use *almost* one part water, in that eternal rebellion I seem so dedicated to continue in each and every way, filling it up to not quite the same height, or maybe just a dribble more, and then, because habit can be weakening, I even do exactly as I'm supposed to, measuring volume and matching it with the practiced and jaded eye of someone who has cooked since they were 5).

Since it comprises so much of that reconstituted concoction, (she notes, as take the long way home begins to play in her headphones) the water adds to the character of the soup -- as it does for so many things.

in the location I am presently finding myself, through the actions of agencies both my own and that of others, in ways that, one day, will point to something startling, I am sure, and life lesson establishing, the water is pulled from a well.

The person at whom's whim I am graced with Internet and a domicile, has partaken of this water for a great deal of time, and declares boldly that one gets used to it, then rapidly caveats it with how people grant credence to all manner of curative qualities to sulfur springs.

The water is reasonably clear. Left to sit for about 9 hours, it produces a slight deposit of mineral salts on the bottom of the glass that slowly precipitate.

It smells akin to the end product of a week's worth of stress induced IBL release, a stench so beauteous that grown men have been known to stagger back in horror. Apparently, since the body holds it in for a wee bit longer than it should, it ripens considerably.

I am also an absolute and utter tea addict. Coffee is suitable for dining out, and occasionally for the purpose of not being rude when entertaining or being entertained, or for when there is desperation, and it is available whilst tea which can be drank is not.

Tea is even more affected by the water employed. Tea is subtle, especially as gently as I'm known to brew it, the little pekoe leaves swirling in their infusive dance that brings a smile of anticipation as the aroma of my blend rises up.

But Tea is for another time.

The taste of this water, after it has gone through yon Brita four times at the very least, is salty, and unpleasant, but tolerable (unfiltered, it is almost like sea water stored in a tank that's rotted).

Coffee appears to slay the beast within it, thankfully, but I do not have a coffee machine readily handy myself, nor the ground beans with which to deliver myself.

When added to soup, thoughtlessly, carelessly, in that half awake state where food is important but the mind is drifting off, one must remember to filter it. I did not, this time, more than once.

The resultant soup is robbed of the most delicate aspects of its flavor. Indeed, the aftertaste is something one must struggle with. It rests on the top of the tongue, at the back of the mouth, a taunting reminder that yes, one has most certainly just committed a grievous sin.

In all honesty, I believe that the water is not fit for human consumption. However, for some fool reason, I spent the day endeavoring to whack a fool instead of actually securing transport to get some water of the filtered variety, of which I consume roughly 10 gallons a week.

Which, in this case, also left me with little in the way of vittles, so soup it was, willy nilly, without much thought.

It is salty -- as if someone has added more to it than needed -- the downside of canned soup is the salt added, and tomato soup truly does need salt (I use a mixture of Mrs Dash, sea salt, and regular table salt when cooking it from scratch). But it is still soup, and I have managed to slowly consume portions of it, noting the bitterness that lies in it, and with each sip (for I drink it from a glass, instead of eating from a bowl), I remember, in detail as vivid and unprepared as when it first occurred...

two spoonfuls, and then a passing.

Technorati tags: Grief, Soup, reflection, Mom, cooking, loss, memory

Survival of the fittest

2007-03-19T18:09:00.001-05:00

Imagine, if you will, a point in prehistory. I may be wrong, but perhaps you are a creationist, and if so, this will have to be a game for you.

At this point in prehistory, there is a small group of individuals, an extra large sort of extended family and kinship structures forming a group that we might call a tribal unit.

They are subject to predation, and are also developing a degree of predatory skills and tool working, and are embarking, like many of those similar to them who have done so before, and who will do so later, they are seeking a somewhat cooler locale where the living is not so readily subject to finding yourself eaten by predators that out mass them by often 5 to 10 times.

This tribal group, about right now, is around 4K people; they all possess a tenuous kinship with one another in that, far beyond their own recollection, they all effectively possess the same Y chromosome structure.

They venture out of the somewhat more tropical regions they are in over time, migrating north and somewhat west over the span of several hundred years, finding the predators notably fewer, and the prey notably more to their liking, as they handle certain other issues.

Among those issues, is that they must compete with nature's attacks, with the assaults of other tribal groups, and with their own slowly growing band, from which break aways and split offs happen every couple of generation, prompting a chunk of the group to move on yet again.

One of the reasons that this group is generally more successful that other groups, similar to them in many ways, but not quite so gifted, is the degree of social interaction among them.

They live in cohesive units where there is often pair bonding -- although not all pair bonds are of opposite genders or procreative. Some groups even include bondings of larger than a pair.

This particular group is composed, like any of the others, of individuals who are inherently selfish. They have strong drives to survive, and are, like anything else, in it for themselves.

They are wired, however, for kindness. And, socially, they prize altruistic behavior. As a result, doing something for someone else creates a sort of better feeling, a sort of internal energy that can leap about and among all of them, generated both within the individual and among the social group, where praise comes in. Sometimes its an unusually large kill, which means more for everyone.

This particular wiring allows them to do have the interest of others in place, sort of competing with their self interest.

Suddenly, in situations where the group is faced by an external threat, this gives them the strong advantage of not functioning as a group of single, isolated individuals, but rather as a cohesive body -- a unified front, which increases their odds of survival *as a group* (which, in turn, increases the odds of survival overall).

Among these groups are some who have the basic charge of protecting the children. Often those less physically capable and who are also capable of producing more children, this group typically uses a water based protection.

The rest are those who do not have children, and are more physically capable. They include some females, even, just as the other group includes some males.

Among these groups are some who are generally more prone to risk. They are a minority, roughly about 8% of the body, and include those who are of various genders (gender being a social construct), and the group does not limit itself to merely two, but likely recognizes three to five distinct gender categories.

These individuals among them, who are more prone to risk, are sometimes without the burden of children, but usually a spouse. They are found frequently among groups who have several male children, and often serve in the capacity of godparent, should, on a hunting or foraging expedition, or through natural or political accident, a sibling be slain, they become the keepers of those children.

When an individual member of the tribe is threatened, they are often among the first to come to the aid of that individual, and to summon others, which will often cause predators to back off, since suddenly their prey is not single, but multiple, and capable of swift attacks.

Since they are unburdened, they are able to range further, seek more, see more, find more.

Again, all of it coming back to improving the capabilities of the particular group as it grows and expands.

Now, let's let several thousand years move this group forward.

Success has caused them to multiply and spread out further and further afield, sometimes incorporating other groups encountered through attrition or subsumption. They are no longer a single tribe, but many, many tribes; each slowly creating variants from the original based on conditions and needs as they adapt to their environment and as they learn now skills and continue to advance.

They have even engaged in wars for territory on the steps that many of them now occupy, having moved over the intervening years out. Some kept going, some turned back, some stayed in place.

Arguments would lead to splinter faction after splinter faction, grudges would be held and become rivalries, and rivalries would become traditions.

Separation enforces shifts in language as new concepts and new thoughts are introduced.

Slowly but surely, they advance towards the establishment of permanent encampments, which, in term change some of the social structures as they adapt there, as well.

Until, one day, they have civilization, when one of these permanent camps trades goods with a distant other camp.

********

That's not as imaginary as it might seem, either.

Its based on evidence of DNA, fossil records, sociobiology, neuropaleotology, and archaeological records of human conduct, as well as some well documented examples of social behavior among other species.

Multiplicity of gender isn't a new idea, either -- most tribal groups have considerably more fluid gender constructs, and especially third genders (reductionism).

The advantage is basically thus: they increase the ability of the social unit to meet risk and challenge to the social unit without as potentially great a loss to the unit.

They provide additional resources for the unit to ensure society without increasing the burden on that individual group.

Lets look at some basic underlying truths.

for one, based on twin studies, we know that it isn't wholly genetic, but that there is definitely some genetic aspect to it. We know this because, were it not genetic, then it would occur in less than 10% of twins sampled naturally, while if it was wholly genetic it would appear in 100% of twin studies sampled.

Since it appears far above the 10% factor, in the range of 45 to 65%, its absolutely genetic in some way, but not entirely.

Based on further studies, there is a significant correlation in morphology and endocrine systems that indicate an extremely strong likelihood of the variation striking in utero, during the developmental phase very early on (within the first trimester).

We know its biological, but we don't know its specific etiology.

We also know that normally, traits which do not advance the survival of a group are going to fade out over time if they prove to be a hindrance in some fashion. We know that most people on the planet can be traced through a specific Y chromosome genome with an astonishing accuracy, and we know that for us, evolution was a series of fits and starts with successful adaptations occurring among different populations over time until one group at least migrated out and kept going and growing.

That’s what we know right now.

So if it wasn't an advantage, we can be pretty sure it would have been bred out. Yet it wasn't.

So what kind of feminist am I?

2007-03-18T08:25:00.001-05:00

Thus was asked the question, and thus did I endeavor to consider it.

and unto the question came the answer:

hell if I know.

An odd one, perhaps, is the full extent of the measure thereby which my feminist leaning might be considered.

How can I be anything but such, with my painted nails a tipping away on my keyboards and my painted toes grinning through knee highs with with little white petaled flowers on a pink background on the big toes that still hurt from being shoved into shoes that I couldn't yet afford but want ever so badly?

How can I be anything but when I still have sigh at the sight of my body when I pass by a window and think unto myself, yes, someday, but not today, despite all the wishing and trying.

How can I be anything but when I revel in the drape of a skirt or bemoan the rise of a cute top that's just not long enough or hugs too tightly?

How can I be anything but when I cry at the sight of myself without a wig?

So and Odd one, yet again, for whilst I still revel in the simple pleasures of things I was for so long denied, allowing myself the significant luxury of enjoying the pink after so much blue, I am still very much an individual woman who feels that there is not enough yet done.

But I am not the one to do it, either.

Mayhaps I am not a feminist.

Consider: I like men.

I like the way they smile. I like the strength in their faces. I like the simplicity with which they move themselves about. I like the subtle deference they grant to me without thought, even as they scowl disapprovingly should I have erred in some way I have not yet learned whilst on this side of that peculiar divide I still occasionally bounce across.

Consider: I have been a man.

And I have built up in a multitude of layers so many strange and wondrous layers and complexities of behavior that often times I cannot see them until shown to me, having so utterly subsumed them into my own self.

I have enjoyed those privileges of Man, and used them.

Consider: I have been married.

And in that marriage, I have done all that seemed expected of me in that position and that Role, and had the deference, however annoying it may have been at the time.

And I tried, wholly, and utterly, and with all my being, aye, even that which I kept locked within, my own private little music box dancer inside, to grant that which I felt was obligation to she whom I married.

And I did it.

I feel remorse, and guilt, for what I did not provide. But I was not a failure thereby, merely not someone who achieved all that had been set forth as a goal.

Consider: I see men suffering now, as their own restrictive expectations begin to choke them in the same way they choked women -- and I do not wish them to suffer in that way.

How can one who was a man be a feminist, then?

Oddly.

Possibly uniquely, but uniqueness is a sum total, not a sum thereof, and I am only an incomplete equation still.

I am a willing tool of the Patriarchy, who conforms as she might be willing on terms with which she is comfortable, and that might mean potentially degrading herself in deference to that man who has, thus far, claimed her heart, despite her certainty that he'll not be with her for as long as she might wish. Who waits patiently in a location miles away from me, and knows I have a long road yet to travel.

I am also displeased and apathetic at cries of the harm still sounded as the blare of the horns and the beat of the drum call battle against the forces of an enemy that is not so simply overcome.

Who is the patriarchy, one needs must ask. The answer to which is that all that surrounds us is such.

Changing it is isn't going to be possible without destroying it, for the patriarchy lies at the root of the beast, where gender lies.

Where I lie.

And I'll not willingly thrust a spear into my own heart. Not without the conviction and sense of duty that bespeaks such a need.

unrelated, but occurring:

Why do I blog?

I don't expect readers, though I am pleased and thrilled to know a few have peeked.

I do not share the blog's presence openly.

So why do I do it?

To express myself in the way that I know best. To think aloud and through, whilst coming to understand the things I am going through.

To bitch and rant, moan and gripe, laugh and celebrate.

To share, outside myself, without regard for form or force or function, those things which I happen, at this moment, to care about.

And to enjoy them, in the days ahead, in all their sad and happy and peculiar oddness.

In the end, that is what I am, and I am proud and unhumbled by it, and I shall wave it under the noses of all those who seek to humiliate and degrade me, to find a pigeon hole for me in their own minds and place me within it, alongside other souls of whom I know not one whit.

Because I am ODD.

I am off the beaten path, I am alone in the crowd, and I am alive in the world.

I am me.

Fuck 'em, otherwise.

yeah, I'm terrible.

2007-03-17T06:27:00.001-05:00

Sorry. I wanted to get all my varied and misc crap in one spot that could, theoretically, survive financial ups and downs and access to the internet.

Besides, it allowed me to bury those god awful long ones way down there, lol

IT also allowed me to test out a feature I rather liked of Windows Live Writer. I can, using it, store and write multiple offiline entries, and also move entires from one blog to another.

While I don't count myself a fan of MS, I do count myself a fan of stuff that works for what I want it to do.

This works pretty well. I should probably try to hook it into yahoo 360, but, ya know, eh.

It works great with wordpress and with blogger, so I'm happy enough.

Now to just get a new battery for the laptop so I can get mobile again and compose out in the wild world...

So, Current status:

Homeless (staying in a second singlewide through the grace of another)

Working.

Total to save: $3,200.00.

Total saved: 0

Waiting on an 800 dollar project, and a 400 dollar project payments. Working on three 400 dollar ones, and one that I hope I can net 1200 for. Probably need to get a little busier.

*sigh*

Why didn't I do this sooner

2007-03-17T06:17:00.001-05:00

(note: Previously published)

My rapidly developed stock answer, a nice and pat and short one, is "I didn't know I could".

I lacked the information that I needed, to quell my personal control issues, so that I could move into it. Its not as simple, however, as that.

While it a huge part of the concept for me, its not entirely accurate.

Recently, someone noted the whole concept of Privileged upbringing, and how, in a lot of ways, the expectations hurled on those who live lives in such a manner are sometimes bound by them. And there was, for me, a ring of truth there.

I dislike considering it, but, ultimately, I was somewhat privileged in my youth. My family is a wonderfully complex creation of exceptional variance. For most of my life it was an effective matriarchy (yeah, I can hear the pundits crowing about masculine role models and crap and completely missing the truth). What I enjoyed most, though, wasn't the presence of privilege, it was the escape from it.

I was always happiest by myself, without the pressure of peers or others around me to push expectations on me. I rebelled strongly against expectations in my early 20's. It cost me a great many of my potential supporters, and I became estranged as a result.

By that time, as well, I was so deep in denial on the active level of thought that I wasn't able to see that the expectations I was rebelling against were rooted in this.

Had I had the information I have now, well... I would have transitioned then.

But the means of getting to it, a great deal of this information, and the methods of transitioning, were not as available then.

When I read about Lynn Conway and her journey through the late 60's and 1970's, I am filled with awe and wonder -- in part, because I know very well the way the world was to women in those days and just how hard things were just in the academic sense -- and to add into that the secrecy of stealth... TO me, its amazing.

I truly cannot adequately express how amazed I am by her. One day I would like to meet her, but I don't expect to. Life likes to rob me of such events (for example, when I was finally able to go and meet RAH, he up and died on me the week before. Sheesh.).

How did she learn about this? How did she know to find these people? What miseries did she have to endure?

Its all stunning -- the times, the days, the way of life... Devastating.

My story won't ever be as dramatic. My transition won't be as hard. My contributions to society likely won't be as durable, either, lol. (hard to beat being instrumental in changing the very nature of the whole world, ya know?).

Four years ago, my ties to my privilege unraveled. Soon, I had but two, and two years ago they began to fray. They are gone now. And I'm fully free. And I'm running headlong into the future...

Well, that's over

2007-03-17T06:10:00.001-05:00

(note: previously published at my other blog)

Yesterday, thanks to trollie, I ended up getting paranoid over the potential that they'd find out my last little refuge money wise, and so came out to my DR.

I've been doing contract work of late for a few of the Television stations, and I was worried that I'd lose some of the jobs I was up for.

I was right, lol. But then, I was also rather surprised.

My DR (whom I have met once) is also TS, lol.

And, as a result, I have a new base and tomorrow I'll have a new contract.

Not as well paying, but, well, it'll do the job.

Spent most of today dealing with that in a series of emails that probably had the internet burning up. At one point, I sent off two and got back three all at the same time, lol.

I've also decided to change my approach to Topix entirely. For one, as I noted in my previous post, there wasn't enough of a challenge anymore.

For another, though, there is the difficulty of following so many thread's. So, I'm sitting back and reading what catches my eye, but not commmenting yet. I have a new approach in mind, but dislike the thought of potentially tipping my hand to trollie.

At least they stopped the horrifically syrupy crap. OMG, I swear to heaven, someone could insult me in a syrupy way and I wouldn't see it, becuase I just gag at the thought.

Since I won't be able to post tomorrow, I will find a new way to blog in the near future. THis site, and the others, will be coming down. And that has me somewhat saddened.

I've worked for 4 years to build my company up. Watching it go away just tears me up. BUt I've got backups of the files, and who knows -- I hear blogger isn't all that bad.

False Pride

2007-03-17T06:08:00.001-05:00

(Note: Originally published at my earlier blog)

interesting concept, that.

Why a post on False pride? Because I've been accused of having it. Oddly enough, the last person to accuse me of that same thing was my brother.

This time it was trollie.

Let's pop over to wikipedia and take a look at what they say about pride.

Pride refers to a strong sense of self-respect, a refusal to be humiliated as well as joy in the accomplishments of oneself or a person, group, or object that one identifies with.

Self respect I have. A refusal to be humiliated I have. Joy in my accomplishments I have. Not so keen on most groups, people, and objects. Usually just my work.

Ok, so I have pride.

Next they note Excesses.

"Pride" is also used to mean hubris, or excessive pride, which was usually the defining trait that leads to the tragic hero's tragic downfall according to Aristotle. This negative connotation of pride often appears in a religious context.
Excessive pride also manifests itself as arrogance, the act of obtaining rights or advantages, including vainglorious or rhetorical advantages, sometimes through violence or threat of violence, or through verbal violence.
Pride is found in someone who won’t give up and someone who refuses to settle for anything less than respect.

Hmmm. Humility is *not* among my virtues, for certain. Generally speaking, I'd have to say I meet most of those conditions. Let's take a closer look at hubris, however, as I suspect that's what's actually being said of me.

Hubris or hybris (Greek ὕβρις), according to its modern usage, is exaggerated self pride or self-confidence (overbearing pride), often resulting in fatal retribution.

Readily overbearing -- aye, I often am, especially in battles of language and decidely so on the Topix forums.

So I meet the modern form of hubris, but not the ancient classical form -- although I have, already, created my own nemesis, apparently, via my overbearing ways within the boards. So, unwititngly, I've stepped into a sort of peculiar greek tragedy.

Which reminds me, distinctly, of a previous conversation with someone in a previous thread -- though which one, I doubt I'll figure out any time soon. However, it does serve to make me aware of the fact that I have engaged them on an alternative level in some way, and that I did indeed do something to shame them.

Twice, no less.

On informing certain other people of the events of the last few days (trollie has taken it on themselves to post in the names of people with whom I have either an acquaintance or a friendship), I was taken to task for responding to them.

In its modern usage, hubris denotes overconfident pride and arrogance; it is often associated with a lack of knowledge, interest in, and exploration of history, combined with a lack of humility. An accusation of hubris often implies that suffering or punishment will follow, similar to the occasional pairing of hubris and Nemesis in the Greek world. The proverb "pride goes before a fall" is thought to sum up the modern definition of hubris.^[6]

Here is where the troll's assault on my nature fails. I have a keen interest in history, and a very thorough knowledge of it. But, outside of that, it still holds -- with trollie acting as the nemesis and bringing about my fall.

So, not only did I gain an undersanding of the accusation, I now have some insight into the motivations behind the trollie's actions, and a least a pretty good idea of what trollie is attempting to do.

This means that trollie is religious, reasonably knowledgeable, amoral, and obssessed with me to some greatish extent.

I'm inclined to think that the use of false pride indicates a potential link to Brian, but I'm unwilling to simply cast away the subject of my own obssession with the Bill/Sopot character.

its entirely possible I'm suffering from a sort of victroy disease. SInce most of the posters have been presenting the same arguments over and over again, I have been failing to sit back and adapt my tactics and methods.

I've even been beaten a few times of late becuase I walked into a logic trap and didn't see it coming -- charged ahead.

This is why I retreated back to the pattern of correction while I observed.

Some of the front page section, or the Business section threads I've been involved in might need to be revisited -- the debate structure in those locations is different, and may be of use to me.

Especially if adopt the new pattern I discerned that has been effective a couple of times.

