Gender in Language

It’s really quite surprising how many of our English expressions and thoughts are predicated on gender.

• We have “crazy cat ladies,” not “crazy cat men.”
• “All men are created equal,” to say nothing about the women.
• “Nurse” conjures to mind a woman, not a man, for most people.
• Firemen, not fireperson or firewoman.
• Policeman, not policeperson or policewoman.
• Mankind, man-made, the common man.
• Freshman, not first-year student.

I never really noticed this before I admitted to myself that I was transgendered. It was just the way we as a society talked. Now, though, I’m starting to realize just how much we assume about gender, whether referring to a profession, a person, or anything.

Now, I realize that transgender people are not common, and I’m not going to get mad at people for calling me “he” when I’m presenting myself as male. In most cases, it’s perfectly fine to assume that a person’s sex reflects their gender. Still, it would be nice if English teachers got over their habit of correcting this:

“If a student writes this sentence, then /they/ will be corrected.”

The word “they” has evolved in our daily speech to the point where it is interchangeable with the phrase “he or she,” I would say. It’s mixing the singular “a student” with the traditionally plural “they,” I realize that, and as an amateur author I notice this kind of thing, but it’s much more convenient to use “they” than the unwieldy “he or she.”

Many non-English languages don’t have this problem at all. Lots of them have masculine forms, feminine forms, and neutral forms. I don’t think English is ready to create a “third gender” for its words—some linguists advocate using “hir,” for example—but an acceptance of “they” would be nice.

There’s a really fantastic article on gender-sensitivity in the language here: http://www.unc.edu/depts/wcweb/handouts/gender.html

Life is great! Kate (my girlfriend of two and a half years) will be coming to stay with me for the winter holidays—about two weeks. She gets in on Friday.

Happy holidays!

Posting Holiday

Too much end-of-quarter schoolwork to do.

Will make post after break starts.

Love you all,
Liana

GLBTQ and College

Well, my college plans have changed a bit.

I was planning for quite some time to head to the University of London for my higher education. The UK is more progressive than the US is about transgender and GLBTQ people, both socially and legally. Besides, I think London would be an amazing place to live, even if the cost of living is high. I'm a city gal--or at least, I hope to be.

Anyway, I found a very useful website called the Campus Climate Index. It rates all sorts of American schools based on their friendliness towards GLBTQ people, and has a breakdown of the various areas--transgender accommodations, safety, health, general GLBTQ information. Searching through the list of schools, I found one that looks perfect for me.

Goodbye, University of London. Hello, University of California, Berkeley.

Every single imaginable option on the list of GLBTQ concerns has a positive rating. Transgender students can be housed in the dorm of their internal gender, and they--get this!--even cover hormone replacement therapy in their insurance. How perfect is that? So perfect. This is an incredibly prestigious school. The average weighted GPA for entering freshman is 4.4--that's a perfect environment for someone like me.

I'm really excited by the location, too. This is California, right outside San Francisco. Aside from the Prop 8 nastiness going on recently, this is pretty much the GLBTQ capital of the world, as far as I've heard. I can't think of a better place for me to come of age in. One thing's for sure--it certainly beats the American Midwest in terms of safety and understanding.

Life is good.

Psychiatrist Appointment Report

Well, my first ever psychiatrist appointment is done.

Can't say I'm thrilled. Didn't really like the lady I was talking to--she was very dour. I was in a relatively good mood and joked around a bit, but she barely cracked a smile. Not in the "Liana is just awful at making jokes" kind of way, in the "I don't even smile at babies" kind of way. Obviously that's an exaggeration. I almost wonder if it is deliberate--she might not want to lead on her patients. It was very clinical.

It's a good thing I'm such a straight arrow, socially. There were a heck of a lot of questions--have I done this, have I thought that, is there any history of this, and on and on. I found out about a test that they're having transgender people take frequently these days before they'll prescribe hormones; it's over 500 pages long. Eeek.

The psychiatrist actually gave me some bad news. While she didn't seem fully up on her transgender-game, she did say that in this area, it's extremely unlikely that I'll find a doctor willing to prescribe anything. Even if I could get the letter of recommendation that I need, I'll have to find some far-away doctor to actually give the endocrinologist the go-ahead. Sigh. Cruddy conservative area.

Well, anyway, I scheduled another appointment at the same place, but with a different person. Hopefully she'll be nicer. It'll happen next Thursday, December 11th.

Named Liana?

For the first time tonight, I thought of myself as "Liana," not "Alex-whose-name-is-Liana."

This one might just be a keeper.

The Appointed Hour Approaches

I’ve got my first psychiatrist appointment on Thursday!

I don’t really know what to expect. This is one area of transsexuality that I have deliberately done as little research into as possible. I don’t want to know what kind of questions are coming, I don’t want to know how I’m “supposed” to respond. This is about me, and deciding whether I’m ready to continue to the next stages of transsexuality, as it were.

Psychiatry is the first external step forward for a transsexual. I mean, I can dress and act however I want, but anatomically speaking, I’m still male. Psychiatry, however, means that, provided the Harry Benjamin Standards of Care are met, I can start to change that. I’ve covered hormones in previous posts, so I won’t get into that.

I’m a little apprehensive. I haven’t met the psychiatrist, so I’ll be going in blind.

What should I wear? Should I go feminine-casual, wearing everyday clothes? Should I wear one of my dresses (I have three now!)? Do I need to practice my voice? Is it possible to go overboard? Can I be “trying too hard?” Eeek! So many things to consider.

I’m excited, though. This is the first little step towards the very big step of hormone replacement therapy.

Life is good.

Barriers to Passing

Being “passable” means that a transsexual can pass for the opposite sex (i.e., their true gender) amongst people that aren’t aware. If I go out shopping and get called “ma’am,” mission accomplished. If I get called “sir,” then I’m not passable enough.

Major barriers to passing for an MTF:

• Adam’s apple
• Facial hair
• Voice
• Lack of hips
• Lack of breasts
• Wide shoulders
• Height
• Facial structure (particularly eyebrows, nose, jawline)

Of these, I can usually get around facial hair (by shaving often), lack of breasts (by stuffing), facial structure (by being relatively androgynous, luckily), and lack of hips (by being so skinny that it looks like I have hips).

