I haven't been writing much for this venue, as I have been trying to focus my energies for the piece that I will be submitting to Elle Magazine. (Biting my nails on that one! How do I know where to begin? Anne Slowey told me to just write and write and write, and not to stop, not to self edit. I hope she doesn't end up regretting that advice!)
It's been an interesting few weeks. So many wild intersections of my life these days.
One of the trans listserves that I am on illuminated the topic of depression. A very sweet younger guy brought up his battles with self destruction, and asked the group for suggestions and support. There was one response in particular that really humbled me. It was from a fellow who is in his late thirties, as he discussed his own experiences with similar demons. I could really relate to what he was sharing with the group. Talking about his bouts of depression, and the courses that it sometimes took, such as cutting, etc. But he talked about things in such an open, and self reflective way. As he spoke, it was clear that so much of those negative reactions no longer work for him. There was something so liberating to hear about his changes, and how gently and respectfully he reached out to this younger guy. I was inspired. At the bottom of his response he included his blog address, so I checked it out.
Amazing.
It humbled me in many ways. To hear that this guy had given birth to six kids, and has been happily married for 20 years ~ it granted me so much hope. His partner not only stayed by his side during his transition, but was excited to explore new elements to their dynamic ~ what we might all wish to happen: have people we love stand by us. But beyond his romantic relationship, he had six children, with who, he also would have to negotiate these newer developing changes. And that is the part that really put me in awe, and gave me a little more perspective. I think having kids and finding a balance in one's life can be challenging enough. But to then create a revolution to his extent in one's life is just incredible to me. I think about all of the ways my connections to people made me afraid to change, and I am so honored to be able to read Edward's words about how grateful he is to make these necessary shifts in his life. Even with challenges that he faces with some of the struggles his children face within their own lives, unrelated to his transition ~ I wish him all of my support, and have been changed by his words.
His blog is: http://ftmfamilyadventures.blogspot.com
Then a relative new comer to the local DC trans group that I co-facilitate sent the link to the Advocate article about the trans dad in Oregon, who stopped taking testosterone after 8 years to become pregnant. It was written by the subject, Thomas Beatie, and defines some of the problems he has faced in his position. It has created a media frenzy, and brought up a lot of issues for me.
That article can be found here: http://www.advocate.com/issue_story_ektid52664.asp
Oddly enough, when I was 28/29 suddenly out of no where, I wanted to have kids. To me, it was blatantly that "biological clock" thing that most women speak of, but I had never experienced it before. Honestly, I kind of thought that it was a load of crap, having more to do with social pressures and such. I think that I stand corrected now.
So, I had a conversation with my best friend Jules, who had recently transitioned himself. (Back story: Jules and I had gone to college together, but were four years apart. I was older... In my younger days at college before Jules arrived i spoke openly with friends about wanting to transition, but never quite knew how or when. As I got older, I spoke about it less openly, and candidly, especially when I moved out of the collegiate incubator in which I lived, and found myself back in the real world. After his own graduation, Jules moved to San Francisco, and then New York, where he realized that he wanted to make that leap, and begin hormones, and soon after have top surgery. Part of me was jealous, but I also knew that I was not ready, but I couldn't fully articulate what exactly it was that was holding me back, preventing me from embarking on what I felt like I wanted since I was 19. At 29, it hit me.)
I wanted to have kids. Not only be a parent but HAVE kids, give birth to them, which I have never wanted in my life. Ever. When I was 19, I began dating Julia, and we just fit. We spoke of someday getting married and having a family together, as she really wanted to have children. We moved to the SF Bay Area together, and played house, even as we babysat our neighbor's infant. It felt like foreshadowing. Then after several years, we broke up, and the dream of having a family dissolved. It wasn't until I was 29 that this reprise came flooding back about wanting children, but now in a new way of wanting to give birth.
Jules and I were talking on the phone, catching up about all of the things he's noticed during the early stages of his transition, and I was mesmerized. So many nuances, and details. It was really fascinating to hear and witness. Then he turned to me, and asked me about my own desires to begin that process. I nervously said that suddenly I was faced with this drive to have children, to give birth, and then transition as a single parent. I had spoken ad nauseum about it with my therapist, who really got in those trenches with me to excavate some of those answers. I felt weirdly resolved. I spoke to Jules about all of the options that I had researched, and even about some of the guys I met at a trans social group outside of Baltimore, who were "Moms" before they transitioned. I met some of their well adjusted kids. The whole thing really resonated with me, despite never having any idea that it would have.
Both Jules and I did film and video work, and we had toyed with the idea of doing a documentary together. Next thing I knew Jules asked if he could crash with me as he was coming to interview one of the trans-dad's that I mentioned to him a few months earlier. He started to make a documentary on Trans guys that gave birth to their biological children. I was so jealous that he had such a brilliant idea for a documentary, and was so honored when he said at the Los Angeles screening of his film that he "made the film for his best friend." I wept in the audience, as no one had ever done something so remarkable "for" me... And as much as the film might have come from our discussions, it was his brilliant idea, and his fortitude that brought it to fruition, while it received accolades in the festival circuit and got picked up by the biggest queer film distributor in the US. Amazing. So proud of him.
That was 2005, when he completed his film Transparent. Then out of no where, several years later there has been a resurgence of interest in his film, as Oprah shot a segment about it (as she herself watched my friend's doc), and now with this Beatie story being a media blitz, everyone is contacting Jules to get rights to show a clip of a similar trans dad that he featured in his film. Inside Edition wanted to use a clip, and just last night Transparent was featured on 20/20. (The part that makes me nervous is that the fellow that my friend Jules interviewed years ago has moved, and in his new life, he is not out as trans to his community. I hope that so many journalists digging up info on older stories with similar themes do not hit him too harshly in this new stealth life of his.)
Jules website for that film is: www.transparentthemovie.com
And lastly, while speaking to my other best friend Melanie, someone I have known since I was 16, she mentioned last night that one of her photo students in LA reminds her of me when I was younger. She gave this student this blog address, and when I woke up this morning, I found several new comments posted.
One of the things mentioned in the comments posted by MVS is this interconnectedness of our lives these days with things like blogs and websites delivering these kinds of intimate stories right onto our laps (or laptops). About this ability to "know" about others' lives in excruciating detail, but perhaps never even seeing their face in person.
I see that myself all of the time, where I get so consumed by analyzing other people's experiences. It pushes me further, and forces me to think about things from new possible perspectives. Kind of like this grand baton relay, that has gone on through out history, where we offer up what we have learned and experienced to see if it may be of use to others, without even recognizing that pattern sometimes. (This is why I can get embarrassingly obsessive about documentaries, biographies and auto-biographies sometimes.) I want to know more about the human experience, and all that it entails and includes. I want to find my place in the world, and hearing how others find their places helps me draw my own maps, charts and graphs...
Thanks to all that have helped me chart my way here, and for making connections when we didn't "have" to ~ it makes all the difference.
(My email address is selfmadewill@gmail.com if people want to contact me directly about any of this.)
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Exchange
Recently and resistently, I joined Facebook under my new name. It's a bit of an awkward process, as many older friends or "friends of friends" might not understand the context of my life these days. Beyond that, they simply might not know who the hell I am with said new name, and a stick on stache in the profile pic. (I feel like Clark Kent. Something as subtle and silly as this sticky strip of faux fur somehow confirms my completely "new" identity. Odd.)
One of the people that recognized me is an old friend from college. (One who hit me in the head with a hammer for funzies. Just kidding. It wasn't fun. It was for a good cause. Should we note that I never considered transitioning before this "accident?" Thanks, Heidi~this is all on you!)
Here are some excerpts from our recent exchanges which I found to be somewhat funny.
My last posting here was the list of changes I noticed since my transition, which I clipped from an email I wrote to this friend. Here is her response.
gender mediator. i love it. i feel like it's some weird fringe super hero. like i'd need a shawl more than a cape...
i can't tell you how much i appreciate your distinguishing the difference between the identities that we assume for ourselves, vs what others project on to us. HUGE difference sometimes, and very frustrating. people had often just assumed that since i was female bodied and dated women that i (and ALL of my partners) must be lesbian(s). which was actually not the case. i never felt like a woman, so therefore since lesbians could only be women~it never really felt like it fit... since i was a kid i have always felt boyish, and so many women (and gay men) that i have been involved with commented on how they liked me because of that boyishness. most of those women have been straight, and therefore they weren't lesbians either... so, as you say, many projections on to me about identities and assumptions about orientations. (and thanks for the flattery of saying all the chicks had crushes on me in college! heh heh.)
i guess hearing stuff like that makes me hopeful that maybe i won't be alone forever... not to sound dumb, but having transitioned, now passing can ironically be a bit more intimidating.
i was being interviewed for the second installment yesterday by this sociologist studying trans issues. he was asking me during both interviews how i don't identify as a "MAN" now, and he seemed to be almost shocked that i don't id that way. i said that i identify as trans. for me, i really do feel more in the middle, and embrace what that means to me. but am scared of that context when i think about relationships ~ me in relation to someone else... there was the question of authenticity. this is just for myself, but i don't feel like "an authentic man." and i certainly don't feel "male" as that connotes sex ~ chromosomes ~ things that (in MY mind) can't be changed by simply taking hormones or having countless surgeries. that is the genotype, versus phenotypes ~ the displays of behaviors, actions, etc. chromosomally i am still and will always be "xx" female. but having taken hormones, and having surgery, it makes it easier to pass as a man, but my body is not fully masculinated. (not to be too crude, but bottom surgeries available for transmen are so far off from "the real thing" where as bottom surgeries for transwomen are much more successful, and look more realistic. again, not to be too crass, but the fact that i am looking like a guy but don't have a dick, it can make things more complicated... identity wise, and relationship-wise...)
but i see the relevance in a statement like roland's. culturally we think so much about the american dream, this concept of escaping the reality of whatever situation into which we were born, and creating ourselves anew~but there really is no handbook for how to do just that, on any level. there are get rich quick schemes, and lose weight fast systems advertised ad nauseum, but really nothing of substance to talk about moving about different social strata, be it class or gender or even cultural. is there? am i dumb or missing it? (should that be the elle article? a how to guide for "social jumping" for trannies? uh, probably not...)
----> so how does it work then, exactly?
One of the people that recognized me is an old friend from college. (One who hit me in the head with a hammer for funzies. Just kidding. It wasn't fun. It was for a good cause. Should we note that I never considered transitioning before this "accident?" Thanks, Heidi~this is all on you!)
Here are some excerpts from our recent exchanges which I found to be somewhat funny.
My last posting here was the list of changes I noticed since my transition, which I clipped from an email I wrote to this friend. Here is her response.
I have no witty retort -- but HOLY CRAP! I mean, it makes sense -- I just never though about it in that sort of detail. It's kind of like you are the living battle of the sexes peace negotiator! Gender mediation -- there's your new field.
"As a former female, I felt x, y, z... But now as a male I feel p, d, q."
gender mediator. i love it. i feel like it's some weird fringe super hero. like i'd need a shawl more than a cape...
It's funny -- I was saying to Sujal (hubby), that it's hard for me to fully grasp your change -- that you were the chick that all the chicks had a crush on in college -- so it's challenging to think of you so differently. We've been talking a lot about identity at my school this year -- it's our "diversity" theme. One of the things we talked about is one creating one's own identity VS the one that others create for an individual by how they perceive that individual. One we create; one is imposed on us. Clearly this hurdle for me is because of the perception I had of you -- not your perception of you. Anyway -- blah blah blah musings. It probably seems so touchy-feely-girlie to you now. ;)
i can't tell you how much i appreciate your distinguishing the difference between the identities that we assume for ourselves, vs what others project on to us. HUGE difference sometimes, and very frustrating. people had often just assumed that since i was female bodied and dated women that i (and ALL of my partners) must be lesbian(s). which was actually not the case. i never felt like a woman, so therefore since lesbians could only be women~it never really felt like it fit... since i was a kid i have always felt boyish, and so many women (and gay men) that i have been involved with commented on how they liked me because of that boyishness. most of those women have been straight, and therefore they weren't lesbians either... so, as you say, many projections on to me about identities and assumptions about orientations. (and thanks for the flattery of saying all the chicks had crushes on me in college! heh heh.)
i guess hearing stuff like that makes me hopeful that maybe i won't be alone forever... not to sound dumb, but having transitioned, now passing can ironically be a bit more intimidating.
i was being interviewed for the second installment yesterday by this sociologist studying trans issues. he was asking me during both interviews how i don't identify as a "MAN" now, and he seemed to be almost shocked that i don't id that way. i said that i identify as trans. for me, i really do feel more in the middle, and embrace what that means to me. but am scared of that context when i think about relationships ~ me in relation to someone else... there was the question of authenticity. this is just for myself, but i don't feel like "an authentic man." and i certainly don't feel "male" as that connotes sex ~ chromosomes ~ things that (in MY mind) can't be changed by simply taking hormones or having countless surgeries. that is the genotype, versus phenotypes ~ the displays of behaviors, actions, etc. chromosomally i am still and will always be "xx" female. but having taken hormones, and having surgery, it makes it easier to pass as a man, but my body is not fully masculinated. (not to be too crude, but bottom surgeries available for transmen are so far off from "the real thing" where as bottom surgeries for transwomen are much more successful, and look more realistic. again, not to be too crass, but the fact that i am looking like a guy but don't have a dick, it can make things more complicated... identity wise, and relationship-wise...)
I obviously think a lot about identity, myself... This year I taught the class, and we read Bharati Mukherjee. She is an Indian immigrant, now a US citizen, and she tends to write about the modern immigrant experience. Coming from a fairly working class background and going to a place like Bennington - I remember Roland Merullo saying something like, "There's no handbook for social class jumping."
but i see the relevance in a statement like roland's. culturally we think so much about the american dream, this concept of escaping the reality of whatever situation into which we were born, and creating ourselves anew~but there really is no handbook for how to do just that, on any level. there are get rich quick schemes, and lose weight fast systems advertised ad nauseum, but really nothing of substance to talk about moving about different social strata, be it class or gender or even cultural. is there? am i dumb or missing it? (should that be the elle article? a how to guide for "social jumping" for trannies? uh, probably not...)
