Have you ever had that feeling that people are avoiding you, or at least avoiding looking you in the eye? That was the feeling I got last night at work. I’ll admit that is was probably just me as I was waiting for something to happen, for someone to make a comment or bring up what had happened the day before although no one did.

Still, I spent the night a bit on edge, questioning my common sense. There are some things that one shouldn’t do on impulse.

Lesson learned.

The good news is that I’m dealing with men and if it doesn’t involve sports, cars or guns, odds are they will forget anything happened before we return to work next week.

I will admit to being rather disappointed though. Even if I know that many of the people I work with aren’t concerned with issues they feel don’t impact them directly, ( you wouldn’t believe all the bitching and moaning over the upcoming election), I had hoped on some level that they would be more open minded.

I know I haven’t said anything really about the women I work with. That’s because the one woman I spoke to gave me the “It takes all kinds” response and that was enough. Besides, considering the way gossip flies around that place, I assumed that every lady in a five mile radius would have heard about it already. And no, I am not being mean about it either, rumors and gossip are always flying by at super sonic speed. (Let someone miss a night of work and these same, sweet hearted women will rip them apart). that’s just the nature of the beast.

The fact that none of them said anything was a relief. That’s not saying that they don’t know anything, just that it didn’t seem worth talking about.

One thing is for sure, I am going to my fall back position; head down and mouth shut and let this all go away.

In truth I feel like a traitor.

With all the fuss about Jenna Talackova still be front page news, I decided to see how my coworkers would react to seeing her and the fact that she was born male. It was pretty much what could expected and I don’t mean that as a good thing.

Let us just say that I now know there is no way this side of Hades I would ever come out to any of these people. Even the few I thought might be more open minded in a “live and let live” sort of way were pretty negative, referring to Jenna with male pronouns, and saying that “it takes all kinds”. The men where much worse of course. One “gentleman” was rather vocal in his disgust with all things Trans, saying “They” were popping up all oner the place. For a minute I thought he might punch something.

I handled the whole thing terribly, acting disbelieving that a “guy” could look like that. Blowing off people’s reactions like they were not only normal, but expected. I even said something about being careful who you buy a drink for.

God, I am such a spineless bitch.

The fact that I was surrounded by people who could have turned violent, and indeed I thought several might, is no excuse. I reacted out of fear and I did so badly.

It’s one thing to face insensitive jokes and snide remarks. It is something else to be face on with open bigotry and hatred. I don’t think I have ever been in a situation like that before, and I hope I never am again.

Just remembering the looks on their faces, the hate in their voices, is enough to turn my stomach to ice and sets my hands to shaking.

I know one thing, I am going to have to play things low key at work for some time to come. After what happened I can’t afford for someone to start connecting the dots.

I will say this though, this entire situation is making me take a closer look at myself. I really don’t like feeling like a coward and I don’t like the fact that I caved under the pressure to be “one of the guys” without so much as a whimper.

For me, the day is winding down. It won’t be long before I lay down to take a nap before I have to go to work tonight. It is the time that I often find that I am somewhat melancholy, that my thoughts are just a shade on the darker side. Nothing serious, but that’s just the way I am.

I mention this because many times this is the time that I find those random thoughts popping up. They are often like what I am going to write about tonight, something that has been slowly building for a number of days, possibly weeks without me really thinking about it or dealing with it. Something that I have been pushing aside because it one of those things that I really can’t do anything about.

It is the name I am called by those around me. The name they use without thought simply because they don’t know any better. Of course everyone uses my male name. Make sense considering that is how they see me every day, and I really should be happy that I have not changed so much in my behaviors that they would have reason to question my use of a male name or male pronouns.

But….

I find that more and more it takes everything I have not to flinch when I hear that name. To not correct them and tell them that that isn’t who I am.

To tell them that my name is Kira.

I somehow doubt they would understand.

That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt when they use that other name, that I cannot tell people who I really am.

I cannot tell them my name.

Kira Anne Moore.

Please allow me to say a very heart felt “Thank You” to everyone who posted comments yesterday and over night. Your thoughts and words mean a great deal to me, so much so that I have having trouble finding the words to answer each of you individually.

Please forgive me if this seems too impersonal, I really do wish I could answer each of you in a personal reply, but I at the limits of my stamina.

Not making excuses, I just want all of you to know that I have read all your comments and each of you have touched my heart.

Again, thank you all so much.

Kira

Yesterday ended on a bit of a bumpy note and that lead to a rather long night of working through my thoughts and feelings about what was said. It’s funny how I seem to be doing a lot more of that these days.

