If I could give a speech on the Transgender Day of Remembrance, this would be it:
Last night I had a dream. In it, a trans woman was given a chance to go back in time and live for a day in a world where her birth gender had been female. The day was her birthday and she was being encouraged by her parents to embrace some of the very gender binary ways of being a girl. Having lived her entire life being rejected by her family, she was confused and scared, clinging tightly onto the old basketball hoop they had on the patio. She didn't understand at first that she was free here to embrace all the possibilities of who she could be. Slowly she opened up and enjoyed this one day where her mother treated her as a daughter who would someday grow into a woman, a woman who would experience all the trials and all the joys that come of being female.
Suddenly, a long, black car arrived and a man in a suit whisked the little girl away. They drove silently until they came to a quiet street corner in a place the girl did not recognize. The man offered the girl a choice: "When you set foot outside of this car", he said "you'll either return to your old life or you can stay as you are now. If you choose the latter you will lose everyone you have ever cared about, you will have to start your life over completely without the support of anyone but yourself. You'll be alone but your mind and the vessel that contains it will finally match."
Having been merely a spectator in the dream, I suddenly found myself the third passenger in the car. I railed against the man. What kind of choice was he offering? How could anyone ever be expected to make that kind of decision? "It's not right. It isn't fair. No one should ever be asked to make such a horrible choice" I yelled. The car door opened and just as I was about to get out, I woke up.
As I rubbed the week's old scruff on my face, I realized that the basketball hoop was the one from my childhood. In fact, the setting was my parent's backyard from when I was a kid. During the dream, I thought the little girl represented another member of the community I used to know but, in the light of day, I realized that she was me.
I left transition behind over a year ago when I was diagnosed with crohn's disease. Losing all the ground I had worked for over the course of that year was one of the most agonizing experiences of my entire life. For a long time I told myself that I had no choice, that the disease had robbed me of my ability to choose between expressing my gender authentically or remaining in this male shell I find myself in now.
In reality though, I know now that I did choose. I could have continued transitioning in ways that would have been less effective but instead I just let go completely. It was more than just my desire to shoot the moon and have it all. It was because, as I had transitioned, I had lost so many of the people I cared about. My family, my friends; they just couldn't handle my transition. I lost my job. I felt alienated from everyone around me.
When I got sick, I had a perfect excuse to abandon this dream of finally casting off my gender dissonance. It felt, at the time, that it wasn't worth it. As it happens, my family did welcome me back with open arms and my friends felt more comfortable around me again. I have work. I feel like a functioning member of society.
But the pain is still with me and I realize, had I gone the other way, had I continued transitioning, I would still be in pain, it would just be different. I would still have no family, those relationships I'd built for years would still be strained at best. The dream represented the choice I made, the choice we all make.
Transitioning is a choice. Many of us cling to the idea that we simply must go through this process but that isn't true. That we are trans is undeniable no matter how we deal with it but taking hormones, having surgeries, and going through the complicated legal battles of having the world recognize us for who we feel we are is a choice.
All of are forced to make the kinds of decisions that no one should ever have to make. Our choices come with the kinds of consequences that no one should ever have to face: loss of family and friends, being fired, kicked out of one's home, and those are the easy ones. We face so much violence and so much death, more than any other group of people in the world. So many of us don't make it. Whether we do it to ourselves or are the victims of rage and fear, or even if we just give up and hide in the shadows, we lose more and more of our community each year.
I'm just a man these days. Most of the people I interact with day to day now will never know who I was not so long ago, who a part of me always will be. In spite of that though I can't help but keep fighting for that little girl, for this community, for all of us, the ones who are still here and the ones we've lost. That's the one choice I don't ever have to regret, the one thing in this world I have the luxury of knowing is right. That's why I fight. How about you?
Friday, November 20, 2009
Thursday, January 1, 2009
second verse, same as the first
New year, same old miserable life. Were you hoping for some positivity, hopes, joy? Sorry, I'm fresh out. A got an incurable case of bitterness along with the Crohn's. Imagine that. Can't transition, can't get a job, lay around in bed most of the time hoping I'll get my disease into remission for more than a week or two... I'm not exactly the picture of a happy person.