Regarding a how-to book/article/guide -- I think that's precisely it -- one can't be definitively written, mainly because we cannot account for all of the variables. I think our best "guides" are fellow human beings -- and even then, they fall short in terms of providing a fail-proof plan. Frankly -- that search for a fail-proof plan is dull. Most of the fun of life is navigating blindly. I like to grope around. Who am I kidding -- I just like to grope. ; ) Actually the word "grope" has always creeped me out a little.
----> so how does it work then, exactly?
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Changes I've noticed...
I have recently reconnected with a few friends from college, and have been trying to explain how certain things have shifted since I began my transition a few years ago. My friend was joking about male pattern baldness, which really triggered a huge reaction in me, as I fear that so desperately~say it ain't so!
Anywho ~ here is the list of some of the changes that I have noticed.
the changes i have noticed since being on testosterone...
physical:
* the fat migrates from typically feminine deposits (like breasts, hips, thighs, butt) to more masculine areas ~ like the gut (wah wah wah).
* breast size decreases mostly when the fat migrates, but possibly related to hormonal shifts as well (like the opposite of breasts getting bigger right before women get their periods.)
* speaking of ~ my period disappeared several months after being on "t"
* much easier to lose weight almost instantly, but if i stop working out, or if my diet changes drastically~weight is put on immediately.
* i can build musculature incredibly easy now, from even mild work outs
* (this migration/elimination of fat, teamed with added more muscle mass completely changed the structure of my body. my pants were a lot baggier, and my shoulders "beefed" up over night ~ meaning i had to get almost an entire new wardrobe. i gained 20 lbs despite being "leaner" since i started t~it's crazy.)
* i have a lot more energy, meaning i generally have more desire to work out, etc ~
* but that also correlates to my appetite having doubled to sustain the work outs (making it that much more challenging if i miss work outs! guh!)
* food cravings have changed most dramatically... many years ago i had been vegan, and even though i am not now, i don't eat a lot of meat, and try to avoid mass amounts of dairy. when i started "T," instantaneously i began to crave things like bacon cheeseburgers with barbeque sauce, topped off with a chocolate malted milk shake. it was completely bizarre to crave different foods all of a sudden, and my ever-present sweet tooth suddenly dissipated. (i guess pregnant women are used to these kinds of fluctuations with hormonal shifts prescribing which exact foods will be appreciated or "tossed.")
* based on this new found diet~the particular scent of my body odor changed ~ which to me, was the most striking difference, to not recognize my own "natural" scent. (kind of like when morgan spurlock was joking about going into a sauna when he was making "super size me" and someone asked unknowingly "who brought a cheeseburger into the steam room?")
* also, random note: that pH balance crap from those deodorant commercials is real. i had to stop using my gender neutral hippie-dippy deodorant to a more manly brand to prevent "unwanted" scents from developing
* speaking of hormonal shifts and such, i also began to break out in small bouts of acne, primarily under my jaw line and even a tiny bit on my shoulders~which was gross. this has mellowed out as my body has become more used to the hormones, but also because my diet has become more moderate again
* my body has gotten generally hairier (facial hair is slowly coming in, but is still relatively light, so it's not as noticeable...)
* one weird side effect that i can't quite explain is that my hair would no longer absorb commercial dyes, so i went back to my uber-dark original hair color (to find that my hair is more salt and pepper now, coincidentally.)
* i fear that the hair on my scalp might be thinning at the crown, but my hairline itself has definitely receded at the temples. (that part is fine, as i think that can be sexy, but anything more than that, and i am getting rogaine and hair club for men, damn it all!)
* my voice has dropped roughly three octaves, but in the beginning i was losing my voice and experienced my voice cracking in the stereotypical pubescent boy tone (my voicemail accts have my original voice still on the greetings, which i want to try to record and upload to the blog for people to hear the difference)
* it is common for the facial features themselves to become more angular/rigid as a result of the testosterone, such as the eyebrow ridge seeming more pronounced, and jaw line getting more square (i fear i have this cromagnon thing going on in my forehead now. arg!)
* i produce more saliva now ~ which is odd, but i hear common for transguy to confirm
* i often feel hot, (like hot flashes that women experience through menopause) as opposed to always feeling cold pre-t
* the libido increases exponentially (um, awkward!)
other changes that i noticed:
* it becomes nearly impossible for me to cry (when before I could cry at the drop of a hat) even if i get sad, it is tough for more than like 4 tears to fall.
* challenging times in the past would have typically manifested as sadness/paralysis, where now frustration/challenging situations trigger anger instead, propelling rather than paralyzing
* a lot of my shyness has dissipated ~ which is weird to have this sense of myself, (as somewhat shy, reserved, someone who tends to get sad) change so drastically
* the shyness has been replaced by a quiet confidence (as opposed to a more codependent feeling of wanting to be liked and gain others' approval) now, i don't really care as much about what others think. again~odd to see this huge shift, when it seemed so inherent to what i knew to be "me" ~ i don't know how much can be attributed to the physiological changes based on the hormones, or how much is simply the result of having faced my demons because of mytransition
* i relate to people much differently now, where i step up and state my feelings much more directly (which i don't think was easy for my former partner at the time, nor my boss...) i don't tip toe around things anymore
* i have found severe set backs with things like spelling and grammar, which were never a problem pre-t
* the most interesting element to my transition is that what i find attractive has shifted. mid/post transition i found myself much more interested in gay men, which i wasn't really anticipating. and i hate to admit it, but embarrassingly~my attention in other people became a lot more objective, than subjective. finding myself checking people out based on looks in a way that i never experienced before. ( i feel like such a douche bag admitting that, but it's true...)
Anywho ~ here is the list of some of the changes that I have noticed.
the changes i have noticed since being on testosterone...
physical:
* the fat migrates from typically feminine deposits (like breasts, hips, thighs, butt) to more masculine areas ~ like the gut (wah wah wah).
* breast size decreases mostly when the fat migrates, but possibly related to hormonal shifts as well (like the opposite of breasts getting bigger right before women get their periods.)
* speaking of ~ my period disappeared several months after being on "t"
* much easier to lose weight almost instantly, but if i stop working out, or if my diet changes drastically~weight is put on immediately.
* i can build musculature incredibly easy now, from even mild work outs
* (this migration/elimination of fat, teamed with added more muscle mass completely changed the structure of my body. my pants were a lot baggier, and my shoulders "beefed" up over night ~ meaning i had to get almost an entire new wardrobe. i gained 20 lbs despite being "leaner" since i started t~it's crazy.)
* i have a lot more energy, meaning i generally have more desire to work out, etc ~
* but that also correlates to my appetite having doubled to sustain the work outs (making it that much more challenging if i miss work outs! guh!)
* food cravings have changed most dramatically... many years ago i had been vegan, and even though i am not now, i don't eat a lot of meat, and try to avoid mass amounts of dairy. when i started "T," instantaneously i began to crave things like bacon cheeseburgers with barbeque sauce, topped off with a chocolate malted milk shake. it was completely bizarre to crave different foods all of a sudden, and my ever-present sweet tooth suddenly dissipated. (i guess pregnant women are used to these kinds of fluctuations with hormonal shifts prescribing which exact foods will be appreciated or "tossed.")
* based on this new found diet~the particular scent of my body odor changed ~ which to me, was the most striking difference, to not recognize my own "natural" scent. (kind of like when morgan spurlock was joking about going into a sauna when he was making "super size me" and someone asked unknowingly "who brought a cheeseburger into the steam room?")
* also, random note: that pH balance crap from those deodorant commercials is real. i had to stop using my gender neutral hippie-dippy deodorant to a more manly brand to prevent "unwanted" scents from developing
* speaking of hormonal shifts and such, i also began to break out in small bouts of acne, primarily under my jaw line and even a tiny bit on my shoulders~which was gross. this has mellowed out as my body has become more used to the hormones, but also because my diet has become more moderate again
* my body has gotten generally hairier (facial hair is slowly coming in, but is still relatively light, so it's not as noticeable...)
* one weird side effect that i can't quite explain is that my hair would no longer absorb commercial dyes, so i went back to my uber-dark original hair color (to find that my hair is more salt and pepper now, coincidentally.)
* i fear that the hair on my scalp might be thinning at the crown, but my hairline itself has definitely receded at the temples. (that part is fine, as i think that can be sexy, but anything more than that, and i am getting rogaine and hair club for men, damn it all!)
* my voice has dropped roughly three octaves, but in the beginning i was losing my voice and experienced my voice cracking in the stereotypical pubescent boy tone (my voicemail accts have my original voice still on the greetings, which i want to try to record and upload to the blog for people to hear the difference)
* it is common for the facial features themselves to become more angular/rigid as a result of the testosterone, such as the eyebrow ridge seeming more pronounced, and jaw line getting more square (i fear i have this cromagnon thing going on in my forehead now. arg!)
* i produce more saliva now ~ which is odd, but i hear common for transguy to confirm
* i often feel hot, (like hot flashes that women experience through menopause) as opposed to always feeling cold pre-t
* the libido increases exponentially (um, awkward!)
other changes that i noticed:
* it becomes nearly impossible for me to cry (when before I could cry at the drop of a hat) even if i get sad, it is tough for more than like 4 tears to fall.
* challenging times in the past would have typically manifested as sadness/paralysis, where now frustration/challenging situations trigger anger instead, propelling rather than paralyzing
* a lot of my shyness has dissipated ~ which is weird to have this sense of myself, (as somewhat shy, reserved, someone who tends to get sad) change so drastically
* the shyness has been replaced by a quiet confidence (as opposed to a more codependent feeling of wanting to be liked and gain others' approval) now, i don't really care as much about what others think. again~odd to see this huge shift, when it seemed so inherent to what i knew to be "me" ~ i don't know how much can be attributed to the physiological changes based on the hormones, or how much is simply the result of having faced my demons because of mytransition
* i relate to people much differently now, where i step up and state my feelings much more directly (which i don't think was easy for my former partner at the time, nor my boss...) i don't tip toe around things anymore
* i have found severe set backs with things like spelling and grammar, which were never a problem pre-t
* the most interesting element to my transition is that what i find attractive has shifted. mid/post transition i found myself much more interested in gay men, which i wasn't really anticipating. and i hate to admit it, but embarrassingly~my attention in other people became a lot more objective, than subjective. finding myself checking people out based on looks in a way that i never experienced before. ( i feel like such a douche bag admitting that, but it's true...)
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
7 Habits of highly ineffective people
Let's see. I'm not sure where to begin.
I haven't written in a little while because:
1) I got this bioterrorist plague from one of my room mates, and despite having had surgery, an infection, three migraines, and my heart torn out~THIS was actually this worst I have felt in years... Flu my ass... This stuff is lethal.
2) I lost one friend because I said she hurt my feelings.
3) I lost another friend because I said, despite having dated years back, and the fact that I am NOT hitting on her, I think she is pretty impressive and lovable. (I still got it! How have I ever dated ever? I am so awkward. Sorry again...)
4) There is another person that passive aggressively keeps telling me that I should be her friend.
5) I had a sweeping moments of sadness at the prospect of the local farmer's market starting back up in my neighborhood soon. My ex and I would walk over virtually every Saturday during the summer and pluck gorgeous organic finds to serve for the upcoming week. There was something so idyllic about those Saturdays. About the 2 block walk over, filled with hope and contentment~while we chose smaller potted veggies to try to plant our own garden. Cheesey metaphor aside~the gardens always failed, and the veggies never went very far. Seems about right ~ right about now...
6) I had to show a property for the property management company I run, and bumped into a friend of a friend. I had introduced myself with my new name, which then became increasingly awkward, as this woman said she was going to ask if my friend Sarah remembered me. (Sarah might not know my new name, and how awkward is that? Only slightly less awkward then when I drew a blank with this new woman asked what my last name is ~ so she could ask about to these other people. "Ummm. Warren." Riiight. Keep it together, yo...)
7) I was asked to be in a sociological study on trans folks, and received my first piece of mail with my new name on it. t was the release form for being in the study. I had to sign it with my new name~but I don't have a signature for it yet. So I looked like some third grader practicing my cursive, as the "w's" are way too perfected, and the rest looks like arse. Jeez. I am 12 years old...
On a side note: I picked up Eckhart Tolle's new book "A New Earth" that I was too horrified to buy in public. It's the new Oprah book, which I hate that I know... (I was given Tolle's first book by my best friend from high school~ Hilary, who got it for me when we both first moved to DC. She is a Buddhist who now lives on an Italian farm with her Italian husband, while they are into the slow food movement and teaching tai chi.)
Tolle's first book was called "The Power of Now" ~ a book my dad later stole from my old apartment, so I can't even remember what it was about... I was curious about this new book. But honestly, I was so embarrassed I went to a cheezeball lowbrow bookstore~where I NEVER shop, in order to pick it up, cuz I was so horrified that I'd be seen buying it. They were sold out. Apparently a lot of other people had the same brilliant idea, so I had to go elsewhere. I ended up going to the bourgie high brow political shop in town, and lolly gagged around for a while until someone "uncool" took over the register. How bad is that? I read the first few chapters, and it's surprisingly ironic that I had that drastic of a reaction to buying the book that is about learning how to free ourselves from our egos ~ from our thoughts that what what others think of us matter.... ironic, no?
There was a really interesting passage about how losing everything either makes us feel victimized and cling to our egos, and to our anger, bitterness and resentment, or it allows us to liberate ourselves, and yield to inner acceptance ~ becoming compassionate, wise and loving. And in that very sentiment, I felt like I saw so much of what I have already been learning. Yielding to what have been the biggest struggles.
Like trying to buy embarrassing self-help books in broad day light. Does it get tougher than THAT? Sheesh...
I haven't written in a little while because:
1) I got this bioterrorist plague from one of my room mates, and despite having had surgery, an infection, three migraines, and my heart torn out~THIS was actually this worst I have felt in years... Flu my ass... This stuff is lethal.
2) I lost one friend because I said she hurt my feelings.