Some of this will have to play out based on how the trollie responds to some of the stuff coming from those others now. I warned them, since they will be using the same connection that I am, that they will be mistaken for me --- but I suspect if they succeed in drawing the trollie out that they will find they are *most* different from myself, LOL

in the interim, much to consider, and several other posts to respond to that aren't quite as close to the bone and still have at least the joy of the challenge in them.

So yes, I'm proud. And yes, there is hubris in me. It'll have to be my cross to bear, however, as without my fury to sustain me, it's pretty much all I got left, ;)

Civil Rights, again

2007-03-17T05:58:00.001-05:00

Part of the reason that I posted all that crap is I had the time to assemble it -- inet was down.

After doing so, I did a little more work on my list of civil rights, andding in some governmental duites and rights of work so far.

After I get done with the basic list, I'll revisit the constitution.

Something that some friends of mine have been noting is that many of the more truly left folks are already making arrangements to to expatriate themseles formt he country, and they've been making suggestions since I shared my thoughts on the Dominionist stuff with them.

On the other hand, my old buds at U of A were actually intrigued by a couple of hypotheticals I put forth, so there's been some serious effort being put in towards figuring out not merely what the nation wold most likely be like in the early stages of actual rule (although the lefties believe its already there), but also how they woud achieve those goals given the social cycle's current movement.

Oh, and to top it all off, I outed to them and they went "eh". At thsi rate, when I do get someone who freaks out, I'll be unprepared.

Thoughts on the background information

2007-03-17T05:50:00.001-05:00

Damn that's a stupid title.

Anyway, I'm actually somewhat uncomfortable with all that hand wringing and stream of consciousness crap below, but we'll see if I can manage to keep the guts to keep it up.

It does show that I'm not perfect, that I'm typically aware of my personal flaws, and that yeah, I'm a cold hearted one.

All of that information is old, though. Those are all the earliest thoughts and things that went through my mind.

All of that was within the first 3 weeks. Since then, I've moved forward with transition at a fairly rapid pace, and I've placed myself in foolishy complex situations that, bluntly, I don't give a damn about anymore.

In the end, it will all be history for me.

Things are actually ok, between Wife and I. She's not happy, mind you, and I'm pretty much ripped apart inside over guilt and all that other good, angsty stuff, and yes, I still cry like a freaking river at the drop of a hat.

But we're muddling through, getting along, and we're still planning things down the road.

My son does talk to me, which is cool.

There is a coldness there -- a distance that I'll never be able to bridge again.

Doubt -- a theme earlier -- is absent.

I'm actually much happier overall. no, scratch that. Its not happiness, per se. Happiness is the result of what's changed inside me.

My life is changing as well, and, although I'm still me, I'm affected by the changes and the developments of my life in that time, so I have changed.

If there's an ultimate purpose to this blog, its to function as an outlet for the various things I think about in a given day or span of time. An exercise in ego and manifestation of my need to self redact constantly.

I probably seem to be fairly messed up given all the drama and such, but, generally speaking, I'm pretty chilled.

One of the things I became aware of is that I could, indeed, manage to have gone on for the next few years without transitioning. My coping skills are really that strong.

But they would have been hollow years.

And, lastly, they would have been much shorter.

I am dying. Slowly, and in a rather disgusting sort of way. Oddly enough, and in a way that I won't get into, transitioning might actually increase my lifespan by a few years.

It might also shorten it.

EIther way, I would like to see my son continue to grow instead of not do so. A chance is better than none, and so I rolled the dice, and I would be lying if thee wasn't a little bit of glee in doing so, or that the decision was a sort of no brainer.

Perhaps, if I'm lucky, one day he'll be able to read this, and see the why's and wherefore's that I'll never be able to tell him in person.

I am soo glad he's not like me in this one area. And so happy he's otherwise my little clone.

He's had a shitty childhood. He deserved better.

We all do.

Background -- Part Five (The Wife Letter)

2007-03-17T05:29:00.001-05:00

This will be the last of the background elements for a while.

One of the most difficult aspects of transitioning for me has been dealing with Wife. I have gone between intense happiness and utmost despair in my dealings with her alone.

At one point, I literally had a compulsion to run into the street and get hit by a car. The only thing that stopped me was I couldn't find my shoes.

In truth, I think that she and I will eventually be friends. But I am not expecting it, and I'm basically on the defensive, and she is on the defensive, and thanks to a promise I made, we haven't discussed this for a long while.

She released me from that promise.

The single point of contention we have is Son. Both of us are, well, fiercely dedicated to him. However, I cannot provide, personally, the thing she wants for him: a strong male role model.

Or, actually, I can, but if things go well, I'll look like a girl, so it'll be somewhat difficult, lol.

As I write this preface, my plan right now is to present androgynously around my Son, and retain that Role, should I succeed in my quest to achieve visitation, and he is willing.

Son is aware. I handled it very poorly, however, and he's essentially joined my step children, thus far. If he ceases that by the time I get back home, I will be ecstatic -- but if I am cut off, utterly, then I shall be so.

What follows is the letter of explanation that I gave to my wife. It didn't work.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Beloved,

In a couple hours I'll see you again in order to finish a task we started last week.

When we started this task, we went to breakfast and I started talking and said some things that were poorly timed and hurt you and were unexpected.

Later in the week, you said that you felt as if you had been dumped. I Told you were not, and tried, perhaps poorly, to express some of the things I wanted you to know.

Even later, we spoke again, and I told you I wouldn't bring up the "weird" stuff any more.

I'm sorry, but this is a letter about the weird stuff. I won't bring it up myself outside of this letter, but I will, as always, answer anything you ask and talk about it otherwise on your terms.

I love you, Wife. That's not false, that's not a lie. That's true down to the deepest core of my being.

I love you enough to give you up, utterly. Despite the pain it will cause me. I love you enough to want to hold on to you with all my strength and by any means possible.

I don't want to lose you. But With knowing this, I don't know what to do.

I know you are scared, and hurt, and angry, and frustrated, and dealing with way too much other crap right now to have the ability to deal with this.

I have to write this letter. There are things that I need to see in front of me and things I need to express and a lot of things I need to explain ahead of time because there are things involved here that I have never told anyone about, ever, period, until now.

I am going to tell you things about me that are going to be weird. Remember, however, that the same things you think are weird are the same things I have thought of as weird.

Remember, please, that I am still me. I am doing something very uncharacteristic of me, as well: I am letting someone peek into my head.

I don't often do that. You know that. Now you will know why.

I suffer from something called Gender Identity Disorder or Gender Dysphoria. I prefer Gender Dysphoria.

It is presently listed as a medical condition, but due to the nature of this particular problem, it is not one that society has the ability to deal with at present.

Gender Dysphoria has absolutely nothing to do with homosexuality. Nothing. Indeed, it has nothing to do with sex. I reiterate again, I am not gay. Indeed, I am somewhat homophobic (that is, I have a dislike for gay people in general that has no real reason or basis in truth).

The cause of this medical condition is not known. The current theory for it is based, from what I have learned of late, on examination of what goes into the creation of the various kinds of people who are called "intersexed" - those people they once called hermaphrodites. IT deals with the fact that our sense of being a male or a female is not entirely determined by the XY chromosomes, and that there are a great many other factors beside that which determine our maleness and our femaleness.

There are women all over the world who are born every day who are not XX chromosome women. Their chromosomes are XY. These people often do not find out about their not being XX until they are adults.

These women suffer from something called androgen insensitivity syndrome. While in the womb, something happens and what is supposed to be a boy baby basically develops out as a girl, because the hormones which change the physical body don't work properly -- the baby is, for lack of a better term, allergic to testosterone.

They grow up with a wide variety of issues, but, basically, they are generally sterile but always female.

That's not me, but I tell you because in finding out about these things, that's the best example of just how strange things can get when it comes to gender development.

In the case of someone with Gender Dysphoria, it is presently believed that since there are different times when things occur in the brain, that something went wrong or didn't fully complete in the brain in terms of developing one's gender identity -- your personal sense of your gender.

For the overwhelming majority of people in the world, this isn't an issue, and is so fundamentally ingrained in them that they never sense it or realize it.

And yet, for as long as there have been written records, there have been people who didn't quite fit in.

In some societies (the Navajo, for example) these people are allowed to be what they are, and are considered a sort of "third gender". In all cases, this isn't something new, and it is not considered a psychological problem.

That is, this isn't something like depression or schizophrenia of some sort. It isn't caused by a chemical imbalance that can be corrected with drugs, it isn't something that can changed or avoided.

There is a cure, though. And, like most cures, it doesn't change a person in and of itself, and it is up to the individual as to whether or not they take the cure.

So why now?

Well, hon, it isn't now. Its been all my life.

Its been with me for as long as I can remember back, and although I bury it and I hide it, it is there every day and every night.

I had an idea about it being "fixable" when I was very young -- 10 or 12 or something. There was a story on the news. It talked about someone who had done something about it in Europe.

I paid attention, though. I've always paid attention. I just never realized that there was anything that *I* could do about it for myself.

Perhaps the most fundamental aspect of this, and the best way I can explain it to you is to use the thing that has given me the most grief in my life.

This has made every single day for me start sad.

When I was very little, I saw Pinocchio and I read fairy tales and I always remember the ones where the hero of the story gets a chance to make a wish. And if they wish hard enough and long enough and never give up faith (--hmm, faith, sound familiar?), that that wish would come true.

I am 41 years old, Wife. An adult. Reasonably mature, fairly well educated.

And I Still wish every night that tomorrow I will wake up as a girl.

I have done this for as long as I can remember.

That includes while I've been with you. But, in an interesting twist, I've always added you into my wish. Because I love you. You are the person with whom I have the greatest bond I can ever have.

In the wish I have with you, you wake up as a man. With me. And, since its a wish, of course everything is just fine and dandy and life goes on.

The only reason I ever wish that, is because I never want to lose you. I can understand a lot of things, and you know I'm pretty damned reasonable when I want to be, and that I can often foresee things by thinking them through.

So I know that should I chose to go for this cure, in the end, things can't be like they are between us now. Neither of our personal histories and the way we were raised basically would affect our ability to deal with it effectively, and that's not even thinking about how the world around us would react, let alone the other concerns.

We have talked about many things over the years. I mean, lets face it: for all my highly touted intelligence, I'm a total freaking basket case. We've always said I'm just "eccentric" and let it go.

One of the things we can't let go, however, is my anger issue.

Do you remember when I told you about my mother telling me about when I first started having my anger issues? About how she had to "take Brother away from me" and I didn't speak to her for a year?

Remember how I told you that felt when she said that? How it was a truth that reached in and touched me and I knew that was the source of my anger?

Well, it went a bit deeper.

Because there was more to it.

And when I finally realized that I couldn't keep it buried any longer and had to accept it for what it was, The tight knot of my anger unraveled in my chest and went away.

For 20 utterly wonderful, totally beautiful, amazingly wonderful days, I lost the ability to lose my temper. In fact, I had no temper. No rage, no underlying fury that had me thinking bad thoughts about random people in the street.

In those last 20 days, I have learned a great deal about this problem. And it has helped me even more in identifying some of the things that are underlying a lot of my other issues - the stuff that has made me a mess.

Like my sense of not being worthy. My sense of not deserving success. My sense of using my clothing as a shield. My lack of interest in my personal appearance. My use of films and television as an example of how men should act. My discomfort around groups of men. My ability to function reasonably well in a traditionally female environment (retail).

People have always thought I was gay.

My own mother looked at me one day and asked me, point blank, if I was gay. Even telling me it was ok if I was.

You did.

Mike did.

Most of the people we know have thought I was gay at some point or other. My own family has long suspected I'm gay. Even my gay Uncle Troy.

Why?

I've always known I wasn't gay.

I've also always known, but wasn't always able to express that I was something else.

The reason is that despite the fact I have a fairly underdeveloped male body (my hands and feet are small for my size, I'm pretty hairless, and a few other things) and I've always thought I was behaving in accordance with what was expected of me as a male, I'm still somewhat "female" in a lot of things I do and in the way that I act. My interests aren't "male" interests -- even for an eccentric.

You saw it -- or at least, that's how I interpreted it when you said so. I should have stopped and asked for more clarification on what you meant.

You accepted me, however, for who I am. And you know that I accept you, unconditionally, for who you are. That's a sort of requirement for me. We talked about that a lot. Not directly, but indirectly.

For me, love is utter and total. There can be no middle ground. I accept a person into my heart for the sum total of all that they are, and the only way they can get out of it is to shut me out and away.

You know I never felt loved by my mom. I knew she loved me, but I never felt it.

And the reason is that She never accepted me for who I was inside when I was a very little kid. IT was a long time ago, but the scars from it remain.

She did, of course. I know that, as an adult, on a rational level. But that old rage wasn't rational, and it wasn't started in an adult who can read and understand what they are facing.

But that was what sat there for so long, and was always there between my mother and I.

That was why they didn't think the marriage would last, btw. They thought I was gay, doing it for them to cover something up.

I don't love easily, Wife. The people I love have special qualities about them. Rare ones. Compassion. Understanding. Intelligence. Wit.

And, usually, some deep pain that they are feeling.

I've felt this pain all my life, and never let anyone know about it.

Often not even myself.

Although these days most people with Gender Dysphoria have figured it out by the time they are 25 (or at least that's how it seems to me now, lol), that's not always the case.

I can show you a site by a computer engineer that establishes that the incidence of this among males is rare, but not all that rare.

What I can also show you is something that hurts me so deeply I'm having serious issues in dealing with it.

When people don't come to terms with it -- especially people who were raised in the 70's and 80's, such as myself, when anything that even *seemed* like this was basically utterly shocking and immediately laughed and scorned and humiliated in public ways that even today give me such a sense of fear that even I have a hard time considering it -- they creating coping mechanisms and denial tools to deal with it.

They hide it, they bury it, they don't think about it. They do things to their bodies. Many commit suicide, without anyone ever knowing why. Some think they are gay and get lost in that horror.

Some reach a sort of half way acceptance. They are males, they like it, but they have a very strong sense of the female in them and cross dress. I've read some people think that they might be suffering from a less strong sense of Dysphoria. They are categorized in much the same way.

Then there are some like me. Conservative. They react to it in much the same way that someone born with a birth defect reacts to it. They withdraw into their heads. since the body is beyond them, they develop their minds.

I live in my head. You've said it enough, you know it, lol. I say it a lot, too. My body is pretty much the vessel. For the most part, I hide it. I avoid looking at it. I cover it up and then use my clothing as a shield, as a sort of armor.

I never look at myself full on. I focus on small areas.

I grow my nails out from time to time longer than is "common" for men. I have always supported women's issues.

I exist, online, as a woman.

Let me explain something about that, as well.

You know I do that. I told you so.

What I've never told you, although I think you suspect, is that I'm much more "at home" there, in that role. It has been my escape, and while it was great, it isn't the same. And for you to have allowed it to me, and accepted it, well, I love you all the more for that.

I don't cross dress. I have, mind you, but nothing within any sense of the term of recent. With one exception, I've not cross dressed since I was in my early 20's. In each case, I was left with strong feeling s of shame, humiliation, and fear.

My mother walked in on me one morning wearing one of her dresses. Shawn saw and sniggered. I will never forget his laugh.

My mother was shocked, went and found some books, had no idea what to do.

I was mortified. Utterly humiliated.

I have more fingers than I have times I've crossdressed.

And yet, with the exception of shoes, I know my sizes.

Why is it I can say without any problem that I will never chat on you? I can not only say it, I can mean it.

My body is my body. It suffers from the usual male urges and issues and needs. It works pretty well for a male body. I find it ugly.

When I lost my hair, I lost a lot of hope. I surrendered to what I felt was, basically, an utter impossibility, and tried to bury that wish as deeply as I possibly could.

I did consider treatments. I've long been tempted to get minoxidil and all that.

But I knew that if I did, it might prompt me to go "farther".

When we got married, I had a strong "tell" -- that is, I had something that let me feel my femaleness while still presenting myself to the world as a male.

My tail.

That was a significant thing, letting you cut it off. It had to be you, as well. I love you. I trust you. No one else on the planet would have been allowed.

I wanted to be what you wanted of me.

I'm sorry, love.

It made me miserable, and it dragged you with me, and now I've ruined your life and I have no way of ever changing it.

And from it came one thing I wouldn't trade for all the world: Son.

Parenting means a lot to me. We share so much in common, and this is one of those things.

Something I never really expressed is how utterly and unimaginably envious I was of you. And still am.

You carried him. You birthed him in blood and sweat and tears. I almost missed him arrive, off in a different place trying not to sob my heart out in envy and an utter sense of loss that I could never have expressed and be understood over.

When he was born, Every inch of my being was focused on him. And there in the back of my head was a fear that he would be like me.

He is. But not in this way. And for that I am immeasurably thankful. He is all boy. He might be gay, of course, but he's not got my issue. And I wouldn't wish this on anyone but my absolute worst enemies.

It has destroyed my life, Wife. Everything I have ever done has been touched by either my denial of it or my inability to come to terms with it.

Including you.

I'm 41 now. In a few short months, I will be 42. On or about that time, I will need to make a decision.

When I first realized that this is my issue, and that I've finally managed to accept it, I need to tell you, flat out.

I was certain -- and I still am, to be frank -- that you would, and will, take Jacob away from me. Refuse to let him see me. Refuse to have anything to do with me, yourself.

I knew this.

Every story you ever read about this says the same thing. Its not possible. Yes, there are some who stay together and figure it out and whatever. Even a couple of books about it.

But, really?

No.

I knew it. I had to accept it.

It was part of the whole deal. In order for me to just exist, based on what I knew at that time, I basically have to give up everything I love and care about, and there goes the last of anything that means anything to me.

There goes you. There goes Son.

There goes the only remnant of a family I have.

The girls would be revolted. A* would be stunned. Your parents would be outraged.

The people I love most. The ones that were everything I had left of value in the world, and I sat there for two days and typed and cried and typed and cried.

To be able to simply accept myself, with all my problems and faults and issues, I had to be willing to give up everything, Wife. Or else continue to screw myself and those around me up with my rage and my hurt and my sadness and my depressions.

Where does my sharpness of focus come from? My ability to shut out everything but what it is I'm working on?

From my need to deny and ignore what is going on inside me.

There were days when it was overwhelming.

You called them "bad thoughts".

That stung. After finally realizing that I wasn't having bad thoughts -- that this isn't something I can just wish away, that it is something that I have had forever, that it is a source of shame and rage and fear and silence and dishonesty.

And you called them bad thoughts.

So I had to find out if I could let you go.

I can.

Its rather interesting. In my life, I have had my children and loved ones taken from me pretty consistently.

Brother was taken from me.

My cats were taken from me.

J1 was taken from me.

My daughter was taken from me.

Now I have you and Son taken from me. Only this time, and by now, the losses are so great and so heavy and so damned always there in my mind that what the hell, more pain might as well come, get it over with and maybe I can just start all over again before I die like my mom at 59.

Resignation does that. I resigned myself to the fact that you would/will hate me. That The few moments I have left with Jacob are probably all I'll ever have, and so each one is ever so much more precious to me.

The love I feel for you will never leave me. And I will always carry you in my heart.

That's what I expect. To some extent, given that I trapped you in a lie I wanted to make true -- that I was a boy inside and out -- I deserve it. Had I known before I met you that this was my problem and been able to face it and accept it, I never would have done this to you.

But I didn't.

So that's what I expect.

What do I hope for?

I hope that this is not the case. I hope that you will continue to love me as much as I love you. I hope that you will be with me as I go through this and that you will talk to me and help me and if I do choose to take the cure -- which is hard and terrible and wicked and makes what we've gone through look like a walk in the park -- that even though we will probably not be able to go forward in some ways, in others we can.

I hope that Jacob will still be a part of my life.

I hope that I can find a little bit of happiness of a sort of never felt.

I hope that I can squeeze these lemons fast enough and add enough sugar.

I hope I can stop screwing my life and the lives of those around me up. Have a nice normal life. despite the abnormal part about getting there.

There is still a lot I don't understand, and a lot I don't know, and I'm going to be learning about it for a while.

I don't want to be Son's mommy, though.

You are momma. I'm dada.

I'm told there is grieving for loss involved in this process. And I can see and understand why. To some extent, I'm grieving for the same things.

I told you that God doesn't make mistakes. And I meant that. It's even noted in the bible in several places (both old and new testaments). There are also tales about how Jesus was asked about why there are people born blind and others born without limbs, and how God could allow such things.

And the answers are usually along the lines of to teach us acceptance in adversity. To show us what to be thankful for. To build character or set us on a path.

To test us -- in our faith, in our ability to persevere, in our willingness to learn and adapt.

God's pretty good about that.

So what is the cure? Why is this decision so utterly serious?

The cure is called "transition". From what I've read so far, it is basically a series of steps governed by a document called the Standards Of Care originally published in 1969.

