column b

I'm not sure I should be writing in here anymore. I don't have much to say about the journey of trans people these days since I'm derailed. Still, I kind of need to vent emotions I'm feeling and there are some I don't have any other outlet for other than this blog.

I had this friend. She lives really far away from me and our relationship was really complicated. I was never sure how she really felt about me but, over time, my feelings grew and deepened for her. She felt like the first person in my whole life who really understood me, who might love me for who I was.

She was sick, though. I mentioned her in a video once. I'd said, if given the choice, I would sooner save her than save the rest of the world in its entirety. Some of you thought that sounded sweet or nice but, in reality, I said it because much of her illness is my fault. She was sick all along but something else happened; something between us and, as a result, she got much sicker.

I couldn't deal with it so I stopped writing for a while. Nearly seven hundred miles of distance made it easy to avoid her but impossible to escape the guilt. For three months I agonized over the mistakes I'd made.

I reached out eventually but it was too late, I guess. She was so angry with me. I tried to understand. She told me she would write emails explaining everything I'd missed, telling me just how guilty I was and how deep her hatred extended. I wanted to get them. I was ready to be punished for the mistakes I'd made. I just wanted things to get better between us. Despite all my best efforts I loved her even though I'd only met her twice.

I wonder if you're reading this. I feel so ridiculous and small. Your livejournal is updated and you talk about this other girl. I guess you finally found someone you could love. You probably hate me now more than ever. If I'm lucky maybe you're just ambivalent. Either way, you're gone. I thought I was alright with that. I tried my best to make peace and accept that this was a damnation of my own making. Still, there are days when my heart still breaks because I miss you. You were my little prince. I still love you and I still care but I won't write again. Your silence tells me everything I need to know. You're better off without me. If I had the courage I would slash open my eager flesh in penance. I wish I could take it all away, trade my life for yours. There's more but I can't bear to write it. I still wish every day that you'll be well, that your miracle will come but I am anathema to all that is good in your world. I am the bleakness, the emptiness, and the pain. I failed you. I'm sorry.

just like high school

I know I'm supposed to be honoring those we lost today and I am but I can't help but feel like I'm not even a part of this anymore. It's been months since I've been able to take anything HRT related. My beard grows in so thick again, my hair is falling out in clumps, and I've aged about a decade. I don't feel like I'm part of this community. Hell, I don't even feel like I'm alive anymore. I tried to take the flutamide just to block the testosterone and now my kidneys are mysteriously messed up. Why? Wasn't being trans bad enough? What the hell? Now I can't even do anything about it. I can't even get a job to save my life.

I'm just waiting to die. I'm angry and I'm tired and miserable beyond anything I ever thought was imaginable. I lost everything. I just wanted to feel comfortable in my own skin. I feel like I've got a life sentence with no parole. That's it. Blog's done. I have absolutely nothing left to say that isn't violently furious or pathetically depressing. If you see me on the street do us all a favor and put one right between my eyes, alright? The world will be better off and I won't have to spend another second feeling this way.

Duanna, This one's for you

Hey.

Sorry I've been gone a while. My health is still not awesome. I don't want to talk about that though. I want to make a vow right here and right now to stand up and defend all of my trans brothers and sisters. So close to the day of Remembrance and Duanna Johnson, who stood up against hate for all of us is dead. I am gutted. To think I spent much of today arguing with someone because they called me a "nazi" on the internet. Why was I expending all that energy on something so meaningless when Duanna Johnson was fighting for me and my right to walk down the street without being, mocked, beaten, arrested, and killed?

Lori asked "Who's got your back?" Well I don't know who has my back but I hope you know that I have yours. Even if I can never transition I still know the fear of walking down a street at night alone and having that terrible knowledge of what could happen and just how likely it is. I've lost jobs and I've been abandoned just because I'm trans. I never met Duanna but I weep for her as though she were my own blood.

I'm angry but that anger gives me strength. We have to be strong for one another. We have to fight. I am fighting for you. Maybe someday Duanna's fate will be my own but I swear this: so long as I draw breath I will not quit until we can feel safe when we walk down the street. Until that day, lock arms with me kids and we'll walk this road together. And if someone tries to hurt us? We will fuck their shit up!

flip the script

Why, hello there!

I'd love to give you an update on my life but, regrettably, there's not much of one to give. I am really hoping that at the beginning of next week I'll have something hopeful and happy to report. In the interim, however, I was wondering if you wonderful blog buddies might do me a solid? It's not a major solid, As solids go it's actually pretty... uh... loose? Yeah, no idea where I was going with that one.

Anyway! Every so often so as to make me feel like I have some creative juices running through my very visible veins (seriously, if I were a super hero I'd be See Thru Girl It's kind of gross) I participate in this competition. Under normal circumstances, you are given a week to write a fifteen page screenplay using a preselected genre and subject. On this occasion, however, you have 48 hours to pen a five page script where there's preselected genre, location, and random object that must be involved (I know what you're thinking and get your minds out of the gutter, you filthy beasts).

So.. yeah! I participated and I am looking for some feedback. I'm not going to provide any qualifiers about whether or not I like my own work. I'm looking for some straight up now tell me is it gonna be you and me forever, oh oh oh, Paula Abdul, kind of honesty. Think you can handle it? Sure you can, because you're awesome. Um, please? I will be super grateful to anyone who even thinks about reading it. Approval: I crave it.

Here's the deets:

Genre: Romance
Location: Psychiatrist's Office
Object: A Vending Machine
My scripty poo: Crisps

And now I must go and torment myself with political nonsense. Yee gads I can't wait for this election to be over. I'm outie 5000.

edit: it seems that mediafire is not a great server. If you want to read the script between now and when I find an alternate server, drop me an email or comment and I will email it to you. Sound fair?

double edit: it's working now. Go for it, internet homies!

bound

Oh jeez.

So, hey. Remember when I was talking about how badly I need a job like a zillion times on this blog? Right. Of course you do. Well there's two new wrinkles in that situation and I don't know what to do. In other words, I need insight. Let me give you a little back story.

I haven't worked in nearly a year. The last job I had I, uh, was not the nicest person in the world. I'm totally anti authority in a way you thought only a teenager could be. Also: you know how there's a process to transitioning at work? Yeah... I didn't bother with that. I just sort of started telling people a few at a time and then I just started presenting however the hell I wanted from day to day. Yup. I'm crazy. AND stupid. Just as a fun aside: my father also worked in the same office as me and had no idea what I was doing. My father is delusional and, to be fair, I am a bit duplicitous and sneaky.

Anyway. You already know what my year has consisted of. Between the lousy job market, the multitude of permanent physical conditions I've gained, and sheer laziness I haven't gotten any work. Finally, now that I've been feeling healthier, I stepped up my job search. It took one day to realize the new bump in the road: absolutely no one from my former company will give me a recommendation. I have zero professional recommendations I can get. NONE. ZILCH. It's a big problem. I was completely devil may care about the trans thing, basically said "Go fuck yourself if you don't like it" and now I'm paying the consequences. I haven't worked for too many other people in my life. I was a personal assistant but my boss lives in Florida now and I haven't talked to her in ages. Prior to that I worked for a bit of a scam telemarketing company and before that did a whole mess of retail. It's not exactly a shiny resume, is it?

It's not what you know, it's who you know. Except, I don't know anyone and everyone who knows me thinks I am a) an asshole and b) a crazy person. I can't say I blame them. It's not like those are not the first two descriptive adjectives that spring to mind when I think of myself. I do have friends though but, ah, then comes the next wrinkle.

A good friend of mine said she could get me some work as an assistant where she is working which would mean, gasp, a job in the fashion industry. I know, right? How cool. I would love to get into that but there's a problem. You see my friend has connections to the man who deals with the hiring. She has a big mouth (like me) and has talked about me on many occasions. When she asked about my getting this particular job he immediately got defensive. I don't want you to be surprised but he didn't want to stick his neck out for the tranny. I know. SO hard to believe.

I could get this job. It's not a lock but I have a shot. The problem is that I can't transition at this job. EVER. It would mean screwing over the guy who would be sticking his neck out for me based solely on my friend's recommendation and it would also cause problems for said friend.

I'm of two minds on the matter. The first mind says that the job market is a horror and that sacrifices have to be made. My other mind is screaming expletives because, frankly, this is bullshit. I mean it's the fashion industry. How did I stumble upon a conservative, Jewish fashion company? HOW!?!? There is no gayer institution than fashion. Bah.

I'm sending my resume along. What else can I do? I'm painted into a corner. I guess what I'm really asking is: How am I supposed to go back to being a man full time again? I make a lot of jokes about what a good looking mister I make (and, fair play, I am the hotness) but this is killing me. My hair started falling out again. I'm all angular and hard looking. Dude, this sucks. I was all soft and girly for a little while there.