3) I lost another friend because I said, despite having dated years back, and the fact that I am NOT hitting on her, I think she is pretty impressive and lovable. (I still got it! How have I ever dated ever? I am so awkward. Sorry again...)
4) There is another person that passive aggressively keeps telling me that I should be her friend.
5) I had a sweeping moments of sadness at the prospect of the local farmer's market starting back up in my neighborhood soon. My ex and I would walk over virtually every Saturday during the summer and pluck gorgeous organic finds to serve for the upcoming week. There was something so idyllic about those Saturdays. About the 2 block walk over, filled with hope and contentment~while we chose smaller potted veggies to try to plant our own garden. Cheesey metaphor aside~the gardens always failed, and the veggies never went very far. Seems about right ~ right about now...
6) I had to show a property for the property management company I run, and bumped into a friend of a friend. I had introduced myself with my new name, which then became increasingly awkward, as this woman said she was going to ask if my friend Sarah remembered me. (Sarah might not know my new name, and how awkward is that? Only slightly less awkward then when I drew a blank with this new woman asked what my last name is ~ so she could ask about to these other people. "Ummm. Warren." Riiight. Keep it together, yo...)
7) I was asked to be in a sociological study on trans folks, and received my first piece of mail with my new name on it. t was the release form for being in the study. I had to sign it with my new name~but I don't have a signature for it yet. So I looked like some third grader practicing my cursive, as the "w's" are way too perfected, and the rest looks like arse. Jeez. I am 12 years old...
On a side note: I picked up Eckhart Tolle's new book "A New Earth" that I was too horrified to buy in public. It's the new Oprah book, which I hate that I know... (I was given Tolle's first book by my best friend from high school~ Hilary, who got it for me when we both first moved to DC. She is a Buddhist who now lives on an Italian farm with her Italian husband, while they are into the slow food movement and teaching tai chi.)
Tolle's first book was called "The Power of Now" ~ a book my dad later stole from my old apartment, so I can't even remember what it was about... I was curious about this new book. But honestly, I was so embarrassed I went to a cheezeball lowbrow bookstore~where I NEVER shop, in order to pick it up, cuz I was so horrified that I'd be seen buying it. They were sold out. Apparently a lot of other people had the same brilliant idea, so I had to go elsewhere. I ended up going to the bourgie high brow political shop in town, and lolly gagged around for a while until someone "uncool" took over the register. How bad is that? I read the first few chapters, and it's surprisingly ironic that I had that drastic of a reaction to buying the book that is about learning how to free ourselves from our egos ~ from our thoughts that what what others think of us matter.... ironic, no?
There was a really interesting passage about how losing everything either makes us feel victimized and cling to our egos, and to our anger, bitterness and resentment, or it allows us to liberate ourselves, and yield to inner acceptance ~ becoming compassionate, wise and loving. And in that very sentiment, I felt like I saw so much of what I have already been learning. Yielding to what have been the biggest struggles.
Like trying to buy embarrassing self-help books in broad day light. Does it get tougher than THAT? Sheesh...
Friday, February 29, 2008
Burly Beard?
Ruth and I went to the photo booths after the worst week. I think we were ready to be done with it, and usher in a new sentiment. We got to our favorite photobooth in town and it was out of order. (As the second photo depicts~as I am sitting inside the booth, having crossed the very official notification on the weathered masking tape stating the obvious... I am pissed!)
Being the dope I am, and Ruth being the genius she is (no, really she is. She's an ivy leaguer. I just went to Bennington. Wah wah wah...) decided to use her blackberry to take pics that she could later morph in photoshop to look like the real photostrips. She made it work, but these are just a few individual frames.
I like this first pic cuz I was hoping the faux fur trim on my jacket's hood would make me look like a burly off shore fisherman. Like an extra from JAWS, not like an extra from the Gorton's Fishsticks commercials. Buh!
Does it work?
I hope so, cuz I am ready to start having things work again in my life. I gave myself last week to grieve and wallow in my self pity, and within a few days I was ready to be done. I got bored with myself, and was ready to pick up and move on.
So I did... I went back to scheming and dreaming like my typical Sagittarian ways. I enlisted good friends and conspirators to help me focus some of my masterful plans, and luckily some of theme stuck. I heard back from Anne Slowey today that now is the perfect time to run the Elle Magazine piece. She said that she was just talking about me yesterday. How humbling is that?
Just this past week I really committed to putting my self out there, and admitted what I really want, and want to do. It can be a pretty terrifying process. I was terrified to tiptoe past my modesty and say what I had really hoped I could create for myself. This after feeling really rejected and denounced just a few days before. I don't want to give up on myself anymore. I don't want to assume other people's negative, destructive habits and believe their issues to be speaking truths about me. I have to see through it ~ through to my goals.
Ok, so what is it that I want again? Besides a big burly off shore fisherman's beard?
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
One week...
One week down ~ after the toughest decision of my life. "Still around the morning after..."
Thank you guys.
Thank you guys.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Scar tissue
I have witnessed my own subconscious sabotaging methods for decades. Since I was 15, I have tried to employ so many "self-help" techniques, and enlisted so many therapists to help me make the changes necessary to "get over stuff and just be happy already." I think I am starting to see that it doesn't necessarily work like that, but I'm still not sure how it does work then.
Somehow I had it programmed in my head that I was simply "depressive" or that I was permanently damaged by the experiences in my life. There might have been fleeting moments of relief, but I believed that no true peace would be possible for me. Any momentary lightening of the darkness would fill me with such billowing hope, until the darkness returned, and cast its ever-present toxic shadow over my resuscitated optimism.
Why? Why could I make no considerable progress?
After a lifetime of being told that I "can't" do whatever I thought it was that I wanted to do, I started to believe it myself. I started to talk myself out of every dream I ever had, and why it would never be possible to attain. Worse than that, I would belittle myself for actually thinking someone like me deserved such riches.
When do we stop believing that we are worth our own dreams?
How can we feel inspired by those who strive for those lofty goals, rather than despising them, or thinking that they were the "chosen ones," and we are average mortals not deserving of hope and success? How do we become conditioned to "settle" and feel resigned in our hopelessness?
I dreamed my whole life to feel whole in this body. Not necessarily to feel like a boy or a man in this body, but to feel less conflicted with the sex of this body that was prescribed before I was born. In many ways, it felt like a birth defect, but one so subtle that the outside world would not be able to identify it upon first glance. How can I say that I was born in the wrong body without sounding crazy? How can something I have known my whole life not feel like my own? I always felt so tormented by the discrepancy between my mind that envisioned my own masculinity and my body that depicted the female form. I felt so crazy and wrong to want something to fix that tortured conflict I knew in my body every day.
* * * * *
In 4th grade I saw an episode of the Oprah show about people who had been raised the wrong gender. Underdeveloped males that mistakenly been raised as girls. I remember the feeling of exuberant joy that seemed almost like a religious enlightenment: "It was NOT MY FAULT." I identified with everything those members of the panel recounted about their childhoods. They had crushes on their female friends, but didn't feel like lesbians, they wanted to participate in more traditionally boyish social settings, but didn't think of themselves as tomboys. Everything was corresponding to my experience, and so it was a sign that I was supposed to see this particular show.
For two years I found myself joyfully clutching to this self-assumed medical secret, as it felt like a countdown until the day the doctors would recognize their mistake, and rectify their miscalculations. And then the worst thing possible happened towards the end of my 6th grade year: On June 13th, 1987 I got my period. Suddenly, I knew the truth ~ it was my fault. My body was not an underdeveloped boy's body, but a fully functioning female body. So the "problem" was in my head~the way my mind internalized this decrepancy between mind and body and how gender identity/expression differed from the biological sex are programmed to be.
There weren't very many positive role models for the transcommunity at that time. The media depicted things like cross dressers as a comedic or fetishistic elements in films and on television. It was easier to find charicatures of what society deemed as "gender misfits" than it was to find any genuine depictions of trans people and their experiences within the world at large. Even fewer cases of "female to male" back then.
I felt like a freak.
Because I had so little exposure to the trans experience back then, I didn't know it was even an identity to embrace. I had no understanding that there would be ways to rectify that internal versus external discrepancy. I didn't know that I could exorcise those demons, and make decisions to eradicate the gap between how I felt and how I looked. Maybe it wasn't so much about eradicating that gap, as opposed to filling it in. It not polarized, between girl vs boy ~ it is just who I am, and where I am, somewhere more in the middle. (I am my own "middle man.")
Having felt broken my whole life, I guess I didn't get it. Scar tissue~it fuses what has been severed, bridges those gaps. I see these new scars on my chest as the symbol for this process of my healing from the breakages/break ups. This scar tissue has filled in the abyss, and made me feel whole for once in my life. I think I had the misconception that I had to break myself down more in therapy to arrive at some self-realized actualization that would bring contentment. As much as there have been moments of shattering the crystalized, yet incorrect notions of how I had to live my life ~ simply because I didn't know there were other options ~ I think it didn't have to be about beating myself up during that process. It didn't have to be about punishing myself, or seeking out other people who would punish me when we'd hit those vulnerabilities. I don't want to be punished anymore.
I don't want to succumb to the shame. I don't believe that should feel ashamed of being trans, like it will single-handedly make me unlovable. Or deny my challenging past. And I don't need to assume other people's fears as my own, if they can not love me here. I am ready to accept the sum total of facets that make me who I am, and not want to have to "excuse" any single one of them. Mostly, I am ready to seek out people who have accepted their sum totals, as well, and can meet me here ~ scars and all.
Somehow I had it programmed in my head that I was simply "depressive" or that I was permanently damaged by the experiences in my life. There might have been fleeting moments of relief, but I believed that no true peace would be possible for me. Any momentary lightening of the darkness would fill me with such billowing hope, until the darkness returned, and cast its ever-present toxic shadow over my resuscitated optimism.
Why? Why could I make no considerable progress?
After a lifetime of being told that I "can't" do whatever I thought it was that I wanted to do, I started to believe it myself. I started to talk myself out of every dream I ever had, and why it would never be possible to attain. Worse than that, I would belittle myself for actually thinking someone like me deserved such riches.
When do we stop believing that we are worth our own dreams?
How can we feel inspired by those who strive for those lofty goals, rather than despising them, or thinking that they were the "chosen ones," and we are average mortals not deserving of hope and success? How do we become conditioned to "settle" and feel resigned in our hopelessness?
I dreamed my whole life to feel whole in this body. Not necessarily to feel like a boy or a man in this body, but to feel less conflicted with the sex of this body that was prescribed before I was born. In many ways, it felt like a birth defect, but one so subtle that the outside world would not be able to identify it upon first glance. How can I say that I was born in the wrong body without sounding crazy? How can something I have known my whole life not feel like my own? I always felt so tormented by the discrepancy between my mind that envisioned my own masculinity and my body that depicted the female form. I felt so crazy and wrong to want something to fix that tortured conflict I knew in my body every day.
* * * * *
In 4th grade I saw an episode of the Oprah show about people who had been raised the wrong gender. Underdeveloped males that mistakenly been raised as girls. I remember the feeling of exuberant joy that seemed almost like a religious enlightenment: "It was NOT MY FAULT." I identified with everything those members of the panel recounted about their childhoods. They had crushes on their female friends, but didn't feel like lesbians, they wanted to participate in more traditionally boyish social settings, but didn't think of themselves as tomboys. Everything was corresponding to my experience, and so it was a sign that I was supposed to see this particular show.
For two years I found myself joyfully clutching to this self-assumed medical secret, as it felt like a countdown until the day the doctors would recognize their mistake, and rectify their miscalculations. And then the worst thing possible happened towards the end of my 6th grade year: On June 13th, 1987 I got my period. Suddenly, I knew the truth ~ it was my fault. My body was not an underdeveloped boy's body, but a fully functioning female body. So the "problem" was in my head~the way my mind internalized this decrepancy between mind and body and how gender identity/expression differed from the biological sex are programmed to be.
There weren't very many positive role models for the transcommunity at that time. The media depicted things like cross dressers as a comedic or fetishistic elements in films and on television. It was easier to find charicatures of what society deemed as "gender misfits" than it was to find any genuine depictions of trans people and their experiences within the world at large. Even fewer cases of "female to male" back then.
I felt like a freak.
Because I had so little exposure to the trans experience back then, I didn't know it was even an identity to embrace. I had no understanding that there would be ways to rectify that internal versus external discrepancy. I didn't know that I could exorcise those demons, and make decisions to eradicate the gap between how I felt and how I looked. Maybe it wasn't so much about eradicating that gap, as opposed to filling it in. It not polarized, between girl vs boy ~ it is just who I am, and where I am, somewhere more in the middle. (I am my own "middle man.")
Having felt broken my whole life, I guess I didn't get it. Scar tissue~it fuses what has been severed, bridges those gaps. I see these new scars on my chest as the symbol for this process of my healing from the breakages/break ups. This scar tissue has filled in the abyss, and made me feel whole for once in my life. I think I had the misconception that I had to break myself down more in therapy to arrive at some self-realized actualization that would bring contentment. As much as there have been moments of shattering the crystalized, yet incorrect notions of how I had to live my life ~ simply because I didn't know there were other options ~ I think it didn't have to be about beating myself up during that process. It didn't have to be about punishing myself, or seeking out other people who would punish me when we'd hit those vulnerabilities. I don't want to be punished anymore.
I don't want to succumb to the shame. I don't believe that should feel ashamed of being trans, like it will single-handedly make me unlovable. Or deny my challenging past. And I don't need to assume other people's fears as my own, if they can not love me here. I am ready to accept the sum total of facets that make me who I am, and not want to have to "excuse" any single one of them. Mostly, I am ready to seek out people who have accepted their sum totals, as well, and can meet me here ~ scars and all.
Can do...
In the midst of a challenging time right now, I have been reaching out to my best friends and trying to regain my balance. I received a very humbling email from one of my best friends while I was writing the last blog entry posted. Receiving her email literally had me in chills and in tears (which is tough do so since I have started testosterone). I was so moved by her words and offerings, and her timing could not have been better. The sentiments shared with me were so profound that I asked permission to post them here, changing names where necessary.
I hope this may resonate with others as well...