The first step is initial therapy. 3 Months of it at the least to determine and identify the degree of the problem and any other issues related to it (such as anger management, depression, stuff like that).

After that, the therapist, if its felt the proper course and the individual consents, sends the person off to an endocrinologist, who will prescribe a regimen of hormones.

During this time, the individual takes various steps to deal with what is generally considered the most traumatic part of the process: learning to adapt to a new gender role.

Workplace issues, family issues, and personal issues all collide. There are also some optional surgeries and things like hair removal done during this time.

Once the individual is ready, something called the Real Life Experience is undertaken. Note that this is done before surgery of any sort. The absolute soonest it can happen is probably about a year after starting, but that requires a lot of money upfront.

The RLE is basically the person stepping entirely into their new role and living for a period of one year as their "new" gender. 100% of the time. Doing everything. They change their name, they change their records, they do all those things -- basically converting their life over to the new gender and living it.

After that year, they have to see a second therapist, with different credentials, and from both of the get letters saying that its ok to do the surgery.

Then that final surgery is performed.

They remain on hormones for the rest of their life.

The number of people who "change their minds" is less than 2% of the known people, and there are many, many, many more people who are unknown.

The unknown ones live in what is called "stealth". They want a life that is normal. Many never tell anyone. In fact, most are that way. After losing their families and friends to it being too weird, they just move to a new place and start from scratch and never have anything to do with their old lives ever again.

They cannot have children.

If they are not stealth, they often cannot legally marry. Interestingly enough, they can't marry period - they get an unfair treatment in the courts that says since they were born one sex, they cannot marry someone of that same sex, but despite having changed their sex, they cannot marry someone who matches their current sex, either.

Adoption is even more difficult for them than it is for homosexual people.

And yet, most of them are successful and happy.

There are some, however, that get trapped. They go to see a therapist or doctor who doesn't know about the SoC, or who has issues with the idea (too weird).

They end up in bad places. Sex work. Porn. Jerry Springer.

They end up losing their fight for a sense of self because they have no one to help them.

Often, they end up beaten, or raped, or killed.

They are the ones on the news.

There are a lot of wonderful stories by many of them out there trying to make a life for themselves right now.

And they are everywhere.

Odds are we've met some and never known. Part of the reason for this is that one of the best doctors in the world for the final surgery is located here.

The average cost for everything for someone my age (everything including living expenses) is about 75,000 over 4 years. None of it is covered by insurance.

I have written a great deal of my thoughts and worries and fears and angers and hopes and many other things about this down.

Through all of them runs a constant and ongoing thought:

Will Wife love me, or hate me?

Among the things I've researched as well are the impact of such a thing on the children.

There's even been serious medical studies done.

There is no chance of this "infecting" the children. It is not something one decides to do. That includes teenagers, younger children, and adult children.

Children are affected by the behavior of the parents. If one parent is very negative, then the children are mixed. It pretty much the same as it would be in a divorce in any case, unless the couple stays close (or together in some cases).

One thing the doctors noted was that in the case of FTMs (which is what I would be if I choose to transition), there is no discernable impact on the social masculinization of the child. That is, even though the men became women, the children still developed with standard male responses (or female in the case of daughters).

So the role model remains.

The downside is that if it became "public" -- that is, if the child's peers were made aware of the issue -- then the children faced the typical ridicule.

I got a lot of that growing up. It sucks.

So what else is there for options besides "the cure"?

1 - I can remain as I am. Aware of the issue.

2 - I can partially transition. Crossdressing is an example of partial transition.

3 - I can transition a bit more, taking hormones.

4 - I can transition most of the way, yet not have the surgery.

This never goes away. It cannot be medicated out of me. It is there. Always.

I don't know what I'll do.

All I know is that I'm deathly afraid of dying at 59 like my mom. And that I expect I will die about then.

Especially unhappily.

I have one last chance here, as I see it. Less than 20 years. If I transition, it will take up probably 5 to 8 of them unless I were to win the lottery.

I love you, Wife. That's not false, that's not a lie. That's true down to the deepest core of my being.

I love you enough to give you up, utterly. Despite the pain it will cause me. I love you enough to want to hold on to you with all my strength and by any means possible.

I don't want to lose you. But With knowing this, I don't know what to do.

I know you are scared, and hurt, and angry, and frustrated, and dealing with way too much other crap right now to have the ability to deal with this.

And I won't bring it up again, this weird stuff, unless you ask about it.

Love,

Background - Part Four (coming out)

2007-03-17T05:28:00.003-05:00

In coming out to my friend J*, I had to come up with a way that allowed me to approach the subject that fit with the way I'm known.

One of the things that most people have always noticed about me is that I am not gay. I am decidedly heterosexual, and while inwardly I may not enjoy sex with a woman, if that's what I've got, that's what I'll do. That's "right" to me, in exactly the same way that in my personal secret space, when I have sex in my fantasies it is with a man -- but I am always a woman. Although I do have some questions and yes, even a few doubts, these are not great questions or great doubts. That is, I know the answer, but I tend to second guess myself just to be sure a lot.

However, at the same time, most people with whom I have established a friendship have always noticed -- and commented on -- the fact that I am not "right". That is, I'm not exactly "masculine" in the same way that most men are.

Aside from the physical issues (which I've come to notice more and more strongly and have been taking more and more faint hope from), there are behavioral clues, I suppose. Like the "tells" that I've always known I was giving or my idiotic urge to write down what was going on in my mind those years ago when I knew Wife was snooping around on my computer. There's always been something that wasn't quite "the same", or that didn't meet the subconscious criteria.

It had nothing to do with my passion or my intelligence or my wit or my humor. IT was just... something.

When I spoke to J*, that was how I approached it. I asked him a leading question, of course, and he was already aware that this was about something that deeply troubled me, and so he was set up to some extent to provide the correct response, but still.

I said "you know how I'm not gay but that there's always been something a little off or wrong about me?"

He said yes, of course. That was what allowed me to step forward, although I no longer recall more of the specifics of the conversation. (although the meaning of it, to me at least, is retained).

J* has known me for a very long time. Since 1989, when I first took over management of the restaurant where he was a cook, we've had a very comfortable and very laid back relationship where we are friends who don't fuck with each other. He is, in a lot of ways, my brother -- more than my other brothers have ever been, despite my deep connection to J1.

We helped each other through several tribulations, and we have both struggled hard in our lives without much of what most people would think of as success, but we've had more happiness in doing what we love than most people will ever find.

Coming out to J* was the most important step in this process I've taken, save perhaps for that brief establishment of an appointment with M*.

Even though I came out to B*, and she is important to my short term success, it is J* who I know will be there for me when I tell Wife. It is Jim who will be there for me when I talk to C*.

And it is J* who will be there for me when I have my birthday party in Vegas in 2012. He just better not make a pass at me, lol.

8 Days.
I retract everything I've ever said about living one's life by facing one's fears.
If you do it too long -- if you become an experience junkie, bent on learning at costs you can't conceive of until its too late -- it becomes ingrained, a part of you outside your nominal control, that rips the heart out of you when you aren't looking.
There are three things you gotta do: you gotta die, you gotta pay taxes, and you gotta deal with the consequences of your actions.
Consequences are the only danger.
9 days ago, I was unhappy, vaguely aware of why, alone, missing my wife and my son, plodding along with a mission to make something of the company I started as a woman online.
My wife barged into my bedroom this morning around 10:30, 11:00am. I'm a deep sleeper -- alarms are effective for me only until I learn to turn them off or a month -- which ever comes first.
I sleep in the day, work at night (fewer interruptions)
Waking me is physically hazardous at times when I don't expect it - she knows, though, lol. After 11 years, she knows how to wake me better than anyone alive.
I leaped out of bed, heart racing, awareness struggling to return. IT was not good. Panic flooded me as I talked to her: what were the visible links on the computers I had left on? How long had she been here? What had she snooped around in so far?
We needed to go to the records department today to get a death cert for my mother so that her brother, to whom I had unwilling sold my car years a few years back, could get it registered. blah blah blah blah
We haven't seen each other in private for several weeks. She was proud of me for finally going in to therapy. She looked up at me with a face that I hadn't seen in ages, one that spoke of the love she hadn't uttered or demonstrated in over two years. My heart hurt.
I dug around for my birth certificate, found it, half chewed, icky, nasty
We left, to go and eat breakfast first. Small talk as we moved around, talk about things we needed to do, talk turned to the divorce paperwork.
She's never planned on asking for support. She knows me too well, knows how I feel about my son and about my responsibilities there. With the exceptions of a couple very large items of mine in storage, we've already divided the property. We hadn't moved forward because I wasn't ready. I am now -- she noticed I have a new found ease with myself, I'm relaxed, I smile a lot more, I don't seem so withdrawn.
she tells me the status of her parents. Her mom is still in the hospital, still dying, the hospital is screwing with them, the cardiologist who just removed the infected leads of her pacemaker is saying discharge her to a hospice, they've had her on morphine which she can't take -- it s a mess.
Her dad has cancer. He's a manly man -- and Hispanic with every macho fiber of being dedicated to his wife. After getting to know him, I tried to emulate many of his qualities to improve my "appearance", score points with the wife. The therapy for this cancer is estrogen. Yes, he has prostate cancer, and he's on HRT before I am. I stifled a laugh.
I gave advice, suggested a few courses of action. Breakfast arrived. I've eaten terribly for days -- I have irritable bowel syndrome, and it has kicked in like mad (yes, that IBS, a girl illness). I picked at my food but drank the OJ like it was going out of style.
I don't remember how, now, but I talked of how therapy was going to be interesting for me. How what could happen would destroy everything about me, take away everyone I love.
She looked at me and smiled that way she does when for once she's got something on me, lol. "You mean how you are a woman?"
I barely caught the glass that was knocked over by the force of my chin hitting the tabletop.
She's known about my online being out. I'd told her. Used a few choice excuses. Thought she'd bought them. She laughed, and never had -- she'd known. There's always been that "something" about me. I'm not gay, but something.
11 years, 2 months. Today. We both forgot our anniversary this year, and both rushed to make up for it. We've talked in the past about how after the older boy has grown and moved out and she's gotten the oldest girl to finally start living in the world and out of her little cave how we would move back in again.
The divorce hasn't been about not loving each other. Its been about not being able to live with each other because of all the crap that lies between me and my step children.
She said she's always loved me. She said it. It's been three and a half years since she's used the word. She said she understood, had always watched all my little tells, named several that I'd thought I was ever so sly about.
I remembered why I loved her so much. We're opposites when you look at us and when you come to know us as individuals. A strange little odd couple. But our inner views and core beliefs and way of looking at the world is soo much alike.
I've lived through her. I've been jealous of her. I've resented her when she was pregnant with Jacob and when she breast fed at night.
We wanted more than Son. I still do. But in a way that I can never achieve, no matter what I try. Science isn't there yet, and I don't think is likely to ever go there. She miscarried three times -- and the last was the worst. It dented us, we both blamed ourselves when we should have blamed the damned doctors who killed the baby during surgery.
Doctors aren't bad, mind you. Just I've not had lots of good experiences. They are human, prone to errors and judgments and all the little things all of us are. At times, I think too much is expected of them.
And at other times I know that if they botch me up I'll sue them into oblivion. This is why I'm not a doctor.
I told her there pretty much only two ways to deal with Gender Dysphoria. Oversimplification, yes, but it was the point and it was within her reach.
I could simply try and go on with my life as it was now. Trapped and miserable but more comforted knowing that I had a *reason* for why I felt this way. Or I could "fix" it.
And then the light started to dawn.
She slid off right away, it's stupid, why mess with what god did, unless you are saying God made a mistake.
God doesn't make mistakes. He has his reasons for everything. Half of our job is to figure them out.
We both teared up, held it in, held it back. She does know me. Knows how I am. Knows who I am.
She's all I have. Her and Son. One friend who I see once a month. A neighbor who I've come out to. And then my online life, but that's built on a fiction, except for here. I'm stealth online, with elaborate covers and multiple layers of displacement and protection and cover.
She's who I'd like to be when I "grow up". Strong and yet still very much a woman. Comfortable with herself. She's not my soul mate, never has been, but she was never "second best".
We could never have sex again, and she wouldn't care. She loves me.
And I so love her. So much.
She wants my son to have what I never did. A good, strong Role Model. Someone to be his father.
Not a second mommy.
I want the same thing. But I can't be it and be true to myself, be honest with myself, be comfortable with myself now. Not now.
Oh god, not now.
I smiled, slid back into my slimy suit. "well, lets get the divorce taken care of, and let me finish therapy. 3 months or so. Won't have to make any decisions about what I'm going to do until then."
I beamed it, turned "on" for that fraction, teased her about how if she knew all this time she never told me. I never crossdressed. I thought I was always careful.
We held hands. Jabbered. Got up to leave, our comfortable roles around us like the habits we've had forever.
In the car, we talked about how we're both very conservative in our views. How neither of us are homosexual. She was unable to separate gender from sexuality. For her, if I were to change, It would mean I was gay. She said that no "real" man would ever even consider being a "girl", even for a moment, in the way that I had, but she still knew I wasn't gay.
She had committed to me, she said. And she knew I was committed to her. Its a fundamental part of my being -- I don't do things lightly, but once I do, I commit wholly, and with all my being.
I once waffled for three months over a design consideration for when we built our dream house before our world fell apart. I looked into every single aspect of it. Had to be sure it was the best choice possible.
I'm a control freak. Knowledge is my lever for that. I learn fast, learn deep, and constantly reexamine. Sometimes I have enough already, sometimes I have to take a little deeper look.
She saw me, saw into me, in that way that we can as spouses who love each other do.
She said she couldn't handle it if I died right now. Not now. Not with everything else going on. And If I changed, I'd be dead, because it wouldn't be me. And if I dated she's never find it in her to be at peace, and I she did, I'd better be able to let her.
If I change, and I can't be a father to my son, she can't let me see him and be comfortable with that.
I said nothing, just comforted her.
She looked at me. I said I'd see in 3 months, once everything was cleared up so I could be free of all of it and take a good look at things.
I lied.
I lied to her.
oh god, how could I do that? I've never lied to her about anything important. Maybe about not taking out the trash or smoking in the back room of the house some stupid errand that I was still going to do but hadn't yet and she was pushin and I couldn't disappoint.
I am ashamed of myself.
But I don't regret it, and I can't take it back, and I wouldn't if I could.
But she knows. She knows I will change.
She doesn't understand it yet, doesn't know the process yet. Doesn't realize that I won't change all that much.
I'll still be Vyxyn. I'll still be me. I won't be a second mommy. I'll just be a bit different, and a lot happier.
and now I know Just how sad I'll be, too.
yeah, facing your fears and being honest is just great.
yeah, just freaking wonderful.
8 days.
2, 273 to go.
To the powers that be: please don't let them be as painful as today.
please.

Background - Part Three

2007-03-17T05:28:00.001-05:00

Deconstruction of the man I was, so that the woman I am can be freed. Memories.

Seems simple to read, lol.

I know its going to be not precisely that. Because as I sit here and look at those words, the weight of it is hitting me again, and I want to cry.

Supposed to be working. Who the hell can work at a time like this?

Ok, so here we go. Exercise: deconstruct who I am, and bring back out the girl in me, and look openly at who I am now so that I can see what the future holds for me and make the appropriate plans.

Life story time.

I was born in 1965, at 11:33pm.

When I begin my RTE, I will start it on April 1st, and I will schedule my ffs and my RTS as close to that date as is possible.

I want that day to be my birthday. Its not like it will change who I am, lol. Sorry, despite my knowledge and all that, astrology is not a determining factor in who we really are. Nor is numerology. If they were, then I wouldn't be in this boat, would I?, lol.
So, I was born on April 1st, 1965. So let it be written, so let it be done.

My first and last names came from my father. My middle name came from a person who my father worked with or for or something like that.

When I was 5, getting ready for school, my grandfather acted as my mother's lawyer and had my last name changed from D* to W*in order to match my brother and my mother, making life a bit easier for her.

I didn't remember that. At all. In fact, I was like 12 or so when I found out. Probably older, as I think it was 16, but I know I knew before then because I knew before I had to attend that pisshole of a school Poston.

One of the things I remember from my foggy days (6 to 10) is that at one point my brother and I sorta chose our football teams. Boys do that, you know. I chose the Washington Redskins. The reason I chose them is that they were special to my mom. (as an adult, I found out why they were special to her -- and after her death, I found out the depth of that specialness).

One of the most famous Washington Redskin players is a man named Tony Dorsett. The name has *always* stuck in my head. I think I know why now, and I have to both shake my finger at the powers that be with a scowl, and giggle about it.

So, with my new birth, I return to my very roots. I return to my maiden name, which is awesome since I'm finally returning to being a maiden.

E* comes from the me that has been female for the last several years. E* is sorta like my mother, in a lot of ways. And my real mother wouldn't mind, I don't think. Especially since some of my online identity is based on her life.

E*also comes from Lazarus, who is where much of my boymode developed out, as Lazarus Long is a fictional character who influenced -- and who reinforced -- a lot of my inner self. Lazarus Long is a creation of Robert A. Heinlein. Who also wrote I Will Fear No Evil, about a brain transplant (old fart to cute young girl), as well as the seminal Stranger In A Strange Land. When I was 16, I changed my name so that Lazarus was an additional middle name -- that's the impact of this on my life at a critical point.
Interestingly, he's also affected just as deeply my perceptions of what a woman should be like. I'll probably end up an awful lot like Friday. :D OR at least, I hope I do.

So, let's see. What do I know.
I was born April 1st, 1965.
My father was a singer. He was 44 at the time I was born. My mother was 21. In 1965. He traveled the circuit between LA and Chicago and Las Vegas. I don't know how much of the times you know, but these were some pretty heady days.

According to my family, who have always been very cagey and reluctant to talk about this stuff with me, my father was laundering money for the mob. He was discovered to be doing this by the FBI.
He and my mother split up because he fled the country.

My mother, for some reason, had FBI protection for a few years, as there was apparently a fear that I would be "grabbed". Apparently, we moved a bit, but for some time we lived with my grandparents for a short while, finally moving north to Sedona.
And all this shortly after or around the time of my birth. The timeline is compressed -- it has to be. Because there is my brother. (always thought that was sorta, well, cute, lol. He got the girl name, but I'm the girl). Brother was born in 1967. Two years and two days after I was. So we have a nine month period that family stories have given me reason to believe was entirely spent in Sedona with StpDd, so we can probably assume at least a full year (knowing both my mother and StpDd, this isn't unreasonable).

So 1965 was a huge deal for my mother. Based on what I know about StpDd, as well, he was already in Sedona in 1966, working towards his goals. I also know that my mother worked as a waitress in the Sedona tavern, and that she worked as a Hostess for T* (StpDd's brother, deceased -- and openly homosexual) at the predecessor to the O*.

Based on later developments in StpDds life (notably S*), and knowledge of my mother's high school days and StpDd's high school days, and all that, I can say that I know my mother had a crush on StpDd in high school that she never acted on, that she was very familiar with Sedona, that StpDd used T*'s successful business and their relationship to scope the girls that worked for T*, and that StpDd is a horn dog of the biggest sort. I also know, from personal experience and one of my earliest memories which is literally nothing more than a picture, that StpDd is well hung.

Actually, my Dad is really cute. *blush*

Anyway, so in constructing the events around my life prior to 1971, I feel fairly accurate in setting up a time table something like this:

January - March, 1965: Happiness for my mom with Dad, going back two years.

March - June, 1965: Something happens. The FBI is involved. Dad leaves the US in a hurry. My mother is suddenly left very much alone, at 22, in the mid 60's, and in probably one of the most conservative climate's in the country, after having already shocked the establishment by marrying a singer with a past history of failed marriages (My mother's research turned up a sister in California somewhere, but I never had a chance to learn more).

July - October, 1965: My mother lives in pretty constant fear, weighing options, staying with her folks.

Late 1965: My mother moves to Sedona, which at that time was a tiny town so out of the way that no one knew about it. A good place to go and hide and start again. And there was that cute QB from high school, too.
1966: StpDd and my mother get together, and StpDd begins opening the bars and getting his real estate stuff going.

1967: Brother comes along. StpDd isn't ready to be a father, has some issues himself, causing friction, and there are money troubles.

1968: Further degradation of the family thing. I believe that the divorce occurs during this period, in part because StpDd doesn't acknowledge Brother as his son, and well, I'm apparently cute as a button but too damned weird. There is a birthday picture of me that was one of my Grandmother's favorite photos. I do not look like a boy in that picture to me, and every time I saw that smiling baby, I always felt cold inside. Thinking about it now, I can feel the old anger there a little, so there's something odd about that time period.