It's either be a dude with a job or be a homeless tranny. These are the choices I get in my life. Fuck this world. Fuck it hard, fuck it bloody, and fuck it till it's dead then fuck it's corpse a while longer. Sorry, did I say that last part out loud? Not very lady like at all of me...

quel dommage

I appreciate any of you who have been sticking around. I realize it's not happy or fun or sexy watching a tranny return to her former masculine roots. I'm sure some of you have cast me aside either because you no longer find me attractive or because the idea of returning to your former gender is too scary to hazard even a moment's imagining. Things are what they are, however, and so I must press onward down a path that is not always of my own choosing.

In a way I realize I could very well continue taking hormones and blockers as I once did and ignore the doctors. It's my body I'm listening to though and it's telling me in no uncertain terms that it desperately wants to be healthy and that the fastest way to health is by forgoing any unnecessary stress. It's no secret that the pills I took put great strain on me physically. It's also no secret that living in a house of judgment has had probably as much physical detriment as it does mental. Oh yeah, I have no money and the economy is collapsing. What's a girl trapped in the body of a very sexy man to do?

I had a job interview that I had to cancel. I was so excited when I got this seemingly random call shortly after posting my resume to hotjobs. Shortly afterward though I realized, thankfully, that the offer was too good to be true. A quick bit of research uncovered some very shady business practices and so, with heavy heart, I realized this was no opportunity at all.

I bought a new suit for interviews. I can tell you that was very depressing but, let's face it, no one's hiring this hot tranny mess unless she stuff herself into a suit and plays male for a while. I have a renewed vigor though. Surprisingly part of said vigor stemmed from finding the perfect suit. It's a shame, really. For all my protestations, I know men's fashion. Maybe some day I will find a man to dress... and then promptly undress.

Anyway! I'm on a job hunting spree. If anyone in the New York area has some leads on anything let me know. I'm interested in switching to editorial or copyright work but I'm not against personal assistant or secretarial shenanigans to fill the time. I just want to do something I won't despise and wont' stress me out to the point of hospitalization.

The order of things is:

1) get job

2) move out

3) get back to the whole 'being a girl' thing.

It sucks that it's got to be in that order but, really, do you see an alternative? Seriously, if you do then please share it with me. Until then I'll just be taking pictures of myself in a new suit in my bathroom. Like so:

croney hermit, the continuing adventures

Not much to say about this video other than, you know, I'm awesome and great. I do want to take this time to say, baxter, if you're still reading this, feel free to bring it political style anytime you like to my blog. I'm officially wearing my grown up pants so I think I can handle your "humor".

I guess that's it. There were other things I'd planned to mention in this video but I ran out of time since I blabber too much about absolutely nothing. Just to pique your interests, the next video will involve my musical tastes both past and present, continued hormone updates, and more sock puppetry. Exciting, huh? Maybe? Little bit?

one time at band camp

Take a trip with me, won't you? All we need are a Delorean, a flux capacitor, some stolen Plutonium, and maybe a Huey Lewis tune in our hearts. It's almost exactly a year ago, All Hallow's Eve, and a girl I dated (I know, right? How things change) is having her annual bash. Hey, I dated her for a reason and that reason is that she is unbelievably awesome and throws probably the best Halloween parties in the history of the universe.... ever. Like a predictable trollop, I arrive as a scantily clad red riding hood (see picture below YOU'RE WELCOME). My friends are cooloer than me (mario and princess peach, undead steve irwin and the stingray that killed him). Our hostess is Bloody Mary and the whole house is bathed in red light, covered in blood, and otherwise terrifying. Seriously, she actually destroyed her own apartment for the party because, apparently, she had been planning to redecorate anyway. I thought is was tremendously awesome. Plus, there's lots of booze. Moving on...

The hostess introduces me to her new boyfriend who is dressed up all army boy and, well, me like. But hey, that's her guy, and I seriously doubt he'll be into the gangly trannie anyway. He's nice though and already three sheets to the wind. He offers me a shot. And another. Then another. We talk, we laugh, but I excuse myself to go hang out with the homies I came with.

He comes looking for me because he wants me to drink more with him. Alright, why not? This can't possibly be going anywher, right? Right?!?! A few more shots are thrown back I should mention now that, even prior to my horrible deathly illness, I never was much of a drinker. So now I am beyond the pale, laughing hysterically, and drunk out of my mind. Recognizing the potential ills of this situation, I secret my way to our host's bedroom where it's agreed by all that perhaps I should rest my eyes for a bit and let the booze run it's course with as little movement from me as possible lest I make a mess on the floor.

He comes looking for me AGAIN because we need to keep drinking according to him. I tell him I can't posibly drink again and he leaves, dejected. Finally, I drift into blissful unconscious land.

I wake when people come in to smoke weed. I don't mind. I used to do my share of that too (don't tell mom!) although I'm always confused when people in their forties still do this stuff because I feel way too old for it now. Oh, well. You know me. I don't judge anyone unless they are republican ( I know, shame on me). Anyhoozle, so they do their thing and leave. I get a contact buzz but doze back off to sleep like Little Nemo... who is dressed up like slutty little red riding hood.

... some time later I start to come to. Feeling extremely groggy, I wonder at first what has roused me. All the lights in the bedroom are out and, as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I slowly begin to become aware of something. What is it? It's this strange sensation coming from behind me. A quietly turn my head to discover my ex's boyfriend is FONDLING MY ASS AND TOUCHING HIMSELF!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Clearly, I am having a very strange dream, yeah?

...Nah! It's for real. So I'm just staring at him, dumbfounded, because it's the dumbest thing I can imagine. Finally, he realizes I am wide awake. After a moment, he freaks out and runs out of the bedroom just in time for his girlfriend, my ex, to come walking in. "What the hell just happened?!" she asks. "I think your boyfriend was groping me in my sleep", I say still in total disbelief. Then, because I'm convinced I actually am still sleeping, I pass back out.

Two hours later I finally wake up of my own volition so I actually feel, you know, conscious. I walk out toward the toilet and run into my ex. "I don't suppose that was a dream, was it?" I ask. "Nope!" she replies, a mix of emotions on her face.

There's a coda to this story and that coda involves some punishment. My poor ex, who is a lovely woman, has experienced something that is, let's face it, kind of traumatic. A man whom she used to have sex with has become a woman who her current boyfriend unexpectedly lusted after, albeit in an inebriated state. If I were her, my head would be all owie. I mean I'm me and my head was all owie so there you go. So the punishment! I had to drive a friend home (relax, I was completely sober at this point). So I did what anyone would do, I instructed said friend to go to the car, grab my bag full of BOY CLOTHES from the trunk, and bring them to me. Baggy jeans? Check. Baggy, plaid, 90's style button up? Double check? The makeup, came off, the hair got tied back, and that's when we said our farewells. He looked HORRIFIED. I walked up to him, gruffed up my voice and pitched it as low as posible and said "Thanks, dude. I'll see you around." I smiled real big, and we left.

Best night of my life, people. I know that sounds dodgy but, seriously, for all the wrong that could have happened, it was the funniest thing ever. Even the bad stuff was good. It was the first time I actually felt like a legit girl to the world outside. Up until that moment I was just a boy in a dress as far as all those other people were concerned. But when that drunken dude made the moves well.... my ex definitely saw me as something she'd never expected me to be: a threat. And that's... well... that's AWESOME. Ha! I mean HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAA. It felt sooooo good to make a girl feel jealous. Go ahead and think I'm a bitch, I don't care. Hoo! Magnificent.

She stayed with him. He insisted that it was all just a joke. A joke, huh? Insert insulting comment about his penis here. I've seen him a few times since and he looks equally uncomfortable every time. He's such an ass. Imagine: had he played his cards right and not acted like a complete douche, he probably could've had both me and his girlfriend that night. Oh, well...



THE END.

no exit

I wish I had better news. Instead of getting better I'm getting more sick and no one knows why. The only thing I was told definitively is that, effective immediately, my hormone therapy is over which means my transition is over. I hope it won't be forever but, for now, I have no choice. I'm too sick to work and I'm too manly to pass without tons of drugs. So here I am; trapped with a willfully ignorant family and a prisoner in my own body. I'm a full time hermit now. Maybe I should start watching The Price is Right, Wheel of Fortune (the whitest show in whitey town), Jeopardy, and Matlock. I hear that's what people do while they wait for death. Unless one of you would be good enough to kill me? I'll give you a bright, shiny nickel...

blink, don't

... and now the explanation. I'm sure this seems bad, like I'm moving backwards. Here's what I know: moving backwards is impossible. We can only move forward and, it so happens, that this forward looks temporarily masculine. Why? Well, that's easy. Step one: get sick. Step two: lose tons of weight. Step three: stop taking all your pills and injections because you're body is too weak to handle them. Voila! I have more testosterone in my body now than I have in ages, possibly ever, hence looking male is kind of expected. At first I thought it was totally unfortunate but now I'm kind of fine with it so long as it is temporary. Besides it's autumn and I have no girl clothes for this season whereas I have lots of boy clothes for said same. Combine that with a steep economic decline making clothes shopping unwise and the fact that, as a guy, I'm actually kind of hot and you get where I am. How long will it last? Who can say, who can say...