Wide shoulders and height aren’t major tip-offs. There are plenty of tall women, and most people don’t notice shoulders. However, having a larger-than-average Adam’s apple and a deep voice are major problems for me.

My Adam’s apple wouldn’t bother me so much if it didn’t stop so abruptly. I practically have a little ledge at the top. This means that it catches the light, which draws attention to it. See the problem? Girls don’t have those. They are definitively masculine.

As a temporary solution, I wear lots of scarves when I’m trying to pass. They look reasonably fashionable—and practical, too, since it’s getting cold—and cover up my Adam’s apple as long as I ruffle them up every now and then.

More permanently, I can get a surgery called a tracheal shave. It’s exactly what it sounds like—the doctors open up your throat area and cut off some of the cartilage of your Adam’s apple. This is relatively safe procedure, though of course there are some risks. In rare cases, it leads to a loss of speech, but that only happens when the doctor goes too far and takes too much. The less you get shaved, the less risk. I want to get a trach shave eventually.

Now, my voice is a much more difficult challenge. There’s no kind of clothing that I can wear to cover up the way I sound. I can make my voice higher, of course, but that sounds very fake at this point.

There are two ways to overcome the vocal gap: surgery or voice training. I’ll talk about surgery first.

Voice surgery is much riskier than a tracheal shave. It involves opening up the voice box and—if I remember correctly—tweaking the tautness of the vocal cords themselves. There’s a very real risk of losing one’s voice during this surgery, which is why I wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.

Now, the other option is vocal training. This is nonsurgical, risk-free, but more difficult for the transwoman. Basically, you talk to a vocal coach and they help you develop a more feminine voice through a long series of exercises and lots and lots and lots of practice. This is the option that I will be taking whenever I get the chance.

Luckily for MTFs, there is no anatomical limit on how high a voice can go, but there is one on how low it can go. In other words, an anatomical male can raise his voice to the sky, but an anatomical female can only lower it so far. It’s all a matter of training and endless practice.

I’ll get there, eventually.

Incidentally, I’m leaning more and more towards naming myself “Liana,” not “Alexandria.” Alexandria was my default, as it is the feminine version of my birth name, but I don’t want to keep “Alex” so much anymore. I’ve been Alex for 16 years—I’m going into the world as someone new, and I think my new name should reflect that.

Life is good.

A Further Discourse on the Matter of Naming

First: My psychiatrist appointment has been rescheduled for December 4th. Expect a blog about that for that weekend, not this one.

Right, so, on to the topic of this entry: my name.

I've been having a heck of a time deciding on my new name. Most transsexuals choose to change their name, either legally or de facto, and I'm no exception. The problem I'm having is what I'm going to change it to.

My birth name is Alexander. That presents a lot of obvious choices: Alexis, Alexandra, Alexandria, Lexie, et cetera. Of these, I prefer Alexandria. I don't think that I want to use one of these, though. For sixteen years, I have been Alex, a son of my parents. I'm not a son anymore. I'm a daughter. Still being called "Alex" makes me feel like I haven't moved beyond my birth gender.

So, now the entire realm of naming is open to me. I can call myself anything I want. That's a lot harder than it sounds--trying to choose one name that defines who I am as a person is very difficult. It's easier to name a baby--you don't have to worry about their personality ("oh, you don't seem like a Delilah, you seem like a Rebecca!"), you don't have to worry about people they know with the same name ("You can't be Crystal, that's too close to Krista!), that sort of thing.

Here's the top of my list right now:

* Rose
* Liana/Lianna
* Alexandria (Allie) (This is here mostly to appease my parents)

I've crossed out:

* Marina
* Allison
* Autumn
* Miranda (Mira)

I've been asking all sorts of people (only those who I'm out to, of course) for suggestions, and everyone has an opinion. The Internet has been searched for many an hour, looking for the perfect name. I think I want it to start with an "L," which is a beautiful feminine letter.

There's so much to consider! How will it be shortened? What are jokes that could be made about the name? How do you spell it? Is it feminine enough? Do I know anyone who has the same name? Is it a good name? What does it mean? What language is it from? How common is it? Will people take me seriously?

So much to think about!

Life is good.

Christine Jorgensen

It’s important to know where you came from. In my case, specifically, the ‘development’ of transsexualism.

The first famous transsexual in the United States was George Jorgensen, later Christine Jorgensen. In the 1950s, she was one of the pioneers. Even though the Germans had first started experimenting with sex reassignment surgeries in the 1930s, Christine is generally regarded as the “first” modern transsexual.

In a time where they hadn’t even really recognized transsexualism as a condition, Christine did a lot of independent research. Without any consultations from doctors, she managed to figure out that she needed to take hormone replacements—specifically, estriadol. While doing medical research into her condition, she discovered that doctors in Denmark might be able to help her.

While there, she met an endocrinologist, Dr. Christian Hamburger. They worked out a deal—she could get her treatment for free, but she would essentially be a guinea pig, since the treatments for transsexuality were highly experimental.

Long story short, it worked. Along the way, she met Dr. Harry Benjamin, and together, they came up with the Standards of Care, the governing law for transsexual treatment.

When she came back to the United States, her story had been leaked to the press—“EX-GI BECOMES BLONDE BOMBSHELL,” as one newspaper so tactfully put it. Christine used this newfound fame both as a source of income and as a way to increase public sexual tolerance.

It’s really interesting, reading her autobiography. I’m just thinking, “if I didn’t have the Internet, if I didn’t know that my condition wasn’t one-in-a-trillion, what would I do?” Could I have independently discovered the things she did? Would I have figured out that I needed to take hormones? Could I have found doctors willing to take on my case?

So, thanks, Christine Jorgensen, wherever you are. If not for you, there’s no telling what state transsexualism would be in. Cheers!

Life is great.

Of Hormones and Medicine

Funny things, hormones. Everybody needs them, but they sure can cause a lot of problems.