1969: My mother moves back to Phoenix. She now has two children to support, and is getting no help from StpDd that I'm aware of. She danced as a go go dancer at a popular night spot, went to college, got a minor bookkeeping structure, but wasn't able to go for the full accounting deal she wanted. She also continued to work in the law offices of my grandfather and great grandfather.

1970: My mother was continuing to do stuff to live. I was caring for my brother at this time while she was asleep (morning) or working (night). Apparently I could make cinnamon toast and make cereal and actually cleaned. I loved to read, and I would spend hours and hours playing with all my stuffed animals and toys, having long drawn out conversations with them. All of which is second hand information. I am ready for school, however, and so in December of this year, my grandfather does my name change to match my mother and brother so that life for all of us would be easier (blend or suffer).

1971: S*and I begin seeing StpDd during the summertime, after a court fight between he and my mother. StpDd has a previous child, named LT* (after StpDd's brother), who is a year older than I am, and He has never seen nor acknowledged LT*. He doesn't, until 1976, when L* (Little T*'s mom) sues StpDd the same way my mother does and forces him to do the same deal as my mother did.

(StpDd eventually ends up as a parent of 4 boys by three women, then me, and then the step father to two girls).

Pushing hard, I remember that this year and/or 1972, StpDd lived in a "bachelor pad" that was two different apartments. He repeated one of the locations later on, after the divorce from StpMm or AMm, and I recall the general look of the place (very late 60's/early 70's style) and sleeping on the couch and having ice cream at the parlor and spending time in the Bookworm. (Sedona was a huge playground to me as a child). I remember the fourth of July by reference.

In 1973, S* and I went to visit him, and he lived in the house at the top of the hill. We flew in a small plane to get there. We met StpMm, whose influence on me is pretty deep, and who I have deep affection for and considerable resentment towards. Good fourth of July. Lots of confusion.

Interesting. I have a split memory. I have two different memory trails to travel here. The easy one is the Sedona path. The hard one is the phoenix path.

Phoenix about this time. I remember Piaute Elementary school. I remember I had three friends who were boys. I remember I was bumped up a grade because of reading skills. I remember walking to the day care center after school.

I remember being left alone on the first day of school for what seemed like hours. I was scared and sad and I don't know why, but it was terrible and I was so mad. My mother didn't recall it any of the times I made reference to it around her, but its a powerful memory. I can see the fencing and the brick wall I walked or sat or waited by. I remember being cold.

The daycare was someplace I hated. I remember the smell and the mats and the TV's mounted on the walls and the Huge playground that I would spend hours in. This has to be 72, lol. I remember wondering what it would be like to vote when I was 18, and I remember the chant song the girls would sing about McGovern kicking Nixon in the can. I remember singing it myself.

We had to move. I remember that. One of my friends from Piute, many, many years later, I would meet again. That's was E*. On the same day that we explored our sexuality, we also learned we had known each other, and E* actually had a picture of me. That was when I realized I had almost no memories of my childhood for the first time.

Pueblo was the next school. Third grade was when things started to pop for me, and I have many memories from then on. But still a notable separation in the two threads of my life.
And now I remember noting that when I was in high school -- I was a different person in Sedona than I was in Phoenix. I was happier in Sedona. I felt more accepted, and there were fewer people, and I was alone a lot, and StpMm was awesome, and the vacations were killer.

LOL!!

StpMm was very much a woman. And she loved, or seemed to love, being a woman. And she accepted all my oddnesses and was incredibly encouraging. Hence the affection. Also, she was always there.
I'm having a hell of a moment here as I see all this. Wow.
In Sedona I was free. No wonder my fondest wish is to be a little lady in my own cabin in the country with a gorgeous garden and no neighbors, lol. I was much more effeminate in Sedona. T* was always great to me (big T*). I was always a little put off by him, lol.
Wow.

So many little things.

There was the really cool old guy I would go and visit. He wasn't really old. Prolly late forties, fifties. He was a carver or artist of some sort. Would show me his tools and answered all my questions. He was a stranger, though, lol.

Wow.
Back to phoenix. Pueblo. 3rd grade, Mrs. Keller. The testing I had to go through. Getting sick in music class. The medical tests, the fact something was wrong, but no one would tell me what. Probably my own spin on things -- I went through test after test after test. I hated the barium enema. I've been hugely protective of myself since then, and have disliked tests. No one told me anything. The family doctor (I wish I remembered his name) with his really, really deep voice (started smoking to make mine deeper -- worked too well :(). His attention to my genitals and how that annoyed me (nothing bad -- and my mother was always present, just that I always remember things around that).

Later the worry about my body size and mass. I wasn't "growing". The damn protein powders and weight gain crap.

God I hated that. I can see it now, too.

Oh jesus. I wasn't developing like a boy.

Last night I spent four hours talking to my neighbor. I came out to her last night. The euphoria I was feeling, it just bubbled out, couldn't stop it. She was ever so cool. I actually made a friend last night, and she's the first new friend I've truly made in years. And she's a GG, and we talked girl stuff last night, and we were talking about what was going to happen to me (she was curious), and I was talking to her and slowly realizing once again just how much in denial I still was about my body. I was talking about what I hoped the HRT would do for me.
I have tiny wrists. Small feet for a boy. Very, very little body hair. Good cheekbones. My brow ridges aren't markedly developed.

OMG, I can see it now. Add in my mother's intense dislike for homosexuals. The fact that, ultimately, the boys I did get to know the best were all homosexual, lol, but how I'm not -- safe boys. Kids are always incredibly sensitive to things we often lose as adults.

I didn't like it when StpDd would tease me. He didn't much. But occasionally he would. He tried, though. He made me incredibly happy when I was just getting in to mesa -- he bought me what I wanted for my christmas/birthday present, and I hadn't expected anything, or yet another in his line of sports stuff. lol. I wanted pillows. Tons and tons of pillows. For my own room (which I'd never had until then).

Damn. Even my stepdad sorta knew. The pillows were all pastels. My mom was not happy, lol. I was overjoyed.

Sheesh. I'm starting to see some things here.

I suffer from a disorder called IBP or something like that. Stress related, it is almost entirely associated with women. Intestinal tract stuff, lol. They now have a medicine for it -- and it is advertised widely for women.

Men, however, apparently can't be prescribed it. They don't get it, apparently. I can't talk about it, lol, because its a girl sickness.

I'm wondering.

I'm wondering a LOT.

Why don't I remember stuff from prior to school?

Why did my grandparents have such a hard time financially during that period?

Why was my father reportedly overly concerned with my body?

Why did my mother work so damned hard during that time and get no where until after 72?

Why was it that there was always so much concern when I was young about my "development"?

Why is it that even now, after all the people who were intimately involved are dead, all my aunts and uncles refuse to talk about that time period to me?

gah.

So many questions, and now I'll never have answers. All the keepers of them are dead.

I've just finished crying as I think about all of this. I've been crying a lot. Its all guy crying -- I allow myself a moment of sobbing, and then pull it together just before the tears come. Its happening a lot.

I haven't cried with tears in a long time. The last time was when it finally hit me how much I'll miss my mother. Before that, it was the birth of my son, and, now I can openly, over my incredible sadness that I wasn't his mommy. I still want to hear that word said to me. Probably always will. And it won't happen in this lifetime.

One thing, though. Its easier for me to allow myself to cry. Because that's what it is. Allowing myself that freedom.

Such a strange life. multiple mothers, one half absent father, siblings I saw only rarely.

I was 12 when my brother J1* was born. And as I typed that I started crying again, and I'm gonna let the tears for him come.

J1* was a star. When I saw him, I was twelve. He was a beautiful baby. He was a wonderful baby. And StpMm, his mother, was so glowing.

I cared for him in the summers. By then I was babysitting kids for lots of families in Sedona. I enjoyed it. And everyone always remarked how wonderful a babysitter I was. And there was always that damnable "for a boy" phrase, but never said to me, at least.

I had a huge attachment to J1. When they moved out of state, and I ended up embarking on my first dark time in the last couple years of high school and into the army (times when I didn't go to Sedona, which I now regret, seeing now how critical they were for me), I lost touch with him.

J1 did well. StpMm is a great mom. His younger brother J2 also did well, and I strongly believe that he did better because he was outside the influence of StpDd, despite his yearning -- just like my brother's -- for that acceptance on the part of StpDd.

J1, though, fell into drugs for a while as a young adult, had problems. He pulled through, and Just as I was getting to a point where I was trying to integrate that side of my family into my extended family cycle with Wife and Son, he was taken from us.

J1 was killed in a moment of happiness gone wrong. He was in Colorado, had recently become very successful selling timeshares, was partying, drove his jeep home. Missed a turn on the wild country roads, went off the edge, out of the jeep.

He struck a fence post. Even though they did a good job, he was only barely recognizable as my brother, whom I had last seen only a year before.

By that time, StpMm had changed. She was no longer the warm and welcoming woman I had loved as my second mother. She had become icy and distant. We had drifted apart. StpDd was still StpDd.

At the funeral, she snubbed me. It killed the last of it. I know why she did. Its ok. But it still hurt, and before I knew it, she was gone from in me. Although a huge part of who I am will always be due to her. and I will always think of her as my second mom -- the cool one, LOL.

StpDd was utterly distraught. I did and said what I could, and I was there.

With the loss of my relationship with my brother Brother, however, I've lost my relationship with them. Unlike myself, he had been much more active with them. And they were more accepting of his wife -- lol, he was very much his father then and in his choice, lol. I love my brother, but when my mother died, that killed what has long been a sort of iffy relationship anyway.

I doubt he'll ever turn to his sister for help. He's never been a particularly accepting sort. If he does, though, I'll be there for him. He is my brother.

And the same will apply to my whole family. Although I know which ones will be able to deal with it and which ones won't, I'm not going to shove this on them. I have pretty much no contact now, although once I've started RTE I'm certain I will have an overpowering urge to finally be free, lol

So I have two tracks of memories.

I have Sedona, and I have Phoenix (which was actually Scottsdale and Mesa).

1972/73 is when memory starts to return for both areas. Splotchy, indistinct, unclear, but that's normal, I would suspect, for most people. I retain the highlights. Some examples of acting out, a couple of minor victories, an embarrassment, little stuff.

Up until 75, its mixed. No time sense then -- nothing that really standsout. Still working on developing a sense of identity, I assume, and I feel, and the whole period is filled in my head with a lot of fantasy and time alone.
A lot of time alone. Couple friends, some slumber parties.

76 was the bicentennial. My mom ordered the encyclopedias, I got the movie camera, I broke the kitchen table, Disneyland, The ranch, the terrible thing about airplanes.
Ranch and planes might have been later. The timing is off to me in my head.

Distractions, side thoughts, things that I need to reminisce about -- they've paused this reflection and deconstruction. I'm going to continue it, but now, for my purposes, I'm going to set them up as breaks in the flow, because there is sooo much that I need to do right now.

Not the least of which is survive long enough to see this dream of mine come true.

Monday, 6:01am (10-16)

Wow.

Buried memory surfaced a little while ago. I was reflecting on it and decided to go to bed, but I don't want this one to fade away again -- it has bearing.

I was young. Very young.

We lived in the townhouse, so it was between 72 and 77 -- not later, because I was still wearing jammies. I used to drive my mom nuts cause I was always playing with my peepee.

Series of memories, disjointed, visual, POV.

I would sit in the bathroom and fold my peepee up, get rid of it. I would always nose around in my moms stuff (the upstairs bathroom was shared by all of us). I loved the feel of this one canister of face powder she had. I was a cardboard canister, flowers on it, the powder smelled good and the puff for it tickled my nose.

Bam, another memory/thought about naming my peepee, lol.
I had to be careful -- this was something I would get in trouble for. I had to be sneaky.

I would play with the cosmetics on her nightstand too. I would make myself pretty, like she did. She always got so mad when I did.

The big memory. The one that stopped me from doing it ever again. The one that set the stage for me always being torn and difficult about going into the cosmetics area with Wife, decades later, lol.
I had a nightmare.

It was terrifying. I had snuck into her room to play with her stuff, and it came to life and tried to eat me. The hairspray was the meanest one, sharp teeth and evil eyes. The compact tried to bite my fingers and my nose. I was chased by the stool. I ran screaming from the nightmare things, a world of cosmetics coming to eat me, swallow me.

I never touched them again after that. Even when I thought about dressing up as a woman for halloween (I never did it) I never considered makeup. I have a fear reaction to the thought of "painting my face".
That phrase, in fact -- something about it triggers a fear reaction in me. Even as I'm writing it.

Establishes that I did indeed use my mother's stuff when young, and she knew about it.

Its still later than my memory void, though -- its in the blurry part.

I had suppressed it until I was reading the makeup sections.

This one is going to be difficult. I'm getting an anxiety attack from the thought of the makeover I want to do after Halloween. I can't chicken out. I may go ahead and shave and see.

That damn gargantuan space between my lip and nose, though...

The memory talking about my peepee: I have no name for my member there.

Every boy I've ever known has a name for it. The closest I can come is "PeePee" -- infantile expression for it still.

I knew what a girl looked like down there when I was young. I kept trying to tuck mine so it was like hers.

The other night, My neighbor's son was naked (he's such a handful) and for the first time ever I actually *looked* at a developing penis on a boy.

Mine did not look like that.

I've never really paid attention to Son's, for that matter, lol. He has one, but I just "overlook" it. I know its there, I'm superficially aware of it, but I can't picture it in my head.

strange.

When Wife and I were first going out, she asked me what mine was named. I made up something on the spot. No clue what. She probably remembers.

Side note regarding the blurry years.

My temper was incredibly uncontained at this time. My mother had an impossible time keeping babysitters for Brother and I, mostly because of me. I was wild, mean, spiteful, nasty, and physically wicked.

She kept one babysitter for a long time. I think her name was Pam. Dark hair, glasses, drove a mail truck that she bought at a government auction from the money she earned babysitting me, lol.

My mother paid for her hospital bills. She was hurt by me in a fight when I pushed her until she fell down some stairs. Happy to be left alone, I stayed in my bedroom.

Only two people could ever "control" me, or calm me down. My Mother and my Grandmother.

I do have one memory that is unimaginably old that I am recalling right now.

It is the only memory I have of my grandfather, who committed suicide in 1973 after decades of struggle with TB. I have been told it is false, but I don't believe so.

He was sitting at the little table that there once was in my grandmother's tiny kitchen before he passed. He read the paper there every morning. I know this. He was reading it and I came around the corner from the living room and toddled up to him. We were the only two there.

I wasn't scared. But I'm not sure I liked him. The emotional feel of the moment is too vague, and the memory is too distant. I remember looking up at him, him looking at me, sad, sad eyes behind glasses. He said something that made me feel happy.

That's all there is, and its very slippery, that one.

I don't hate my thing. I don't like it, though. Its uncomfortable and it gets in my way.

I haven't thought about those two memories in ages. They are like movies in mind.

I remember when I finally got my anger under control for the first time. 8th or 9th grade -- I can't remember which it was as I can't recall the location of the lockers.

Something had peeved me, set me off, I was roiling, ready to explode and knew it, knew that I would cause harm to someone. Marched into the classroom -- 8th grade. Pruitt's classroom. Went around the wall to where my locker was, and beat my hands bloody against he locker door while screaming.

No broken hands. Only minor cuts. I destroyed the locker door, though. Completely. They had to cut it out to replace it.

I was sent home with a note. I never gave it to my mom.

The worst time with my anger was in 4th grade. The year before I had become "known", and during this year I developed the core of the friendships I had at Pueblo until we left -- especially Kristina, who was my constant companion.

I was the leader of the "funny" kids -- the ones who were not accepted.

We wanted to play in the "ship" (a huge sandbox). The bullies challenged me to a monkey bar fight. I was good on them. I used to climb and hang and try to do the flips.

He called me names of some sort, I think, or something, I don't know what, but When we both came down off the overhead railings and hit the sand, he hit me, and I lost it or something. I remember losing all sense of everything, a vast and impossible darkness that wiped out all thought from my head for a few moments. And then I came back to myself, able to see, to hear, to feel and people were screaming at me and hitting me on the back to let go.

He had already passed out from the chokehold. It scared me.

It still scares me. Had it lasted a few more minutes, at that young age I would have been a murderer.

And I understood the meaning of that concept. Quite well. It boosted my stature immeasurably -- although I still ran from The Duck and his cronies Brad and Chris. (Chris later died of leukemia -- and had become a friend by then. Brad became a friend in 7th grade. Brad W*, I think it was, lol. Donald and I more or less made a truce in 8th grade).
Dr. Jacobs was my doctor's name. The one with the deep deep voice. His office was near the place where the baseball team practiced in scottsdale.

Wow. The memories are there to some extent. They become sharpest around 7th grade, but I can follow tendrils of some of those backwards (angela, who I had my first date with, who said yes when I asked her out after having spent three weeks building up courage and rehearsing it) and some of the early ones from 3rd and 4th forward (the great Rockfight -- we won!).

Very little emotional content though. very little "exciting". Kristen, the short dark haired girl who was often my mental opponent (and angela's little sister -- angela was a year older than me, LOL). Teasing me. Calling me monkey man, and me taking it and turning it back on her, acting like a monkey and making that god awful gap even bigger.

Asking my mother about race and my dad -- the first talk about my dad. I might be black, I might be anything. We think I'm Sioux, but nobody knows. 6th grade tendril follow shows testing again -- the intro to Mrs Gates, my worries about being in the "gifted" program, the first series of crap about my "growth" that was always quietly whispered.

Stepping out...

Starting about half way through the 4th grade, my grades plummeted from straight A's to lucky to pass -- although everyone said I knew the work. I simply never did homework. I resisted any attempt to make me do so. My grades never got better, unless I liked the subject (spelling in 7th, science in 8th).

LOL!!!

I just remembered how much I hated shop. I could have gone to home ec, and I would always look in to see what was going on, dying of curiosity. I remember seeing the girls doing something with dress on those mannequins and being jealous but having to hide it. Wasn't "cool" for a boy to be interested in Home Ec.

PE sucked. Only decent time I remember was the big team sport segments. I used to wish we'd play soccer, cause I could stand at one end of the field all by myself and think evil thoughts (Damien lives! lol) at the boys who tormented me.

I was alone, though. I never dressed out. I liked tetherball. I couldn't play it because it was a sissy thing.

I had no clue what sissy meant. I remember that, lol. I remember someone saying that and my going "oh, yeah, sissy" and looking all tough and thinking "what does sissy mean? Does it mean me? Does it mean like a girl?"
LOL -- more!! I started watching that one show with Mr French and "cissy". I was watching to see what a cissy was. LOL
Oh lord, I was so naive. Yeah, Emotionally not ready. I can see how they thought that. I was two to three grades ahead intellectually, but a grade or two behind otherwise. Living in my mind.

This is a great time for me to do this. I am very tired, and my brain is ready to sleep, so I can see more, dig deeper. But my spelling is terrible.

I'm worried about telling Wife. Although I know how she will react and feel, my stress now is on how I tell her. I'm already rehearsing speeches.

I can't tell her now, though. Her mother is dying in the hospital, her father has cancer, she's not doing too hot herself. Better I be here for her until its too late and too obvious. But she'll ask about it. I told her I was in therapy. She was happy.
She will not like the result, though. :(
Off to bed.

Background -- Part Two

2007-03-17T05:23:00.001-05:00

My name is Vyxyn.

I was born in 1965 on Phoenix, Arizona, and I have lived with gender Dysphoria from then until now.

Now is different, obviously. But how is it different?

Its different because a few days ago as I write this -- not quite 72 hours, really -- I realized that even though I'm 40 years old, I actually have a chance to correct this imbalance in my life, and As I'm really, really tired of coping and letting it trickle out as I go through life, I'm rapidly becoming utterly convinced that this is the direction and the decision I want to make.

I expect to second guess myself daily for the next five years at the very minimum.

I have no real clue why I'm writing this. The reasons that come to mind are pretty basic and simple, though:

1 - its for my therapist, who I see for the first time today. This is somewhat problematic, as I'm not sure my therapist will have access to the Internet to see this page, and I'm too damned cheap and broke to get a new cord for my printer.

2 - I'm a 40 year old person who's come to this realization. That's a lot of years of built up coping mechanisms. As I've researched this out, I haven't come across a whole lot of other 40 year olds talking about this. Given what I was exposed to in my life, I suspect that perhaps my perspectives might be of use to someone else in a similar boat. And this is a sinking ship I wouldn't wish on anyone.

3 - I'm a total attention whore. This one doesn't fit my personal image of myself, but I have no doubt it will strike someone like that.

I know that when I complete transition, I will go under what I've learned is called "deep stealth" -- that is, when I am finished, I will make a completely clean break with my male past, and I will vanish as a male and become me.

I also found nothing online that told me what to expect or what to do or how this feels. And although I plan to go stealth, that might not be possible, and I may change my mind in the process and become something of an activist myself.

You see, at this moment, I can't find *anyone* to talk to about this.