I am (and knock on wood, if you can) feeling better and gaining some weight back. I plan to get an injection next week and within the next two or three to get back to normal on the pill front. I can't tell you what a difference all that junk makes. Well, you know, because you just watched it. Never fear! I'm the Doctor so I'll definitely survive. Everyone else might die and universe go boom but I'll still be here and isn't that what really matters?

a while, it just might be

I've become extremely redundant so it seems pointless to keep a journal, online or otherwise for now. I'm either just well enough to be extremely bitter or too sick to be anything but depressed to the point of tears. I don't want to write about either one or the other anymore and I'd be willing to bet you don't want to hear it. The simple fact is that some days are okay and some days aren't. There's no way of predicting which one I'll get until a few hours into being conscious. Either way I usually sleep most of the day away. I don't think about the future anymore. Until I find out whether or not there's some kind of treatment that can get me back to normal I'm afraid to have hope.

It's been a funny sort of life. Before this year it actually was pretty great despite all the wrong body feelings. Ask me about it sometime. There's a story or two worth telling. If all I have left are all my yesterdays I could have done a lot worse.

news, i gots none

Do yourself a little snoopy dance because the good news is, hey, I'm not dead. I won't hear anything back until the end of the coming week. Thus far though I have discovered that my health insurance, for which I pay $450 a month, is already denying my claims despite my having a very serious condition. Can someone please explain to me why it is that I pay through the nose for this service when they consistently opt to cover ABSOLUTELY NOTHING? They demand money of which I have none so, dear aetna, take a number and get in line, you blood sucking corporate tools.

I can sort of eat again. That's swell. Maybe, if we're all good little boys and girls, the higher power who consistently seems to take pleasure in tormenting me will go bother some other barely evolved primate for a while. Unless I'm reincarnated HITLER... I think I'm due a bit of a break, don't you?

Anyway, I managed to go out to a party and, even though I look like hell, I looked like hell in a skirt so nyah. Take that, stupid Chron's Disease. I don't care if I look like a drag queen now that I'm literally skin and bones. At least I'm skin and bones trying to look like a girl no matter how pitifully I fail.

In the spirit of "nyah Chron's" I'm going to spend some time at a friend's house today so at least I'm not solely in the company of a family who rejects me. So... yay? Sure. We'll go with yay. Why not? When life gives you poo you have to make poo-ade. Yum.

go lightly in to hell

I've officially lost over ten pounds. I have to tell you, if you can help it, don't need a colonoscopy. The prep for it is more than a little hellish. Also? Don't get Chron's disease because you lose like a third of your body weight. I haven't been this thin since I was like fifteen. Yeah... yeah. Yup. Uh huh. Hoo boy.

Think fondly of me for the next 24 hours or so, alright? I am really not doing so awesome and there's a good chance that this is just the tip of the iceberg.

shakespeare's tramlet

While I'm laying around not allowed to eat for two days so doctors can stick things in my mouth and ass (in that order, if I'm super lucky) on Friday, why not foolishly ponder what I would do if I were not, say for example, deathly ill with an incurable disease. Go back and checkout how well structured that run on sentence was. All done? Super. Have a tangent.

Late last night, as my mother and I enjoyed yet another one of our lovely "discussions" where she says I'm a sinner and I say she's an irredeemable idiot, my father began frothing at the mouth because "I contribute nothing" and "have no right to ever say anything against my parents who have done nothing but bend over backward for me, the most horrible child in the world". When I pointed out that both he and his wife were kiiiiiind of bigots he responded by saying "I can be a bigot if I want to be because this is my f*cking house and I don't like it" (and by "it" he means "all transsexuals everywhere"). Then he threw my guitar across the room that I've had since I was thirteen, smashing it so it's body has a huge crack in it. Thanks, dad. You're so right. What a great parent you've been. Thus the tangent ends. Exhuent.

I'm kind of angry. I feel like I've been very patient. Now I have this horrible illness which really feels like the last straw. I haven't been angry like this in a while. I guess mabe it's the sudden influx of testosterone back into my body? I have no idea. I need an outlet though. I want to start doing something creative again and I want to bring trans themes into what I'm doing. What do you think? Tranny punk rocker? Tranny playwright? Tranny novelist? I've got it! Tranny finger painting. Awe, yeah. You know you love it.

Well, there you have it. I'm blogging despite having nothing whatsoever to blog about. I'm just a pissed of tranny rebel without a clue. I'm bored. Being bedridden in a house full of transphobic meanies is zero fun. Cheer me up, peoples of the internet. Sing me a song and dance me a jig. I need. Have another picture from that night where I took the pictures that one time.


I'm looking at you....

video, you're not getting a

I promised a video update. I lied. Well, not lied so much as had the intention and then just didn't really have the opportunity. You have to understand that, now that I'm extremely ill, I have next to zero privacy. My mother walks through my door at least once an hour and, if she knew I made videos, I can't even begin to imagine how extreme her reaction would be. Sufficed to say I'd rather not find out. I'm just not strong enough to deal with her screaming at me on top of everything else. From where you're sitting it probably seems impossible that a mother would continue to deny her child the right to live the way they feel comfortable given the circumstances. All I can tell you is that my mother is possessed of very strong convictions and nothing in this world can change them.

I do want you to know know what's happening. I really appreciate that any of you take the time to care about me at all. There isn't much news to report. I went to the gastrointerologist on Monday. He thinks that, given all the evidence, I almost definitely have Chron's. I have an upper endoscopy and an colonoscopy scheduled for Friday. From the biopsy they remove a more formal diagnosis can be made.

It's important to remember that Chron's has a very broad spectrum. We don't know yet just how severe a case I might have. All I can tell you is that I'm still nauseous, still having *ahem* trouble digesting, and that I can only eat very light and bland foods. I've lost a lot of weight and it's a struggle for me to not lose more. It would seem I'm fighting a losing battle.

I want to write more but I can't. I wrote something like ten more paragraphs but they were angry, sullen, and ridiculously melodramatic. Sometimes I feel hopeful but that has become increasingly rare. I'm trying but it's hard. I wish I could move out but I'm so sick that I need near constant supervision. Why can't my mother just understand that I'm trans? Why can't she just try? Doesn't she understand that her stubbroness is literally killing me? Alright. That's more melodrama. I mean, I think it's also true but what's the point of going down this road? I've fought with her for my whole life. I should have moved out while I still had my health. Now I'm a prisoner. I swear if I somehow manage to get well the first thing I'm doing is leaving this place.

So... anyone have a couch I could crash on?

update, this is not an

You're all dying to know how chroney my Chron's is and how I'm handling it. Well color me in mysterious tones, people, because I'm saving the answers to those burning questions for (I hope) a new Tranny Hermit video on the Tubes of You possibly as early as sometime tonight. In the interim, I've decided to share with all you crazy trannies, natal laydays, and the mens who luuurve us (and the ones who spank it to me. Go on, spank away, Spanky. I don't mind. I love the taste of brie and detergent. mmmm.... anyway) my hair. I mean, in the end, I'm nothing if not totally, utterly, and completely superficial. Forgive me as I've lost a lot of weight and layers of makeup can't hide how gaunt I've gotten. I tried to cheat it out by using certain angles, lighting, blah, blah, yada, yada. The point is hair. Hairy hair hair hairenstein. I took a bunch of pictures and, sound the medievel trumpet, hears the best one (note: best does not equal good):


I totally want to have sex with my hair. It's the best my hair has ever looked. Now if only I could get over this whole "so sick it's worse than death" thing...

sick, no really though

There's almost nothing scarier than when, with seemingly infinite resources, no one can figure out what's physically wrong with me. I spent most of last night in the ER for the second time this year. An ultrasound was done, blood was taken, samples of the less delightful parts of myself were retrieved, and a C-T scan was done. Nothing. They gave me a bunch of generic answers and sent me home.

Then they called me and I discovered what's scarier than not knowing which, of course, is finding out that there might be something severely wrong with me. They think I have Chron's Disease which is an autoimmune disorder for which there is no cure. I'm waiting to hear from a gastrointerologist as to whether or not I should be admitted to the hospital or if I should wait until Monday for more tests.

There's nothing I can say right now. I can't breath and I can't stop crying.

job woes

Oh, what the hell...