Traditionally, the first step of the anatomical transition from male to female is hormone replacement therapy (HRT). A combination of testosterone blocker (anti-androgen), progesterone, and estrogen results in the following:

Medically:
• Breast development (full development takes several years) [Whoo! No more stuffing!]
• Decrease in sexual drive, sterility [Oh well. It’ll be worth it.]
• Decrease in acne [Why didn’t I start on this years ago?]
• Decrease in muscle mass and strength [As if I’m not weak enough already.]
• Skin becomes softer and smoother [Yummy.]
• Slowing of balding pattern [Good thing, too, males usually go early in my family.]
• Redistribution of fat from abdominal area to hips and buttocks [Loving it.]
Anecdotally, I’ve heard the things screw with emotions like you wouldn’t believe, and there’s also increased risk for certain health issues.

According to the Harry Benjamin Standards of Care, the governing medical code dealing with transsexuals, a potential HRT candidate needs to see a psychiatrist for AT LEAST three months before they can get hormones of any kind, much less estrogen (the most important one).

I’ve got my very first psychiatrist appointment on the 17th of November. That’s really exciting. In the most hypothetical realms, if the psychiatrist and I decide that I’m ready for it, I could be on hormones within four months.

Hormones are a very big step. Not all of the changes are reversible, and that’s why most psychiatrists make patients wait longer than three months before they start.

I don’t know for sure that if the psychiatrist offers it to me that quickly that I’ll jump on it. I’m 99% sure that this who I am supposed to be, but I’m going to give that 1% the benefit of the doubt. You don’t start HRT if you’re not sure. The psychiatrist helps determine that, one way or the other.

Life is good!

Bringing the Fight to the Schools

Storytime!

I’m at a Quiz Bowl meet with Krista. We’re chilling before the meet when our coach says to her, “Hey, where’d you get that bracelet?”

This is the bracelet that they give out at our support group. It says “GLBT Ally” on it. You can see how this is potentially an awkward situation.

Krista handled it gracefully by deflecting the question to me. I told our coach that it was from a youth group, which is true. This pretty much floored her, until I clarified that it wasn’t a church youth group.

“Oh,” the coach mentions casually. “I was looking into starting one of those groups at our school.”

Say WHAT?

This is exciting news! The coach is busy right now, but soon, she’s going to start getting support from our admittedly conservative school administration. However, as they always tell us at my support group: As long as there is one teacher willing to host it, no school can stop a GSA (Gay-Straight Alliance) from meeting.

The idea that we could have a GSA at my school is totally exhilarating! I’d love to be the student who started it. We have about 1,200 kids. According to the statistics, that’s about 100 kids who would be interested. That’s a lot of members! Even if we only had a membership of 20, or even 10, I would consider my time well spent.

A Sense of Community

There are so many things going on right now, I don't even know where to start.

Transgender news:
There are now three transsexuals attending my support group! This is really big news.

The first has chosen the name Mia, and she puts my feminization efforts to shame. Really, from voice to body to attitude, she's got it going on. Very impressive. At first, it really bothered me when she came, because she's so much better at appearing female than I am. Now, though, I'm getting over that. We're going to meet up before the meeting next week and do hair/makeup together (she goes to beauty school).

The second has chosen the name Ryan. That's right, we now have an FTM! By most scientific studies (not that there have been a lot), FTMs are give or take twice as rare as MTFs. I haven't spoken with Ryan much--he's very shy. Now, here's the real kicker: Ryan and I go to the same school. Talk about defying the statistics! According to the figures, schools should only get one MTF by the time they hit ~6,000 students, and one FTM by the time they hit ~12,000, but we have (at least) one of both with only 1,500 students! Crazy, crazy world.

Personal news:
This week at my support group was the first day that I went completely, totally all-out female. I wore my purple dress, painted my toenails (I did a good job for a first try ever), and had my friend Sharon (she's the one who got me the dress) do my hair/makeup.

We got to the meeting early; Lindsey and Krista both came with me. Krista's been to a meeting before, but this was Lindsey's first time. Anyway, they both helped Sharon get my look into order. Sharon surprised me with a tight belt that, when worn around my ribs, simultaneously gave me hips and a chest. It was wonderful. So much wonderful! People told me that I have a great figure for dresses.

It's a wonderful time to be alive!

Alexandria gets her dress

I got a dress! I got a dress! I got a dress!

This is huge. I don’t think that anything is quite as feminine as a good dress—there’s a reason girls wear them at formal occasions.

It’s a simple, purple dress, comes to my ankles. Complete with padding, even. I was in the dressing room trying to figure out how to put it on (I’ve never done that before!) for several minutes. Finally figured it out. I put it on, straightened it out, then turned and looked in the mirror.

My hands went to my mouth in that “oh my god” expression of amazement. It felt so incredibly right to be wearing that dress. I nearly cried, it was so wonderful. This dress says, “I’ve got a figure and I’m proud of it.” The friend that I went with had much the same reaction.

Oh, right. I went shopping, got called ‘ma’am’ and ‘lady’ the whole time, even after speaking, so apparently I’m passable. Really, though, I’m on such a high from this dress, that barely even factors into this painfully huge grin that’s been stuck on my face for half an hour.

I’m making a note here—“huge success.”

Stealth Test

This week's post will be made on Sunday. I'm going shopping on Sunday, and one of the people I'm going with doesn't know that I'm trans. This will be a great way to see if I can pull off "girl," not just "transgender."

Wish me luck!

Open Discussion

I'm going to open up this week's post to answering questions from readers (you're out there somewhere, I know it!). Have an awkward question? A normal question? Any sort of comment or query? Just send it to diaryofateenagetranssexual@yahoo.com and I'll answer it for the weekend's post.

Alternately, you can leave it in a comment.

If I don't get a lot, I'll do a post as usual! Cheers, friends.

Homecoming and the Schools

80% rap music + male clothing = an unhappy tgirl at Homecoming.

I was really hoping that I would be able to put aside the total mismatch with my clothing to my identity and just enjoy the evening. Maybe, if the music had been somewhere approaching tolerable, I could have. As it is, not so much.

Seeing all the girls in their dresses was frustrating. When you’re in guy clothes, the only questions you have to ask are “what color shirt?” and “what color tie?” That’s it. No choice, no variety, no fun. Just plain, simple, and horribly fitting. Having lost weight and come out to myself since the last time I wore them, they didn’t fit me physically or mentally.