Thank you to everyone who has told me that I can do this... That I can find peace in this body, in this life, and in all of my experiences. I am sorry to all of whom I have told that they couldn't do something. I see now how crippling that can be. And I see how hearing that my whole life has made it even more important to learn this lesson of liberation for myself. Anything is possible... We are worth our dreams. Maybe my only real dream was to step out of that spiral of negative sabotage. Slowly, that dream is being realized. Thanks for helping me get here.
I hope this may resonate with others as well...
hey Will-- that was quite an email. It gets me thinking about a lot of things... and mostly that I wish we could get a drink and talk in person! But it also makes me think about a talk my Dad had with me when we were shooting baskets when I was nine or ten years old. I am not sure how he got going on this, but I recall that he was adamant that I understand this at a young age:
That people, even-- and sometimes especially-- friends and family members who love me, will often not want me to challenge myself to accomplish things. It is nothing personal to me, it is human nature. They will tell me that I CAN'T do things that I say I want to do. They won't mean to hold me back consciously. They will say that they really want the best for me-- only the very best. But when I try to do anything out of the ordinary, amazing, challenging... they will express themselves subtly but very clearly through words and actions: "you can't." And they might not even realize they are doing it, they might deny it or they might say they are doing it to protect me.
He went on: But what they are really doing is desperately clinging to the safety of their reality of life and their relationships and the world. By trying to do something extraordinary, I will be exposing the people around me who aren't (or feel they aren't) pursuing any of their dreams-- maybe the dreams people have been talking them out of their whole lives. And that will be an awful feeling for them. So rather than face all that down, they will try to retreat to "the way things have always been" and they will try very hard to make me come with them. And the more earth-shattering my plans are, the more wildly they will defend themselves from it. And, sometimes it will be the people who are closest to me who will do this the most, because they have the most to lose by me growing and changing and, maybe, leaving them behind.
------
It was a heavy trip to lay on a kid. But he said he was just so afraid that I might go into to the world trusting that people will look out for me and want the best for me, and that I might believe them when they tell me I can't do something. And you know what Will?? He was totally right about everything. This has almost happened to me many times-- never from him and never from (my partner), thankfully. But girlfriends, relatives, friends, advisers!-- they have all done this with me. When I said I want to move across the country with basically no money to become a carpenter, when I decided to be a doctor...run a marathon...quit OBGyn to go into public health...etc. These things are not even all that Earth-shattering. But just enough for the people who fear they will be "left behind" in the process or exposed for their "ordinariness" or something. But in every single instance, even though I was hurt or confused by their reactions, I remembered what my dad said, and I did not believe them. And I forgave them for it. Because they didn't mean to do this to me. And what's more, I might have even done this to them sometime. This is human nature, sadly.
I cannot even imagine how threatening it is to (some) that you are taking charge of your life, your body and your whole gender expression in the world. Talk about Earth-shattering! I am not at all surprised that you have found (them) driven to extremes to keep you from doing this awesome work. I don't mean to reduce your whole dynamic to this, but I just really thought it was important to pass on my Dad's thoughts. I am sure you have already realized he's right-- but you have probably learned it the hard way over the years.
You are at a crucially important point in your life now, and it is essential that you surround yourself with people who will tell you that you CAN create and grow into the life you want. And if there are still those people around you who whisper their doubts or hack away, please, you just cannot believe what they tell you. They are delirious with fear.
Thank you to everyone who has told me that I can do this... That I can find peace in this body, in this life, and in all of my experiences. I am sorry to all of whom I have told that they couldn't do something. I see now how crippling that can be. And I see how hearing that my whole life has made it even more important to learn this lesson of liberation for myself. Anything is possible... We are worth our dreams. Maybe my only real dream was to step out of that spiral of negative sabotage. Slowly, that dream is being realized. Thanks for helping me get here.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
One day...
...at a time. I see now why 12 step groups use that mantra: because speaking in generalities is terrifying. "Will I _never_ make that horrible choice again? Will I _always_ do the right thing?" It's tricky. And challenging. It's the eternal process, ever unfolding.
I think the biggest lesson I am learning is about forgiveness. Mostly learning how to really forgive myself. Because I had grown up in an abusive dynamic as a child, I learned that I was my own worst enemy. I was conditioned to see all of the things that I did personally that brought about negative effects. If I got nervous about my first day of school, or got angry about the way the family dog was treated~there were consequences to my emotive actions. It wasn't my dad's fault for getting angry, it was my fault for provoking him. And slowly I became conditioned. If I do such and such, compassionate love will be withheld, impatient aggression will be doled out.
Because children really are dependent on their care taker's offerings of nurturing support, it is in the children's best interest to modify their behaviour to still get the requisite love needed. So, we silence parts of ourselves, and suppress/repress what we feel doesn't bring us that desired affection. But there is always a backlash. There is always a reservoir of hurt and pain when we implement those modifications. Some of us are better at draining those emotional pools, so we won't drown in them later down the line.
As for me, I was horrible at it. My pool of emotional reserves became tsunami status whenever I was required to add a new facet to the "suppression" list. It wasn't until my teen aged years when I started to stage a coup. I was angry that I wasn't allowed to be the scared little kid that I felt I deserved to be. I wasn't held and told it was going to be okay, or that I was going to be okay. I was never taught how to self-soothe as I got older. Instead I was scolded, punished, humiliated for feeling upset. It was inconvenient to my parents that I had any emotions at all. I was labelled as "difficult" and analyzed. What was there to question? I just needed even the tiniest amount of compassion. Was that so impossible to see?
I have spent my lifetime trying to heal from these early developmental wounds. I have tried to learn the skills of intimacy, and the power of compassion and empathy. I have tried with all of my focus to be a "good" person, knowing all too well the damage that occurs when "non-good" people have too much of a presence in our lives. And yet, I still fall short. As good as I have tried to be, I often feel like I am somehow still that jerk that screws up. That failure that has emotional responses that make me unlovable, rejected, abandoned. I get angry, too angry and I am the jerk. I get sad, too sad, and I am pathetic. I get frustrated, too frustrated and I should back off.
Ironically, one of my best qualities I believe is also my biggest weakness. I think my capacity for compassion and my attempts at patience have really devastated me, and left me wide open to give not so mindful people the benefit of the doubt, and really crush me time and time again. I say that now, from a place of just having been leveled. Again.
Having grown up profoundly wounded, I have always fought for the underdogs. In elementary school I was well liked, but aways rallied around the kids who were teased. In high school I worked at art programs, and sought out the kids with emotional disturbances. In college I studied Conflict Resolution to ensure the less fortunate weren't going to get bullied anymore. Professionally, I worked with~ and later adopted animals that no one else could handle because they were not "tamed." But unfortunately, I think this applied to many of my relationships as well.
Because in theory, I empathize with wounded people, I often put myself in the line of fire accidentally. I think many of us have bumps and bruises, I mean~ we all must if we have been conscious... But there is a difference. A difference between those who believe that they are capable of handling challenging things, and working through their fears to achieve a sense of closeness and openness, versus those who have felt so profoundly "wrecked" by the course of their lives that they can not restore faith in the possibility that they can heal and turn things around.
Maybe because I saw myself as so profoundly "wrecked" by much of my life~ so conditioned to think that my reactions were bad, and made me unlovable, that made me feel like I deserved to take whatever punches came my way. Sometimes working for the "victims" can victimize us along the way. Hurt people hurt people. Hurt people hurt me.
So, where does it end? How do we stage that coup, start a revolution where is it about healing and not fighting? When it is about compassion and empathy, not "one upping" each other? When the things we were taught to silence within ourselves are heard, and still make us lovable? When do those elements within us that make us feel most broken become our greatest assets?
How do we get there from here? One day at a time, right? But with what exactly do we fill those days to make a genuine transformation happen? When do we decide to let down our defenses to find true intimacy when we have been so conditioned to think that we literally can not exist without those shielding mechanisms?
How can I love you if you keep wounding me, because you feel unlovable and wounded? How can I love myself knowing that I have not loved you "well" enough to make you feel safe enough to let down your defenses with me? How do we not trigger the historic emotional landmines that every person we ever loved planted in our hearts? How do we diffuse those bombs we are about to drop, and heal from the ones already dropped?
I mean~where the hell do we begin?
Perhaps forgiveness is the first step. If I can forgive myself for the lifetime of telling myself I am unlovable because I was that scared kid who didn't know how to handle things~then maybe I can liberate myself from those paralyzing, self-sabotaging confines. Maybe telling myself that all kids get scared, it makes us human~ that what I felt was in the scope of the struggles of humanity will help me heal. I couldn't choose my parents' reaction to my struggles, but I can change the context of how their reactions now affect me.
I was a scared little kid, who was bullied into more fears, instead of bullied out of them, like they would have hoped. With that realization, I had always tried to exert a calm patience with others when they were struggling most. But as we struggle we can lose perspective, and lash out at those who witness our vulnerability. I was wounded there, in that place of wanting to be an ally, for being close enough to reignite those older fears of being told we are unlovable.
I was told that I became my father. I was leveled. How could I have become what I hated most: the impatient, abusive bully that wrestled some anxious person into submission? How could I have seen so much of myself in that person hurting so badly, and want to be the ally we never had, and yet ironically and horrifically became yet another aggressor to be added to their list?
Conflicted... How could I have become the enemy that I despised?
Somewhere in here I am trying to find the roots to forgiveness. Forgiving myself for being the scared little kid that I felt brought on the abuses endured. Forgiving myself for being the person who took a lifetime to learn the skills to self-soothe, all the while desperately depending on others to "fix" it for me. Forgiving myself for consistently putting myself in positions where I would relive those old wounds over and over again. Feeling rejected, unlovable, abandoned because I did not reach out in the "right" ways. Seeking out patterns that I thought would help me transform those old patterns instead of affirming them. Forgiving myself for disappointing all of those whom I loved most. Forgiving myself for not "making" these people feel as loved as I wanted them to~as that desperate little kid in me had always hoped to feel. Forgiving myself for suppressing my anger every time someone hurt me, and twisting it around on myself, like it was my fault, so I could only punish myself and continue the cycle. Forgiving myself for the ways that the depression and suicidal tendencies were the modes that the self-punishment manifested, and in turn punished and hurt others. Maybe somewhere in there I am even learning how to forgive the father with whom I now identify. Perhaps if I have made the same mistakes, even while trying to desperately to be a good person, I can learn that others can make the same missteps. I can forgive my father for being human, and hurting those we love accidentally from that place of giving in to the pain, rather than learning from it.
I don't want to forgive myself for loving the "wrong" people. I don't think the people were wrong. I think what was wrong was the power I forfeited that kept me tethered to giving myself away under the guise of "love."
One of my best friends told me over dinner last night about an anecdote that really helped her ten years ago. That someone was really hurting and went to her best friend and said, "So and so really screwed me over. I hate them, how could they do that to me?" This friend replied: "You need to thank that person." Of course the woman upset was floored. How can she be expected the "thank" the person who most devastated her? The friend said: "You will learn more than you could ever imagine from this experience. That person has just granted you the opportunity to learn about yourself in a way that wouldn't have been possible otherwise. And for that, you need to thank them."
I see what my friend was saying. Maybe I never would have known the importance compassion and empathy would play in my life, had I not felt that trauma throughout out my childhood. Perhaps I wouldn't have invested myself in making it the focus of my life's work, be it in Conflict Resolution, friendships, romantic relationships, my own transition ~ my own healing, had my past been different. Perhaps I need to "thank" my father for granting me the opportunity to see that is what matters most. This is the foundation that he helped me to create for myself. Despite it being so crippling and debilitating at times~like all growing pains~we can become stronger by healing through that growth and development.
Times like now, I see what matters. I see through the haze of my broken heart, and believe that it will heal again BECAUSE of this opportunity to learn more. This opportunity to heal and find more answers BECAUSE of the fear, the pain, the delivery into an arena in which I am completely unfamiliar. If I could muster up enough courage to make the leap of faith to change my life during this transition, and see that as a metaphor to learn more despite the fears that surfaced, I know I can learn from this period of change as well. Transforming what had hurt me most into what teaches me the most... But I need to be the one ready to make that paradigm shift.
The grass is only greener on the other side if and when we finally commit to being gardeners, rather than the ones pissing all over our own yards...
I can forgive and be grateful for all that has hurt me the most. It has crafted my character and gotten me here, to this place of deeper understanding and ultimately peace. Thank you for breaking my heart, it will serve me well. Much love and gratitude... Will
I think the biggest lesson I am learning is about forgiveness. Mostly learning how to really forgive myself. Because I had grown up in an abusive dynamic as a child, I learned that I was my own worst enemy. I was conditioned to see all of the things that I did personally that brought about negative effects. If I got nervous about my first day of school, or got angry about the way the family dog was treated~there were consequences to my emotive actions. It wasn't my dad's fault for getting angry, it was my fault for provoking him. And slowly I became conditioned. If I do such and such, compassionate love will be withheld, impatient aggression will be doled out.
Because children really are dependent on their care taker's offerings of nurturing support, it is in the children's best interest to modify their behaviour to still get the requisite love needed. So, we silence parts of ourselves, and suppress/repress what we feel doesn't bring us that desired affection. But there is always a backlash. There is always a reservoir of hurt and pain when we implement those modifications. Some of us are better at draining those emotional pools, so we won't drown in them later down the line.
As for me, I was horrible at it. My pool of emotional reserves became tsunami status whenever I was required to add a new facet to the "suppression" list. It wasn't until my teen aged years when I started to stage a coup. I was angry that I wasn't allowed to be the scared little kid that I felt I deserved to be. I wasn't held and told it was going to be okay, or that I was going to be okay. I was never taught how to self-soothe as I got older. Instead I was scolded, punished, humiliated for feeling upset. It was inconvenient to my parents that I had any emotions at all. I was labelled as "difficult" and analyzed. What was there to question? I just needed even the tiniest amount of compassion. Was that so impossible to see?