I'm so tired of having no job and no hope for ever having a job I might like. I was so enthusiastic because io9 had two paid internships available. I thought there was no way I could get turned down for that. I mean I've been blogging for ages, I'm the hugest nerd in nerd land, and one of the main editors is a trans woman. What a perfect job. I guess my cover letter was just way too excited plus they probably thought I was too old to be an intern.

I'm just dying inside. I don't want to go back to just doing customer service work. I think I have a really natural, intelligent, and humorous writing style and nothing would make me happier than to have the opportunity to use it professionally. Am I too old to try to change careers though? I feel like I have so much working against me. The io9 job felt like it just fell in my lap, a perfect foot in the door and I blew it.

I wouldn't care so much if everything else in my life was always constantly falling apart. I just needed this one thing to go my way. This year keeps getting worse and worse. I'm kind of less sick, at least, but I'm having an upper endoscopy just so the doctor can check things out. Blah.

I'm getting my hair cut today. It's too long, all one length, ratty, and unmanageable. I'm thinking of going short. Here's Maggie Gylenhaal rocking what I'm going to go for:























Hopefully having short hair won't make me look more manly than I already do. I'd at least like my hair to cheer me up for once in my life. I really need it. I need something to go my way, even if it's something minor, you know. Can we rest, Buffy? Can we rest?

she's only sixteen

I'm totally listening to No Doubt while I type this because, oh mah GOD you guys... my mom is like a total bitch! Seriously, today was a total time warp for me. Sometimes I forget I'm old because my family has this tendency to treat me like I'm still in high school (hence my rocking out to Gwen Stefani). Granted I'm kind of due because I can get a little teenage drama especially since I'm hormonally out of whack these last few days.

So, like, anyways you guys... my mom was like totally coming up in my room and giving me shit because I was going to go to my endocrinlogist's today. She was all "I don't want you seeing him" and I was all "Idunwanyougointoseehimblahblahblah" because see I was imitating her and stuff. It was funny. Anyway so she was all "I'll take steps if you go" and I was all "I'm goin to take a shower MOM and when I come out of the shower I am going to dress like the biggest whore!!!!"

Ok. Are you getting tired of this? Me too. The story does read mostly like that. My mother thought that, since I was sick, I shouldn't get my scheduled injection but, since she was telling me and not asking me, I kind of flipped out. The end result of which was hurt feelings all around but an agreement to go to therapy together. I left a message on this doctor's machine but he hasn't called me back. I suddenly got a surge of self righteous anger and decided it was time to stake a claim over my own body, whatever that means. So I glammed it up in that not really that glamorous way that I do, threw my house keys in my mother's face declaring I was done, and stormed out of the house.

Then I came crawling back a few hours later because I'm still really sick and I kind of don't actually have a way to function right now since I, you know, can't eat. It was awesome.

That was my teenage style day. Tomorrow morning I'm hanging out with a gastrointerologist. I have so many doctor boyfriends! I'm like totally the other woman. Shower me with shiny things, doctor boyfriends. I demand it.

day four

I still can't eat. I tried to eat a little toast this morning and it went through me in less than five minutes. The symptoms are starting to pile up. I'm experiencing numbness in my extremities and, just when I woke up from my last nap, I noticed my right breast was extremely tender. An old symptom from about a year ago has resurfaced: my right breast is secreting blood. It's not good. It could be nothing like last time and go away on it's own but, when you're me, bloody boob always equals cancer of the everything.

It's hard not to get freaked out. I've spent a lot of this last year being sick. I'm sure the stress from family and friends isn't helping much. One of the most frustrating things about not being able to keep anything down is that I've had to stop taking all my pills. It's amazing how quickly all my work gets undone. Three days without stuffing myself full of chemical crap and the little softness I'd gained disappears only to be replaced with the hard, stiff muscular form that is my natural state. It's hard to forget that, when I look in the mirror, this reemerging male form is the real me. I can scream to the hills that I'm trans all I want but, at the end of the day, hormone therapy is just a choice, a way of coping with something that the world won't understand or accept. I'm part of the world, after all. I can't accept this, can't reconcile it. I look in the mirror and all I see is a rapidly aging and extremely unhealthy man.

My brain can tell me whatever it likes but it's hard to refute the facts at hand. No job, no money, no family, square jaw, strong arms, wide shoulders, narrow hips, big feet, big nose, protruding brow. You're a man, asshole. Just stop this foolishness. Don't you see where it's gotten you? You're constantly sick, nobody wants anything to do with you, and, to society, you're nothing more than a punchline.

I got a letter from someone I graduated high school with. He sent it to everyone we graduated with, I guess. It's all about how we're all about to turn thirty and how he's a financial adviser. He talks about how he's sure we all have jobs, families of our own, and are paying off houses that we live in. I don't have any of those things. I've been unemployed for nearly a year with no prospects in sight, I can't have a family, and I live with my parents despite the fact that, yes, I am about to turn thirty and, oh yeah, my parents fucking hate me.

I feel like my worst fears are about to be realized. I'm going to die a man that nobody loves. A man who accomplished nothing. I'm going to die a man. Nothing could ever be worse.

sick + fall tv = ANTM cycle 11

So the short version is I am sick. The longer version is that my sick is mysterious and unexplained. I've been nauseous for two days and it's reached the point where I literally cannot eat. Is it a stomach flu? Related to my TMJ? Body full of malignant tumors? Who knows. I'm going to go to some kind of doctor soon though because I can't live on water alone for very long.

In lieu of being perpetually bed ridden, can I please talk to you about America's Next Top Model? I very rarely watch "reality" television but, call my crazy, I was really curious to see how our girl, Isis, would fare as the first official transwoman in the competition.

The good news is that she is fucking awesome. I was shocked to discover that she is pre-op. I honestly never considered the possibility that she'd be anything but post because, being the pessimist I am, I didn't think the world was ready. The bad news, of course, is that the world is so not ready but, really, it's never going to be. Cue Isis to just be the most demure, confident, honest, and classy girl in the competition. Just because the world isn't ready for her doesn't mean she isn't going to put herself out there and demand to be respected. Girl knows her craft too. She knows how to find her light and she can walk way better than any of these other bitches.

It was hard hearing her talk about how she wishes she could have GRS today if she could because, like many of you, I'm growing very weary of being looked upon and thusly feeling like a birth defect. I totally get wanting a vagina, obviously, since I've mentioned like a zillion times that I'm totally on the V Train but I wish there weren't so much focus put on that aspect of her being a transsexual.

I can't blame Isis though. Girl knows what she wants. I do, however, take huge issue with the girls who went out of their way to torment her. In the middle of her shoot these catty, classless whores were saying "better shave that beard" and all other sorts of slanderous and transphobic things. Do you realize you are on network television, ladies? Your families must be so ashamed of you for acting so hateful and ignorantly in frot of millions of people.

That is to speak nothing of the scene by the hot tub where two of the contestants felt it important to not only insist that they are justified in feeling uncomfortable around a transsexual but that the concept of people like us getting shot in the street isn't bigoted... it's traditional. I shit. you. not. How do these degenerates expect to function in the fashion industry of all places with an attitude like that?

But the good news is that Isis is amazing. She has no agenda whatsoever other than to be a great model and I find that refreshing. If people ask her questions, she'll answer but girl's eyes are on the prize. Even if you've never watched America's Next Top Model before, I think you should seriously check it out. Isis is a star and just watching how strong she is will make you feel good. Here she is looking fabulous:

come back!!!

Wow. What happened? I swear it wasn't that long ago that people would read and comment on my journal. Where didst thou go? Did I say a bad thing? Am I emitting an unpleasant smell? Am I not trannie enough? What can I do to restore my mediocre internet celebrity?

... anyway. Check this out. There is a website that can twenty three skadoo you a faux yearbook pic throughout the ages. It's kind of hilarious. Here's a picture of one I did that represents the style of those graduating high school in 2000 (I graduated in '98, but this one was the best for actually looking, you know, real):


Alright, maybe not really real. But not bad. Just think: that could have been me if I was born right and two years later. You'd totally do her, right? I mean you'd have to be super crazy beer goggle time, sure, but... doable? Maybe? Eh? A little? Un poquito bangability-o?

You should totally click on the picture which will magically wisk you away to the website in question. Make your own picture, post it, and feel as assinine as I do right now. It's.... fun?

whoopsy daisy

Here's a lesson I learned: sometimes when you put a lot of things on your face in an attempt to reverse the rapid aging process you, uh... well? Sometimes your face gets burned. BADLY. So much so that you won't leave the house because your face is red, peeling like crazy, and has all new wrinkles and scars you were kind of trying to avoid. Yeah... why did I do that? Not good. I was going to make a video that celebrated my suckering over 100 people in to subscribing to my videos but that's going to have to wait until I look less like your grandma spent way too much time in the tanning beds.