Dresses, though! Dresses give so many options. Length, fabric, style, flair, cut, everything and everything can be worked with. I desperately wanted to be able to wear a dress—a nice, long, flowing dress, probably one bare shoulder, in a blue or a green. My hair would have been in curls or up in an elaborate bun.

I often wonder how the school would react to a “Homecoming [Drag] Queen” rather than a Homecoming Queen. I mean, doesn’t every school have a quirky member to fit every little niche? You’ve got your flamboyant gay, your football gay, your country girl with an accent, so on, so forth. I realize that’s horribly stereotyping, but I’m trying to see things from the perspective of my school. Would it be okay to have a transgender girl (tgirl)?

That actually begs another question I’ve been wondering. Our school displays the pictures of all the valedictorians and salutatorians on a plaque in the hallway outside the main office. Assuming I get one of those, which I’m fairly sure I can pull off, would they put up my picture if I took it as Alexandria? Our principal is a Southern, traditional kind of guy—I wouldn’t put it past him to declare that “obscene” and refuse to put me up there, or even bump me from the top stop for “disciplinary reasons.”

Are the schools of America ready for transgender boys and girls?

I don’t have an answer for you. I don’t have an answer for me, come to think of it. I just really, really, desperately hope that when I go to college, I’ll be passable enough to go to Homecoming in a beautiful dress without raising eyebrows. I don’t know how many dances I can go to as a man and retain my sanity.

Plans for the Post

This week's post will come tomorrow. The Homecoming dance is tonight; I should have some interesting insights from that.

Shift in Perception (Bonus Post)

I hit an important milestone today.

I looked into the mirror, and instead of a transsexual in guy’s clothes, I saw a girl in guy’s clothes.

Coming Out: Family Edition

Coming out is a long process. Saying “I’m gay” or “I’m lesbian” or “I’m transgender” to everyone who needs to know can take a long time, and it has the potential to shake up any relationship. Actually, saying “I’m gay” might be a little easier, since that is just an orientation—being transgender is a basic identity change, as many people see it.

Side tangent: Just because I’m female doesn’t mean that I’m a different person. I have the same hopes, dreams, and aspirations that I had as a male; I’m just wearing different clothing in the end picture.

After a lot of thought, I’ve decided to start coming out to my mom’s side of the family. They’re the generally more liberal/less religious side, so I’m starting with them. There are also a lot of them, so one or two bad reactions won’t be disastrous.

An aunt and two uncles know now, and they’re all very supportive. It isn’t really the aunts, uncles, or cousins that I am worried about; it is the grandparents. Due to divorce/remarriage, I’ve actually got three grandparents on that side, and I don’t know how any of them will take it. They’re of a different generation entirely than today’s, which is slowly moving towards acceptance.

My aunt advises that I should go to their house to tell them rather than telling them at mine. That’s understandable—they’ll be in comfortable surroundings, so it should be less of a shock. Besides, that way, if they do react badly, they won’t have to drive home angrily. (I’m only half joking with that.)

I don’t think it will be at a family gathering that I’ll tell the lot of them. One or two at a time would be best. Whenever they come over to visit, most likely, I’ll pull them aside with mom (again, making them feel more comfortable by surrounding them with familiar things) and talk about it with them. Some of them will probably be like, “oh. Okay. Cool.” Others will be confused, which is understandable. Transsexuals are one of the fringe groups in the GLBTQ umbrella. (Most estimates place the transgender rate for male-to-females at 1 in 3000).

Wish me luck!

Body Image and Getting Naked

Let’s talk about body image.

I’ve privately admitted to being a transsexual for nearly a year now. In that time, I’ve done my best to feminize my features, mannerisms, and body. That involves:

• Growing my hair out (it is now past my shoulders)
• Altering posture to have an arched back more often, as well as crossed legs, among other changes
• Changing my walk to smaller, more delicate steps
• Finding ways to deemphasize my jaw line, Adam’s apple, shoulders
• Losing weight (to get flat stomach, especially, but other areas as well)

At this point, when I look in the mirror, I’m beginning to see what I was meant to be. I’ll be the first to admit that it might be because that’s what I want to see, and that might be skewing my perceptions. However, I don’t much care if that is the case—the more female I see myself, the more confident I’ll get in myself as a girl, and the more female energy I’ll have around others.

When I’m wearing girl clothes, I think that I see a girl in the mirror probably 75% of the time, depending on how the angle of my glance treats my (lack of) chest or hips. When I’m wearing boy clothes, it is probably closer to 30%.

It is all about my energy at that moment—if I’m feeling confident and good about myself, I’m much more likely to see myself as a girl. I’m just putting out that feminine aura, for want of a better term.

By contrast, if I’m feeling demoralized or bad about my body, I’ll probably see a guy looking back at me, regardless of what clothes I’m wearing. That brings me to a major point of this post:

Nudity.

No matter how feminine I look with my clothes on, and no matter how confident I am, the instant the clothes start coming off, that all goes down the drain. No amount of practice is going to change the fact that I don’t have a chest and that I do have boy parts.

It sucks hardcore to spend a lot of time feminizing your appearance, and then having that destroyed in the space of undressing. Any time I get in the shower or into pajamas, my self-confidence takes a plunge. It doesn’t help that I have mirrors in the bathroom and in my room.

Eventually, I’ll be able to get the hormones and surgeries to start correcting my anatomy. Until then, well, my emotional reaction to looking at myself without clothes is going to range from frowning to almost crying, depending on my mood.

I’m doing my best.

Delay

The "post every Friday, come hell or high water or calculus homework" plan does not apply during family medical emergencies.

I'll post tomorrow.

We're all one big, happy, GLBTQ family

GLBTQ (Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer or Questioning) people stick together.

Maybe it sounds silly that just because we all fall under the same blanket term that we’re automatically inclined to help each other out, but almost without fail, I find this to be the case.

No matter how much progress we have made, the fact of the matter is that we still live in a world that can be very hostile. Not only do we have to put up with normal stress, we also can get harassed or threatened merely on the basis of our orientation or identity. As a result, many GLBTQ people (at least that I know) welcome all of the support that they can get.

Even if I might be inclined to dislike someone, I feel that I need to back them up about GLBTQ issues. They might annoy me, but I’m still going to stand up for them when they need it. We get enough trouble as it is without causing each other havoc.