I have spent my lifetime trying to heal from these early developmental wounds. I have tried to learn the skills of intimacy, and the power of compassion and empathy. I have tried with all of my focus to be a "good" person, knowing all too well the damage that occurs when "non-good" people have too much of a presence in our lives. And yet, I still fall short. As good as I have tried to be, I often feel like I am somehow still that jerk that screws up. That failure that has emotional responses that make me unlovable, rejected, abandoned. I get angry, too angry and I am the jerk. I get sad, too sad, and I am pathetic. I get frustrated, too frustrated and I should back off.
Ironically, one of my best qualities I believe is also my biggest weakness. I think my capacity for compassion and my attempts at patience have really devastated me, and left me wide open to give not so mindful people the benefit of the doubt, and really crush me time and time again. I say that now, from a place of just having been leveled. Again.
Having grown up profoundly wounded, I have always fought for the underdogs. In elementary school I was well liked, but aways rallied around the kids who were teased. In high school I worked at art programs, and sought out the kids with emotional disturbances. In college I studied Conflict Resolution to ensure the less fortunate weren't going to get bullied anymore. Professionally, I worked with~ and later adopted animals that no one else could handle because they were not "tamed." But unfortunately, I think this applied to many of my relationships as well.
Because in theory, I empathize with wounded people, I often put myself in the line of fire accidentally. I think many of us have bumps and bruises, I mean~ we all must if we have been conscious... But there is a difference. A difference between those who believe that they are capable of handling challenging things, and working through their fears to achieve a sense of closeness and openness, versus those who have felt so profoundly "wrecked" by the course of their lives that they can not restore faith in the possibility that they can heal and turn things around.
Maybe because I saw myself as so profoundly "wrecked" by much of my life~ so conditioned to think that my reactions were bad, and made me unlovable, that made me feel like I deserved to take whatever punches came my way. Sometimes working for the "victims" can victimize us along the way. Hurt people hurt people. Hurt people hurt me.
So, where does it end? How do we stage that coup, start a revolution where is it about healing and not fighting? When it is about compassion and empathy, not "one upping" each other? When the things we were taught to silence within ourselves are heard, and still make us lovable? When do those elements within us that make us feel most broken become our greatest assets?
How do we get there from here? One day at a time, right? But with what exactly do we fill those days to make a genuine transformation happen? When do we decide to let down our defenses to find true intimacy when we have been so conditioned to think that we literally can not exist without those shielding mechanisms?
How can I love you if you keep wounding me, because you feel unlovable and wounded? How can I love myself knowing that I have not loved you "well" enough to make you feel safe enough to let down your defenses with me? How do we not trigger the historic emotional landmines that every person we ever loved planted in our hearts? How do we diffuse those bombs we are about to drop, and heal from the ones already dropped?
I mean~where the hell do we begin?
Perhaps forgiveness is the first step. If I can forgive myself for the lifetime of telling myself I am unlovable because I was that scared kid who didn't know how to handle things~then maybe I can liberate myself from those paralyzing, self-sabotaging confines. Maybe telling myself that all kids get scared, it makes us human~ that what I felt was in the scope of the struggles of humanity will help me heal. I couldn't choose my parents' reaction to my struggles, but I can change the context of how their reactions now affect me.
I was a scared little kid, who was bullied into more fears, instead of bullied out of them, like they would have hoped. With that realization, I had always tried to exert a calm patience with others when they were struggling most. But as we struggle we can lose perspective, and lash out at those who witness our vulnerability. I was wounded there, in that place of wanting to be an ally, for being close enough to reignite those older fears of being told we are unlovable.
I was told that I became my father. I was leveled. How could I have become what I hated most: the impatient, abusive bully that wrestled some anxious person into submission? How could I have seen so much of myself in that person hurting so badly, and want to be the ally we never had, and yet ironically and horrifically became yet another aggressor to be added to their list?
Conflicted... How could I have become the enemy that I despised?
Somewhere in here I am trying to find the roots to forgiveness. Forgiving myself for being the scared little kid that I felt brought on the abuses endured. Forgiving myself for being the person who took a lifetime to learn the skills to self-soothe, all the while desperately depending on others to "fix" it for me. Forgiving myself for consistently putting myself in positions where I would relive those old wounds over and over again. Feeling rejected, unlovable, abandoned because I did not reach out in the "right" ways. Seeking out patterns that I thought would help me transform those old patterns instead of affirming them. Forgiving myself for disappointing all of those whom I loved most. Forgiving myself for not "making" these people feel as loved as I wanted them to~as that desperate little kid in me had always hoped to feel. Forgiving myself for suppressing my anger every time someone hurt me, and twisting it around on myself, like it was my fault, so I could only punish myself and continue the cycle. Forgiving myself for the ways that the depression and suicidal tendencies were the modes that the self-punishment manifested, and in turn punished and hurt others. Maybe somewhere in there I am even learning how to forgive the father with whom I now identify. Perhaps if I have made the same mistakes, even while trying to desperately to be a good person, I can learn that others can make the same missteps. I can forgive my father for being human, and hurting those we love accidentally from that place of giving in to the pain, rather than learning from it.
I don't want to forgive myself for loving the "wrong" people. I don't think the people were wrong. I think what was wrong was the power I forfeited that kept me tethered to giving myself away under the guise of "love."
One of my best friends told me over dinner last night about an anecdote that really helped her ten years ago. That someone was really hurting and went to her best friend and said, "So and so really screwed me over. I hate them, how could they do that to me?" This friend replied: "You need to thank that person." Of course the woman upset was floored. How can she be expected the "thank" the person who most devastated her? The friend said: "You will learn more than you could ever imagine from this experience. That person has just granted you the opportunity to learn about yourself in a way that wouldn't have been possible otherwise. And for that, you need to thank them."
I see what my friend was saying. Maybe I never would have known the importance compassion and empathy would play in my life, had I not felt that trauma throughout out my childhood. Perhaps I wouldn't have invested myself in making it the focus of my life's work, be it in Conflict Resolution, friendships, romantic relationships, my own transition ~ my own healing, had my past been different. Perhaps I need to "thank" my father for granting me the opportunity to see that is what matters most. This is the foundation that he helped me to create for myself. Despite it being so crippling and debilitating at times~like all growing pains~we can become stronger by healing through that growth and development.
Times like now, I see what matters. I see through the haze of my broken heart, and believe that it will heal again BECAUSE of this opportunity to learn more. This opportunity to heal and find more answers BECAUSE of the fear, the pain, the delivery into an arena in which I am completely unfamiliar. If I could muster up enough courage to make the leap of faith to change my life during this transition, and see that as a metaphor to learn more despite the fears that surfaced, I know I can learn from this period of change as well. Transforming what had hurt me most into what teaches me the most... But I need to be the one ready to make that paradigm shift.
The grass is only greener on the other side if and when we finally commit to being gardeners, rather than the ones pissing all over our own yards...
I can forgive and be grateful for all that has hurt me the most. It has crafted my character and gotten me here, to this place of deeper understanding and ultimately peace. Thank you for breaking my heart, it will serve me well. Much love and gratitude... Will
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Recovery
Hello, my name is Will.
And I am an addict.
I am addicted to my own self-destruction, and to loving harmful things in my life. I am codependent and crave loving those who never love me quite enough, so I can continue to believe that I am unlovable, and broken.
I was tested. Tempted.
What I crave most was offered up to me~the opportunity craft my own demise upon hearing some devastating news from someone I thought I loved. I was tested. I thought it was her test, testing me...
But ultimately I see that it was my test. Yes, I fell into a mini pit of despair upon hearing some rough news. (Are we ever as graceful as we would hope when we hear such news?) After a few hours, I slowly tried to muster up enough forgiveness and compassion for myself to remind myself ~ yes, in fact, this is difficult.
I see that this was my test. Could I resist the temptation to return to the self-destruction I used to know? Could I resist the desire to reach for that someone with whom I had hoped to have a future? Could I step up out of feeling so rejected and unlovable?
The answer is yes. Not only can I now see that I am okay ~ and will still feel the temptation to return to those self-defeating cravings ~ but I see that I have resisted. Time and time again ~ for six months.
That for over a year and a half I have been investing in my own wellness. My health ~ my severing all ties with codependence. That these past six months specifically were invested in my own development, my own transition on ALL levels.
Someone asked me if I regretted knowing this hurtful news. My answer is no. I needed to know if I could resist the temptation to return to my addiction. As sad as that news made me, it has ~ in part ~ transformed. That sadness is now also met with the most unbelievable sense of pride that I can quantify my progress, my development, my true investment in my own well being.
How would I have known how strong I am if I was never tempted to go back to my old ways? Now the tough part is sifting through the residual effects these epiphanies. Those losses suffered, and these gains affirmed.
My name is Will. I am an addict. I haven't "used" in six months.
Man, that feels so damn good to say. To challenges that we don't think we can endure~and to the pride and relief we feel when we do... How is this pain and most challenging test exactly what I needed?
Here is to making better choices, investing in ourselves, and surrounding ourselves with inspiring people willing to do their own work, and helping us do ours. Thank you to all of you that have helped get me here~either by your support or by your testing me. I am here none the less, and for that I am so unbelievably relieved. Just imagine, we can actually be healthy and see that recovery is possible. I am recovering...
And I am an addict.
I am addicted to my own self-destruction, and to loving harmful things in my life. I am codependent and crave loving those who never love me quite enough, so I can continue to believe that I am unlovable, and broken.
I was tested. Tempted.
What I crave most was offered up to me~the opportunity craft my own demise upon hearing some devastating news from someone I thought I loved. I was tested. I thought it was her test, testing me...
But ultimately I see that it was my test. Yes, I fell into a mini pit of despair upon hearing some rough news. (Are we ever as graceful as we would hope when we hear such news?) After a few hours, I slowly tried to muster up enough forgiveness and compassion for myself to remind myself ~ yes, in fact, this is difficult.
I see that this was my test. Could I resist the temptation to return to the self-destruction I used to know? Could I resist the desire to reach for that someone with whom I had hoped to have a future? Could I step up out of feeling so rejected and unlovable?
The answer is yes. Not only can I now see that I am okay ~ and will still feel the temptation to return to those self-defeating cravings ~ but I see that I have resisted. Time and time again ~ for six months.
That for over a year and a half I have been investing in my own wellness. My health ~ my severing all ties with codependence. That these past six months specifically were invested in my own development, my own transition on ALL levels.
Someone asked me if I regretted knowing this hurtful news. My answer is no. I needed to know if I could resist the temptation to return to my addiction. As sad as that news made me, it has ~ in part ~ transformed. That sadness is now also met with the most unbelievable sense of pride that I can quantify my progress, my development, my true investment in my own well being.
How would I have known how strong I am if I was never tempted to go back to my old ways? Now the tough part is sifting through the residual effects these epiphanies. Those losses suffered, and these gains affirmed.
My name is Will. I am an addict. I haven't "used" in six months.
Man, that feels so damn good to say. To challenges that we don't think we can endure~and to the pride and relief we feel when we do... How is this pain and most challenging test exactly what I needed?
Here is to making better choices, investing in ourselves, and surrounding ourselves with inspiring people willing to do their own work, and helping us do ours. Thank you to all of you that have helped get me here~either by your support or by your testing me. I am here none the less, and for that I am so unbelievably relieved. Just imagine, we can actually be healthy and see that recovery is possible. I am recovering...
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Times, they are a'changin'...
Quote of the Day - Marie Curie - "Nothing in life is to be feared. It is only to be understood."
That was some quote of the day from gmail the other day... I am feeling a bit overwhelmed, so I was hoping that starting on that note might help. Eeeeeeeeeeh. Maybe not.
My friend Danni came with me to file the paperwork in the DC District Courts to begin my name change. She said that she came with me because she could imagine how intense the process might feel, and she knew if it was her, she wouldn't want to be there alone. It was nice to have the company, as it is such a surreal experience. And even nicer to not have to ask. I didn't really know that was an option...
Another friend of mine and I were talking about "official business" that overlaps with our personal lives. She is in the midst of contemplating a divorce~ a very emotionally charged separation, sad to say, for her sake. We commiserated about how what is most private, awkward or painful in our lives HAS to be made public. That we can not go through these experiences unscathed. What makes us feel most vulnerable ultimately will be revealed to the world, first to our most intimate cohorts, then slowly devolving into a gossip fest. You know you're done with the state worker on the other side of the bullet proof glass window askes you to raise your right hand before she notorizes your broken heart.
My pending name change is not breaking my heart, but I did find myself welling up the night before I went to the courthouse. Someone keeps asking me if I am sure if I want to go through with this. Just because it is emotional for me does not mean that I am waivering. It's just tough. Giving up the name I have known my entire life is difficult. Especially considering that my name is a Hawaiian/Italian combo~making me the only one in history with these names put together (Lani Jayne Iacovelli). Our names are so intertwined with our identities, and our family relations. I am rejecting what I was given~the intentional choice my parents made to give me a name that would be historically unique.
People are rallying around me to start testing out this new name of mine: "Will Alexander Warren" ~ kind of plain in justaposition to my given name. I appreciate the effort. Yet, other protested, telling me how my new name should be closer to my old to make the transition easier for others. And that's just it... That is why this part of my transition feels the hardest to me: specifically because this element requires that other participate. It is a bit easier to tell if people are "supporting" the new name and masculine pronouns than if they thought top surgery or hormones were a good idea. I don't mean for this to be a test, an ultimatum. But we are here now.
Are you here with me? Your friend~Will
That was some quote of the day from gmail the other day... I am feeling a bit overwhelmed, so I was hoping that starting on that note might help. Eeeeeeeeeeh. Maybe not.
My friend Danni came with me to file the paperwork in the DC District Courts to begin my name change. She said that she came with me because she could imagine how intense the process might feel, and she knew if it was her, she wouldn't want to be there alone. It was nice to have the company, as it is such a surreal experience. And even nicer to not have to ask. I didn't really know that was an option...
Another friend of mine and I were talking about "official business" that overlaps with our personal lives. She is in the midst of contemplating a divorce~ a very emotionally charged separation, sad to say, for her sake. We commiserated about how what is most private, awkward or painful in our lives HAS to be made public. That we can not go through these experiences unscathed. What makes us feel most vulnerable ultimately will be revealed to the world, first to our most intimate cohorts, then slowly devolving into a gossip fest. You know you're done with the state worker on the other side of the bullet proof glass window askes you to raise your right hand before she notorizes your broken heart.