Meanwhile, since I could not sit around being vain, I got my politics on. I'd be very interested to see how you all are feeling post DNC. I have a lot to say but I don't want to write out a huge post only to discover I've put you all to sleep. For now I'll keep it simple:

Obama = good

McCain = bad

Clintonites = get over it

Biden = you're alright crusty, old, white dude

Palin = you are not Hillary Clinton, bitch

Actually, I'm patting myself on the back right now and saying "Kick ass summary, Lily. You sure are awesome." Yes, me. Yes, I am.

all the ladies in the house say wtfbbq!?

Oh, stupid marketing how, you know.... stupid you are. I mean I get how it's hard for society to give up on the whole blue is for boys and pink is for girls thing but there are days when the line just gets crossed in a way that is simultaneously extremely offensive and incredibly hilarious. You just never know what product might suddenly and inexplicably be geared toward the women folk. Oh, look, I brought a picture for show and tell:


Just take a minute to soak that image in. Do you see what I see? I mean am I delirious and loopy crazy hoo hoo insane-o? I can't be seeing what I'm seeing, can I? Are they for serious trying to sell me their sleeping pills by titling their product "Sleep Pretty in Pink" and making the box shaped like a pink purse with flowers on it?

Does this work for any of you? Can you think of a single woman on the face of the Earth who would look at the pretty sleeping pills and think "sold"? I don't know who the brain trust is who cooked up this scheme but, if they could see me now, they would most assuredly bear witness to my slowly and sarcastically clapping and saying something like "Oh, bravo, sir. Bra....vo."

thanks, man

Oh, poo. I was feeling alright today, United Water guy, until you came into my life and ruined the day. I mean, I get it, I'm no sweetly perfumed girlie girl but was it really necessary for your salutation to be "Thanks, man"? Was it? Me and my skinny jeans and my clearly visible breasts. Me and my long, curly hair and my cute glasses and my pouty lips. Man? Man!?

I'm so jealous of every other trans girl who visits this site. You all have your nice stories where, even when you aren't trying, people look at you and see a girl. Not me, though. Not once. It's always "Hey, dude" or "Yes, sir". What's it gonna take, huh? A gazillion dollars in plastic surgery? I don't have the money for that, you glorified plumber so, unless you're secretly a billionaire and looking to make a sizable donation to this pathetic looking tranny couldn't you have just lived in my little delusion for the two seconds it would have taken to call me miss or even ma'am? I would have taken ma'am. Ma'am would have been nice.

Totally unrelated: Am I the only one here who has seen Enchanted? Oh, my goodness.... so good! So, so good. And I'm not just saying that because the lead, Amy Addams, happened to appear in a single episode of Buffy, honest. I guess if you're all anti Disney princess you might not like it but, oh, I loved it! It's on tv like constantly so DVR it right away (or, if you don't have a tv, download it for I will accept no excuses). It's on again later tonight and I am totally watching it again. Hopefully the musical goodness of it all will wash the taste of being called a man out of my mouth.

Seriously, the tiniest things send me into harrowing depression these days. I mean I've heard of being a moody bitch but this is just ridiculous!

The Tranny Racoon

Query: What other side effects can spiro have? I had to stop taking it a few months back because I was experiencing the dizziness coupled with numbness and tingling in my extremities. I went back on it recently and discovered that my ability to sleep went from abysmal to nonexistent. I stopped taking it again but I'm not sure if it's helping. Anyone ever heard of spiro making people stressed/depressed/unable to sleep?

Query the second: Anybody know a good cure for horrific insomnia? I can't sleep for more than an hour at a time and that is having some seriously bad consequences. On the vanity tip, I have aged about ten years in the last few weeks (my eyes are surrounded in wrinkles, bags, and the black circles look like black holes on my face). I really need to be able to sleep again. Really.

Overall update:

More familial nonsense is afoot. I had an emotional breakdown because of the not sleeping thing a few days ago. I told my mother that I was becoming concerned for my physical and mental well being and that, when I lay awake at five in the morning, it has not become uncommon for me to consider suicide (a word I loathe using because it screams 'high school drama' like none other). She turned it into an opportunity to remind me how great my life would have been if I wasn't "taking all those fucking pills", "ruining my life", and, just to finish off she exclaimed "you piss me off so much" before storming off and slamming the door in my face.

Can I ask all of you a question? When someone says that they think about killing themselves... is the correct response to yell at them and tell them that their problems are all their own fault? I feel like I must have missed a memo here. I mean I get that there's conflict which leads to frustration and strained relations but, I mean, what ever happened to being a shoulder to cry on? I seem to recall having supportive family and friends and now all I hear is this chant of "be a grown up, you made this bed now lie in it, we have no sympathy for you, you ruined the family/you aren't fun to hang out with anymore" and it's just deafening and there's no escape from it. I lay awake all night and stress about how my life is going nowhere and, when I do get a few minutes of sleep, I have nightmares about being alone and everyone hating me.

I'm slipping backwards. My get a job and move out plan has been scrapped in favor of trying to figure out how to sleep for more than an hour at a stretch. Sleeping shouldn't be this hard. Without sleep I can't do anything. I can't think straight, I can't move, I feel sick all the time, and I'm so miserable I just cry all day. What am I supposed to do? Where's the solution?

Bleak, bleak, bleak. I haven't bothered trying to look like a girl in weeks (I practically had a full on beard before I finally shaved). I stare at my breasts with the knowledge that they don't hurt anymore and that probably means they are done growing. A pair of double A's... swell. I look gaunt, hard, MANLY, and revolting. Years of hormones and my arm muscles are so huge I feel like I should be wearing a shirt that says "Gold's Gym" on the front.

Remember when I was happy at the beginning of this blog? Honestly, I think my inability to sleep is the reason everything else feels so awful. If anyone has any tricks they know of then please, please, PLEASE don't hesitate to share them. I'm beginning to think my sanity may be at stake.

sleep, no you're never gonna get it

I had a plan to write something very serious about stealth and why it's bad for the environment... or bad for fluffy bunnies... definitely bad for something BUT then I took powdery stuff my doctor gave me, put it in this drinky drink, and then dranky drank it. The powdery stuff is tryptophan and a whole mess of it too. You know what tryptophan is, right? It's the stuff that's in the thanksgiving turkey that makes you come over all sleepy satisfied. You see it raises your serotonin levels and mine have, well, I think I've been lacking some serotoniny goodness. That's the stuff that makes with the happy. It's why people take anti-depressants. I should probably take anti-depressants... but that's neither here nor there. The point is I am giggly. I'm not sleepy. Sleepy would be best but am I the sort of someone to turn away giggly? No siree bob. Not I, said the bear. I likes it! I gives it a hug. I smoosh you, sir giggles.

Hey! You! Yes, you. You should watch the Middleman cuz it's silly and I like it. Go torrent it right now. Well, not right now. I'm still talking. How rude... Do you think I should take anti-depressants? I dunno, hoss. I'm scared of them. My doctor said I looked "stressed" today which is doctor speak for "HO! You look like SHIT!". Then I was all "I did glance in a mirror on my way out the door, home slice. You don't have tell me I got kapowed! repeatedly by the ugly stick today." Then I went home. It's an eventful life, mine.

I have tinnitus. Did I mention that? It's the other reason I can't sleep. There's this loud ringing in both my ears and it's never ever going away. It's not the coolest surprise early birthday present I ever got and no one gave me the receipt so now I'm stuck with it because it's not really the sort of thing you regift, ya know?

I shouldn't post this but I'm going to anyway. Think of this as a glimpse into my subconscious and, turns out, my subconscious can on occasion be a bouncy castle of fun. Who knew? Whee!

ridiculous

So, hey...

I realize I've been extremely doom and gloom up in here which has probably led to either lots of worry or much with the rolling of eyes. Today was shaping up to be another all new low, full of moaning and crying and some third not good -ing thing. Let me tell you the stupid thing that happened that brought me out of it.

You all know I'm Buffy obsessed, right? I've made that pretty clear, haven't I, what with the fests and all? It shouldn't surprise you that I planned to comfort myself with watching of the show and eating of the cream that is iced then. Sure, you might scratch your head when I say I chose Season 4 of all things to indulge my craving but, hey, I haven't watched much of it other than the Faith two parter (love it!) in a really long time. Anyway, I hunkered down, pint in hand, and started right at the beginning with the crappy season opener and the roommate who listens to Cher's "Do you believe?" over and over again. Yeah... not the best of Buffy times but, you know, it's still Buffy getting her slay on and being my hero so it's all good in the Whedon hood.

Then I start getting really down. I'm in one of those "Why can't I be Buffy?" moods. It doesn't take a whole lot of extended thought to realize that what I really want is to be 5'1", 95 pounds, blonde, and be boinking the undead (the broody one, if you were wondering where my ship sailed*). So anyway, I start getting mopier than Willow right after Oz slept with Veruca, the skanky werewolf of doom and bad 90's music (kind of the same thing, no?) but there's something amiss. I'm watching Buffy be romanced and I'm wanting so badly to be her and then I realize that this is season 4... and that means I am wanting to be seduced by Riley. FUCKING. Finn. Oh, hells no!