By the same token, if I meet someone and know that they are GLBTQ, then I’m probably going to be even nicer than I normally try to be. If I can make their life that much easier by smiling a little more or making a supportive comment, then I’m going to do it.

Some GLBTQ people are living it up and loving life and probably don’t need any extra support. But for every flamboyant person, there are ten people who have to keep quiet about their sexuality or their gender identity out of fear. I’m in the latter category. I know that it always makes me feel better when one of the people I’ve told about my transgenderism tells me that my hair is pretty or that a pair of jeans are particularly slimming, et cetera. It’s the little things that can totally turn my day around. I want to be the girl to do that for everyone who needs that little boost.

Apologies

I had no idea it had been so long since I last posted.

I don't think I'll be doing so tonight; let me just reassure you that I have not disappeared entirely! I spent most of August and the beginning of September with my beloved Kate, so my Internet activity fell by the wayside.

My new goal for this blog is to post every Friday, come hell or high water or calculus homework. Wish me luck!

What goes around... comes back to me

Oh, high school gossip circles, what would we do without you?

Apparently, there have been enough conversations between high schoolers that word that there's something unusual about me has reached one of my oldest friend's dads, who talked to my dad about--and I quote my father here--an "intervention."

Dear World:

My life, my decisions. If you have a problem with me, either keep it to yourself or talk directly to me.

Thank you.

Increasingly, I've been toying with the term "militant transsexual" (alternately, militant gay, militant lesbian, whatever). I define it as someone who is angry at society at large for how they are treated and perceived, and thus takes steps they might not normally take as a way of fighting back. In my case, deliberately dressing more feminine, as a sort of "I dare you" to the world.

It really doesn't make sense to me that the choices I make about my body and my life should be in any way the business of anyone that I don't even talk to. It doesn't affect you, High School Classmates; the vast majority of you have never said two words to me (including 'excuse me' or 'thank you'). If you don't talk about me, I won't talk about you, and we can all go about our lives peacefully.

The Search, Part II

I have had absolutely no luck in locating my old friend. I logged in for a few hours every day for a few weeks, but in the end, they never showed up. I sent them several in-game messages from multiple characters, one of which had my email address. I'm desperately hoping that someday they will get in touch with me. If you ever played on the Corbantis server and knew a Twi'lek female character who ran around with a human female character, please, email me.

On a brighter note, I went on vacation with Lindsey! We went to an indoor waterpark that was unfortunately more kid-oriented than anything, and then to a big theme park the next day. I won't go into specifics to spare her some embarrassment, but suffice to say, she is a terrible shot.

Another high: Kate got a kitten! We're both really excited about that. She's a cute little thing, a Calico. Name is up in the air, but we're leaning towards Kaylee, after the engineer from Firefly.

UPDATE: Kaylee it is!

Patron Saint of Awesome

Lindsey is my hero.

This girl cleaned out her closets today, and had a sackload of clothing that she didn't want anymore. Extremely generously, she decided to give me the vast majority of it. I now have enough tops to last me for quite some time, and some delightfully tight shorts/jeans to boot. Most of them are a little on the small side (she's a small girl), but that really isn't a bad thing. As a transsexual, I tend to overcompensate and go for a highly feminine look whenever possible, to offset the inherent masculinity in my features and frame. I won't be able to wear some of it in public, but that doesn't bother me so much; I'm practically glowing with happiness over getting such a huge windfall of clothes.

In return for her complete sweetness, I'll be going to the practice for one of her sports teams. She's trying to recruit me--I'll see how it goes. Having a sport in addition to academics will probably help on college applications, but this is pretty much the worst year for me to get involved in something like that. A schedule completely filled with honors/AP courses is going to be quite hectic on its own. Still, I promised I would give her team a fair chance, so I will.

Apologies

I'm sorry that I haven't been updating very much.

July has been a rough month for me. I've been getting a lot of transsexual gloom spells. Getting all down about gender identity, the cost of treatment, societal repercussions and perspectives, passability, et cetera, et cetera.

In the past, whenever I've been gloomy over such things, a good night's sleep usually clears it right up. That hasn't been happening this month. I'm hoping that this is just a temporary phase and that I get back into the motivated swing of things soon. If not, well, life is going to get very interesting around the time that school starts, 'cause I've still got a lot of summer homework to do, and presently not much motivation to do it.

So, in short: my apologies, I'll try to get back into posting mode soon.

Quickie

For the record:

Speed dressing when your conservative Christian aunt and cousin show up unannounced so that they don't see you in drag: not fun.

Sneaky!

Let’s talk about stealth.

On the 4th of July, you get together with a lot of people, a lot of family. For a transsexual who is mostly in the closet, that means you have to be careful. I’ve had to watch what I wear, what I say, and how I act for the past day or two.

This is really important when you’re, say, dining with your two conservative Christian right-wing grandparents.

I really don’t ever see myself telling them, no matter how far I transition. As far as they know, I’m their nice little grandson who’s going to give them nice little grandkids someday. They’re of a different era and of a different belief system than I am. Telling them would just make everything worse. They’d be judgmental or mad, I’d be ostracized and sad, not to mention a terrible poet.

Seriously though, there are some people who just don’t need to know about me. It’s going to give them a lot more peace of mind if they just keep on thinking that I’m an ordinary grandson. That’s why I don’t protest when they make conservative comments or say I should cut my hair (past my shoulders now!) or try to talk religion with me. Staying the way they expect me to be and not giving them attitude just works better.

Of course, they’ll probably live for a few more decades, what with medicine being as wondrous as it is these days. Hopefully within that timeframe I’ll have gotten on hormones at the very least, gotten surgery at the most. So, the way I see it, I have two options:

1) Never see them again after that point

2) As a transitioned MTF, become a FTM around them.

Well played, Irony. Well played.

Freud would have a field day with me

The mind is a funny thing. Just after waking up, when you’re not fully aware of anything, you can think things that really don’t make any sense, but seem logical at the time.

A little backstory before I dive into this; I spent several hours yesterday home alone. As I tend to do, I took the opportunity to stuff. I do it when there’s no one else around so that they don’t get awkwarded-out. Anyway, I did this until my parents and brother got home, shortly before I went to bed.