My pending name change is not breaking my heart, but I did find myself welling up the night before I went to the courthouse. Someone keeps asking me if I am sure if I want to go through with this. Just because it is emotional for me does not mean that I am waivering. It's just tough. Giving up the name I have known my entire life is difficult. Especially considering that my name is a Hawaiian/Italian combo~making me the only one in history with these names put together (Lani Jayne Iacovelli). Our names are so intertwined with our identities, and our family relations. I am rejecting what I was given~the intentional choice my parents made to give me a name that would be historically unique.
People are rallying around me to start testing out this new name of mine: "Will Alexander Warren" ~ kind of plain in justaposition to my given name. I appreciate the effort. Yet, other protested, telling me how my new name should be closer to my old to make the transition easier for others. And that's just it... That is why this part of my transition feels the hardest to me: specifically because this element requires that other participate. It is a bit easier to tell if people are "supporting" the new name and masculine pronouns than if they thought top surgery or hormones were a good idea. I don't mean for this to be a test, an ultimatum. But we are here now.
Are you here with me? Your friend~Will
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Responses to name question~
Here are some responses from a ton of different folks to my name change question. Some funny ones thrown in the mix! Thanks to all who replied... (I hope it's okay I am including your responses here...)
wow. this is big. i feel like there is so much wrapped up in a name. the first thing that went through my mind was the connection to our parents that our name has. i can imagine that it feels really amazing and really painful all at the same time to be making these decisions. the other word that went through my head in relation to the ties to our family is relief... (my response: yes, the family part is tough for me... tough to have to tell my parents that i am opting to abandon the "special" name they picked out for me, to assume one that is so much simplier. i've always wanted to be less "different" ~ being trans, with a weird name no one can pronounce, etc. i've always just wanted to be the boy next door. boring, i know... but what can i say?)
I'm glad to hear that you're well, first of all, but second of all, I'd like to put my vote in for "Will." Second choice(s): either Lucien or Augusten. But I would also like to offer a strong opposition vote for Lars; in this day and age, it sounds like a disease. Please don't pick Lars.
As for the last name, I'm not sure if you have a rationale for changing it, but I'll always love Iacovelli. It's just such a hip word with orthographic nuance.
It's also taken a strong will to get where you are now.
I like Will the best, but why are you changing your last name? Will Warren is a bit of a tongue twister...try to say it 10 times real fast! (my response: this is from my sister in law, who opted to NOT assume "iacovelli" as her own last name. I love that "will warren" seems more like a tongue twister than "lani iacovelli" ~which isn't even possible to say ten times fast!)
Liam Alexander Warren Liam is easier a transition from Lani, I think.
Beware of "Augustus" because of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
dude, I got to say Will is certainly the least pretentious of the
names. my vote is for Will.....but i will love you no matter what.
Many of the names on the list are nice ones, they sound good. I like
the way Linus sounds but I think of the Peanuts character.... This is such a personal choice. I would suggest looking at the
meaning of the names you have on the list. Or working backward and
picking a name that reflects who you are or who you want to be. For
example, actually, I picked a Hebrew name when I officially converted
to Judaism when Jonathan and I were engaged. I picked Tzofia-a pretty
name, but it also means, "watcher, or scout" and I liked that vision.
Every time I hear the name I am reminded of what the name embodies.
So if you found a name that reflected your journey, each time you hear
the name, you'll hear a reminder, which will, I think, help you on
your journey. Your current name, Lani Jayne, reflects your life up to
this point, and your new name will carry you into the future from that
day forward.
I think I need to see you again in person before I can
give my advice... although Linus does seem fun,
hahahah...
I'm disappointed to not see neither Buck Naked nor Rod Stroker on your list.
How about Eusto B. Lani? (my response: thanks dozer! these are great suggestions!)
Lanier.
I like all of your ideas. The family names are nice because in a way it feels that the name is handed down to you. The other ideas are so interesting! I think the name Dulani is really neat. Don't know the origin of this one, maybe Italian, but a great way of altering your name to give it a more masculine flare. And also seems like a more seamless trasition from Lani to Dulani. I love that. Oh, but please, NO LARS. I hope this helps you make your choice, and I hope this helps you know that you should not be LARS. Just kidding. Good luck. (my response: huh, apparently lars is not a favorite! the only one i got stating "anything but this!" and twice! ha!)
A lot of the names are cool sounding but I worry that you would tire of them. A name like Milos, say... if you're born with it, there you are, but if not it feels a bit like a stage name. Then again, maybe it doesn't to someone who uses it. I don't know... That being said, I' m gravitating to the names that are somewhat similar to yours OR just feel, intuitively like you. I've been thinking of you as 'Will" since our conversations about this in DC.. so that one, for example, "fits" in my mind..
My favs are:
Liam - fan of the Irish, of course. And you look uncannily like my boss Liam Power, from County Cork, and it starts with an L and is 2 syllables
Lexi (Lexi Westphal is nice and the name has the same ring/roll off the tongue as Lani)
Will - I like the short names. It is a little wimpy though.. Don't know why... Will of Will and Grace isn't wimpy... neither was Will Tipin (sp?) of Alias.. Hmm..
Alexander - Alex/Alec... well duh, it similar to my given name :) Also just a good solid name. "... the Great" ? Hello? Can we get any better than that?
Warren as last name is a good one if you change from Iacovelli. I like the idea of keeping a family connection.
PS - Dulani is an interesting choice if you want to technically change the name but still keep a similar nickname.
Whatever you choose, you'll always just be "Fathead" to me.. ;) (my response: it was tough to get my name legally changed to "fat head" tho... i tried!)
I am a huge fan of Lazlo -- I tried to get Aaron and Maria to name one of their upcoming kids Lazlo (OMG, did I tell you they are pregnant with triplets!? It�s insane, someday the whole world will be populated by lesbians on fertility drugs... Anyway, they already have Olive who is only a year and a half old, and now it looks like they will have Aristotle (Ari), Solomon, and Willa.)
OK, back to your name.
Maybe Lazlo isn't the kind of name you can give yourself, it's the kind of name you have to be able to blame your parents for? Iacovelli is such a great last name, but I assume you have a good reason for changing it, so... What about Alexander Will Warren? Then you have so many options for short names, like Xander, Lex, Big Al... Just kidding about the last one. (my response: "Al" is my dad's nickname, so it's already taken... well, and his other nickname is "Butch" ~damn he has taken then all!)
Personally, I think it's important to google the names and make sure there aren't too many already, and then get your domain name secured. Seriously, I think this is important. (my response: yes, i checked. some lame folks out there with versions of the name i want. plus, i googled my birth name, and beyond some bad art reviews of my work, i was listed on imdb and the turner classic movies website for some film work i had done in the past. sigh~ guess i'll have to do something note worthy with a new name, then huh???)
Now there is one good argument for keeping Iacovelli which is that you can always spot a telemarketer when they call and ask for Mr. Akkasmelly or whatever they come up with.
Friday, February 8, 2008
homage...
I haven't written for a while. There have been so many revelatory events and experiences that I have had in the few weeks since I have last posted, that I am not even sure where to begin.
I said goodbye to someone who was very important to me. It felt impossible, yet necessary. And I remember themes in my last post, about grief and grieving. How it is a process of which we never willingly accept, or seek out in our lives. It changes us, but not always in ways that we can predict.
It has changed me. There are invaluable lessons that I have learned over the past few months. Emotions excavated, and splayed out to catalogue and analyze.
This is my life. I wish it was easy to sound so cavalier, but it's tough. To walk away from what we love... Or more so, to watch it walk away from us. It has humbled me, and granted me such a sense of patience that is new to me. More than that, it has instilled a grand sense of compassion within me.
Perhaps I needed to experience this sense of loss to empathize with the grief of those whom I love. Today will be a difficult day, as it is a date that stands out. These days are never so easy. I remember years past, and it fills me with sadness to see the complexities of things. Events I wish I had handled differently, with more care and precision. Regrets I try to forgive within myself.
But there are other dates surrounding this one. A few days back, what would have been an anniversary. And one day forward, the marker of one of the darkest days in my own personal history. It becomes more clear~through the fog of grief and the lack of understanding... We are given more time.
This does not always feel like a gift. Sometimes it feels like a curse~like that bad day which will never end. The nightmare from which we can not awaken. Other times, it means we have hidden opportunities.
During this long goodbye I was trying to explain this theme that has been the single most inspiring factor in my life for the past six months. This idea of "revisionist history." I know that it typically connotes a very negative flavor~when people set out with their own self interests and rework the relevance of facts within history to prove their own agenda. I can see how that could potentially be destructive within the context of cultural histories, international inter-dependence. But here~being the narcissitic, ego-centric fool that I am~I will make this term my own.
Meaning: I will make my history my own.
Over a year ago I tried to create an audio/video installation pertaining to the psychological concept of "the tapes," messages that we replay on loop within our subconscious. It is where we tell ourselves: "I am always the fuck up," "I am just going to get crushed again," or "Yet another example of how I overcame ~ I am the victor."
There are many factors that create the messages embodied within our tapes. We probably have a tens of thousands of them, each labelled and cued to play, awaiting the next psychosocial trigger to start them up. Ones for relationships, others for the ways we perceive ourselves within the construct of our families, our work forces, our general daily lives.
It became clear to me on the "eve" of my transition last year that a whole slew of my tapes were filled with the messages "It will never work. You will never be whole. Never lovable. Never feel resolved. You're dad was right~don't bother, you aren't worth your dreams." It was very easy to give up before I began. Easy to see that each new hope would just come crashing down, and reveal the "truth" about my life. There were patterns and evidence, maybe even commentary from those who knew me. It would all "comply." So how then would it be possible to stage a coup?
I honestly had no clue. I had no reason to believe that my life could be any other way. It never had been... History has a heaviness to it. A way that left me feeling like my path had already been laid out for me. Like there was no changing course so late in the game.
But something amazing happened. The person I loved most left me. And despite all logic and reason~ I still survived.
I was asked by a good friend to be in an art show about the topic of "consume" and it was the focus I needed to explore some of these psychological themes. Another friend had mentioned that an editor from Elle Magazine was interested in my perspective on my transition and wanted to explore an option for possibly working together. This editor asked me to simply document my life, through like a journal type system. (My art installation got some bad reviews, and the Elle Magazine possibility has not come to fruition, but I see the point in it all...)
I would not know that I could survive the threat of feeling the most unlovable unless I had to face it~unless what I loved most left me. I wouldn't have known how important is it for me to create things based on my personal expressions and experiences unless these people had invited me to do so. And I wouldn't have known that I would be able to withstand the criticism of people who thought those expressions were unrefined~that this alone did not make me paralyzed, but rather made me want to step up and do work that was better crafted.
Slowly I began to see that instead of these things seeming like reinforcements to the already pathetic tapes that had played since my youth~I could step up and revise what needed improving.
Yes, my ex was right~the person I was back then was not worth staying for... The version of myself invested in my self-defeating tricks. As much as I miss her, I see that this time is about envisioning and revision. If I can learn from the chaos of my childhood and let it inform me of the ways to simplify, then it was worth it. The tenuous (at best) relationship with my father, and the string of romantic relationships that made me feel like a failure... I can't change my past, but I can change the context in which I perceive it. It grants me the time and space to endlessly explore the kind of person I would want to be, the kind of person I do think is worth staying with...
If I get this second chance at a new body, a new name, a new context within society (even within circles of family and friends) ~ then who do I want to be? Some fearful, insecure, desperate person hoping that no one will leave me because I am trans and too weird or fucked up to be loved? Fuck no... Without realizing it, I have already changed "the tapes." There are still more to reinvent, but I am ready for the challenge.
I wouldn't have known how resilient I am unless I had been forced out of the nest of comfort and familiarity. It has been the hardest year of my life in all ways possible. And yet the only one that convinced me that I will thrive.
Thank fucking goodness for all that challenges us, as it reminds us what is most important in our lives~if we simply remember to listen to it.
This is an homage ~ to all that pushes us the most. May we learn from those struggles, and allow it to open us up to relief just beyond the pain.
Bon courage, g.
I said goodbye to someone who was very important to me. It felt impossible, yet necessary. And I remember themes in my last post, about grief and grieving. How it is a process of which we never willingly accept, or seek out in our lives. It changes us, but not always in ways that we can predict.
It has changed me. There are invaluable lessons that I have learned over the past few months. Emotions excavated, and splayed out to catalogue and analyze.
This is my life. I wish it was easy to sound so cavalier, but it's tough. To walk away from what we love... Or more so, to watch it walk away from us. It has humbled me, and granted me such a sense of patience that is new to me. More than that, it has instilled a grand sense of compassion within me.
Perhaps I needed to experience this sense of loss to empathize with the grief of those whom I love. Today will be a difficult day, as it is a date that stands out. These days are never so easy. I remember years past, and it fills me with sadness to see the complexities of things. Events I wish I had handled differently, with more care and precision. Regrets I try to forgive within myself.
But there are other dates surrounding this one. A few days back, what would have been an anniversary. And one day forward, the marker of one of the darkest days in my own personal history. It becomes more clear~through the fog of grief and the lack of understanding... We are given more time.
This does not always feel like a gift. Sometimes it feels like a curse~like that bad day which will never end. The nightmare from which we can not awaken. Other times, it means we have hidden opportunities.
During this long goodbye I was trying to explain this theme that has been the single most inspiring factor in my life for the past six months. This idea of "revisionist history." I know that it typically connotes a very negative flavor~when people set out with their own self interests and rework the relevance of facts within history to prove their own agenda. I can see how that could potentially be destructive within the context of cultural histories, international inter-dependence. But here~being the narcissitic, ego-centric fool that I am~I will make this term my own.
Meaning: I will make my history my own.
Over a year ago I tried to create an audio/video installation pertaining to the psychological concept of "the tapes," messages that we replay on loop within our subconscious. It is where we tell ourselves: "I am always the fuck up," "I am just going to get crushed again," or "Yet another example of how I overcame ~ I am the victor."