That right there? Snapped me right out of my funk. I was pining for Mr. Potato Head (long story) and that was just, well, crazy. I could justify any of the other major Buffy beaus but him? No. No way. Nah-ah. Nix. Nein. Noooooooooooooo.....oooooooo. No.

And, just like that, the pendulum swung back towards happy and all it took was some serious Marc Blucas mockery. So when you think of me tonight, think of me as I am when there's Buffy afoot: full of glee and just a little glib when the corn fed Iowa boy is involved. Observe:


I'm the one on the right, just in case you got confused and thought I suddenly grew a pair of massive boobs. Alas, no boobs for me. And, you know what? Have another just so it seems like I occasionally have friends to hang out with.


See that? Not one, but two other people! it's almost as though *gasp* I have a social life. Almost... le sigh.




* if you are into the Spuffy... we're gonna have to have words.

the answer

I've been lost in thought for weeks, trying to sort out every little detail of my life and worrying about the lives of those around me. I lost a bunch of weight, moped around, and I found myself only flirting with the truth and never quite feeling the full warmth of its embrace. Who am I, after all, to know the face of truth when even the fibrous strands that hold my atoms together feel uncertain, as though they may, at any second, rip apart and scatter? My truth is that I am lost with no way of knowing which way is out. I shift my feet in the darkness hoping not to crash into something, fall into a ravine, or accidentally stalk into the cave of a beast, hungry for my tears and flesh.

My world used to be so bright, so full of people, anxious and energetic, wanting to share the spoils of whatever the world had to offer. I was part of so many beautiful somethings and someones. I felt full. There was just one tiny problem: my flesh did not conform to what my mind's eye knew it should. How can one reshape, transform, regenerate without losing all the beautiful somethings and someones? There's no choice in the end, not for the one whose shape shifts, only for the world around them. We change and the world also changes but not, I fear, always with us; and so it was with me that my world faded away so quickly that not even a single breath with which to plead it's company could pass my lips. All that light, all that beauty gone and I was left paralyzed and dumb mouthing only the word "why" between choked sobs.

Now everything is as shadows, no way to discern safety from danger. Even the kindest soul could be a monster in disguise yet I have been led to believe that it is I who is monstrous. I feel their stares like daggers, their laughter like hot fire, and their pity like ice in my veins. With nowhere left to hide I have only to wait until the throngs of angry people, of whom I once was numbered, finally grow weary of looking at my shameful form and tear me apart, piece by piece just slowly enough so that the agony will carry with me into oblivion.

Or should I save them the trouble? Is there no other safety but in death? Or will the light return as a soldier from a far off war in need of my bosom and my tender kisses? Do I dare to dream that there is something beyond this seemingly endless agony, this emptiness? How far can hope carry my heavy burden before even it leaves me?

muse-ik

So... the videos are gettin' a little sparse up in here, huh? Well, that's what zero self worth and an unhealthy self image will do, I suppose. But, hey. Can't very well leave you hangin', now can I? So, other than anger, what's happening?

The answer is, as usual, not much. The one piece of good news is that I was approved for extended unemployment which will help me to not die while I continue looking for work. The other thing is that I'm trying to be ever so slightly more creative again. I can't remember if I ever mentioned it in the past but I did used to play the guitar and write songs once upon a time ago. Last night I dug out the trusty acoustic in hopes that the muse might strike. So far I've got an opening chord progression and about two lines of lyrics. Not much, I know, but it's more than I've done in many, many years.

In an effort to push myself forward I'm going to share an old song that I wrote after quietly watching Lake Michigan with a few friends at night on a late autumn evening. I don't know why, but I absolutely love that body of water. I live nowhere near it but I'd travel the 700 miles just to sit at it's shores for an hour or two. The song is about the lake, death, and renewal. It also sucks, I can't sing, and I'm fairly certain a cheap casio was involved. Consider this a special blog only gem. I don't really want to subject myself to the abject mockery that posting this on you tube would bring. So, here you go.




be gentle...

wag of the finger, tip of the hat

A recent curiosity turned into outrage over the absolutely vile behavior of some women on a particular forum that shall go nameless. It was bad enough that a fellow transwoman was being accused of being an impostor but, upon further examination, it seems that much of this entire site is dedicated to bashing on one's own kind. I had thought that the absolute humiliation we all experience would breed, you know, humility. Apparently though, some of our sisters in stealth seem to think that their shit doesn't stink.

Since when does anyone inside or outside of this community have the right to dictate how a transsexual woman should behave, what she should look like, think like, or be in any sense of the word? Since when did the word "success" become inexorably linked with something so arbitrary as passing? Some of us can't pass! Does that preclude us from the ability to be successful? I'm real sorry that I didn't come to terms with my identity until I was nearly thirty. I'm sorry I don't have a favorable bone structure or body type for transition. Even if I had thirty grand lying around I don't even know if I would opt for blowing all that money on FFS because, crazy me, I think there might be more to life than having a pretty face. I don't have a light sing songy voice and when I wear heels I have a tendency to fall flat on my ass. So what?

What really gets me though is that it's not simply the denial that one can be successful without being some charm school ninny, it's that the very right to be considered transsexual gets called into question. I saw someone referred to as a "glorified, full time crossdresser". Why? It was because her face was "manly". "Why didn't she get FFS?" so many wondered? Maybe it's because she feels confident when she looks in the mirror. Just because you think someone is all dude all the time doesn't mean they aren't perfectly happy with themselves.

This is why, even if I had a penny to my name, I'd be hard pressed to have much in the way of surgery. I'd like to not have a giant, pointy adam's apple and I'd like a shiny new vagingo. That's it. No muss, no fuss. Sure, anyone taking even a cursory glance at me would recommend breast augmentation, FFS, and who knows what else. The thing is, those surgeries wouldn't make me feel any better. My pain comes from the inside, from being abandoned by friends and family, from the years of denial and shame. Surgery won't make that go away. I hate looking in the mirror and seeing a man stare back at me. It frustrates me that I get dirty looks, stares, and stifled laughter as I walk down the street or take the subway. What really hurts though is the damage already done. Even if I were gorgeous I would still be miserable because I hate myself. I blame myself for the unhappiness of others. I see myself as a failure not because I don't pass but because I'm too weak to try and make anything from myself by even taking one step out the front door.

If, one shiny day, I live in my own place, have full time work, am a full time girl, and lead a happy existence; only then will I consider additional surgeries. If I do it then I won't be doing it so I can feel normal or successful but simply because it's what I want and not what others expect of me. It's a scary world out there full of hardships and complications, the last thing we as a community should be doing is insulting each other and making up arbitrary rules for how to be a real transsexual. There are no rules. You are who you are and no one can take that away from you but yourself.

On a personal note: thanks to all of you in the blogosphere and on You Tube for being so kind. I'm so sorry if you wrote me and I haven't responded. I'm terribly depressed and unsure of how to take the next important steps in my life. I'm still here though for each and every one of you. You'll never receive anything but love and compassion here, no judgments.

The Tranny Hermit: Why so serious?

Seems like these journal entries meant to coincide with my videos grow later and later. For the sake of habit, let's throw the video up here and then explore what wasn't said.



I'm warning you now, you are not going to like what I have to say. I hate that I even have to say it but, for now, this blog has become my best way to share what I'm feeling; especially when I have something difficult I'm struggling to cope with. You might have noticed that, for a girl who is facing some extra strength stress, I seemed oddly subdued, almost peaceful in my video. Oh, sure, my sadness was as plain as day but you probably found yourself wondering "Where's the breakdown?" or "How does she really feel? if only because I was a little too calm and accepting.

The truth is I, sensibly, waited a good while before recording that video. When everything first happened I was not quite so reasonable. I felt something I haven't felt in years: rage. I have to say that estrogen and testosterone blockers have done a world of good in that department. There may be a whole host of new emotions that wash over me nowadays but rage? That, uh, that one managed to fall far into the background. There used to be a time when rage was more or less all I ever felt.

You know my mother... she thinks if she pushes the girl down far enough that her little boy will resurface. The truth is that I nearly gave her the power to accomplish the first half. That little boy though? He's gone; never existed really. There's something else there though, something I tried so hard to forget.

You saw that new Batman movie, right? You know the guy with the scars and the makeup wearing the purple suit? He used to be my hero. I just deleted the rest of this paragraph. I hope you can understand. There's some madness that's best left unknown.

The point is that I scared myself, really scared myself. I felt certain impulses that should lie dormant. I thought I was over this. Without testosterone there oughtn't be wrathful aggression, right? When I look in the mirror though I see a dark and insidious reflection stare back at me just for an instant before it darts back into the deepest roots of my psyche.