I reached a critical point in my life a few years ago, and didn't even realize it. It totally side stepped me. Two years ago, though, I was forced to begin reconciling myself with it, and in the process I've had to deal with myself once again.

These events are, basically, that I moved out of my family and began to live alone.

I have only lived alone a few times in my life. Each time, I've suppressed memories of things and events -- and over the last 10 years I've seriously buried a lot of crap, even though it peeked out of me off an on in little tiny ways.
This time, however, I'm living alone, and there's a pretty serious rift in my life. My marriage is over. Has been for years, but there's still so much shared communion there and the welfare of my son to consider that I haven't completed the process of the divorce.

I believe I'll have to do that now. And I believe I'll have to start cherishing every moment with my son like no other. I say that because I know, for certain, that my wife will not support me in this, and that she will take my child away from me because of it, and I also know that I won't stop her as long as she declines any sort of support.

I know because this has already happened once before, and my wife is a very predictable sort.

So the question arises, first off, why the hell do I think I'm gender Dysphoria, and what the hell is a transsexual? At this point, I don't know. Based on what I've encountered in the media and so forth, its someone who feels that they are the wrong gender. I can't answer why, because I have no clue, and everything I've seen thus far is pretty much the same: no one actually knows, but its real enough and prevalent enough that its been classified as a psych condition.

Basically, I'm crazy. But this is a good crazy.

Now, I think this because I meet pretty much every single symptom I've seen for it but one, and I unfortunately not only can't verify that one, but I don't remember it either.
The one I'm missing is some sort of early childhood stuff. Prior to 6 type of stuff. I have no memories of my life before age 6 at all, and from 6 to about 10 things are *really* sketchy. I've been this way since I was about 15 (that is, the memory thing), and I've tried to talk it through with people and do research on it with family members to try and recover something.

Squat. It made me who I am today, however, whatever it is.

The rest of it, though, I can pretty much tell you best be described the stuff I have been remembering over the last two weeks and especially strongly the last few days.

My whole life, I've internally identified more with women than with men. Now, the thing that I've always countermanded that with myself is that I was raised by a single mother in the 70's. This fails, however, because I did have a father figure, directly in the form of my brother's father, who definitely has/had feelings for me and I can absolutely say the same on my part. He's my Dad. I haven't spoken to him in a long time, however, and at this point, I'm highly unlikely to.

but wait, there's more! Almost every night for the last 25 years -- and probably longer, given other signs and thoughts and feelings remaining from before then -- I've gone to bed wishing I would turn into a girl overnight.

Now, I'm not talking your casual wish here. I'm 40 years old, and I'm talking a Pinocchio sorta wish -- the kind of thing you say and feel and want with all your heart.

I'm also going to say that I've never had a fantasy that is sexual in nature where I'm the boy.

My favorite sexual positions generally involve me being under. And I'm not all that keen on sex. At least, not with someone else.

I'm pretty damn good at masturbation. But most especially there, I'm never the boy. When I was in high school it was like that. High school was an incredibly traumatic time for me for several reasons, though. Perhaps the most painful of all of them was the dramatic change in environment at the time, as my mom bought a new house over the summer and sorta forgot to tell us, lol.
In my teens and 20's, I did a lot of stupid stuff. But I also did a lot of really interesting stuff -- things like letting my hair grow out so I could put it in a ponytail (it was something I could get away with), piercing my ears (I wasn't able to get away with it -- they closed and healed), growing my nails long.

Yeah, it's pretty freaking weird.

When I was young, however, I had a lot of friends who were girls, and very few who were boys. In high school, I made several friends. Two boys, two girls. They formed the core of an evolving friendship group that lasted for over 15 years, in fact -- until my marriage and the birth of my son.

One of the boys had a crush on me in high school. One of the girls had a crush on me in high school. Another of the boys had a crush on me in his late twenties. Both the boys are gay at this time, to the best of my knowledge (that is, they were when I last saw them some 10 years or so ago).

My one friend in 7th and 8th grade who was male, and my girlfriend of the time: gay.
It doesn't do much for one's self image when you are already dealing with this inside, and knowing that you *are* attracted to men but that your attraction to them isn't something you can act on because you aren't *right*.

I've never had a homosexual romance. Or, more accurately, from my perspective, I've only ever had homosexual romances, as I've only ever been with girls, and I can truly say that the experience in most cases wasn't all that exciting.

Not that my partners weren't exciting, I hasten to add. But that this wasn't sex the way I wanted it.

In fact, In the last few years of my marriage, I suffered severely from performance anxiety, and yet if I thought for more than a few moments about one of my fantasies, I could not only become aroused fast, I could enjoy it.

Note that I said earlier I've never been a boy in my fantasies. I've tried, though -- it doesn't do anything for me. If I work at it and I get particularly degrading in those fantasies where I force myself to be a boy to try and "normalize" myself, I can usually achieve orgasm, but the cost is that I lose interest for a few days.

When I was little, I used to make my peepee go away. I would sorta push it back into itself and roll my sac up around it and put it all away. I would spend hours doing it. I used to tug and push at it as a child, too -- I was even doing it when I was getting towards high school age.

It offended me, but I didn't have the power or sense or ability to make that a known thing, and yet I knew it was what I was "stuck with". I don't hate it, mind you. I'm still a human being, and I'm still interested in sex and all that, but I'm not all that attached to it.

There's more to this, too. A lot more. But those are the ones that have jumped out at me in reflection, and then this one last one which is really just, well, totally sad.

I don't like the way I look.

This is a horrible one, actually. For me, at least. It did have a plus, though, in that hating how my body was, I was moved my being -- the essence of me, up into my head. I live in my head, they say, lol. And its true.
Since my body become nothing more to me than the conveyance for my head, a tool I use to get around, it didn't exactly get the best attention from me. And the attention it did get was very negative.

I hid myself. Even from myself.

I avoid mirrors. Like a vampire, The me I know casts no reflection, and what is left is terrible to behold.

I never go undressed in the light.

I've never done much to "take care" of my appearance. This has always annoyed those around me, and has even been significant to job advancement on a few times. I don't care how I look because, well, why should I? I mean, for crying out loud, look at me!
As a result, I'm in pretty bad shape. I smoke. I eat poorly. My teeth are terrible. I'm utterly untoned.

Add to that the wonders of having way too much testosterone and the curse of male pattern baldness, and you might suddenly see I do have an issue.

I'm going to be blunt here, as well. The only reason that this whole thing is even a possibility for me is the advent of something called "facial feminzation surgery".

See, I could put on a dress and do my face, and get all prettied up, and I'd look like a man in a dress. I have a wide back of my jaw, a round face, a noticeable forehead.

Little things, but when I look at the face, I see it. That's a boy.

I've never said I'm good looking. I've always said I'm "not bad". Look at that phrasing, though. I'm not "bad", but I'm certainly not good. Its avoidance, lol. What do you say about someone who is ugly but you don't want to hurt their feelings? "not bad".
"Not bad" is a great wishy washy term. It lets you do things you wouldn't normally do and "get by".
So FFS, that surgery I mentioned, takes care of that. It's pretty startling, and I feel that with a bit of it to help, I could cope a lot better.

Its one of what I'm starting to see are a whole lot of possibly bizarre flip flops here.

You see, I've always "passed" as a boy since high school. People who have known me for a long time will tell you I'm not gay. But there is something different about me. Its palpable. I have a very peculiar blend of how I move and stand and stride that simply exist.

But now, for this to go all the way that I want it to go (and that is all the way. I will confess to suddenly having had those little tiny hopes that maybe I'll get married again and have a baby to raise once more), I have to be able to pass as a girl now.

That funky will of mine will come in handy here. Getting it to cooperate might be a struggle, but I know that once it kicks in, I'll pull this off.

To most of the world, right now, I'd say I probably come across as 80% boy. As I go through this, I'll try and continue that "score".

The game is to tip the scale. Hee hee. And you know, one big advantage to having learned all this boy stuff is that I understand what a competition is. And how to compete.

So off and on for the last several years, I've had little bits of things poking out. The last time, As I think back on it yet again, I think I wanted to get caught on. Like the suicide attempt ages and ages ago that I wasn't able to pull off.

My wife found a series of notes and discussions of things that I had written to myself.

In them, I stated quite clearly that I wanted to be a girl. And that she'd leave me if she knew.

She freaked.

I knew she would. I understand her, and I know the world she lives in. I understand the sociology of the value system in which she was raised.

I told her it was all just a joke, just a "thing", me playing around, did all the right things, said all the right words (easy, lol -- just think about what would I want to hear in the same situation). I was, simply put, a slimeball. I became every sad cliché you can think of for that moment to win her over.

And what's worse, what's so incredibly evil of me that I can only barely comprehend the magnitude of the crime, is that I wasn't doing it out of concern for her, or because I loved her (I do love her, but not that way), or because of anything like that.

I did it so that I could be with my son.

And now he's 10, and now I'm going to lose him anyway, unless he decides he doesn't give a damn.

It'll take a couple years, possibly. But it will happen. I know it will. And what truly sucks about that is that I'm willing to allow it.
I've always said that we cannot raise happy children if we ourselves are not happy.

My wife will be happier free of me, and I will be happier when I am me.
And that's enough for this one. In about 3 hours I meet my therapist.

I hope we get along.

Well, about three hours ago, I got back from my meeting with my therapist.
I have the intake form in front of me right now, and I'm looking over it, and laughing because so much of what I'm asked is revealed above.

A note on timeline here, and something odd about me.

One of the reasons that I've never seen a therapist before now is that a therapist is for someone who needs therapy. Someone who needs therapy isn't well adjusted.

I was well adjusted. Or, more accurately, I really *seemed* well adjusted. I've put all my efforts in life into learning why people are the way they are -- even have written some articles about my sometimes (but not usually) divergent theories on certain aspects of language and religion.

Basically, I had an enemy, and I had the ability to understand my enemy, and I did it.

Now for the double edged sword: I do not remember my early childhood. At all. In the many years of learning I've gone through, I've found that 80% of our underlying behaviors and the overwhelmingly important patterns and models of life we develop are forged during that time.

And because I do not know what happened in that period, I don't know for certain that, ultimately, I'm not actually faking this. Really. And the kicker is that although everything I have in hindsight points here for me, I'm well aware that hindsight is not 20/20, despite the old saying, but that's its more like a farsighted 20/40 -- because the relationship of the closer stuff to the past isn't always truly visible until you gain greater perspective on it.

yeah, I went holy shit too. It isn't changing anything. I've made my therapist aware of this gap in my head which is not normal by any stretch of the imagination (and especially not within my family, which is an important indicator), and if, in the course of our little adventure into my head here, It turns out that yep, there's good reason to think that, then I'll still have time to stop.

However, there's another element that I have to acknowledge: my anger.

Literally from the moment I reached that critical acceptance of this as an actual issue for me (which was entirely based, as noted, on the fact that there's suddenly a realistic chance, to me, that I can actually achieve what I want), the decades old knot of anger within me that has been a constant and unending companion in my chest since I was a wee bonnie lass has been fading in potency.

I know I'm not suddenly producing female hormones, so there's something else going on here. And that's why the possibility that I've even faked myself out isn't causing me any real discomfiture beyond a brief "holy shit" moment.

only an insane girl would have herself for a shrink. Keep this in mind over the next several years. Don't go here. Get help. Now. Please.

now, as to timeline, the epiphany occurred roughly 4 days ago. In my researches, some of the girls didn't see a therapist for literally months -- and many found their therapists were more of a difficulty.

I suspect this is because once you do accept this, as I've begun the process of doing, there is a need to *do something* about it. Now.
This minute.

I also suspect that after living so long as men, that that imperative is driven by our underlying maleness, created as a nice shiny coat of varnish over our hidden angela.

This is, I believe, a mistake. I could be wrong. (note -- since I wrote this, I have been wholly consumed by it, and have an entirley different perspective. So, in the end, I was wrong, :D)

The reason I believe it is a mistake is that it uses the one thing about us that is most wrong to correct itself. Its sorta like using good oil to clean up bad oil. All you end up with is more oil and a hell of a mess. Or, in this case, a lot of stalled transitions and a lot of people calling their therapists bad names.

One of the benefits to the whole stupid SoC process you'll hear about is that it paces things out a bit -- which gives time for the knee jerk reaction that men are generally prone to to fade down to the more important and gender neutral drive to succeed.

Its still a stupid process (it requires you to prove yourself to others, ultimately, which you've been doing for most of your life already), but then, I mean, really, think about giving birth for a moment. Or, my favorite, the idea of fellatio. The woman takes, into her mouth, the same organ that is used for the transport of bodily wastes by a man. There's something fundamentally wrong there in a lot of ways, but you know what?

It works.

(and should this ever happen with me -- and note that I'm not gay -- right now, as I write this, the thought of sex with another man is somewhat horrific to me, but I have a really strong suspicion that this will not be the case once I'm transitioned, because there have been a few rather interesting dreams therein -- should this ever happen with me, I will be damned sure he cleans up first, lol.)

Now, yes, I've said all of this and I did only "suddenly realize" this four days ago.

This is a pretty natural reaction for me. I have pretty incredible powers of denial, but they are not limitless (note that I wasn't able to deny that I had to live in society as a male) and they are not magical (however much I wished for it daily). My brake is that I know the timeline for the services, and I know that barring some incredibly generous miracle on the part of the powers that be I'm going to be dealing with this for a long, long time. This ain't cheap. I'm basically buying a house in four or five years.

I want it to be faster. OMG, you cannot imagine how much I want it to be faster. If someone were to say to me right now "I'll give you all the surgery you want tomorrow, and you can pay me in sexual slavery for the rest of your life" I'd agree.

Without blinking.

That's not going to happen, though. Nor are those covert operative working for an unnamed sheik going to kidnap you and take you to become a harem girl, doomed to despair ever after.

This isn't a story. This is reality. And reality says its going to run me around 130 thousand dollars for the whole deal. Do the math, here. That's $32,500 dollars a year. 2710 or so a month. Roughly 90 bucks a day. For four years. And that's not counting your needs for actually paying rent, electricity, food, all that stuff.

Now there's a serious holy shit for you.

When you are younger, it's cheaper. When you are older, like me, you are basically stuck, and to top it off, you've only got so many decent years left. I'm hoping for 20. My projected retirement age, I should note, is 28 years from now.
Its heartbreaking.
Its a challenge, though, and this is an area where the whole having had to be a boy thing can come in handy, lol.

So that's my brake. I can only earn so much in so long, and I have a very limited means at my disposal as I write this. That should be just about fast enough. I do, however, have to do extra work, as I can right now only afford my own living expenses.

I have just awakened. It's the morning after I wrote that, and in the interim, things have gotten more complicated.

One of the bad things about desocialization is that you tend to have an urge to talk about things that you wouldn't normally talk about with people you wouldn't normally talk to. Loneliness is a really strong emotion, and from what I've seen of the stories of other so far, things are pretty much what one would expect from the stereotypical woman: there is a strong need for a man in one's life for happiness.

I don't know my neighbor that well. And yet I came out to her last night.

We then sat on the stairs, talking about things all night.

Is my first first. I've got a GG girlfriend -- someone I can talk to about the stuff I'm not going to be able to talk to J* about.

Although, lol, I'm sure that even J*s aware that I'm way too open about way too many things. It's an unusual defense mechanism, but man, the way I've got it set up, its pretty handy, lol

I'm going to need to start practicing my self defense stuff again.

So I've suddenly found myself "out" to two people that my insight has established I could talk to about this. While J* I can understand, B*sorta worries me.

I'm slightly hungover this morning (no sleep for so long and then finally crashed last night -- not a booze hangover, and energy and focus hangover). That fact that I am tells me the euphoria has passed (If I could bottle that stuff and sell it, I'd have the money in a week. When I'm "on", there is *nothing* that is more electric).

It amazing how the energy level in me spikes like that when I get all wired about something.

So here I am, awake in the morning instead of the afternoon for a change, still tired, very sore, not wanting loud noises, lol. I wonder how my mom managed to do it -- all those years of waking up after a 12 pack or more a night.

I think there's something there in the way I tend to embrace all those things I find out about me so utterly, even though, like this, they might be something totally deadly to me. Something in me is saying that my mom was fundamentally unhappy about something, and turned to the oblivion that alcohol can provide.

Since I value thought far too much, I rarely go down that road, and that by itself means that on those times when I do need a beer or something, I can just kick back and relax and not sweat it.

I also have a strong feeling that M* will be about as successful as I have been in trying to get to the root cause of the memories I've denied. Trained forgettery. Irrelevancy.

So where am I today?

I'm feeling really pretty much like crap. Too many cigarettes, not enough sleep, almost no food. All the things I have to stop doing now, because I need to get myself back into some semblance of decent shape and reasonable health for this. A girl who looks like she's had the crap kicked out of her is not very appealing.

My in depth knowledge of gender roles is working against me in some ways, lol. I'm hoping that my almost clinical study will come in handy down the road here.

My kidneys hurt again. My teeth are swollen. First order of business: take care of those teeth. This infection is going to screw up any bloodwork I have done.
alright, focusing...
The first meeting was really nice. I had mixed feelings as I walked away, because I was in full boy mode (which, lol, of course is good enough to fool everyone, and is so ingrained its second nature), and because during the meeting I had a moment where my damned mom was there.

Hauntings are ok. Interference isn't.

M* got smacked with the full force of my "on" self. I hope she's ok, lol. She said the same things I've heard for so long, though. She did say them differently, which is pretty cool, and now as I think about it is such a wild trip its not even funny.

She didn't say "you are so smart". She said I was Brilliant. Have to say that even though I immediately cringe at that, it still feels good to have people look at that and say "wow". Compliments are still compliments, I guess, lol.

It did, however, trigger the whole response I've always felt, and it was actually a fight to not turn off right then like I normally would.

And I love the use of the word Brilliant -- to shine, to glow, to illuminate. Metaphorically speaking, *whew* -- that is like so totally killer, lol. I wonder if I'm also suddenly having that little wall fall down as well. I rarely sit here the next day and actually feel good about this whole "you are a smart girl" thing.

Although, hey, ya know, it could be the smart girl instead of smart boy thing. Be interesting to see down the road.

She asked my name, and since I'm still hesitant about it because I've suddenly discovered that I think E*** isn't going to work, I stalled by giving her the irrelevant background on my name, lol.
The meeting was too short. It felt awesome to have someone to talk to and tell about all my inner thoughts and to have someone else look at the things I've seen and sorta validate them, lol.

Its amazing how fast the changes are going on inside me already. Truly amazing. My *walk* changed. On the way home. I wasn't even thinking about it, and suddenly *boom* there it was, a change in the way I walked, and I could feel it.

I don't know if its a "girl" walk, lol, but I know that its different. Still a hard heel strike, though.

I feel better about pretty much everything. I'm in total shock here, lol. Its incredibly overwhelming.

M* prolly feels that I'm a basket case that's going to be fun to look into, lol. Can't say I blame her if so -- I've been working on self analysis for three decades and *I*'m fascinated by myself, lol.

So I think I've got a serious choice, and the choice is so funny, because it goes back so far, lol. It "feels" right, as well. Although I really don't like the name Antonia. lol.
But being Me is really cool. And it even "feels" right, lol. I get to go back to my "maiden" name.
I really like that.

The intake form is way too standardized for me. Exclusive of this whole dysphoria deal, which is only one of the defining aspects of who I am (I know I'm going to have a hard time with those words), I have never fit into simple answers, lol.

Add in the love of language that I have and the way its blossoming of late once again as more and more of the "inner" me is released, and well, there's trouble here, lol

In going through the intake form, I'm starting to see that yeah, there really is something pretty intense going on with me outside and above and beyond my dysphoria, and if I'm going to be able to get through this transition, this transformation, then I'm going to need to solve it.

I'm looking at the series of questions about my two best qualities, 2 worst qualities, etc.

My accomplishments.

I've always separated them into distinct categories, because different things have different challenges, and because, ultimately, its easier to avoid something when you have it buried in deep among a whole bunch of other things like it.

I could fake an answer, like I usually do. Probably will in the end. I don't do well here. Its easier if I have an idea of the expected answer, of course -- job applications I just push the right thing.

This ties into the brilliant thing. Always has. My mother always said I had a fear of success. After several years, I sorta rationalized that into a fear of failure so great that I wouldn't try. That helped me to start trying a lot, and a lot more often, but then I had my little dark period (35 to 40 sucked for me in a way that is not readily nor easily described), and so I've made great strides in that direction, but there's still a little niggling thing there that constantly gets to me.

On top of this, I think I've come to the realization that I'm going to have to stoop to something less than pleasant to get some of my funding.

I gave M* all my earliest information. It was a mistake, lol. I have to write it all out again.

Still not awake very much, but at least the hangover edge has dulled. Going to have my first jar of tea in a bit, take some pills, and then see where the day leads me.