So, I woke up this morning, and in the fuzzy warm haze I had a vague recollection of actually having a chest. Instinctively I checked; no such luck. It’s kind of silly, looking back at it, but at the time, I really really felt like I should have had something there. Makes me sad, sometimes, but eh, that’s how it goes.

On a more positive note, I finally have an explanation for something I’ve done for years! Observe the following diagram, showing stances and the feminine ideal, done very quickly by myself:



“I apologize for the crudity of this model; I didn’t have time to build it to scale or to paint it.”

So, basically, I stand with my right foot where my left foot should be, and vice versa. Most people have trouble doing it for balance purposes, and even I have trouble sometimes. I didn’t start doing this consciously; it just showed up a few years ago, and I haven’t stopped since. Drives Mom crazy.

Yesterday, I suddenly realized that I do this because it makes my hips look larger in comparison to my legs! It takes me a little bit closer to an hourglass figure. When I realized this, I laughed with joy—it’s always fun to understand myself that much more.

There’s been an increase in traffic here lately, if the poll to the right is to be believed—welcome to any new readers! I hope you enjoy your stay.

If you want it done right...

Do it yourself!

So, I did that this morning. I took an old pair of shorts that I had lying around, and grabbed a pair of scissors, and started upon them. About half an hour later, I held a serviceable skirt and a bunch of strips of clothing.

It's not wonderful, I admit--I was kind of learning as I went, so there are some frayed edges, and the places where I had to chop off pockets are a little awkward, but overall I like what I've done. It comes to mid-thigh at its shortest point. I won't be able to wear it out and about by any means, but it'll be fun to wear when no one else is around.

In unrelated news, I don't think I'll be talking much about the support group. It's a private event for a reason. I'll just leave it at: I will definitely be going back.

Support is Important

I'll be attending an LGBT support group starting tomorrow.

I found them via the Internet, while I was exploring the website for the Day of Silence. I didn't have time to attend while school was in, but now that it's the summer, I think I'll give them a go. Their website isn't very specific on what they do there, but I figure there's no harm in trying. No commitments are necessary, so if it doesn't work, I just won't go back.

In related news, I'm looking for a psychiatrist/psychologist to talk to about my transsexuality; I'll be going to the doctor on Thursday to see if they have any recommendations. In some ways, this is more to calm mom down than anything, but it would be nice to have an expert on the subject guide me to the next step, whatever that may be. Perhaps voice therapy--my voice is too low for its own good. Dead giveaway. Maybe even explore the options for hormone replacement therapy--oh, how I'd love that!

We'll see how it goes. I am optimistic on both counts.

What's in an Outfit? Part Two

I wasn't planning on having a part two, but hey, it happens.

So, I wore entirely girl clothes to an art class today (I take it out of school), and there was definitely a difference to how I looked at people. Specifically, I found myself checking out the guys, for lack of an easier way to put it.

I kind of knew going into the whole gender exploration thing that this was possible, and I did it to a limited extent while I was still in guy clothes, but it seems that female clothes amplify the effect.

A generally accepted rule for transsexuals is the rule of thirds (no relation to the photography term): A third will end up heterosexual, a third will end up bisexual, and a third will end up gay/lesbian.

I can't wait to see how I develop.

The Search

Remember the friend from Star Wars Galaxies that I mentioned in my first blog post?

Yesterday was remarkable. I woke up, and somehow I knew that I needed to find them again. I hesitate to call it an epiphany, but I also know that there was no way that I could do anything else. I don't really even know how to describe it--I just knew that it was something that I was going to do, no question. So, I got up, reinstalled SWG, and started the search.

I haven't had any luck yet, but I have hope. Several months ago, Kate and I had installed SWG for kicks. I had added my old friend to my buddy list, not expecting so much as a blip from them. Next thing I know, they log in. At that time, I wasn't anywhere near being able to deal with that, so I didn't go back to the game.

Now, though, I'm determined to find them. I don't even know how it is going to go, or what I'm going to say, or how they will react to me. I just know that it is something that I need to do.

The search begins.

What's in an Outfit?

I have now accumulated enough female clothing that I can choose to dress as a guy or a girl.

It’s funny how much clothing does for our image. Right now, I’m dressed in entirely male clothing: cargo shorts, white t-shirt, plaid overshirt (unbuttoned), and boxers. It’s completely different from wearing female clothes. I’m practically swimming in these things, and it’s all very loose. Even with my long hair, I look unmistakably masculine in this. If I were out in public, I don’t doubt that I would be called “sir.”

When I’m wearing different clothes, however, I (thrillingly!) get called ma’am, at least until they get a good look at me and notice the distinct lack of chest. Yesterday, I wore boyshorts, a spaghetti-strap tanktop, a buttoned overshirt, and jean shorts, all from the juniors’ section, and the way I wore them was completely different. I sat up straighter, for one, and I walked more delicately. It was entirely subconscious, but it was noticeable.

I can’t get over how right it feels to wear female clothes. They look so much nicer, and overwhelmingly felt right. By contrast, I don’t like this outfit today so much anymore. Ironically, the way it affects my body image seems inverse: When I was in female clothes, I almost wanted to take them off, because it made me feel right and happy about my body. Now that I’m in male clothes, I don’t want to take them off, because I know what’s underneath.

Oh, one little tidbit. The other day, I walked past a mirror, and did a double take. For a long moment, I looked entirely feminine, and just stared.

Good times.

End of the Year

It is now the end of the school year. Exams are over. I can breathe again.

I am going to cheat badly on my healthy eating: there will be celebratory cheesecake. With chocolate and raspberries and strawberrries, if I can find them.

Delicious.

Academia

It’s not easy being smart.

Academics are a really big part of my life. I have never gotten anything less that the highest marks possible on a report card, and I’m one of four contenders for valedictorian in my Class of 2010. Right now, my cumulative GPA is somewhere in the 4.6 range (we can get a 5.0 for an honors or AP class if we get a 96% or higher). I’m taking every honors or AP class that I can possibly get my hands on.

Even if I wasn’t personally driven to accomplish everything I can academically, it wouldn’t be practical for me to do anything else. I’m going to get exactly zero financial help from my parents when it comes to college—they haven’t saved anything for me. That means it’s pretty much scholarship or bust. I’ve got a lot of dreams for my future—I want to go to college in London, for one—but I don’t know if I’ll be able to afford it. If I can get a full ride, that’s going to make my life a lot easier.