I hope I'll be passed this in a few days time. For now I just need to stay goal oriented: job, money, move. I can only hope that, once I'm out of this house, some of these old demons will be gone for good.

post, belated

So even though most of you have likely already partaken of the most recent episode of the Tranny Hermit, I am going to post it here anyway because, hey, why not? Here you go:



I mention in this video that I've been feeling much better emotionally, but I have kind of been glossing over certain physical issues that have been going on. I really don't want to talk about those in video format so I figure, hey, that's what blogging is for, right?

I don't know if I've ever said this but, if you're young and confused, don't transition the way I've been doing it. I are not smart. Before I get into what's plaguing me these days, please allow me to give you a little background. I know there's an overall assumption that transition is very new to me. The truth is, I have been taking hormones in drips and drabs for nearly three years now. You might be thinking to yourself "Who takes hormones but doesn't actually transition?" That, uh, that would be me. Yeah. Have I mentioned how stupid I am? Moving on.

While I'm no fan of the gatekeeper mentality, there are certain rules in place for a reason. For example, you should get a gender therapist. I don't have one of those and that is a big, big, HUGE mistake. It's not that I ever have any doubts that I'm a transsexual. The problems extend from two places. The first is that I've had no place to talk through all the feelings I've had and the second is that I have no access now to major surgery some of which I kind of need.

You're probably thinking to yourself, "Lily... did you get your hormones from the internets?" and the answer to that, thankfully, is no. However I'm sure many of you would find it morally questionable that an endocrinologist would so freely dole out estrogen and testosterone blockers to anyone who shows up to their office. The real trouble is that my endo is... well, he can be sort of apathetic. Case in point: when premarin proved to be a little too rough on my body he switched me to a plant estrogen called Ogen. Let me give you a little insight: Ogen isn't worth shit. It did nothing for me other than probably damage the hell out of my innards and I took it for something like two and a half years. Also? I was supposed to get a shot every other week but, uh, I've been poor in my life and my endo insists on being the one to inject me. So, yeah. I only got a shot once every other month or so.

Bad. Not good. The physical changes were minimal, I had no emotional way of reaching out, and so I damaged my body and mind. I wasn't transitioning either. Not even a little bit. Was I insane? I guess, kinda, yeah, although I think "stupid moron" fits the bill a bit better.

Fast forward to January '08 and I finally thought "Maybe I should start taking this seriously". I went back on the premarin, got my biweekly shots, and tagged on some flutamide for those hard to reach testosterone areas. I start to actually transition publicly, tell some of my family what's going on, come up with a new name, switch the pronouns, yada yada. Party. Except there's this problem. Physically, I look identical to my grandmother. I mean I am like a carbon copy of her which is swell except for the fact that she has had cancer on more than one occasion.

So, as the months pass, I think to myself "Self, maybe this is fucking dangerous what I'm doing here". I pushed passed those thoughts though because, honestly, my hypochondria can be kind of epic. But then it started. The random discomfort like my body was achey but in very concentrated areas. It started on my side but eventually I started to notice it all along my lower body. Some days it's been difficult to walk. This week I noticed the discomfort in my stomach and I can feel a lump there. There are lumps in a few places on my body. I mentioned the discomfort on my side a month or so back to my endo but he insisted it was all good in the tranny hood and not to worry about it.

I'm really worried though. What if I'm choc full o' tumors? I don't mean to say it so nonchalantly but, fuck dudes, I seriously do not want to die. If I'd been to a therapist I could talk to them about it but instead all I have is Captain Whatever the endocrinologist who thinks I'm fine. I'll be seeing him on Monday and I'm going to bring it up again.

I don't mean to worry people but I am just a little panicked about this situation. I try to keep it out of my mind but it's hard. If only I'd had a gender therapist I could have had an orchiectomy by now instead of pumping myself full of pills putting myself at risk. Oye. I apologize. I literally have no place else to vent this. My mother has literally said that if I die then it's my own damned fault so I'm kind of facing the potential consequences alone.

Sigh... at least Buffyfest is this weekend. Hopefully I can distract myself until Monday. I'll keep you all updated as soon as I figure out more.

videos, oh yeah

I went back to the well and did a response video to Winwin's Quirkaliciousness Video (and Part 2) because, hey, maybe you thought I wasn't quirky enough. For those of you doubters, please feel free to enjoy a video wherein I show a further glimpse of how odd I may be.



Not really anything moving or serious to add to this video other than that all of it is 100% true. I really did wear my Doctor Who scarf everywhere. In fact, I am part of a Doctor Who group that gets together twice a month (this is what passes for a social activity on Planet Lily).

Alright, I never wanted to change my name to Buffy. I did, however, want to change it to Cordelia Chase. Can you blame me? Bitch is fierce!

videos forthcoming

Alright! Time to get back to business. Well, almost. I'll do it later. What? I'm a procrastinator! How else do you explain middle aged transitioning? Yeesh...

But, seriously, a big thank you to every single one of you for taking the time to comment and share warm, friendly words, give advice, and just be really genuinely caring. I've spent so many years quietly going it alone that I never imagined how wonderful it would be to have others around who actually understood all the insanity going through my hormone addled brain. My whole outlook is much improved and it's all thanks to you.

So, what's new? Anything? Nothing much on my end, really. I'm very anxiously awaiting to hear whether or not I'll be receiving extended unemployment benefits. I'm almost completely broke and the job market sucks even if you aren't straddling the gender chasm. The truth is that I won't be homeless and I won't be starving because, *ahem*, I am living with my family. The downside is that, uh, they kind of hate me (A transsexual whose parents think she's an abomination? Unheard of!) and no money means no hormones or testosterone blockers. That's bad. That's oh so very, very bad. Intensely bad. Not good. Yeah. So, I'm just a little stressed about that. Anyone living in the New York area that knows where I can get any kind of employment, give a tranny a shout, would ya?

With that in mind I am, for the most part, living the hardcore hermit lifestyle. It's kind of difficult to go out and do things when you don't have a penny to your name. I am, however, forcing myself to partake of occasional weekend excursions. This weekend my friends are hosting our annual Buffyfest down at their beach house. Aside from the minimal cash that needs spending, it's also one of the things I most look forward to each year. It's a nice excuse to get together, eat, get drunk, and watch episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer which is quite possibly the greatest television show ever.

Yes, these are the same friends who have kind of been walking a thin line with me lately but, good news, they are working on it. I anticipate a lack of misery inducing commentary this weekend. Yay! No misery is my favorite thing. I'm also hoping to take some video of the event to share with all of you so it will seem as though I occasionally have a life.

And while I'm on a Buffy bend: did you know that I contribute to a Buffy related blog? It's true and oh so pathetic! But also awesome. Feel free, if you are a Buffy fan, to take a gander every now and again. I'm usually not big on posting there but, lately, I've been on a kick and, if you are jonesing for a little more Lily in your life then the Buffyfest Blog is the way to go. There are awful, old pictures of me and even some videos (gasp!) lurking somewhere in them thar pages.

That, I suppose, is all for now. Thank you all again for being super, awesome, amazing, wonderful, awesome again, internet homies! I don't know what I'd do without you. Mwah!

Edit: Oh, alright. Here's an idea of the shenanigans I get into when I'm on that other blog.

videos: where they at?

Look, this is going to be one of those 'being a transsexual woman is soooooooo hard' kind of posts. I know I said I would be positive but I lied. Oh boy. Liar. Hoo...

Does anyone have an ego they could spare; specifically one that is not so fragile that anything can smash it into a zillion pieces on the floor? Cuz yeah... I could do with one of those this morning. It's not that I never have confidence or even that I don't feel grand on the inside; it's the outside that's a problem. You wanna quick return with me to last night to review before I pity party all over this piece? Sure, you do. Set the wayback machine, Mister Peabody.

Burlesque shows are pretty awesome. I say this in hindsight having put off going to see this group perform despite two friends of mine begging me to come see for months now. I relented last night because they had roped basically everyone I knew into attending. When I got there I discovered something shockingly good. First off I haven't seen some of these people in some time which means I hadn't really gotten around to enforcing the ol' gender pronoun switcheroo yet. Guess what? Someone sent out an email filling everyone in and it wasn't me. Imagine my surprise when, before I got the chance to say a word, everyone was just gendering me correctly. That was pretty darn swell. A small victory dance was done.

The show was super awesome amazing drake's cakes of joy. I mean I don't care about another girl's boobs but there's something very empowering about women of all shapes being totally confident in the beauty of their bodies and the power of their minds even when, perhaps, the dudes in the crowd are not thinking about said minds. They exuded a kind of power that I haven't felt inside of myself but, watching them, I was hopeful that one day I would. I'm not planning to be in a burlesque show by any means but, uh.... yeah. I'd like to feel confident enough to feel like parading around naked is an option without spectators oscillating between horking and laughing at me.