All my excitement over this has really put me in some interesting spots. Chief among them is that I told my wife last night that I've started therapy.

Sin of omission.

I didn't tell her what I've started it for. I said "I've realized I have a problem, and have started therapy for it, and it was great."

She's not stupid, though. I'll be avoiding what the issue is with her for a long time.

Then again, I have learned the value of biting the bullet. And it was one of my hard learned lessons, and then I've got my excitement about this to deal with as well...
Hmmm. This could be pretty ugly pretty fast. I may end up just telling her. Getting it over with, so to speak.

LOL. "shout from the mountaintops".
Yeah, I'd say that's a pretty good sign I'm ecstatic about this.

Things and motions and habits I've buried for years are coming up constantly in my head and in my actions. I've already noticed I'm moving differently and my body language has changed. I used to practice moving, lol.

Giddy feels pretty good.
Ok, back to real life. Gotta pay rent, and keep the power on, and get the next batch of money.

Background - Part One

2007-03-17T05:15:00.001-05:00

On occasion, I will take things regarding my transition and edit them slightly for public consumption and then repost them.

These will start with the following few posts, since, it appears, my Internet is down for the evening and I'm basically cut off from some of my tools as a result and yes, I believe it has something to do with Topix, lol.

These are the ones that are the most intensely personal. These are the ones that hurt. This first one is the first posting I made about it. Its followed by another one made around the same time.

************************************

There's so much inside me that I need to let out in one massive push just so that I can see it it, if nothing else.
So here I go.
My name is Vyxyn, and I'm a girl.
That reads funny to me right now, sitting here in the boy mode I've been in for so long and just now starting to realize that all those nights of wishing and being so utterly disappointed in the morning weren't actually wasted, just misdirected.
I call myself a girl, though, not a woman. The women I've known in my life generally think that sorta silly, but now, more than ever, I think this is true. I am still a girl. I've got a long way to go to grow up, too.
I'm sitting here at the place of my release, writing this out, and for the first time in ten years I'm sobbing about this issue. Because it is an issue. Its one that has influenced everything I've ever done in my entire life, and the thought of how different things might have been for me had I known all of this twenty years ago is killing me.
I don't have a lot of early childhood stories. I've seen a few here and there as I've researched this of late, and I've always been interested in the idea, of course, so I've caught the occasional crap and hope and truth here and there.
I don't have early childhood stories, though, because I don't remember my early childhood. At all.
And now, at this point in my life where the one person who could possibly answer questions about them is needed, she's not around anymore. Which isn't her fault, mind you -- she sorta got caught by that always smiling friend that awaits all of us at some point.
I do have some memories from when I was young. The earliest I can see, though, is one where I was in kindergarten, and I had all my early primers collected (I remember being excited as I collected each one, and how I would read them over and over again, and how Jane was oh so cool, and how you know, when I read my books I laid there just like she did when she read hers).
I remember that I always did everything I could to hide my body. Not just from the outside world, but from myself. I still do that, in fact. I have only been naked around men three times in my whole life, and each time was far worse than the one that preceded it. The culmination was when I was in the army, and I had no way of getting out of it.
The second one was when I was a teenager. As I reflect now, it wasn't all that bad. My friend at the time was a boy named E*, and he was exploring his sexuality at the time (he was, last time I heard anything about him, in California, deep in the gay club scene). Somehow he managed to get me to do what even my own mother hadn't been able to make me do: get completely naked. Until that point, I hated being visible.
Nothing happened from that experience, I should note, other than to confirm to me (secretly, as I somehow managed to even make it apparent to him) that I wasn't "gay", which by that time was something I was worried as all heck about. Still it left an indelible memory that centers around his fascination with the one part of my anatomy that I've never exactly hated, but simply didn't find was of any value.
As a kid, it annoyed me. Enough that I would try to make it go away. I used to sort of fold and roll it all up into a little bundle (a memory I haven't had in ages, recalled now as I write this). It looked better that way.
When that obviously wasn't going to work, however, I was in my teens, and I began what has been pretty much my modus operandi ever since.
I ignored my body, unless I had a need for it.
This came in handy when I was at the last point in my life where I could have done this the way I feel I need to. I had to move a lot then. I moved every other month for two years. Since I'm a writer, and a reader, and I love books, I sorta had a lot of moving of heavy stuff to do.
I'm not going to miss that, though. I think I'm going to welcome that, lol.
I have a pretty strong will. My step mother used to say that I was the only person she knew who could out stubborn a mule for real. Once I set my mind on something, that was it.
But therein lie the rub
Since I ignored my body, I paid attention to my mind.
I lived in it.
My first closest friend was a girl. Years later, when we met as young adults during a period when I was just beginning to be on my own, I still had the crush on her I'd had back then -- one that had blossomed into her being my first girlfriend.
She was gay then. And I was no longer as girlish as I once had been.
I was bullied by the local bullies, of course, but none of them would hit her or pick on her -- she'd have creamed them, lol.
I always used to go to the slumber parties.
Then, one day, I wasn't allowed anymore, and after that I wasn't invited anymore, and then puberty hit.
Puberty was bizarre.
I was with my step-father/father (hard to explain) for the summer. He's a great guy, and unfortunately I'll never be able to tell him that. At least I was able to tell him I loved him. And I was able to be there for him when my half-brother died.
He had a motorhome. It was one of my favorite places, because the motorhome held great memories of being a family, which has been, and still is, important to me. For some reason, at the wonderful age of thirteen, a year year after having finally learned to ride a bike and during a period of my life where there was a huge level of concern about me that I was only partially aware of, I was spending the night in the motorhome alone.
I was going through the whole thing, looking in all those nooks and crannies and there I came across the bikini.
Alone.
I was a girl for the first time in years for that moment. I say that that way because I knew it was different, but I didn't care.
I slept in it, lol. I wanted my breasts to fill in, to prove to them when I got up that I was a girl, and stop being so darn weird.
I don't think I was ever discovered about that.
I wasn't so lucky a few months later when I had overslept on a weekend, and my mother came in to wake me up for school and found me in her dress.
She was in shock, and upset, and my little brother sniggered, and I was utterly mortified.
My mom was a good mom. If she were alive today, at this point in my life, if I were to turn to her and say I needed to be a girl, she'd help. It would take her a week or so -- maybe a month at the outside. But she'd have done it all.
I realize that now, because hindsight is a wonderful thing, and I wish I'd had the presence of mind and the sense of what the trouble is when I could have had her help.
She bought me books on sexuality. bought herself books on parenting, lol. And, I have to say, from that point on, she always did have this thought I was gay in her mind. I think this would have been a relief, lol.
She didn't think gay was very cool, though,. We used to argue as adults about such things when she would ask. I'd say "well, what if I was?" and she'd have that look that I see even in myself when I've been had gay men ask me out -- a wriggling to get away, a sliding of the eyes away.
Given that usually the men were my friends is a whole 'nother issue, lol. When Jerry told me about the crush he'd had on me for ten years, I was floored.
Even my own wife has said she thinks I'm gay sometimes, lol.
And each time I had to say no, I'm not, and then *stop*. Because how the heck am I going to tell them that I'm not gay, I'm a girl, I just look so damned horrible you can't tell.
I didn't fit the look of a girl, and I couldn't live in the role of one. The teachers when I was thirteen were concerned for my emotional 'maturity'. I wasn't as 'mature' as the other boys. I was overly body conscious, apathetic about sports, avoided any large group of boys, had very few male friends.
I was asked one night, late, lying in bed, if I wanted to go on with school or skip a grade.
It had been a tough time. First their had been the whole bikini joy, and then I got caught, and then I got shipped off to be with my very masculine uncle on his ranch.
I loved the time on the ranch. Except for the sheep. The pigs were really cool, though -- I kept hoping I'd see a Wilbur for myself.
My answer was yes, of course.
what wasn't spoken was that I needed to be more like the boys.
I loved my mom. She was the only person on the planet who could calm my rages. And she was the only one who ever knew the reasons for them. I don't think she ever told me all of them, just enough to sorta push me along towards finding out.
But by then I was sliding into the denial that I've developed so strongly, I guess.
It was sad. I had two girlfriends in high school. Never had sex. I remember how the one that gave me the most cred (cause she was hot) was always so upset with me. We'd get all hot and heavy in the petting, and I'd never go anywhere with it.
I eventually did have sex. It was eh. I fathered a little girl, I found out later. Had to sign away custody, and she was adopted away.
I went into the army. I was *jealous* of the female recruits though, when in bootcamp. The only benefit was that at that time I was still darn enough in skin tone that I could pass for half black, which, as some of you probably know, isn't a term -- you are either black or you are white, and half way doesn't cut it.
I didn't have a problem -- it was nice. I always had big guys around me when we went out.
But then, I went out almost never.
The army ended, and the last time I had a chance for going my own way was there, and I had no clue about what was possible or even what was wrong.
I know -- I've had more chances since then and I can do this anytime and all that.
no, sorry, It wouldn't work that way for me. Would have been nice.
Would have me a happier girl by far.
Went to college. Wanted to be a teacher. Fat chance. At that time, there was a huge bias against men in early childhood education. No one said anything to me, but I was once again surrounded by girls, and I had tons in common with them, and it felt right, and once again people made that same strange association.
Ended up taking anthropology. That led to taking sociology.
Then I had to survive, because my money ran out and I've always had a huge problem asking for help.
I'm stubborn, independent, all that crap -- right?
it was a good front. I'm not stubborn. I'm very good at ignoring things I dislike, and when I ignore something, it ceases to exist. I wasn't independent -- hell, if anything, I think I've been co-dependent for my entire life. As for asking for help, well, how does one look at someone and say "help me to be a girl to everyone else, too, please.".
Cause that's the help I want. But I couldn't say that -- it would be wrong.
I've studied sociology constantly since then. And I've always had a keen interest in women's rights and history. More so than the regular history.
did I mention that since I live in my head, I ruin the best things in my life really easily?
I never graduated high school. In my senior year, I was challenged by a Poli-sci professor to prove I didn't need to take his class on the constitution. So I looked into how I could do that, and found out that the GED had a great section on it, and I skipped school for two weeks and went off and took the GED and scored high in history and English and ok in math.
And then took it school to show him and was promptly ejected, because the laws said that once I'd done that, I was done with school.

------
Sorta like how I've always said that if I wish hard enough, and believe enough, then one day I could wake up and be a girl.
My fantasies aren't about me being a boy. I've never been male in any of my fantasies that I can recall. I've written stories about male heroes and they've been manly men, men I would love to know.
But they always had girlfriends or lovers or wives, and that what I wanted to be.
I played role playing games for years. I hated being a "player". As a player, I was supposed to be a boy character. As the game master, I could be all of them. And I always had a lot of girls to play, lol.
The one time I did play? I played a character who was turned into a girl.
Life was, well, life.
I wrote a novel about that character. I tried hard to change the way the character was set up, but, in the end, that character was me, still, just like in the role playing game.
I was miserable. I hit the first big depression of my life then. Pulled away from everything and everyone.
I remember how I was around 25, and I was going through a huge crises internally.
I finally realized that I was never going to get my secret wish, and that I was never going to be happy, and that I might as well just become a bachelor, and live alone and just exist.
I could cross dress in private maybe, I thought. That would be cool, was my line of reasoning, And I might not feel so terrible.
I got a job, minimum wage, entry level, retail.
I enjoyed it.
I intrigued my boss, a woman. Then she went through a really bad time.
She turned to me. Out of the blue. For comfort, really -- she said I struck her as someone who was wise and comforting.
We dated a little, and some passion developed. She was *very* much a girl. I love to watch her. She's like a primer in being a woman, lol. She's also a mommy, something I've wanted to be as long as I can remember.
I know it'll never happen, now. That's ok, as long as I can at least move forward with being a girl. Sometimes, when you see a chance like this, you can lose little things.
We married. It kept me from having to be a "bachelor". bachelor's who don't date or go out to clubs are usually considered pretty weird, it seemed to me.
I didn't want to be weird, I just wanted to be happy.
We also married because she was pregnant. With my son.
He is everything to me. I can't *possibly* express that more clearly, and yet, I know that because of this, I will lose him.
I can do that. It hurts, but I know that there's no other outcome. It hurts a lot.
There isn't a moment of his conception and gestation that I don't know about, and I was there for everything, and the first person to hold him and hug him and weep on him in joy was me.
And I did get up in the middle of the nights to care for him and change him and feed him and I was sooo damned jealous and resentful that I couldn't do all of it that it put the first major dent in our marriage.
He was my baby.
And my inner rages were spawned by something similar. For my brother is younger than I am -- I am the oldest, the first. And when he was young he had a developmental disability and never really learned to speak to anyone but his primary caregiver, I'm told.
who was me.
And about the time that my memory stops utterly, I was told that I had to stop caring for him.
My mother telling me that when she did was fortuitous. My mother never thought my marriage would last three years, for that matter, lol. I think she knew. Really.
She told me because she was worried that my rages would endanger my son or my wife.
And her telling me was like an epiphany. Its really sad, but I've only had a few of those moments in my life -- and one of them is the one that has led me here to this moment.
That one, that simple revelation by her, literally gave me the ability to tackle my anger issues and reduce them incredibly.
Not totally. But enough.
he was two when I finally got around to building my first computer and getting an Internet connection set up for it.
He was three when she found my last note like this. It was written for myself, though, a private letter to me.
In it I mentioned how terrible it would be if she ever found out I was really a girl.
She lost it.
I said the right things, did the right things, charmed and tweaked her and felt like every slick sociopath you've ever seen on TV ever rolled into one and loathed myself for it.
When we met, I was still enjoying the occasional gaming session with the same group of friends I'd had since high school. For half our lives, we'd known each other and been there for each other, and suddenly I was put in a position where I had to chose between them or my son and wife.
I'll be straight: my wife hasn't mattered nearly as much to me as my son. But at that time, he was still the tiniest baby and he went everywhere I did and I never left him.
I lost my friends that day.
Suddenly, it was just me and my family.
My mother and I got closer. We would cook together, and plan outings together.
My wife grew jealous, and so I stepped back and they did those things.
And then my mother became ill.
That destroyed my bond with my brother, in a long series of events.
It devastated me. Totally, utterly.
I spent a year with her dying five feet away, and as she did so, I sat on my computer and I escaped into being what I was as I did so.
It sounds really stupid to say here, to all of you, when I haven't even begun the merest babysteps, but I'm sitting here now and I know what it is.
I started transitioning while my mother died in the same room, but I did it the only way I could.
I became a woman online. It took me 6 months months to erase the presence I had established online in boymode.
And I just sat down and let my self come out. I did everything I would do normally, but online I was a woman.
I have been for nearly five years now, lol. In fact, it will be five years in just a few days.
The wife was partially accepting of that. My excuse was that it protected her and the family.
I ignored the rest.
My mother passed. She's still with me today, in a tiny box stuck in a closet, I think. I became deeply depressed. More and more I turned to the one place that I was happy.
More and more I stepped out of my safe zone and my shell.
More and more I began to ignore things.
I'm very good at it, as I told you.
My wife had children from a previous marriage. Three girls, one boy.
The girls were all teenagers. One of them managed to get pregnant her senior year.
She gave birth to my granddaughter, who is like a beam of lightning. Totally untamed to all but me.
I have seen her perhaps 5 times in the last 3 years. My step daughters hate me. My step son is terrified of me. My son thinks I'm the bees knees.
This is because three years ago I lost my temper, and I had a shouting match with my daughters, and my family was split apart.
I have lived alone since.
And then I was introduced by accident to a couple of sites one night, late, when I was bored.
And suddenly I discovered that I could be this the whole time.
You see, despite seeing and sort of keeping an eye on all this stuff, there was no really good example of what happens that I'd ever seen. It was never presented fairly in the media. Still isn't.
And I've never been one for the "scene" of gays and lesbians and all these strange labels that have so many negative connotations to them. I'm just a girl who's miserable and wants to live a nice quiet little life and be happier and have a family and all of that stuff.
ok, yeah, I confess: I want a picket fence, too. Sorry. I'm 40-something years old, and we are all a product of our times.
I have no friends.
I work for myself, barely scraping by each month right now, and have no insurance -- but then, I have no coworkers around me, and no boss to deal with. And my company is growing.
I have only one significant tie to my "boy" life of any significance, and that's my son, who for now would be better off where he is now and will almost certainly be denied to me once I start openly transitioning.
I'm aiming for SRS in five years. I'd do it sooner, but I have grave concerns about being able to pass, and as I've noted, I sorta ignored my body.
I'm not fat, mind you. I have the same build as all the women in my family, but I'm taller than they were (though not by much -- my mother was 5'8, and her siblings are taller than her), lol. I'm very thin, not prone to weight gain, and I expect that the best hormones will do for me is an a cup and a slimmer waist (a 31 right now).
I have sparse, fine body hair everywhere except for my underarms and my legs, both of which I shaved in secret for many years.
I don't think I'm particularly feminine looking, though, in the face. Its a round face, and its ugly, and I have severe hair loss that I've never done anything about.
And my teeth are bad.
So my first order of business will be to deal with those things, and as I'm a "starving artist pursing a dream business", I expect money to be a nightmare, lol.
But I'll do it. I know how to get in shape again. And now I have cause. Now I have a reason to go on those long hikes again, and to go out of my house and do something above and beyond simply staying in here and living this half life online.
Now I can be myself offline too.
But I'm so scared. And I'm going to miss my son soo much. And I have no one to turn to and say help to, even though right now, finally, I'm able to say it.
Its funny, you know.
I've never said how ugly I am to myself before.
Ever.
Even to myself.
I've always said "well, its not bad.".
And then hid myself. Behind rumpled clothing. Behind an unshaven face that I go to great lengths not to look at.
I've cheated all my life, too, lol. I grew my hair out before I was married, had a ponytail. That got chopped. I kept it until it was found out and thrown away.
I've always kept my nails somewhat longer than is "common". I once had even managed to stop biting them long enough to let them grow out a half inch.
I had my ears pierced once. They've closed. I forgot about that until now. I think when I have it done again, I get about as wild as I can, lol, and get a stud in my nose. to remind me every time I look down, that I finally am able to be happy.
Its amazing all the little things. How one moment, one realization can make you see all of them and see what you've been so horrifically sad about for so long.
And even though I'm maddeningly jealous of anyone who has started to transition before they were 18, I'm also so, so so happy for them. To not have to go through all this for so long.
To not have to be so damned ashamed of everything, and to lose so much of their lives to simply surviving and making do.
Thank you.
Saying this has been a huge catharsis.
I don't have to go out tomorrow and be a boy just cause they say so anymore.
I will, mind you. I'm not that brave yet. But the minute I think I'll pass enough for me, No matter what else, I'm goin out, dang nabbit.
I'm gonna go out and enjoy it and I might not cover myself up all over.
Tomorrow I see a therapist. I've read how some folks here don't feel a need for them.
All my life, whenever a therapist has wanted to see me -- hell, even a "guidance counselor" -- I have run the other direction.
Therapists are for people who have something wrong with them.
I've been forced to see one twice. The first time was a group session on anger management. I ended up giving classes on it -- no joke, and I was told I should go into the field and offered a recommendation for it.
I might look him back up. He'll be happy to know that the anger in me is going away with each minute -- I can feel feel it leaving, and I know the source of it now.
And maybe if I do, I can help others out.
The other time I had to go was when I was in college. I was rude, and difficult, and silent, and confrontational. I now wish I hadn't been. They might have helped me to transition early.
The price is the same, either way, for me.
A therapist, for me, is going to be important. I hope we click tomorrow. I hope I can strike a bargain, a barter.
One benefit to living in my head is that in all these years, I've learned so many different things, and learned them well. I've started companies and sold them, I've worked for big retailers and seen how they work and what makes them tick, I can build a restaurant in my sleep, cook any meal I want to except a few french method ones that I just don't quite get, write a contract that has had lawyers cringe, and more. And I've reached that peculiar, strange, and mystical age where some things don't freaking matter anymore.
I'm free. I'll have to pay for that freedom, I know. I'll pay a penalty that will sit there for the rest of my life.
I've weighted it against the one I've already been paying, though. If I'm lucky, I'll get another 20 years after srs.
It'll even out.
Thank you again.
Vyxyn

************************************

On or about October 10th, 20-- (that's the day that seems to have been the final straw, I think), I was looking at a site.

I had just finished reading a story titled "for a girl", about a young man who gets "ill" and is slowly turned into a girl, and then deals with it. Reasonably well written, definitely researched, presented believably -- basically, it was really good TG fiction. Sorta like "I will fear no evil" or stuff by Jack Chalker, lol.

As usual when I read really good stories like that, I went and looked around the web for stuff about TG's. It was the usual crud -- sex, porn, ick ick, blah blah

What this? tsroadmap?