I want to share something with you. I had this span of a few weeks where things were the way they were before I started confronting my gender dysphoria, before I got sick. In the weeks just prior to the holidays I kept getting invited to parties, events, get togethers, or just one on one hangouts. Something odd happened. I was having fun wherever I went and, at least it seemed to me, that I made other people feel the fun too. It was like old times. Women wanted me, men wanted to be me. If I were a man, you know... that would have been super awesome. For old time's sake though I figured I may as well let my life be simple again and it was. It really, really was. I didn't even feel the dysphoria one bit for a while.
I met a nice girl who I'm pretty sure was interested in me. The internet, uh, sucks though because yeah... I'm pretty sure she discovered the unfortunate reality about who I am in all my complicated glory. I sincerely wish she hadn't but, deep down, I know it was good that she had.
I imagined a life with her (well, with anyone to be honest). I imagined a life where I was married, had kids in the yard, a nice job, you know... normal stuff and, for a second, I wanted it. I just wanted things to be simple. I sent that girl an email saying I hoped we could hang out again sometime. While I waited for a response two happened: a had another flare up of my crohn's and the dysphoria came rushing back. Then, when I thought I couldn't feel any worse, she writes me a two sentence email basically saying she has no room in her life for me. Rejected. Great.
Who was I kidding though, really? I will never have that life. I will always be alone and, with everything else, that has become the last straw. I hate being jobless. I hate having a family who will not accept me. I hate being diseased to the point that I am physically incapable of transitioning to my appropriate gender identity. What I hate most of all though is that I must endure all of this alone. I will never have that one person there to support me through the bad times. I'm just too bizarre. Who would ever want to deal with my shit?
I just... I want someone to love and be loved by but that person doesn't exist. My life just feels empty and meaningless. It would have been nice to have managed even one goal, one desire, one dream this year but I've managed nothing and, as a result, I feel like I am nothing.
The New Year's party I went to was nice. That's something. I won't pretend to really know what 2009 will be like. It's just hard to hope for anything, you know?
I want to share something with you. I had this span of a few weeks where things were the way they were before I started confronting my gender dysphoria, before I got sick. In the weeks just prior to the holidays I kept getting invited to parties, events, get togethers, or just one on one hangouts. Something odd happened. I was having fun wherever I went and, at least it seemed to me, that I made other people feel the fun too. It was like old times. Women wanted me, men wanted to be me. If I were a man, you know... that would have been super awesome. For old time's sake though I figured I may as well let my life be simple again and it was. It really, really was. I didn't even feel the dysphoria one bit for a while.
I met a nice girl who I'm pretty sure was interested in me. The internet, uh, sucks though because yeah... I'm pretty sure she discovered the unfortunate reality about who I am in all my complicated glory. I sincerely wish she hadn't but, deep down, I know it was good that she had.
I imagined a life with her (well, with anyone to be honest). I imagined a life where I was married, had kids in the yard, a nice job, you know... normal stuff and, for a second, I wanted it. I just wanted things to be simple. I sent that girl an email saying I hoped we could hang out again sometime. While I waited for a response two happened: a had another flare up of my crohn's and the dysphoria came rushing back. Then, when I thought I couldn't feel any worse, she writes me a two sentence email basically saying she has no room in her life for me. Rejected. Great.
Who was I kidding though, really? I will never have that life. I will always be alone and, with everything else, that has become the last straw. I hate being jobless. I hate having a family who will not accept me. I hate being diseased to the point that I am physically incapable of transitioning to my appropriate gender identity. What I hate most of all though is that I must endure all of this alone. I will never have that one person there to support me through the bad times. I'm just too bizarre. Who would ever want to deal with my shit?
I just... I want someone to love and be loved by but that person doesn't exist. My life just feels empty and meaningless. It would have been nice to have managed even one goal, one desire, one dream this year but I've managed nothing and, as a result, I feel like I am nothing.
The New Year's party I went to was nice. That's something. I won't pretend to really know what 2009 will be like. It's just hard to hope for anything, you know?
Saturday, November 29, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, November 10, 2008
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!
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!
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
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!
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!
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
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...
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...
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
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:
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:
Sunday, October 12, 2008
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?
Saturday, October 4, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
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...
Friday, September 26, 2008
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?
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
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....
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....
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
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?
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?
Monday, September 15, 2008
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...
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...
Saturday, September 13, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
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?
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?
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