I'm digressing. The show ends, we leave, yada yada. It's late and one of my friends and I are still awake and we're talking about the sort of random things people talk about at four in the morning. I'm showing her a picture of my friend in England because she is so incredibly beautiful and I am jealous of her. We happen upon another picture on this girl's facebook (yeah, I know) of me from this past Christmas. My friend comments "I don't know what it is but you really do look so different." Okay. I was still in boy mode back in those days so this sounds promising... She continues: "because that's definitely a boy in this picture but now...". Yes, yes. Validate me! I was feeling really good and pretty tonight but I love validation. But then she says "I mean, no offense, you don't look like a girl BUT...". And you know what? The rest of that sentence? Yeah. It doesn't matter.

The most horrible thing that can be said has very nonchalantly fallen out of her mouth and I am wishing for sweet death to slit my throat and make this crappy miserable existence over. Why would anyone ever say such a thing? I had been so happy that whole night. I finally felt like things were falling into place. Nope! No matter how far I've come, no matter what has changed inside of me, I will always still look like a boy on the outside. Nice. Awesome. Fucking great. Thanks. Anyone want to donate to the "FFS for Lily because she has supreme DUDE face Fund"?

But it doesn't end there! Why should it? I was happy and I think we all know that's not allowed to happen. I go home, I sign online, and another friend who was at the burlesque show messages me immediately. She wants to talk about a musical thing, I now am desperate for validation like I am a validation vampire. I tell her what was said and, rather than having the decency to lie (is it that much to ask?) she instead more or less confirms the truth of my dude face and then proceeds to launch into a whole diatribe about how she thinks I am behaving too differently, that I have changed too much. The term 'dissociative identity disorder' rears it's ugly head. God forbid I feel confident enough to exude the femininity that long lurked within. No, it's the hormones. They've "changed me too much" and it's "not natural". Swell. Not only do I look like a dude but my feminine gender expression? It's a put on. And not just any put on. It's a wrap you in a straight jacket, put you in a padded room, and pump you full of anti-psychotics kind of put on.

Let me wax philosophical with you and have you ponder the following with me: What the fuck? What the fucking fuck? Fuckity fuck fuck jujubees. I just want to be pretty and to be treated like I am a girl. Is it so much to ask from people who are supposed to be my friends?

So videos? Yeah. You won't be seeing any for a little while because I am overcome with shame of the way I look. I hope I'll get over this but words really hurt. They put me back in my place; mind, body, and soul.

P.S. and then my grandmother called and left a message just now telling me to stop being so ridiculous and go back to being a boy. Nice. When it rains, baby... well, you know the rest.

A New Blog Rises

Welcome, weary traveler!

With any luck, you've stumbled across this site thanks in part (OK, thanks completely) to a certain Girl of the Rift variety. I'm excited you're here. So excited am I that I'm making this extraneous blog post just for you. Don't you just feel all warm and special?

A lot of what you'll see here can be a little Tranny 101 at times but I hope that it will resonate with you no matter where in the trans spectrum you find yourself. You should *hint hint* absolutely subscribe to my You Tube page. Why? Well, two reasons. One, I crave validation. Two? Um... alright that first one mostly covers it. Oh! OK! Two: Not every video I make will appear simultaneously on this fine blog. Only videos that pertain to something that involves transition, life as a trans woman, or anything else of a serious variety will be posted here. That leaves those other videos I make to appear solely on You Tube. How will you know the difference? Simple, my friend. Look for the hat. Allow me to illustrate:


There! You see that? That's how you'll always know. If I'm wearing that hat, only the most ridiculous nonsensical things will flow freely from my gob. Why am I eating the hat? I was hungry! You know how it is. You're hard up for cash, haven't eaten in a while... hey that hat looks TASTY. I know you understand.

Anyway! Welcome again. Feel free to peruse the archives, such as they are (I only just started) and I look forward to doing many funny blog dances for you in the future!

Tranny Hermit: Supplemental

Mission (sort of) accomplished!

I just uploaded a video wherein I, shock of shocks, indulge in the sharing of a little of my personal thoughts on an issue or three of my transition. For a few reasons, I'm adjoining with that video, and all videos going forward, a corresponding journal entry. These videos of mine can be at times random and, I suspect, sporadic. I want to go into further detail and the written word just works better for me, degree in English and all that.

Here's the video first:




Watched it? Okay, awesome.

My friend who I talk about in this video is a wonderful and amazing person. He was my best friend in high school and much of college and is someone who I trust almost more than anyone. That being said we had a talk and I suspect it is a talk that many of you have had before. I thanked him for how supportive he has been but we both mutually accepted that there are limitations to his understanding of my circumstances, the most obvious of which is that he still misgenders me even though, as a super intelligent boy, he should know better. I can tell that some of this will always be hard for him. I try to joke about certain things most notably my newfound attraction toward men with little success. I thought it would be funny to assure him that he is only moderately more attractive to me now than he was the last time I saw him. He was kind of repulsed by this sort of talk and that... ah, it's hard. We used to be some comfortable with one another. I don't want things to be weird but weird things will be, says I in Yoda speak.

I know that his usage of male pronoun stems from habit but I also suspect it is a result of his desire for things to be as they were, a sentiment shared by more than one person I am either friends with or, uh, used to be friends with, shall we say. Mix that in with my own feelings of self doubt and you have a real recipe for 'woe is me'. I don't like feeling that way because it keeps me locked up in a house alone and resentful of others who aren't all gung ho about my struggling attempts at transition.

Something else happened while we were having our little walkabout in Manhattan. There was this guy sitting on a stoop (henceforth called "Stoop Kid" because I actually kind of liked "Hey, Arnold!") who was staring at me as we walked down the street. It wasn't a nice stare. It was a disgusted, "who the fuck do you think you are?" kind of stare. You know the one. You've gotten it before. Moving on. After we walked passed Stoop Kid, I could feel his eyes on the back of my neck. Finally, I whipped around. He still had that nasty face seemingly permanently screwed on. I looked back fiercely, stuck my neck out and was all "What? Go ahead. Fucking say it. I dare you." I didn't say these things, but, you know, body language. Stoop Kid got the point and we kept walking.

That's the way I like feeling. Defiant. Proud. Powerful. In that moment I had this strong sense that no one could keep me down. About five minutes later that feeling was completely blown when I realized that the humidity had melted my makeup, opened my pores, and exposed the fact that, well, the hair on my face is something I have not yet dealt with. Feeling like the bearded fucking lady I put my tail between my legs and struggled not to hide in shame.

That's a good summation of what my life is like now. This is what I want to show all of you. I'm sure I will eventually have a good cry and there will be a video some day where I'll sing songs of my breasts being breastly and about some boy hitting on me (wishful thinking and delusional). But this is the Lily that is the most honest and like myself: struggling but ready to face the challenges to come. I hope you'll join me and I hope I can help all of you as much as you have done me.

the price of being personal

Nervous.

That's the way I'm feeling today, specifically with regard to sharing personal information about myself and my transition on the internet. The thing is, I want to reach out, be part of a community. Every day I feel myself less and less capable of hiding behind the old male facade and I have no idea what or who I'll become. I know myself well enough to know that was always an emotionally fragile person. Going through all these emotional, chemical, and psychological changes only makes that fragility worse. I feel like a glass girl, that almost anything could break me these days. It's very frightening.

This blog, while helpful, I felt was only part of what I should be doing to reach out to others. I awkwardly have begun to make videos and *sigh* post them to you tube despite knowing the potential consequences. Maybe it's because all I do is joke around, maybe it's because I'm anything but feminine but people don't comment on the videos I post. It shouldn't bother me nor should the lack of subscribers. It does make me feel unimportant and uninteresting though.

There's a simple, undeniable fact present: I need validation. I'm not proud of that but I'm trying to be honest with myself. Six out of every seven days of the week I feel disgusting, manly, and not even human. I'm struggling to relearn how to respect myself and how to connect with others, both new and old, around me. Someone gave my last video a shitty rating. It bothered me, albeit only to a very small degree. The thing is that the video is less than three minutes and doesn't remotely cover anything personal about my life.

This begs the question: What happens if I do open up and share the deeper parts of my life? Even though my low self esteem and fear of others has made me hesitate, a big part of me does want to share what's happening to me. I've been hoping that I'll find kinship and understanding. Part of me hopes I could help others as much as they help me.

At the same time though I feel like, if a one star rating managed to get under my skin, how will I react to actual hate mail from inside and outside the community? I want to believe that I'm stronger than that but I just don't know. I'm scared and completely self conscious all of the time, hence the near complete isolation of my present existence. I don't know how else I can reach out though.

I have a lot to think about. If anyone out there has any thoughts, personal experiences, whatever.. it would be much appreciated.