I went, and I found myself sitting up in my chair. I started following links, reading, going in and out of the site and studying what I read. What made this site different was the way the creator presented the info. They were conservative, like me, and this was only about GID.
There was this thing that I had never seen before, ever. "FFS" -- facial feminization surgery. Plastic surgery to make you look pretty.

Sounds silly, perhaps, but just because I've never done much about my personal appearance doesn't mean I haven't wanted to -- just that I didn't think it was possible to do what I wanted to.

That changed things.

I looked and looked and looked for some sort of local support group or contact point that I could get a hold of to ask something about this.

There was plenty of stuff in Tucson. Very little in Phoenix, and that was all based on the opposite side of town.

I gave up, went to bed.

I got up less than an hour later, because I was crying about it again, I was wishing -- just like I've done every night for as long as I can remember.

I went to one of the websites linked to from the tsroadmap site.

The email to Dr. Becky took me about 30 minutes to write. Four times. I salved myself by saying hey, she doesn't know me, we aren't likely to cross paths, its safe -- I can vanish.

The urging to call the therapist recommended wasn't very strong -- but my *need* to do something was.

Huge war inside me. I picked up the phone two dozen times. I knew that if I called, I'd have to commit to dealing with it. If I let it drop right then, then I could go on. No one would ever know -- it was just me. I read some of Dr Becky's experiences during her year of RTE.

Like me, she was older. She was sharp, aware, capable. Funny. But she was older. There was so much out there for the young folks -- 20 somethings, kids with their whole lives ahead of them.

Not me, who probably has 20 years if I'm luckier than my mom. Not me, who's pretty much wrecked his body over the years by neglect.

I called. Got the answering machine. Left the message, half mumbled, as if there had actually been anyone around.

I hung up, feeling defeated again. I made ready to get on with my life.

My therapist called back.

Its funny, how things go. How a simple thing like calling back very quickly can make all the difference in the world. That call back, and her *willingness* to simply accept what I was really talking around as something that I believed was true.

That was a home run.

The bells went off. The dogs of war were let loose. The floodgates were opened.

I set up the appointment -- and not only that, but she was kind about something. She worked a trade for me. A deal. It was the *perfect* thing, it was exactly what I wanted, what I needed.

She will always get paid by me. I will starve to pay her. I NEVER forget a kindness done me. And having been a boy for so long, I am very much instilled with a sense of honor.

I was wired all night.

I wrote back to Dr, Becky, somewhat hesitantly, thanked her.

I found the support forum online, read a few things, felt the tension in me building up to a point where I was going to literally explode.

I joined. That was hard. I had to think of some sort of passcode and double blind protection to prevent my identity from being compromised because what I wanted to do was go stealth -- total stealth. I wanted to literally just up and utterly vanish as this miserable boy that I've been all my life and start a new as a girl -- throw away the sadness and step forth into a new life, just like in my dreams and wishes and fantasies.

I made my peace with losing my son. I've already lost my wife, with the acceptance of this, but there's little or no pain there.

I made my peace with losing my only remaining friend, J*. This was to be more difficult, though. It snuck back up on me later.

I posted at the forum. This is the 12th into the 13th. I'm a night person. At 7:00 in the morning I called J*, left a message.

He called back, and I told him.

From that point on, things have moved quickly for me.

Its now Monday. Two days ago I had a meeting that has changed my life forever. In the last three days I have felt the anger that has constantly been a hard ache in me almost evaporate -- its but a shell now.

I've sobbed and cried and laughed and giggled (oh yeah, it was a giggle -- and it felt good).

I feel like I'm 9. There is so much energy and happiness and emotion and simple, direct "girlness" in me.

I was walking back from the bus stop to the apartment after the meeting. I had my backpack on my shoulder. I tucked my arm around it like I usually do. This is one of my tells, lol -- It is intentionally done the way a girl holds her purse.

Suddenly I noticed I was walking funny.

I looked down. I was taking shorter steps than my usual stride. My toes were pointed straight ahead instead of to the sides.

I could feel my hips as I walked. They weren't wiggling (it wasn't an exaggerated "gay" walk I do that I picked up from E* and that I do to be silly), but they were moving. It was a stride utterly alien to me. My arms were falling funny, too. Its hard to explain, and its very freaky, but:

It was kinda like a girl walk, though.

I "tried" yesterday to do it again. No pack. It didn't work. I need a purse to pull it off. I have to relax, just be me, let the me that has been inside for decades simply have its way.

It feels so good.

I can't stop talking about it, obviously. LOL

************************

I'm attempting to place these somewhat sequentially. Because my memory is associative, and not tied to time, and when I remember something I relive it, one thing that will be noticed is that I tend to float timings when I look back.

As I go forward with this, you'll see me reaching into those memories more deeply, and timeline will be more rigidly accurate.

Reading back over these, for me, is painful. I dislike dealing with my past.

And now for something completely different...

2007-03-16T13:08:00.001-05:00

Ok, its boring.

supposed to be working right now, but I'm stuck on an issue with fixing a texture element.

So, what the heck. Topix has finally lost its luster -- the idiots are the same ones day after day and even across 21 different threads its the same arguments over and over again.

So yeah, I'll just make note and blog it all here as I get into the mood. Otherwise, I'll simply start sitting above it all and flinging the occasional barb.

I need to get back to my real world, where courtesy, wit, creative expression, and reason are more common than the irrational religious fervor that seems to rule Topix.

Besides -- trollie is picking on someone else, and I have no more wounds that can be inflicted. I'm out. Eventually they'll return to picking on me, but for now, well, eh.

One thing that I keep seeing, over and over again, is literally giving me nightmares, though.

I love depth of background, conceptualized social settings, odd crap like that. And what I'm seeing is that some 20+ years ago, margert atwood saw the religious right coming into power, and wrote a science fiction novel.

The Handmaid's Tale is what I see slowly beginning to rise. A subtle development of power and influence in an ecumenical way that seeks to create an effectve, controlled, theocratic society.

Since I'm also dealing with the loss of male privies, at the same time, I'm rather concerned on a deeply personal level.

Its placing me in a situation where I'm finding myself in an anti-christianist positon -- something I likely would be in any case, but that isn't particlularly appealing, given my background.

Dominionism scares the living shit out of me. Seriously.

From "religious tolerance. org":

Beliefs:

According to Gary DeMar, a popular Reconstructionist author, the foundation of Reconstructionism is a unique combination of three Biblical doctrines:

Regeneration of the individual, through an intimate relationship with Christ
Individuals guiding their lives closely by following a specified subset of Biblical laws
Promoting of the world-wide Kingdom of God.

Specific beliefs include
A rejection of Antinomianism: the belief that salvation is obtained totally through faith and not through performing good works and living a moral life
Presuppositionalism: the acceptance on faith that the Bible is true. They do not attempt to prove that God exists or that the Bible is true.

Inerrancy: the belief that the Bible, as originally written, is totally free of error.

Postmillennialism: the belief that Christ will not return to earth until much of the world has converted to Christianity. This will not take place for some considerable time; it will not be a painless transition. Most Fundamentalists and other Evangelists hold to a different view. They are Premillenialists and believe that all (or almost all) of the preconditions of Christ's return have been met. They expect Jesus' second coming to occur very soon.

The 613 laws contained in the Hebrew Scriptures' Mosaic Code can be divided into two classes: moral and ceremonial. Christians are not required to follow the ceremonial laws, because Jesus has liberated them from that responsibility. However, all persons must follow those moral laws which were not specifically modified or cancelled by further revelation --generally in the Christian Scriptures (New Testament).

The moral laws given by God to the ancient Israelites reflect of God's character, which is unchangeable. Most of the laws are intended for all nations, cultures, societies, religions and all eras, including the present time. However, there are a few laws, in such areas as personal safety and sanitation, which are no longer applicable because of changes in architecture and sewage disposal. These do not need to be obeyed.

The primacy of the Hebrew Scriptures, relative to the Christian Scriptures (New Testament). All of the Hebrew Scriptures' non-ceremonial laws are still in force, unless they have been specifically rescinded or modified by verses in the Christian Scriptures. "Only if we find an explicit abandonment of an Old Testament law in the New Testament, because of the historic fulfillment of the Old Testament shadow, can we legitimately abandon a detail of the Mosaic law."

Civil laws must be changed to match the Bible's moral rules. That is, anything that is immoral (by their standards) is also to be criminalized.

The only valid legislation, social theory, spiritual beliefs, economic theory are those derived from the Bible
In every aspect of life, there are only two options: God-centered or man-centered; Theonomy or autonomy. Their political goal is to ban the latter, everywhere. Each individual, family, church, government and society must be reconstructed to eliminate sin. Each Christian has the responsibility to contribute to this conversion.
They oppose inter-faith, inter-racial, and same-sex marriages.
Reconstructionists regard the Gods and Goddesses of all other religions to be "the devil," and their teachings to be false. They would attempt to replace all religions with their version of Christianity.
Of course, there exists diversity of opinion within the Reconstructionist movement. Not all followers will necessarily agree with all the above statements of the movement's leaders

Practices:

If they gained control of the US or Canadian federal government, there would be many changes:
The use of the death penalty would be greatly expanded, when the Hebrew Scriptures' laws are reapplied. People will be executed for adultery, blasphemy, heresy, homosexual behavior, idolatry, prostitution, evil sorcery (some translations say Witchcraft), etc. The Bible requires those found guilty of these "crimes" to be either stoned to death or burned alive. Reconstructionists are divided on the execution method to be used.
A church or congregation which does not accept the Mosaic Law has another god before them, and is thus guilty of idolatry. That would be punishable by death. That would include all non-Christian religious organizations. At the present time, non-Christians total two-thirds of the human race.
The status of women would be reduced to almost that of a slave as described in the Hebrew Scriptures. A woman would initially be considered the property of her father; after marriage, she would be considered the property of her husband.
It would be logical to assume that the institution of slavery would be reintroduced, and regulated according to Biblical laws. Fathers could sell their daughters into slavery. Female slaves would retain that status for life. Slave owners would be allowed to physically abuse them, as long as the slaves lived for at least a day before dying of the beating. ₉
Polygyny and the keeping of concubines were permitted in the Old Testament. However, Reconstructionists generally believe in marriage between one man and one woman only. Any other sexual expression would be a capital crime. Those found guilty of engaging in same-sex, pre-marital or extra-marital sex would be executed.
The Old Testament "Jubilee Year" system would be celebrated once more. Every 50 years, the control of all land reverted to its original owners. In theory, this would require every part of North American land to be returned to the original Aboriginal owners (or perhaps to those persons of Aboriginal descent who are now Christians). Hawaii would be given back to the native Hawaiians.
Governments would all have balanced budgets.
Income taxes would be eliminated.
The prison system would be eliminated. A system of just restitution would be established for some crimes. The death penalty would be practiced for many other crimes. There would be little need for warehousing of convicted criminals.
Legal abortions would be banished; those found to be responsible for abortions would be charged with murder and executed.

Consider that for a bit.

Perhaps its time to seriously look at the nature of civil liberties.

Thinking about Civil Rights

2007-03-16T03:04:00.001-05:00

Technorati tags: Rights, Gays, Transsexual, feminism, mental exercise, United States

Cause I'm in a weird mood, I sat down and basically started the process of refining an old idea I had a long time ago. And so, without much further ado, I present to you my developing conception of what civil liberties *should* be like in the United States.

Put forth this day, by my hand in these words, a proposition that derives from the pursuit of elementary rights and liberties which are inalienably endowed by the inherent dignity of the human person, thusly: I do hereby assert that the following freedoms and liberties be granted, equally and without distinction, as a matter of legislation and justice.
The Civil Liberties of Citizens of the United States of America
Noting that the nature of the United States is a country of freedoms and liberties, and that it seeks to reaffirm the dignity and worth of human person, and the equal rights of all those people therein,

1. The Agent Of The People
1.1. The Government is obligated to act as the Agent of the People, inclusive equally of all its citizens, to affirm and enforce the principle of inadmissibility of discrimination, promote respect for and observance of these liberties, and recognize that all human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights.
1.2. The Government has an obligation to undertake and ensure to all citizens within its territory and subject to its jurisdiction these rights without distinction of any kind, such as
1.2.1. Age, Race and Color,
1.2.2. Gender and Sex
1.2.2.1. Inclusive of identity, sexuality, and heteronormativity
1.2.3. Language, Ethnicity, and National or Social origin,
1.2.3.1. Although reasonable definition of common language for governmental purposes is allowable
1.2.4. Religion, Creed, Political, or other opinion,
1.2.5. Property, Birth, Social Class, or other status.
1.3. The Government has an obligation to ensure that any person whose rights or freedoms as herein recognized shall have an effective remedy.
1.4. The Government shall ensure that any person claiming such a remedy shall have is right thereto determined by the Constitution and the authorities it vests.
1.5. The Government shall ensure the equal right of all persons to the enjoyment of all civil and political rights as set forth herein.
2. Rights Of Community
2.1. All Citizens shall have the right to self determination.
2.1.1. This freedom shall be extended to economic development
2.1.2. This freedom shall be extended to social development
2.1.3. This freedom shall be extended to cultural development
2.2. Every citizen shall have the right and the opportunity, without any of the distinctions mentioned prior and without unreasonable restrictions:
2.2.1. To take part in the conduct of public affairs through freely chosen representatives;
2.2.1.1. Representatives are bound to represent and reflect the entirety of their constituency
2.2.1.2. Representation shall be democratic in election
2.2.2. To vote and to be elected at genuine periodic elections which shall be by universal and equal suffrage and shall be held by secret ballot, guaranteeing the free expression of the will of the electors;
2.2.3. To have access, on general terms of equality, to public service in their country.
2.2.4. To vote in all elections and public referenda and to be eligible for election to all publicly elected bodies;
2.2.5. To participate in the formulation of government policy and the implementation thereof and to hold public office and perform all public functions at all levels of government;
2.2.6. To participate in non-governmental organizations and associations concerned with the public and political life of the country.
2.3. In those States in which ethnic, religious or linguistic minorities exist, persons belonging to such minorities shall not be denied the right, in community with the other members of their group, to:
2.3.1. Enjoy their own culture,
2.3.2. Profess and practice their own religion,
2.3.3. Use of their own language.
3. Rights of Life And Liberty
3.1. All Citizens have the inherent right to life.
3.1.1. This right shall be protected by law.
3.2. No Citizen shall be arbitrarily deprived of their life.
3.2.1. The sentence of death may be imposed only fro the most serious crimes in accordance with the laws in force.
3.2.2. Anyone sentenced to death will have the right to seek pardon or commutation of the sentence.
3.2.3. The Sentence of death shall not be imposed on persons below legal age as set through due process, nor on women while pregnant
3.3. No Citizen shall be held in slavery.
3.3.1. Slavery shall be prohibited by law.
3.3.2. No Citizen shall be held in servitude.
3.3.3. A sentence of forced or compulsory labor, lawfully done, within the reasonable scope of punishment for crimes done, shall not be considered slavery.
3.4. Every Citizen has the right to liberty and security of person.
3.4.1. No Citizen shall be subject to arbitrary arrest and detention.
3.4.2. No Citizen shall be deprived of their liberty except through due process.
3.5. All Citizens shall have the right to liberty of movement and freedom to choose their residence
3.5.1. All Citizens shall be free to leave the country.
3.5.2. No Citizen shall be arbitrarily deprived of the right to enter their country.
3.5.3. The above-mentioned rights shall not be subject to any restrictions except those which are provided by law, are necessary to protect national security, public order, public health or the rights and freedoms of others, and are consistent with the other rights recognized in the present Covenant.
3.6. All Citizens shall have the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion.
3.6.1. This right shall include freedom to have or to adopt
3.6.1.1. a religion or belief of his choice, and
3.6.1.2. freedom, either individually or in community with others and in public or private, to manifest his religion or belief in worship, observance, practice and teaching.
3.6.2. No Citizen shall be subject to coercion which would impair his freedom to have or to adopt a religion or belief of his choice.
3.6.3. The Government shall undertake to have respect for the liberty of parents and, when applicable, legal guardians, to ensure the religious and moral education of their children in conformity with their own convictions.
3.6.4. Freedom to manifest one's religion or beliefs may be subject only to such limitations as are prescribed by law and are necessary to protect public safety, order, health, or morals or the fundamental rights and freedoms of others.
3.7. All Citizens shall have the right to hold opinions without interference.
3.8. All Citizens shall have the right to freedom of expression; this right shall include freedom to seek, receive and impart information and ideas of all kinds, regardless of frontiers, either orally, in writing or in print, in the form of art, or through any other media of his choice.
3.8.1. The exercise of the rights provided for above carries with it special duties and responsibilities. It may therefore be subject to certain restrictions, but these shall only be such as are provided by law and are necessary:
3.8.1.1. For respect of the rights or reputations of others;
3.8.1.2. For the protection of national security or of public order, or of public health.
3.8.1.3. Any advocacy of national, racial, ethnic, religious, or gender hatred that constitutes incitement to discrimination, hostility or violence shall be prohibited by law.
3.8.1.4. Any propaganda for war shall be prohibited by law.
3.9. The right of peaceful assembly shall be recognized.
3.9.1. No restrictions may be placed on the exercise of this right other than those imposed in conformity with the law and which are necessary in a democratic society in the interests of national security or public safety, public order , the protection of public health or the protection of the rights and freedoms of others.
3.9.2. All Citizens shall have the right to freedom of association with others, including the right to form and join trade unions for the protection of his interests.
3.9.3. No restrictions may be placed on the exercise of this right other than those which are prescribed by law and which are necessary in the interests of national security or public safety, public order, the protection of public health or the protection of the rights and freedoms of others.
3.9.3.1. This article shall not prevent the imposition of lawful restrictions on members of the armed forces and of the police in their exercise of this right.
3.9.3.2. Nothing in this article shall authorize Government to take legislative measures which would prejudice, or to apply the law in such a manner as to prejudice, the above rights.
4. Rights of Family
4.1. The family is the natural and fundamental group unit of society and is entitled to protection by society and the State.
4.1.1. The right of individuals of marriageable age to marry shall be recognized
4.1.1.1. The betrothal and the marriage of a child shall have no legal effect, and all necessary action, including legislation, shall be taken to specify a minimum age for marriage and to make the registration of marriages in an official registry compulsory.
4.1.1.2. No marriage shall be entered into without the free and full consent of the intending spouses.
4.1.2. The right of individuals of marriageable age to found a family shall be recognized.
4.1.3. States Parties to the present Covenant shall take appropriate steps to ensure equality of rights and responsibilities of spouses as to marriage, during marriage and at its dissolution.
4.1.3.1. In the case of dissolution, provision shall be made for the necessary protection of any children.
4.1.4. All parties to a marriage shall have:
4.1.4.1. The same rights and responsibilities as parents, irrespective of their marital status, in matters relating to their children; in all cases the interests of the children shall be paramount;
4.1.4.2. The same rights to decide freely and responsibly on the number and spacing of their children and to have access to the information, education and means to enable them to exercise these rights;
4.1.4.3. The same rights and responsibilities with regard to guardianship, wardship, trusteeship and adoption of children, or similar institutions where these concepts exist in national legislation; in all cases the interests of the children shall be paramount;
4.1.4.4. The same personal rights, including the right to choose a family name, a profession and an occupation;
4.1.4.5. The same rights for all spouses in respect of the ownership, acquisition, management, administration, enjoyment and disposition of property, whether free of charge or for consideration.
4.1.4.6. equal rights with respect to the nationality of their children.
4.1.5. This right shall not preclude individuals based on number thereof
4.1.5.1. Exceptions to ensure the security of family members are allowable
4.2. No Citizen shall be subjected to arbitrary or unlawful interference, search, or seizure, with
4.2.1. their privacy,
4.2.2. family,
4.2.3. home or correspondence,
4.2.4. nor to unlawful attacks on their honor and reputation.
4.2.5. All Citizens have the right to the protection of the law against such interference or attacks.
4.3. Every child shall have the right to such measures of protection as are required by his status as a minor, on the part of his family, society and the State.
4.3.1. Every child shall be registered immediately after birth and shall have a name.
4.3.2. Every child has the right to acquire a nationality.
4.3.3. Every child has the right to Family.
4.4. All persons are equal in these Rights of Family. In this respect, the law shall prohibit any discrimination and guarantee to all persons equal and effective protection against discrimination these rights, without distinction of any kind, such as
4.4.1. Age, Race and Color,
4.4.2. Gender and Sex
4.4.2.1. Inclusive of identity, sexuality, and heteronormativity
4.4.3. Language, Ethnicity, and National or Social origin,
4.4.4. Religion, Creed, Political, or other opinion,
4.4.5. Property, Birth, Social Class, or other status.
4.4.6.
4.5. All Citizens shall have the right to acquire, change or retain their nationality
4.5.1. The government shall ensure in particular that neither marriage to an alien nor change of nationality by a spouse during marriage shall automatically change the nationality of the other spouse, render them stateless or force upon them the nationality of the other.