It did take most of the night to work through things and I even had to write some things down to get what I was feeling clear to myself. The important thing is I believe that I have come to a better understanding of myself as a result and that is a good thing.

The main discussion was regarding genetics and how at the end of the day that remains the same regardless of the cosmetic changes we may go through. I agree with that to a point. What bothers me about trying to reduce a person and how they are viewed by others to nothing more than a collection of data sheets is that it completely ignores all the things that makes a body a person.

I have lived in this body for more years that I am comfortable remembering. In all those years the bits and pieces that make up my physical form have not changed, I still have the same DNA I had when I was conceived. Even though I have lived all this time as a “boy” in a male body, that has not and does not change the fact that my brian is female. It doesn’t matter what container holds that brain, it remains that of a female. It doesn’t matter that the adults in my life tried to condition me to act male when I was a child, I remain female. It doesn’t matter that I spent years suppressing my natural thought processes and emotions, I remain female.

Yes, a DNA test most likely would show me as male, but a brain scan would show something different. That the two do not match does nothing about how people view this body, they cannot see my brain, my thoughts or my emotions; they can can see no further than the skin I wear.

But that skin is not who I am, it does not tell the truth of who I am.

Do I wish I would have been born in the correct body? Of course, but if I had been, then I would not be who I am today, and you know what? Despite all the things i have been through, I would like to think that I am a better person than I would have been otherwise. Living through the furnace fires of life has refined me and I don’t think I would want to trade that for anything.

It’s a strange feeling when you realize that your view, from your side of the street isn’t the same as those around you and their side of the street.

There was a time when I was able to fool myself into thinking that everyone was walking on the same side. That we were all seeing things from a similar point of view even if mine seemed somewhat skewed. I had convinced myself that even if many of the things I saw around me felt wrong somehow, almost alien, it was because I was a little strange. As proof I pointed out that I am an artist when no one else around me cares a wit about art. I am a poet when those around me couldn’t pick Robert Frost out of a line up and I’m a writer among people who think Harlequin romance novels are the be all and end all of great literature. I was simply eccentric. I was champagne in a beer world.

Lying to myself doesn’t work anymore.

The more time that goes by I am discovering why I never fit in, why trying to be “one of the guys” felt like I was trying to wear skin three sizes too small.

In many ways this understanding has set me free, but in others it has shown me the boundaries in which I live. It is confining in ways I never imagined. I can say that I now understand what is meant by ‘ignorance is bliss’. If you never knew you lived in a tiny prison cell, you would live and die blissfully unaware of the garden that grew on the other side of those four walls.

I have a lot of emotions and thoughts I need to process. In short, I need to catch my breath.

I already have two posts that I will upload, and then I am going to get away from this infernal machine for a few hours before I have to go to work.

Yes, work. No matter how bad a day I might have had, life goes on. Bills need to be paid, laundry needs to be done, and dishes need to be washed. Some days I wish life had a “pause” button!

In any case, I will try to check in later tonight as time allows and approve any comments but I won’t post any replies until tomorrow, I simply don’t have the energy.

I hope everyone has a great night. May all your dreams be pleasant.

Best Reagards,

Kira

However, there are times when something cannot be ignored. It must be talked about, brought into the open, where maybe it can be used to bring about healing instead of being hidden away. Covered up and allow to fester into something that can cannot be controlled or cleansed. A festering that in time will eat away at the soul until it poisons everything it touches.

I found this blog entry:
http://cmdouse.wordpress.com/2012/04/10/you-cant-change-genetics-with-a-guilt-trip/

I have nothing against this person for posting this. In the end he has as much right to say what he thinks as anyone else. In fact, I am glad that people feel they can express their opinions and thoughts without fear.

I just wish I hadn’t read what he had to say, not because I disagree, but because it touches on a pain that I am all too familiar with. It is always at the back of my thoughts, it always colors my view of myself, and it brings a great, deep, and abiding pain that I can do nothing to ease.

So what is it? It is a truth I cannot escape. One simple fact that will haunt me until the day I die.

That no matter what I may do, no matter how I may act, no matter how much I may wish it otherwise,

I am not, nor can I ever be a woman in the full meaning of that word.

I can have the all the surgeries, I can pump myself full of hormones, I can take voice lessons. I can even take classes on how to be a proper lady.

But at the end of the day I will still have the same DNA. I will be the same as the day I was born all the way down to the subatomic level and there is not a damn thing I can do to change that fact.

Maybe the day will come when we can remake our bodies and be the correct gender all the way down to smallest possible levels. That a person can be in physical truth what they know in their hearts to be true, but that day is not today.