There are many factors that create the messages embodied within our tapes. We probably have a tens of thousands of them, each labelled and cued to play, awaiting the next psychosocial trigger to start them up. Ones for relationships, others for the ways we perceive ourselves within the construct of our families, our work forces, our general daily lives.
It became clear to me on the "eve" of my transition last year that a whole slew of my tapes were filled with the messages "It will never work. You will never be whole. Never lovable. Never feel resolved. You're dad was right~don't bother, you aren't worth your dreams." It was very easy to give up before I began. Easy to see that each new hope would just come crashing down, and reveal the "truth" about my life. There were patterns and evidence, maybe even commentary from those who knew me. It would all "comply." So how then would it be possible to stage a coup?
I honestly had no clue. I had no reason to believe that my life could be any other way. It never had been... History has a heaviness to it. A way that left me feeling like my path had already been laid out for me. Like there was no changing course so late in the game.
But something amazing happened. The person I loved most left me. And despite all logic and reason~ I still survived.
I was asked by a good friend to be in an art show about the topic of "consume" and it was the focus I needed to explore some of these psychological themes. Another friend had mentioned that an editor from Elle Magazine was interested in my perspective on my transition and wanted to explore an option for possibly working together. This editor asked me to simply document my life, through like a journal type system. (My art installation got some bad reviews, and the Elle Magazine possibility has not come to fruition, but I see the point in it all...)
I would not know that I could survive the threat of feeling the most unlovable unless I had to face it~unless what I loved most left me. I wouldn't have known how important is it for me to create things based on my personal expressions and experiences unless these people had invited me to do so. And I wouldn't have known that I would be able to withstand the criticism of people who thought those expressions were unrefined~that this alone did not make me paralyzed, but rather made me want to step up and do work that was better crafted.
Slowly I began to see that instead of these things seeming like reinforcements to the already pathetic tapes that had played since my youth~I could step up and revise what needed improving.
Yes, my ex was right~the person I was back then was not worth staying for... The version of myself invested in my self-defeating tricks. As much as I miss her, I see that this time is about envisioning and revision. If I can learn from the chaos of my childhood and let it inform me of the ways to simplify, then it was worth it. The tenuous (at best) relationship with my father, and the string of romantic relationships that made me feel like a failure... I can't change my past, but I can change the context in which I perceive it. It grants me the time and space to endlessly explore the kind of person I would want to be, the kind of person I do think is worth staying with...
If I get this second chance at a new body, a new name, a new context within society (even within circles of family and friends) ~ then who do I want to be? Some fearful, insecure, desperate person hoping that no one will leave me because I am trans and too weird or fucked up to be loved? Fuck no... Without realizing it, I have already changed "the tapes." There are still more to reinvent, but I am ready for the challenge.
I wouldn't have known how resilient I am unless I had been forced out of the nest of comfort and familiarity. It has been the hardest year of my life in all ways possible. And yet the only one that convinced me that I will thrive.
Thank fucking goodness for all that challenges us, as it reminds us what is most important in our lives~if we simply remember to listen to it.
This is an homage ~ to all that pushes us the most. May we learn from those struggles, and allow it to open us up to relief just beyond the pain.
Bon courage, g.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
The Name Game
So, for the past few days I have been trying to deduce the exact procedure for changing both my name and gender on all of my documents and id's (local & federal.) Tricky, to say the least. With the help of a few trans guys from my group, and a few super funny District workers~I think I have cracked the code. Which means ~ now I have to pick a damn name! Yikes!
I had to get a letter from my top surgeon stating that she "successfully completed sex reassignment surgery" for ________. (insert new name here/then in parentheses insert given name listed on orignal birth certificate.) So, while talking to Nurse Betty at my surgeon's office, I had to give her the new name to put on the notarized letter. I chose "Will Alexander Warren" in a pinch, and she said it would be possible to change later if necessary.
Here are some of the options:
Will Alexander Warren ("Willie" was my great-grandfather's name/where subsequent generations took the nick names "Bill" & "Billy" / "Alexander" was my folks' first choice for my brother's name - with the nickname "Alec" but then they figured Alexander Iacovelli was mean to give to a little kid... And "Warren" was my mother's maiden name.)
More importantly to me, WILL is what it took to get me here: pure "will" power and focused desire. It is the name that really fits for the symbolism of this transition. Also, the name WARREN means "defender" ~ which I really love. My interest in fighting for the underdog my whole life, my work in Conflict Resolution, etc. ("Lexi" is in reference to one of my guy friends from college, this burly British man's man who played rugby and studied the classics. He drove an old Toyota Landcruiser, which he then sold for an even older Mercedez Benz suv from the 1970s. So hott! That is my reference to the name Lexi, not all of the 9 year old girls with that nickname running around during recess...)
other options:
Elias
Lucien/Lucian "Luc"
Milos (pronounced: Milosh)
Augusten/Augustus
Lars
Liam
then ones that seemed fun when I was still on a ton of narcotics post-op:
Linus
Erol
Lazlo
Otto
Teo
Timo
Noam
Rowan
Lanier
Rex
Asher
Watts
Noell
Argus
Samuel
I had to get a letter from my top surgeon stating that she "successfully completed sex reassignment surgery" for ________. (insert new name here/then in parentheses insert given name listed on orignal birth certificate.) So, while talking to Nurse Betty at my surgeon's office, I had to give her the new name to put on the notarized letter. I chose "Will Alexander Warren" in a pinch, and she said it would be possible to change later if necessary.
Here are some of the options:
Will Alexander Warren ("Willie" was my great-grandfather's name/where subsequent generations took the nick names "Bill" & "Billy" / "Alexander" was my folks' first choice for my brother's name - with the nickname "Alec" but then they figured Alexander Iacovelli was mean to give to a little kid... And "Warren" was my mother's maiden name.)
More importantly to me, WILL is what it took to get me here: pure "will" power and focused desire. It is the name that really fits for the symbolism of this transition. Also, the name WARREN means "defender" ~ which I really love. My interest in fighting for the underdog my whole life, my work in Conflict Resolution, etc. ("Lexi" is in reference to one of my guy friends from college, this burly British man's man who played rugby and studied the classics. He drove an old Toyota Landcruiser, which he then sold for an even older Mercedez Benz suv from the 1970s. So hott! That is my reference to the name Lexi, not all of the 9 year old girls with that nickname running around during recess...)
other options:
Elias
Lucien/Lucian "Luc"
Milos (pronounced: Milosh)
Augusten/Augustus
Lars
Liam
then ones that seemed fun when I was still on a ton of narcotics post-op:
Linus
Erol
Lazlo
Otto
Teo
Timo
Noam
Rowan
Lanier
Rex
Asher
Watts
Noell
Argus
Samuel
Thursday, January 24, 2008
evolution of the face
this first pic was taken around summer of 2004 (hence the nice tan)
this 2nd pic was taken jan 2005~hence looking ghostly white & scary!
this 3rd pic was taken in oct or 2006, right as i started taking testosterone
this 4th pic was taken in may of 2007, six months on t (my first shave!)
this last pic was taken jan of 2008, 1.25 yrs on t, and 1 month post top surgery
i can't get the captions and the pics to line up, but you get the idea... seems like my face got more full (both because of weight fluctuations, but also my jaw became even more square~which i didn't think was possible!) also, my hair line started to recede slightly in the corners by my temples. and i seem to have gotten some weird cro-magnon forehead ridge thing going now at my brow since being on t for a while... what do you think?
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
loss...
I don't know if I will end up posting this. I was drafting another entry and haven't yet resolved that one.
I guess hearing about the death of Heath Ledger has brought up a few things for me. Thinking about this idea of consumption. They found his body surrounded by multiple types of pills, and thus far, his autopsy is inconclusive as to whether his passing was accidental or intentional.
What I want to share is something that were are not supposed to talk about in public. I want to talk about depression. More explicitly, I want to talk about my experiences with depression. Something we have been conditioned to not talk about in casual conversations. Since I have no clue who my audience is exactly, it grants me a kind of anonymity on both sides of this equation. I don't know who you are exactly, and I guarantee there are things about me that you do not know.
In my posting about leaps of faith, I think I made a reference to my life pre-transition as living a slow death of sorts. That there were challenges that really threatened me to my core, and that I was not very skilled in knowing how to manage those kinds of crises. (Ironic considering that I studied Conflict Resolution in college, and all of my job experience relates loosely to project/crisis management.)
A few days ago, I received a wonderfully eloquent email from my friend Emily about scientific evidence and margins of error in the medical world. (I was hoping to get permission from her to post excerpts from that email here, as I can not recount it as gracefully.) But in this email, Emily had referenced my comment about a "slow death," as she went on to say how it was a figurative gesture. In reality~that is not true. It was quite literal.
I have actively tried to end my own life many times over the past (and present) decades that I have been alive. This statement is not intended for shock and awe, as much as it meant to shed light on a subject that is forced into the darkness of shame. Like with most things in my life, I wear my heart (and its weaknesses) on my sleeve. And just as transitioning signalled the end to my codependent strife, severing my ties to the old abandonment issues that haunted me~it also called for a new sense of candor. I have no shame about being trans, as much as it might be too weird or "freaky" for some people to deal with in context of their own relations to me. I talk about it openly in hope to give a sense of dimensionality to what previously could have been a blatant caricature.
In that place I speak of a lot of unflattering things. I am not the hero in my own life. I am just one character. A flawed, and very human one at that. And perhaps it is what has made me approachable to so many who on the surface seem so radically different from me.
To me, the point of living is connectivity. To be able to relate to another being's experiential knowledge, and help us on our own wobbley paths. (My favorite author, Alain de Botton said something so brilliant in one of his last books ((paraphrasing here)): Why is it that we learn necessary lessons _after_ we needed them most? That the chaotic and provocative experiences that call for that missing link of needed information are exactly what create them, but never quite fast enough. We often feel like we simply have not learned enough to handle the strife in life's minutia _as_ it is happening.)
I live openly because I crave the potential for connection. I crave the possibility that I might have some huge revelation brought on by a casual conversation in line at the bank, or on a quiet walk home from the autoshop. I live to connect with anything willing to connect with me. (Which one can imagine has left me too vulnerable, and too wounded at times.)
To be honest, this has been one of those times. I have been grieving the loss of someone I loved very much. And thoughts of my surgery, and dreams of subsequent adventures to follow left me perfectly distracted from that grief. Yet, I have learned that distraction are fleeting, and grief is resilient, with-standing. It has found me. Many months later, in a different body, a different head space, with a different walk~it still recognized me, and followed me home.
But who ever wants to grieve? It is a process that no one looks upon eagerly. It is something that we are resigned to do. And all the while, others have kept themselves walking just fast enough to not yet submit.
This is the first time in my like where my grief has not pulled me under. Where I have not willingly become a victim of my own despair. Sure, I am sad and mourn the loss of things once cherished, but the depression has not settled in its old seat at my table. After decades of fearing my own inability to ever be "well" or stable, I am here, for the first time in my life. And it is from this place that I want to admit that I have never been here before.
I have spent years plotting my own demise. I have exhausted week upon week not being able to leave my bed, in a semi-paralyzed state. And I have consumed more handfuls of sleeping pills, mixed with other meds and alcohol to make the combination fatal. Yet it wasn't. Any time. (Having grown up straight edge, I find it baffling to think that my body could have tolerated such disgusting abuses.) These attempts were not cries for help. I did my research, knew what to do, and yet my body decided otherwise.
None of this implies that I am "unbreakable" or any stupid idea of that sort. But it has helped me sift through the bullshit now from this other side. Even though I lived, I saw that something needed to die: These patterns that kept me tethered to (and seeking out) unhealthy dynamics with people who were willing to drown me in their sorrows. I almost died there, but I see now that I can stand up, that I won't drown in the pain that people who are hurting inflict on others.
I transitioned last year because I felt like I had nothing left to lose. I tried to end the life that was so painful, and it didn't work. So, what if there was a way for me to end what was painful, instead of the life itself? What if there was a way to live the life that could make happiness an option? What if I could live the life that was worth living? That was the moment I knew what needed to be done~and it didn't consist of taking anymore sleeping pills, but finally forced me to really be conscious for the first time.
My point in sharing this is not to scare people about my history of instability. I have lost a few friends because of my transition, and also because of my admitted battle with depression. But I have also gained many insights from those moments when people I love have been able to connect with me about those most primal fears, and the most excruciating places of momentary pain.
I am struggling now because I feel like this life has to have some significant meaning, like it can't just be in vain. But what does that significance look like? How does it manifest? I haven't found traction with those answers yet. There has been a tremendous sense of relief to feel liberated from that darkness, and also to find amazing friends and exes who have resurfaced in my life, where we can commiserate about the (yet) "unanswerable."
Having only dabbled a tiny bit in cognitive behavioral therapy, I learned that there is a difference between perceptions and reality. Being cognizant of those fleeting moments of sadness and frustration I see the bigger scope, that we can change the way we feel _about_ things. If we modify our perceptions, then our relationships to those things being perceived then have to shift with the changes. (Not to say that if we "perceive" that we are rock stars we will be~but just a good reminder that the entire world isn't really against us on the especially tough days...)
I will get through the grief and the loss, and eventually learn whatever it is that I wish I knew now. And I will be okay again, and even inspired. To be living in a body that finally feels like home, within the context of a life that feels more like my own~and to be liberated from the depression that sabotaged everything~I know this is what it feels like to be whole. Maybe I needed to lose what I loved most to learn that lesson.
To all the people we have loved and lost too soon. And to all the rest that help us get through it. Much love and gratitude for this life which is still so full.
(God, I sound like such a fucking doped up hippie. Please forgive me~)
I guess hearing about the death of Heath Ledger has brought up a few things for me. Thinking about this idea of consumption. They found his body surrounded by multiple types of pills, and thus far, his autopsy is inconclusive as to whether his passing was accidental or intentional.
What I want to share is something that were are not supposed to talk about in public. I want to talk about depression. More explicitly, I want to talk about my experiences with depression. Something we have been conditioned to not talk about in casual conversations. Since I have no clue who my audience is exactly, it grants me a kind of anonymity on both sides of this equation. I don't know who you are exactly, and I guarantee there are things about me that you do not know.