(Still in Progress)

10. Rights before the Courts
10.1. All Citizens charged with a criminal offence shall:
10.1.1. have the right to be presumed innocent until proved guilty according to law;
10.1.2. be imprisoned merely on the grounds of being unable to fulfill a contractual obligation;
10.1.3. have the right to recognition everywhere as a person before the law;
10.2. All persons are equal before the law and are entitled without any discrimination to the equal protection of the law.
10.3. In this respect, the law shall prohibit any discrimination and guarantee to all persons equal and effective protection against discrimination these rights, without distinction of any kind, such as
10.3.1. Age, Race and Color,
10.3.2. Gender and Sex
10.3.2.1. Inclusive of identity, sexuality, and heteronormativity
10.3.3. Language, Ethnicity, and National or Social origin,
10.3.3.1. Although reasonable definition of common language for judicial purposes is allowable
10.3.4. Religion, Creed, Political, or other opinion,
10.3.5. Property, Birth, Social Class, or other status.
10.4. In the determination of any criminal charge against them, All Citizens shall be entitled to the following minimum guarantees, in full equality:
10.4.1. To be informed promptly and in detail in a language which they understand of the nature and cause of the charge against him;
10.4.2. To have adequate time and facilities for the preparation of their defense and to communicate with counsel of their own choosing;
10.4.3. To be tried without undue delay;
10.4.4. To be tried in their presence, and to defend their persons in person or through legal assistance of their own choosing; to be informed, if they do not have legal assistance, of this right; and to have legal assistance assigned to them, in any case where the interests of justice so require, and without payment by them in any such case if they do not have sufficient means to pay for it;
10.4.5. To examine, or have examined, the witnesses against them and to obtain the attendance and examination of witnesses on their behalf under the same conditions as witnesses against them;
10.4.6. To have the free assistance of an interpreter if they cannot understand or speak the language used in court;
10.4.7. Not to be compelled to testify against their self or to confess guilt.
10.5. All Citizens convicted of a crime shall have the right to their conviction and sentence being reviewed by a higher tribunal according to law.
10.5.1. When a person has by a final decision been convicted of a criminal offence and when subsequently his conviction has been reversed or he has been pardoned on the ground that a new or newly discovered fact shows conclusively that there has been a miscarriage of justice, the person who has suffered punishment as a result of such conviction shall be compensated according to law, unless it is proved that the non-disclosure of the unknown fact in time is wholly or partly attributable to him.
10.5.2. No Citizen shall be liable to be tried or punished again for an offence for which they have already been finally convicted or acquitted in accordance with the law and penal procedure.
10.6. No Citizen shall be held guilty of any criminal offence on account of any act or omission which did not constitute a criminal offence at the time when it was committed.
10.6.1. Nor shall a heavier penalty be imposed than the one that was applicable at the time when the criminal offence was committed.
10.6.2. If, subsequent to the commission of the offence, provision is made by law for the imposition of the lighter penalty, the offender shall benefit thereby.
10.6.3. Nothing in this article shall prejudice the trial and punishment of any person for any act or omission which, at the time when it was committed, was criminal according to the general principles of law recognized by the community of nations.
10.7. In the determination of any criminal charge against them, or of their rights and obligations in a suit at law, All Citizens shall be entitled to a fair and public hearing by a competent, independent and impartial tribunal established by law.
10.7.1. The press and the public may be excluded from all or part of a trial for reasons of morals, public order or national security in a democratic society, or when the interest of the private lives of the parties so requires, or to the extent strictly necessary in the opinion of the court in special circumstances where publicity would prejudice the interests of justice; but any judgment rendered in a criminal case or in a suit at law shall be made public except where the interest of juvenile persons otherwise requires or the proceedings concern matrimonial disputes or the guardianship of children.
10.8. In the case of juvenile persons, the procedure shall be such as will take account of their age and the desirability of promoting their rehabilitation.

The emerging Theocratic Party

2007-03-15T06:53:00.001-05:00

Technorati tags: Theocracy, Liberty, Opinion, Rambling

I am, finally, beginning to consider joining those Republicans who have left the party over the last 30 or so years. I strongly suspect that '08 will prove to be the end of the Republican party and the beginning of the Theocratic party.

I realize that, these days, being a republican is often portrayed as being some sort of slavering madwoman or nigh psychotic soccer mom with wild religious fervor and a size 18 dress. Its annoying to those of us who are, well, slightly more old fashioned, I guess.

The rise of the religious right and the seizure of prominence within the Republican party have led to a situation where there is, suddenly, beginning to be a new sort of sharp demarcation between the two parties -- one that I don't think the democratic party is going to suffer overly from in the beginning, but may find itself in a bind if a reasonably workable third party suddenly forms, as I personally find myself hoping with cynicism.

Politics, despite my watching events and having partaken of it myself, is not something I enjoy. In the hypothetical situations we used to argue about in college, politics was the one where I was most often readily defeated, and in my approach to my subject, politics is often the red headed stepchild since the policies of politics are ephemeral.

I am, however, a republican. Some call my particular style "progressive conservative". I disagree with the label, but, then, I always seem to.

I prefer local over federal, and I believe that there does indeed need to be an extant government. I am not a free market purist, as while I have faith in humanity, it also includes faith that greed is not a force one can readily harness for public benefit. I really do have that whole horrific, jingoistic patriotic thing going on -- I believe in the ideals of Justice and Liberty for all. I believe in civil rights for everyone, equally, the good with the bad, the pleasant with the displeasing.

I believe, quite strongly, that nothing is more important than civil rights.

My personal choice of governmental system is somewhat akin to the one the US has, but shifts down more. A weaker federal state, more powerful locality. It happens to actually devolve the states as they are now into a slightly different form of power, since the main focus would be units smaller than a city, technically.

But then, I'm also an unrepentant agrarianist, so, go figure.

I do not believe that Theocracy is good. Not in any way, and not in any form. I stand morally opposed to it.

And yet, a theocracy is what the religious right is attempting to create. A representative theocracy, but still a theocracy.

I believe that within the next 6 years, the religious right is effectively going to establish an ecumenical Theocratic party beneath the name of the Republican party. I believe that some of the elements within the Republican party at present will end up splintering off and creating a new third party -- which, yes, will suffer from the problems that any third party suffers from and wont last very long.

However, if that third party can be backed effectively (and I feel that it could gain sufficient backing to sustain itself), and can set themselves up within the media system as a viable alternative to the GOP, that they will attract a great many of the present democrats to their side.

Doing so would definitely weaken all three elements to some extent, but the least weakened would be the Theocratic Party. It might also give some attention to the libertarian party, but since they are consistently unable to field even a moderately reasonable politico, I continue to doubt they will have any impact.

What would we call this new Republican Party? Me, I say call it The American Party. but I'm not known for creative naming.

Honest.

I can say that I would change in a heartbeat, myself. A strong, moderate party that's cautiously progressive, and works for a limited federal structure while still retaining the standard necessities of protecting people's wallets would likely kick ass in the US, and revitalize at least to some extent the voting public.

I realize that's all pie in the sky idealism, as I'm no fool -- the powers that be do not want to give up their precious system.

I just don't think that they'll have much choice soon.

Because some of us are already aware of the shift towards theocracy.

And most of us remember the declaration of independence quite well.

Sometimes soon I'll do my whole spiel about the constitution...

The Biology of Sexual Orientation

2007-03-14T02:03:00.001-05:00

One of the things I am rather passionate about is civil liberties -- those rights and accords to which all American citizens are supposed to granted inalienably, but which in practice has been an ongoing struggle to maintain.

At times, this position has placed me in some rather nasty fights and on sides in arguments that I'd much rather have not been on -- but there is the principle of the matter, and that's why I keep fighting it.

Sometimes, when defining certain subjects, one gets hit from direction one isn't expecting, and ends up having not merely to defend a civil right itself, but that the person in question is deserving of that right.

In the case of Same Sex Marriage, for some strange reason, there's a huge need for those opposed to it to maintain that since being gay is a lifestyle, it is not worthy of protection as a class and undeserving of the civil right.

When the initially obvious truth of the fact that Civil rights actually protect lifestyles more than inborn states is utterly ignored (which is all too often outside of a court of law), the argument turns to the whole insult of calling it a lifestyle.

The first flaw there is that no one has ever been able to describe, to me, what that "gay lifestyle" is, and how it applies universally to all gays (in order for it to be a lifestyle, it does sorta need to be applicable to a majority of a given group. Otherwise its just a basic stereotype that is individualized).

The second flaw, though is the whole born gay argument. And this one has given me the greatest trouble, lol. Since the majority of those I'm arguing with were educated in he 80's or earlier, when the current body of science based on 1960 or earlier information, half the battle is providing them with a quick, easy, and truthful reference point for the studies that have been done *since* EoH was published 20 years ago.

And that's a LOT of studies. In fact, the most significant advances have been made in the last 10 years. And, now, joy of joys, I've come across a source that's going to sorta hurt a lot of people's arguments:

Link to The Biology of Sexual Orientation

Its Simon LeVay's personal website. The page linked to is probably the best overview of the field I have *ever* seen.

He even pulled up the Berglund studies I can never find the stupid citations for, LOL

Although I don't expect some of the folks with whom I'm arguing to *ever* acknowledge it (its too fundamental to their worldview) It just might make those who are more intelligent aware of the best info available.

As a resource, its all but unimpeachable. The creationists (who generally are opposed to the scientific method anyway) aren't going to buy it, but then, they don't go for consensus anyway (they want a theocracy -- consensus is antipathic to their cause).

Its terrible, as I'll now be wielding it like a baton as a strong weapon in my cause, but its also wonderful because it is so thorough that I even learned several things.

and I adore learning new things, lol

The law of unintended consequences

2007-03-12T18:19:00.001-05:00

There is a website that's hilarious, but dangerous to be around too often. Its called Despair.com, and essentially exists to poke enormous fun at the whole "motivation" poster business.

One of the more itneresting ones they had for a while was on said law.

Its in effect at this time, and I dislike it -- it makes me feel bad.

THe person who called me gay is sorta being ganged up on. Its the nature of the forum, really, but I still feel sorta bad, since, ultimately, it was my issue with being called gay that put her into a positionw here she had to suddenly defend herself against not merely me, but others.

The others came to my defense, which is uplifiting and makes me feel good (there's a sort of camaradeire going on at Topix that's pretty cool), and I suspect they already know I'm similarly incined, but, well...

So did Ash. She's not being mean, and she's not trying to hurt me. She's explaining her position, and my inherent defensive posture over the issue is creating a terrible situation. Ash is pretty cool -- I've read a few of her other posts, and she's pretty damned sharp.

Now, however, we're in a sitch where both of us are on the defensive, and that's never a good way to get through things. It looks like I've already somehow managed to misrepresent my position, because she talking about separating gender from biology and I'm talking about separating gender from sexual orientation.

We're also coming at it from two different approaches, I think -- forgive the supposition.

I'm looking at how I've always seen myself and the world, while she's pretty much looking at how she simply sees the world. Both are ultimately valid.

I haven't come across this particular probelm yet, so I guess its rather good i have now, and it is, if nothing else, making me more aware of some of te internal issues that other people have with my nature.

Since I will, ultimately, go utterly stealth, such information is useful -- and, I suspect, the more activist expereince I can gain until that time, the better I'll be able to handle things.

So, in this case, without intending to, it appears I've placed someone ina bad situation without meaning to. Happens, but, well, there ya have it.

Doesn't mean I have to like it, and it doesn't mean I can step aside, but its not right, and its not fair.

So what the hell am I?

2007-03-12T00:49:00.001-05:00

Where I'm called "gay"

Its, oddly enough, something that has bothered me as well, though naturally on Topix I'd never reveal such a thing.

Its yet another one of the strange little curiosities about being me -- I don't even fit nicely into my own personal stereotypes -- its almost as if I have some urge to *not* be categorized readily.

But this particular category annoys the crap outta me, and I gotta fess up to it. It does. Its a knee jerk reaction that sneaks in under my shields.

For pretty much most of my life, and especially growing up, I had to deal with being called various slurs that equate to Gay. Since I wasn't attracted to boys (my dreams notwithstanding -- that in a moment), it was pretty apparent that I wasn't gay, or even bi. And I had plenty of opportunity to test that -- for some reason, the people that surrounded me were attracted to that "odd" quirk about me, that carefully built shell of masculinity around the rest of me that I kept holed up so deeply.

I mean, after all, how do you prove you aren't gay? Seriously, no joking -- how? Sleep around a lot? No thanks, it was hard enough sleeping with women as it was (mechanical and unfulfilling), but it doesn't fly since we all know the Public People who are Secretly Gay behind their Sham Marriage. Have kids? Again, the same thing. Marry -- yep.

Basically there is no way for one to "prove" that one isn't gay.

Now, I realize that this something that LGBT activists have noted about their opponents for many years and used effectively, but, well, it is a cheap shot. Its in the same level of cheap shot as saying that they've got the same right: they can marry someone of the opposite sex.

Both are weak, and both are patently unfair, and neither actually advances anything.

And I've already noted before that I am somewhat homophobic (on the older blog before this that I'll eventually get around to recreating here in some form or other). Flat out, the thought of sex with a man as a man is abhorrent to me on a really, really visceral and deep personal level. The same applies with me as a woman with another woman.

Presenting as a male, within the shell, the mechanism is there. Its not particularly compelling (I did, after all, decide to become celibate just before I met my wife, without a qualm), as it still feels wrong to me, but, as was noted by the person that called me gay, the equipment was there, and by then I'd already established that it worked.

And yet, there was the late night dreams and the longings and the wishes made in fervent hope for a dawn that wasn't going to come. How to explain to someone that you've had wet dreams about having sex with a man -- but not as a man? I've never visualized myself internally as male, consciously or subconsciously. I'm just me -- and I've always seen myself as a female.

Somewhat disassociating, no?

So, I was rather twigged by the being called gay, which started to gnaw at me, since, well, aside from the fact that it meant I lost a point (and we'll all see how much I hate that in entries to come) it wasn't true.

I know its not true.

So, to place a bit of balm on my little wound and grant myself a bit of peace over the issue, I turned to the standard tools your typical internet junkie uses.

And discovered a couple of interesting things.

The first is that Dynes' Encyclopedia of Homosexuality still isn't updated and isn't likely to be. That's flat out *really* annoying since its known to be outdated even by Dynes Himself, and yet is used in way too many schools today. Its 20 freaking years old -- and completely misses every major study that has shaped so much of the LGBT world -- all of them happening since then. (pub date was 1990, but the info isn't much newer than 87). Bailey's work, for example, is almost entirely 90's based (before he went and got all psycho on the TS crowd when they backed him, Blanchard, and Anne up against a wall).

That said, lol, I also found out that what a lot of the folks out there like to call TS people's direction is about like this (courtesy of wikipedia since I don't have my copy of EoH on hand):

Gynephilia (or gynophilia) (From Greek gunē, "women," + -philia, "love") is the romantic and/or sexual attraction to adult females, and its counterpart androphilia (from Greek andro-, "male," + -philia, "love") is attraction to adult males.
There are two main reasons why these terms have been used: to describe either the age or the sex/gender of the object of an individual's sexual orientation.

And the reason for that convoluted mess of doom is the thing that cost me the point: there's not enough flexibility in our language to describe the right term, lol.

Its sorta like saying what a single cow or bull or steer is without referring to gender (cattle is plural).

There just isn't a term for it -- although now I have found one. But it still doesn't work for me, and I'll still claim I'm straight. IT just makes me feel better, lol.

It also helps, a great deal, that for the most part the scientific community does indeed consider me heterosexual -- although its primarily because I consider myself such, lol.

now, as for why that matters, well, hell, I don't want to go there right now -- it makes my head hurt. Mostly because I have to back into the past, and prior to about 1995, the past is something I have spent a considerable amount of effort and time discarding.

The less I have to go there, the better.

Vyxie

Wilful Malevolence

2007-03-11T08:28:00.001-05:00

What causes such?

What energy is so taken in that would cause someone to engage in actions of wilful malevolence -- the active goal to hurt another person?

The short answer, of course, is Evil. But I'm disinclined to accept a short a pithy phrasing or reduction here, as I've all too often gazed into the heart of what can make someone evil.

There is, of course, the evil of conformity, to which I seem to have been placed in juxtaposition. The world of puppy dogs and butterflies enforced by a benevolent dictator who only wants all things to live in harmony (or, else, of course, is the implication, and it is in the means to achieve that end that the evil is made visible).

I ask because I've finally id'd my little troll, and I'm wondering what to do at this point.

Nor am I the only target of their ministrations -- they have assaulted Trisha and Gaymom as well, and I suspect there have been others additionally.

I fear for one girl named Delfina Pei, who seems most reasonable, but has been casually courted by them in certain threads that, bluntly give me pause, as the same was done before.

I'm rather pissy about it, actually -- and therefore subject to potentially falling into that trap myself.

While their release of personal information without my express personal consent places them at odds with California law, I'm disinclined to give the agencies so charged with actually pursuing the case with any sense of fervor, and I know I'm certainly not going to go after them myself (the trip to Knoxville was soooo boring and I could have used that money more wisely, despite being able to see my bf).

I did report it, of course, and I also notified Topix administration of their posting activity with logs and specific quotes were they had crossed my personal line (they went into the territory of making threats and advocating harm to others). Took several hours in between working to compile the list (over 100 specific posts) and then provide the resources used (the UofA's style algorithm and comparative samples with indications of how to identify patterning).

I also don't think there is much they will do either -- the troll is using an AOL server, and that would mean blocking all AOL servers.

However, I do now have an excellent idea of how they post, why the post, and the particular mannerisms and style they have. Its been rather surprising, actually.

Its kind of sad, really, as if my assessment of this individual is correct, then they would actually be someone I'd like to have a decent conversation with -- but I fear that they are the sort for whom anything is meaningless without some sort of struggle and dominance.

They want to hurt others. They want to cause harm. And I honestly am having a hard time understanding why they would want to do that.

Winning the lottery

2007-03-09T22:31:00.001-05:00

Link to $80 million man: Money won't change me - TODAY: People - MSNBC.com

Its a constant fantasy for some of us, I guess. I know that its a favorite mental exercise of mine: what would I do if I won x amount int he lottery.

Since I don't play it very often, it certainly isn't a case of my fervently wishing for such, but rather just one of those things I do to kill time.

When you are as anally retentive as I am about stuff (I call it exercising my inner control freak), these little exercises can be enormously involved.

Part of the reason, though, is that I would not, of course, want to become one of those lottery winners who are ruined by it. I am already aware that while I become much more magnanimous when I have extra money, I also tend to be a bit more aloof than normal -- its as if the little subtle things that I learned by osmosis as a child about being a snob sneak back into play, and I dislike that.

As a result, my plans are inevitably along the lines of what this person did:

http://money.cnn.com/2007/02/20/magazines/fortune/lottery_winnings.fortune/index.htm?postversion=2007022807

From the Article:

$45 million: Safe, low-risk investments such as municipal bonds
$35 million: Aggressive investments like oil and gas and real estate
$1.3 million: A family foundation
$63,000: A trip to Tahiti with 17 friends
$125,000: Mortgage retired on his 1,400-square-foot house
$18,000: Student-loan repayment
$65,000: New bicycles, including a $12,000 BMC road bike
$14,500: A used black VW Jetta
$12,000: Annual gift to each family member

That's a pretty good breakdown, although, for me, Bicycles are not going to be an investment.

Among the things I'd be doing is establishing a trust for paying for my daily expenses -- much like the family trust above, although mine would separate and above and beyond it. A second trus would provide for my family members the same basics levels of security.

I know my close relatives fairly well, and am fairly certain they wouldn't do much, but also that they know I would -- so there would be a fight there, lol.

Instead of a trip to tahiti, I'd likely engage in a trip to Thailand (of course, LOL) and one hell of a shopping trip, followed a few months later by a large party in Vegas.

After that, though, my focus would be on creating, for me, a simple, plesant existence that I could maintain for the rest of my life while pursing the things that are important to me (which, in this case, means doing pretty much whatever catches my fancy insofar as learning about new things).

ITs certain I would establish a company of some sort -- what it would be I don't know. Retail, restaurant, design -- there are a lot of variables. I'd probably work to establish some sort of a variant on a bed and breakfast style place and leave it be at that.

One element that's critical to me, though, is that everything be, effectively self sustaining. It doesn't need to grow, so much as it needs to be self perpetuating for the life of it.

that's pretty much where I go, lol.

Technorati tags: lottery, powerball, money, thinking

So, a new blog to begin with...

2007-03-09T03:53:00.001-05:00

Do not countenance them, thou there: turn away from their lackered sumptuosities, their belauded sophistries, their serpent graciosities, their spoken and acted cant, with a sacred horror,with an _Apage Satanas._--Bobus and Company, and all men willgradually join us.