Anyway, to the point that prompted this entry: Exhaustion. Next week is exam week, and 75% of the exams I’ll be taking are in honors classes. Remembering obscure formulas from the beginning of Honors Chemistry is going to be delightful, I’m sure, ditto on names from American History. I’m so bad with names, it isn’t even funny. I have high averages in all of my classes, and the chances of me dropping below that all-important 96% in any of them are low, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be stressing over them until I have my report card in my hand.

With competition for valedictorian so close (we’re all within 0.05 of each other, if I recall), one mistake is all it would take to lose it, and right now, getting valedictorian is probably the biggest goal I have for myself. Next year is going to be a nightmare—if my scheduling works out, I’ll have four AP classes and four Honors classes. I will probably suffer a nervous breakdown at least once, but it’s what I’ve got to do.

Wish me luck.

Shopping and Sadness

Shopping has become peculiar for me since I’ve admitted that I’m a transsexual.

On one hand, it’s absolutely delightful for me to be able to shop for the things that I’d like to look at. I don’t have to stay in the men’s section looking at clothes I have absolutely no enthusiasm anymore. Going with my friends—Krista and Lindsey, especially—is a really liberating experience. They’re my best friends—with the obvious exception of my girlfriend, Kate—and they have been nothing but supportive of me since I came out to them. If I have something I want to try on, I’ll have them tell me if it’s too over the top, or just simply doesn’t work.

Conversely, shopping for feminine clothing kind of sucks, to be honest. There are so many things that I’d love to wear that are off-limits for safety purposes—dresses, skirts, shoes, purses, anything with lace, most items in pink or with floral patterns, et cetera. Even in a perfect world, where I wouldn’t have to worry about being the victim of discrimination due to how I dress, shopping would still be bittersweet.

Men and women are built differently. I couldn’t fill out a lot of the really great clothes that I see—I don’t have the chest, or the hips, or I have too much shoulder, things like that. That’s the underlying problem with transsexuality—for most people, the problem it presents cannot be fixed by normal means. I mean, there are surgeries, but obviously those are far too expensive and serious for a teenager. I could stuff (I have experimented with this in private, with moderate success), but then you’re back to the discrimination issue. Getting beaten up is not high on my list of things to do, and I know there are people who would do that.

There are a lot of problems in this world. Most of them can be overcome with hard work. Having the wrong body is not one of them. I’m in fairly good shape, it’s just the wrong shape; no amount of exercise is going to make my chest grow. Whenever I’m feeling depressed—and that does happen several times a week, I’m sorry to say—these kinds of issues are usually to blame.

Statistically, about 50% of transsexuals will have a suicide attempt by the time they are 18, if I recall the studies correctly. I’ve spoken out against suicide to my friends for as long as I can remember, and I still don’t believe that it solves problems. Still, there are times when I can understand why that statistic is so high. Sex-change operations are not cheap, and they are far from perfect. To a lot of people, they seem out of reach. Being stuck in the wrong body for the rest of one’s life is an extremely depressing thought. I try not to dwell on it, but some nights are just bad.

One day at a time.

Going Straight

I got a hair straightener today!

This is quite exciting. My hair wasn't exactly curly or anything, but it had a tendency to flip out at the sides, and it was definitely frizzy. Hair straightener should take care of that nicely. It even came with a "Lusterizing Cream," as the container puts it, which should help de-friz and protect it from heat damage.

I won't be posting pictures of myself for anonymity purposes, but rest assured, my hair is distinctly more feminine than it was a few days ago. I started parting it a bit to the side, which makes it curl around my jaw pretty nicely. Credit goes to my friend Krista (name changed) for inspiring the part-alteration.

Boys Don't Cry

I just watched “Boys Don’t Cry” for the first time. One-sentence summary for anyone who hasn’t seen it: A FTM passing himself off as a man is found out, and subsequently brutally raped and murdered by his former friends.

I believe that this might be the first time that I’ve been fundamentally, genuinely scared in a long, long time. Like, I can be startled, or I can worry about the future, but that’s not really scared—I can’t remember ever feeling a fear like this. It gets into my heart and my chest and my shoulders and my throat—it says to me, “Alexandria, that could be you.” Fear of what could happen to me as a transsexual just made me break down crying (what an appropriate film title it turned out to be).

I know we’ve come a long way since the 1990s, when the film is set, but all it takes is one crazy, intolerant person, and we (as a society) are not anywhere near truly accepting anyone in the LGBT community. Mob mentality and its implications frighten me, too—if one person picks on the little transwoman, it must be okay, right?

Sorry for this post being a downer—I really meant for my first post-history-explaining one to be upbeat. I’ll get around to it, I promise. I just needed to get that out.

The History of my Gender Identity

"If you want to know who you are, it's important to know who you've been." – Jadzia Dax, DS9: “Equilibrium”

I haven’t always been transsexual, or, at least, I haven’t always been aware of it. It was a relatively gradual process of exploration, denial, acceptance, and everything in-between.

When I was young, I was a pretty normal little boy—I might not have been particularly fond of playing in the mud or wrestling, and I might have been a little prone to the emotional side, but by and large I was unremarkable in the gender identity realm. About the most feminine thing I did was play with an Easy Bake Oven (lot of good that did me, I still have trouble making macaroni and cheese).

Looking back, I suppose the first signs that something was unusual about me were in elementary school, though at the time I didn’t have even the slightest idea of what a transsexual was, being a very sheltered child. I was identified as gifted from a young age, which—let’s face it—is an area traditionally dominated by girls. I’m not saying that there weren’t smart guys, but realistically, it was generally the girls who were smarter and the guys who were rough and wild.

I most definitely fell into the category of “reads a lot, last picked for sports teams, not many friends, smarter than pretty much everyone, quiet,” that sort of thing. Interestingly, I almost exclusively had male friends during my elementary years, a polar opposite of myself now. Personality wise, I was quite kind, for the most part—I distinctly remember being the only one who was worried about a widely disliked girl when she fell at recess. I was just really, really quiet.