In my posting about leaps of faith, I think I made a reference to my life pre-transition as living a slow death of sorts. That there were challenges that really threatened me to my core, and that I was not very skilled in knowing how to manage those kinds of crises. (Ironic considering that I studied Conflict Resolution in college, and all of my job experience relates loosely to project/crisis management.)
A few days ago, I received a wonderfully eloquent email from my friend Emily about scientific evidence and margins of error in the medical world. (I was hoping to get permission from her to post excerpts from that email here, as I can not recount it as gracefully.) But in this email, Emily had referenced my comment about a "slow death," as she went on to say how it was a figurative gesture. In reality~that is not true. It was quite literal.
I have actively tried to end my own life many times over the past (and present) decades that I have been alive. This statement is not intended for shock and awe, as much as it meant to shed light on a subject that is forced into the darkness of shame. Like with most things in my life, I wear my heart (and its weaknesses) on my sleeve. And just as transitioning signalled the end to my codependent strife, severing my ties to the old abandonment issues that haunted me~it also called for a new sense of candor. I have no shame about being trans, as much as it might be too weird or "freaky" for some people to deal with in context of their own relations to me. I talk about it openly in hope to give a sense of dimensionality to what previously could have been a blatant caricature.
In that place I speak of a lot of unflattering things. I am not the hero in my own life. I am just one character. A flawed, and very human one at that. And perhaps it is what has made me approachable to so many who on the surface seem so radically different from me.
To me, the point of living is connectivity. To be able to relate to another being's experiential knowledge, and help us on our own wobbley paths. (My favorite author, Alain de Botton said something so brilliant in one of his last books ((paraphrasing here)): Why is it that we learn necessary lessons _after_ we needed them most? That the chaotic and provocative experiences that call for that missing link of needed information are exactly what create them, but never quite fast enough. We often feel like we simply have not learned enough to handle the strife in life's minutia _as_ it is happening.)
I live openly because I crave the potential for connection. I crave the possibility that I might have some huge revelation brought on by a casual conversation in line at the bank, or on a quiet walk home from the autoshop. I live to connect with anything willing to connect with me. (Which one can imagine has left me too vulnerable, and too wounded at times.)
To be honest, this has been one of those times. I have been grieving the loss of someone I loved very much. And thoughts of my surgery, and dreams of subsequent adventures to follow left me perfectly distracted from that grief. Yet, I have learned that distraction are fleeting, and grief is resilient, with-standing. It has found me. Many months later, in a different body, a different head space, with a different walk~it still recognized me, and followed me home.
But who ever wants to grieve? It is a process that no one looks upon eagerly. It is something that we are resigned to do. And all the while, others have kept themselves walking just fast enough to not yet submit.
This is the first time in my like where my grief has not pulled me under. Where I have not willingly become a victim of my own despair. Sure, I am sad and mourn the loss of things once cherished, but the depression has not settled in its old seat at my table. After decades of fearing my own inability to ever be "well" or stable, I am here, for the first time in my life. And it is from this place that I want to admit that I have never been here before.
I have spent years plotting my own demise. I have exhausted week upon week not being able to leave my bed, in a semi-paralyzed state. And I have consumed more handfuls of sleeping pills, mixed with other meds and alcohol to make the combination fatal. Yet it wasn't. Any time. (Having grown up straight edge, I find it baffling to think that my body could have tolerated such disgusting abuses.) These attempts were not cries for help. I did my research, knew what to do, and yet my body decided otherwise.
None of this implies that I am "unbreakable" or any stupid idea of that sort. But it has helped me sift through the bullshit now from this other side. Even though I lived, I saw that something needed to die: These patterns that kept me tethered to (and seeking out) unhealthy dynamics with people who were willing to drown me in their sorrows. I almost died there, but I see now that I can stand up, that I won't drown in the pain that people who are hurting inflict on others.
I transitioned last year because I felt like I had nothing left to lose. I tried to end the life that was so painful, and it didn't work. So, what if there was a way for me to end what was painful, instead of the life itself? What if there was a way to live the life that could make happiness an option? What if I could live the life that was worth living? That was the moment I knew what needed to be done~and it didn't consist of taking anymore sleeping pills, but finally forced me to really be conscious for the first time.
My point in sharing this is not to scare people about my history of instability. I have lost a few friends because of my transition, and also because of my admitted battle with depression. But I have also gained many insights from those moments when people I love have been able to connect with me about those most primal fears, and the most excruciating places of momentary pain.
I am struggling now because I feel like this life has to have some significant meaning, like it can't just be in vain. But what does that significance look like? How does it manifest? I haven't found traction with those answers yet. There has been a tremendous sense of relief to feel liberated from that darkness, and also to find amazing friends and exes who have resurfaced in my life, where we can commiserate about the (yet) "unanswerable."
Having only dabbled a tiny bit in cognitive behavioral therapy, I learned that there is a difference between perceptions and reality. Being cognizant of those fleeting moments of sadness and frustration I see the bigger scope, that we can change the way we feel _about_ things. If we modify our perceptions, then our relationships to those things being perceived then have to shift with the changes. (Not to say that if we "perceive" that we are rock stars we will be~but just a good reminder that the entire world isn't really against us on the especially tough days...)
I will get through the grief and the loss, and eventually learn whatever it is that I wish I knew now. And I will be okay again, and even inspired. To be living in a body that finally feels like home, within the context of a life that feels more like my own~and to be liberated from the depression that sabotaged everything~I know this is what it feels like to be whole. Maybe I needed to lose what I loved most to learn that lesson.
To all the people we have loved and lost too soon. And to all the rest that help us get through it. Much love and gratitude for this life which is still so full.
(God, I sound like such a fucking doped up hippie. Please forgive me~)
Friday, January 18, 2008
the "un-wealth" of health
So, apparently I am pretty dumb. I ended up getting a pretty considerable infection from injecting testosterone earlier this week. I am feeling somewhat sick right now. Minor flu like symptoms, that could be from a million other things. But I just feel dumb. I got through over a year of injections, a surgery, a spinal tap during my youth, on and on, and I got an infection from being sloppy.
(The short of it is~I was running low on T, and when I filled the syringe full of the little t I had left, I moved the syringe in a way that accidentally brushed the side of the needle against the back of my hand. Knowing this could be dangerous, yet not having enough t to just dump the entire syringe, I swiped the compromised needle with an alcohol swab in hopes that it could sterilize the surface. Um, a-no...)
I think the reason that I am beating myself up (well, beyond the obvious reasons of risking my own health in these foolish ways) is that my uncle was a heroin addict. My dad's younger brother was (yes, "was" ~ insert foreshadowing here _____) one of the earliest cases of HIV/AIDS that we personally knew. We didn't find out that he was infected until his health bottomed out. He caught tuberculosis.
It scares the shit out of me that he died from either using dirty needles, or from sex. Needles and sex~two things that have been elements of my life. (wow~my life just seemed more exotic for a split second.) Scary to think that my life has been affected by a bad decision I made in the matter of seconds.
Supposedly~I "should" be fine after ten days of these antibiotics. (Coincidentally, my dog decided to tear open a tiny corner of his dog bed on Wednesday evening--one day after the infectious needle prick--and got down feathers all over my bedroom while I was out for the evening. Despite having vacuumed up all of the feathers that filled my entire bedroom--akin to the Brady Bunch episode of overfilling the washing machine with detergent--my allergies are on overdrive. My eyes are practically sealed shut, which I am hoping is the reaction to the feather residue and not the freaky rare staph strain migrating through out my body.) Awe-some.
At the clinic where I had my examination, the Doctor drew a circle around the red, blotchy, raised area (now the size of my hand~it has grown exponentially every 24 hrs). She explained that she didn't think it was the rare, nearly impossible to kill staph infection that has been working is way around town. The Doctor said that the kind of meds to treat the rare staph strain won't work on the general infections, and vice versa. So she gave me the general antibiotic, for the general infection, and cross yer fingers~hope it works. "If the swelling goes down you will be fine. If the swelling increases beyond the draw circle go to the ER immediately." Su-weet!
(While I was writing this "Jackass: Number Two" came on. Amazing that I somehow got more hurt than these dumbasses who get trampled by bulls, bitten by venomous snakes, flipped off of rocket powered mini-vehicles, and flattened by plus sized naked women. Just my luck.)
All of this to say, that other than bad allergies to the room in which I sleep, and the infection I caused myself~I have been doing well. Cheeky even. I had been getting outside a lot more, and playing the fleeting snow storms, getting some exercise, catching drinks with good friends every night. It has broken up the monotony of my daily routines.
Maybe I will miss the little red flap jack sized swollen circle above my right knee. This has been the best week in a while, and perhaps it is all because of this little addition to my life. Sigh~
(The short of it is~I was running low on T, and when I filled the syringe full of the little t I had left, I moved the syringe in a way that accidentally brushed the side of the needle against the back of my hand. Knowing this could be dangerous, yet not having enough t to just dump the entire syringe, I swiped the compromised needle with an alcohol swab in hopes that it could sterilize the surface. Um, a-no...)
I think the reason that I am beating myself up (well, beyond the obvious reasons of risking my own health in these foolish ways) is that my uncle was a heroin addict. My dad's younger brother was (yes, "was" ~ insert foreshadowing here _____) one of the earliest cases of HIV/AIDS that we personally knew. We didn't find out that he was infected until his health bottomed out. He caught tuberculosis.
It scares the shit out of me that he died from either using dirty needles, or from sex. Needles and sex~two things that have been elements of my life. (wow~my life just seemed more exotic for a split second.) Scary to think that my life has been affected by a bad decision I made in the matter of seconds.
Supposedly~I "should" be fine after ten days of these antibiotics. (Coincidentally, my dog decided to tear open a tiny corner of his dog bed on Wednesday evening--one day after the infectious needle prick--and got down feathers all over my bedroom while I was out for the evening. Despite having vacuumed up all of the feathers that filled my entire bedroom--akin to the Brady Bunch episode of overfilling the washing machine with detergent--my allergies are on overdrive. My eyes are practically sealed shut, which I am hoping is the reaction to the feather residue and not the freaky rare staph strain migrating through out my body.) Awe-some.
At the clinic where I had my examination, the Doctor drew a circle around the red, blotchy, raised area (now the size of my hand~it has grown exponentially every 24 hrs). She explained that she didn't think it was the rare, nearly impossible to kill staph infection that has been working is way around town. The Doctor said that the kind of meds to treat the rare staph strain won't work on the general infections, and vice versa. So she gave me the general antibiotic, for the general infection, and cross yer fingers~hope it works. "If the swelling goes down you will be fine. If the swelling increases beyond the draw circle go to the ER immediately." Su-weet!
(While I was writing this "Jackass: Number Two" came on. Amazing that I somehow got more hurt than these dumbasses who get trampled by bulls, bitten by venomous snakes, flipped off of rocket powered mini-vehicles, and flattened by plus sized naked women. Just my luck.)
All of this to say, that other than bad allergies to the room in which I sleep, and the infection I caused myself~I have been doing well. Cheeky even. I had been getting outside a lot more, and playing the fleeting snow storms, getting some exercise, catching drinks with good friends every night. It has broken up the monotony of my daily routines.
Maybe I will miss the little red flap jack sized swollen circle above my right knee. This has been the best week in a while, and perhaps it is all because of this little addition to my life. Sigh~
Friday, January 11, 2008
Little Fairy...
While talking to a trans friend of mine the other day on the phone, I paused to look at my schedule to try to make a plan with him. While I was checking my calendar, he chimed in with:
"Um, you know you sound really gay now, right?"
How does one respond to that? No, I wasn't aware that I sound gay. What exactly does that mean? Am I s'posed to butch it up now>
Well, okay ~ I did find myself accidentally telling a room full of burly bearded punk dudes that something was cute. And I wasn't referring to some hott girl. Was that a faux-pas? (Is saying "faux-pas" a faux-pas, if I don't wanna sound gay? Sheesh! This is tough...)
I asked a friend to take a photo of a vintage "Fairy Soap" ad that was similar to the vintage Fairy Soap ads I have in my bathroom back in DC. Okay, so maybe I am a big flamer.
But how can I read as gay? I like to lift weights, have 8 million skin care & hair care products, and my favorite kind of underwear is 2xist. I'm totally a "man's man." You know, a tough exterior, yet funny, and attentive. Just like Rock Hudson.
What?
My therapist once told me that I reminded her of the male leads from the movie musicals of the 1950s. She said that I had a strong sense of myself, without being over bearing, was charming, but not audacious, and dapper. They were all straight right?
I mean, sure ~ I've hooked up with a few gay guys in my day. But who hasn't? And sure, I've day dreamed about being a house boy to some ridiculously wealthy, hott older gentleman, but doesn't everyone? And well, I've begun a business plan to chart the path to becoming a gay porn mogul, but it's not "my scene..."
Huh, when you look at the sum total, it looks like I should throw in the hetero towel. I'm trading in my aggro pit bull, for a neurotic yorkie named Dante, and quiting the pet care biz to start my own interior decorating firm. What other stereotypes can I sarcastically add to the mix?
Can't I just like both boys and girls, and sound how ever the fuck I sound? Jeez...
~Love, Your Little Fairy Friend
Random Pics~
Here are some random pics of my friends and me in NYC.
I swear, I am really not this short, but I am that flat chested! Whew-hew!
Why you lookin' at me?
It's odd, cuz I look a lot bigger than everyone, but further away. It's like some Lord of the Rings camera trick. (My huge Fred Flintstone head...)
This is a great dog with a great name ("Feta") guarding the new toy I gave him as a thank you for letting me crash with him, and his dad...
I swear, I am really not this short, but I am that flat chested! Whew-hew!
Why you lookin' at me?
It's odd, cuz I look a lot bigger than everyone, but further away. It's like some Lord of the Rings camera trick. (My huge Fred Flintstone head...)
This is a great dog with a great name ("Feta") guarding the new toy I gave him as a thank you for letting me crash with him, and his dad...
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