*This is from something I wrote in October 2011. I came across it tonight and thought I’d share.
The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.
― Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
I try to keep this in mind. One of my friends posted this as his status on FB. I try to keep in mind, that I am beautiful and wonderful..but I am smack in the middle of a dying/rebirth cycle. I am in a scorpio phase and this is libra time. A time of relationships, balance, harmony, justice. This transformation is major and I am so lonely. I don’t want to be alone anymore. Physically alone in this house that I am not home enough for.
Even though I know what is going on, my feelings and thoughts are dark and sad. I feel defeated and tired. I see no point in anything. I actually believe in everlasting life. I actually believe in the goodness and greatness of things now and things to come. At the very same time, at this very same time I am feeling, what’s the point? What does it matter? I could care less about school. Piano, which I love, I haven’t played in days. I am skipping class again. The 2nd piano class this semester. I am completely uninterested in actually playing though I think? it would make me feel better. The happiest I felt all weekend was when I got on my skateboard. I could care less about my math test that I need to do. I have one month to finish two and a half chapter otherwise I’ll be dropped from the class. I could care less about my stupid video project in multimedia which just tests how well we click buttons and follow instructions and is not inspiring at all. I feel like a robot monkey.
I feel so blah yucky blah even though, I am in love with a beautiful woman who loves me and I remember feeling like this at 16. I was in love, doing well in school, directing plays, had good friends and still I attempted suicide. I didn’t talk to anyone about it. I took pills. My friend had a dream that she went out to eat with a bunch of our friends and I wasn’t there. She told me about it like a week after the attempt and I had to tell her I tried to kill myself. I had to tell her I took a bunch of pills. All the pills in the medicine cabinet. But I woke up.
The next day I woke up. I felt super sick. My mom made me go to school. We were not allowed to stay home sick from school. Seriously, maybe one or two times from 7th-12th grade was I allowed to stay home sick from school. I think my mom thought if we were sick she wasn’t doing a good job or people would think she wasn’t doing a good job. Because of the insane-no-staying-home-even-if-you’re-sick-rule, I got loads of perfect attendance pins and certificates throughout my school years. But I digress. Back to the suicide attempt. No one knew that I was in that bad of shape. I had 9 weeks left til graduation. 7 weeks til I turned 17 but I was in a lot of pain. I wanted it to end. I’m glad that I didn’t end at that time. I thought I must have lived for a reason. That I wasn’t meant to die.
The 2nd time I was extremely suicidal was in December of 2003 and January of 2004. In Dec, I admitted to myself that I was transsexual. I was scared and completely suicidal. I didn’t think I would be able to live in this world and be myself. I was queer, I was trans, and I loved God. I felt that my purpose was to spread love around the world and love God and share that love with everyone. I know how much gay people are hated and trans people are hated and even people who truly love God are hated. I felt that my lesbian, gay, and bi friends didn’t get my spiritual self and that the people I knew who loved God (mostly family) thought that me and my friends were sinners and would burn in hell for all eternity. (Oy! and Yikes!) I felt it was impossible to be myself. I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t. In January of 2004 I started having panic attacks. I couldn’t work. I had to go to therapy. The first day of Therapy my psychologist made me write a contract/promise that I wouldn’t kill myself and pulled me off the road. At the time, I was a courier for Federal Express. I covered people’s off days, vacation, sick days..etc.. I wrote the promise note in big shaky letters. It looked like little kid scribble. I promised not to kill myself. I’ve kept that promise. For me, at that moment, the issue became not if I would ever transition but when would I transition? I never talked to that therapist about transition or me being trans. The only thing I told him that was near talking about it in 11 months of therapy, was about my mom throwing an ashtray at my head when I was 10, yelling, “You are not a boy!” She threw the ashtray at my head and it hit the door right next to my head. It was not a plastic ashtray and it scared me. It really scared me. That level of anger and violence was incomprehensible. I didn’t remember it until I was in therapy. She was mad, raging mad, because I wouldn’t wear my training bra. I think she could see something in me that I didn’t know myself. I wasn’t a tomboy as a girl. I kept to myself. I read in my room. I tried to just blend in and be invisible. I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself and I didn’t want to ’cause any trouble. I like peace. Outward peace at the very least. But as a kid, I had no inner peace whatsoever.
I started medical transition in June of 2009. I inject testosterone in my body once a week. It’s been 28 months and two weeks 🙂 I didn’t start binding ’til April of 2010. Binding, for those who don’t know, is wearing something to flatten the chest so that it looks more male like. I use a black compression tri top shirt. Before binding, I used a black sports bra. Some people use ace bandages. I’ve heard of people who use(d) duct tape 😦 In August, I started really really really hating binding. And really really having a problem with my body. Body dysphoria blows chunks. I dream about cutting up my binders. I got depressed because I don’t know when I’ll be able to afford surgery. I am on temporary disability ’til December. I have .04 in the bank and less than a dollar in change around the house. But my classes are payed for and I have all my books for school and my rent was payed last month and my phone bill too. I have a disability bus pass good for a couple years that’s $18 a month. I may have to try and borrow money from a friend and see if I can get another school loan. We’ll see. So..back to the binding issue. The binding is uncomfortable. I am usually gone all day at school or Dr’s. appointments or errands. I’m on the bus and trolley. It takes an hour to get to school and 45 minutes to an hour to get home. That’s only if I’m going to school and back and most days I go other places too. When I get home, the binder comes off! So it got to a point in August and September where I don’t want to leave the house much. So, my transbody/binding thing is interfering with my life in a most negative way. And not having money is affecting things too. I could rattle off a list of awesome things in my life but I think today I am just acknowledging how things are. The not so good things. My self esteem is affected. I feel out of control and angry. I want to destroy things. Break things. I don’t want to be productive and study or learn some new cool thing about music. I don’t want to draw a picture or write a poem. I want to be held. I want the person who is holding me to tell me a story about something they’ve overcome and let me feel what I’m feeling without telling me it’ll be better. Just holding me and letting me know they’ve been here too. They know this place where I am and it’s okay. It’s a part of being human.
I want to be kissed and made love to. That would make me feel better I’m sure. If I were being made love to and kissed I’d most likely cry. I’d have some sort of release. I’m all pent up and no way to get out all this angst and all this rage. I want to break everything in the house and tear up the pumpkin patch outside. I am feeling violent. It’s rare but here it is. And I’m typing this, instead of ripping apart the whole wide world.
Earlier I wanted to shave my head and the hair on my face and then the hair all over my body. I wanted to be new. Blank. Alien. Fresh. I want/ed to start over.
I think about what Susan Orlean says in Adaptation:
It’s over. Everything, I did everything wrong. I want my life back. I want it back before everything got fucked up. I want to be a baby again. I want to be new. I want to be new.
I don’t think I’ve done everything wrong or that I’ve fucked up and I’d only want to be a baby again if I had emotionally stable and conscious parents who really understood what it means to be a parent and what it means to be a kid.
I want to be new. Quiero ser nuevo.