Enter middle school. Not much of note happened here, at least in terms of transsexuality. I started to branch out and make more female friends. This is probably because middle school is where all those cute little kids start growing up and developing distinct personalities, and I usually found myself on the side of the girls. I wasn’t into sports, and I was in any honors classes that they offered, most of which were female-dominated.

Now, eighth grade (last year of middle school in this area) is where it gets interesting. I believe it was around this time that I started exploring my sexuality. The easiest way for me to do this was—you guessed it—on the Internet. At first, I just went onto chat rooms as a girl (I’ll be honest with myself here) to get a thrill. I built myself a little persona and everything; of course it was completely unrealistic, but then again, everyone exaggerates in chat rooms.

Probably in the middle of eighth grade or so I started playing Star Wars Galaxies. Playing as a female seemed like a logical choice at the time, because I’d noticed the vast differences in the way that one was treated as a girl while goofing around on Runescape (don’t worry, I’ve left that cesspool far behind). What I wasn’t expecting was how much easier it was to be a female. I felt like I could be as social as I wanted, talk however I wanted, and for the first time, people wanted to talk back to me. It wasn’t just a set of business “you get me this material, I’ll give you this” relationships anymore, I got to know people, and it was wonderful.

“Liberated” is too weak a word to describe what being myself felt like. I didn’t need to participate in dull combat anymore; I could be an entertainer/crafter and not be ridiculed, playing the social game for all it was worth and then some. I made great connections with a lot of people, and as far as they were concerned, I was just another twenty-something girl playing the game along with them. I made sure to keep my persona consistent—I was another person entirely online.

While playing SWG, I formed a very close relationship with another player. Like myself, the player was a man with a female avatar, but that didn’t matter to me. As far as we were concerned, we were both females—I’ll admit that I lied and said that I was female in real life, but in a way, I suppose that was true. To this day, I don’t really know what that relationship was—whether it was between two men, two women, a man and a woman, or something else entirely. Whatever it was, it was wonderful, and I have always regretted the way that I ended it. To be frank: I flipped out. I was ashamed of what I was doing, I was terrified that my secret would come out, so I sent that player an in-game email with some excuse about paying the rent, and promptly deleted the character and canceled my account. As far as that player knows, I really was the person I passed myself off as—I never told them the truth. There’s more to this story, but that’s not for this blog post. Maybe later.

Anyway, after the SWG incident, I went into denial for about a year or so. I was consciously telling myself that I was a guy, that I was meant to be a guy, that my jaunt as a female was wrong. I just wanted to be normal. I’d been growing my hair out during the SWG time, and had promptly decided to cut it after being teased by some kid whose name I don’t even remember now.

Slowly, I started getting back into my feminine side. I downloaded the Ventrilo client, actually, having joined a gaming clan as a female. You can imagine how that worked—I had to use text, while everyone else was on voice. Long story short, I got close to another person very quickly, a man, and again, I flipped, though I handled it differently. I tried to use a voice-masking program to sound female, the way I increasingly longed to be, but that failed as I tried it, and my secret was out to everyone in the group. I quit the application, and that was the end of my stint. I’ve never gone back.

After another few months of denial, the feelings were starting to get too strong to ignore entirely. Slowly, I let myself become more effeminate—I grew my hair out, I crossed my legs at the thigh rather than the knee or ankle, I adopted more identifiably female speech patterns, I started hanging out with more girls than guys. This was around the beginning of high school, I’d say. I wasn’t identifying as transsexual—I still didn’t really know what the term for my condition was, I don’t think. I was just exploring; in a lot of ways, I still am, and probably always will be.

I should probably mention that in the summer before freshman year (summer of 2006), I got myself a girlfriend. Kate (name changed for privacy purposes) pushed my gender identity issues to the side, at least for a while. Ironically, we met over the Internet, where gender doesn’t matter. Long-distance we were (and still are!), but we spent more time together that summer than most local couples do in a year. We even stayed up all night to watch the sunrise together a few times, even if hers was a few minutes off from mine.

Getting back to the transsexuality, the feeling just built and built over the next year and a half. Last December (December 2007) is when I really admitted to myself that I am what I am. I knew in my heart that I wanted to be a girl. The question then became how I was supposed to tell Kate something like that. I knew that she, like I, was a pro-LGBT person, but realizing that you’re dating one is a lot different than a statement of principle. Knowing that I needed to tell her in person, I waited until spring break to tell her—I stayed the week at her house, but it still took me most of the time to work up the courage.

Her reaction was everything that I could have hoped for. I’ll freely admit that I broke down sobbing while I told her my story, but she was more supportive than I could have ever hoped for. Not only did she accept me, she wanted me to explore what I felt I was meant to be. She had no trouble with me dressing or behaving the way that I wanted to—Kate’s even said that she’ll stick with me even if I get hormone replacement therapy, or even reassignment surgery. Our love is beyond physical sex (I know, I know, that’s terribly corny, but it’s the truth). “Love is love,” as they say.

Even once I admitted it to Kate, it took me a month of being back at home before I could bring myself to tell anyone else. Each time that I told someone, though, it got easier. I chose my friends well—not a single one of them has had a bad reaction. They’ve ranged from curiosity, to confusion about what “transsexual” meant, to complete, automatic acceptance. It’s been great.

A lot harder than telling my friends was telling my parents. I told my dad first—he was eating when I told him that I needed to talk to him, describing it as one of the top five most important conversations you could have with your kid. He was confused, at first—I think he latched onto the word “bisexual” more than “transsexual,” since I mentioned that I was a little bi. He was particularly confused that Kate could possibly be okay with it. Understandably, he was very concerned about my safety—we all know what kind of world it is. I’m staying anonymous on this blog for a reason. In the end, though, he agreed to support me, and it was an incredible relief to tell him.

Telling Mom came a day or two later. She was more confused than anyone else, I think—she didn’t really know what “transsexual” meant. Dad and I talked through it with her. Again, after some explaining and heartfelt discussion, she accepted it. They said that it wasn’t a complete shocker—I had effeminate mannerisms, and they could see that.

That pretty much takes us to the present day. I’m not sure where I’m going, but I know that my friends will help me along the way.

I promise that subsequent entries won't be so long, I just needed to get all of that out in the open.