This is my truth, this is my pain.

This is what fuels the doubts and fears that burn in my soul. This is the core of the tears that are flowing down my face as I write these words.

I understand that someone who is not Transgender or Transsexual cannot not understand that we live the truth he insists on shoving our noses in.

I understand that he has an opinion, thoughts and feelings regarding this issue, but I also understand that he will never live it and having never lived it he cannot truly understand the reality. He seems to think he does, and he does make a few good points in arguing his case, but he makes some assumptions in regards to why we wish to be treated certain ways and misses the underlying truth.

We know what we are. We know the truth.

And while I cannot speak for anyone other than myself, I can say that I live with the pain of knowing the truth of just how far I could ever transition before I can go no further. I know that I can never be the whole woman I dream of being, the woman I cry for every night, because I cannot alter what genetics I was born with.

That is something no cisgender person will ever be able to understand.

The Girl of My Dreams

By Kira A. Moore

Where has she gone,

that girl in my dreams?

The one with flowing

hair, caught in the breeze,

As free as her heart,

so compassionate,

understanding the truth

of a world that does not see.

Where is she now, as dawn light

becomes this new day,

and I open my eyes,

to blue upon blue.

Tanks and trucks,

cowboys and G.I. Joe,

piled in the box at

the foot of the bed.

I close my eyes and see her

again, waiting.

Simply waiting,

with patience and grace.

For the day when she,

like me,

will awake in her bed

and begin a new day.

I know that at some point I mentioned the fact that I have hated the color pink since I was a child. Well, as it turns out, that wasn’t entirely true.

The exception to that rule was the Pink Panther and The Pink Panther Show.

Every Saturday it was one of the shows I most looked forward to. More than the Flintstones, more than Bugs Bunny, or the Shazam/Isis Power Hour. The only thing that came close was Roadrunner and that was a distant second to that big, PINK, cat.

Yes, I liked Inspector, and Aardvark and Ant, but it was all about that big, PINK, cat. The show was named after him after all. He was the star. The real cool cat. Long before Cheetos thought up Chester, there was that big, PINK, cat.

So how could I possibly hate pink and still love this show?

I just write it off to one of the mysteries of the universe.

So, why am I writing about a character from a 70s cartoon?

Well, A bought me a Pink Panther Tee, and for Easter she got me a pair of Pink Panther PJ pants, both so I had something “girlie” I could wear to bed that wouldn’t be obvious to the two older kids. (I am happy to note that neither has batted an eye over either item).

This is somewhat note worthy because the Tee is a very vibrant shade of PINK. When I say PINK, I mean the whole thing, top to bottom, front to back is a shade of PINK that could be used to land an airplane.

And you know what? I love it! I love the picture, I love the color and I love that A thought to buy it for me because she thought I would look cute in it.

The PJ pants are black, with a black and white ribbon for a draw string and a picture of the Pink Panther on the front left hip with his name in bright pink.. which seems all the brighter being set against the darker color.

So I guess I am at least a little over my hatred for all things pink… at least as far as anything that has the Pink Panther on it. (I reserve the right to hate anything else pink).

When the story of Jenna Talackova first broke, my gut reaction was that this was going to cause trouble for the whole of the Transgender community. Reading blogs, news stories, and comments online is starting to confirm that first feeling of unease.

There are a growing number of opinion pieces that are now accusing the Transgender community of having an agenda. An evil, devious agenda wherein Transgender people, or more to the point, male to female transgender people are trying to force lesbian women to have sex with them while seeking to usurp the safe places and agendas of all “real women”. Add to this the apparent conspiracy to do the same to intersex people and you have a group that would seem to be the greatest threat to humanity since WWII.

If these people had their way, all Transgender people would be rounded up and locked away, or better yet, pushed into a space ship and sent off planet where we couldn’t hurt all the “real” people.

I admit that what I have read has been very distressing. There have been several occasions when I wondered what the point of trying to simply live my life as who I truly am really was. There will always be people who will hate me just for that. It doesn’t matter what I have or have not done, the fact that I exist is enough for them to hate.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not foolish enough to think I would get through life without running into small minded bigots who feel the need to hurt others in order for their own lives to have meaning. I have heard the jokes, the snickers, the laughter. I have had the experience of listening to people I thought were open minded belittle someone because they were different, because they weren’t “normal”. I know these people exist, I have had to deal with them for other issues than being Transgender, but that didn’t make what they said and did hurt any less.

To speak of others in ways meant to dehumanize them is wrong no matter what the reasoning and doing so says more of the speaker than who they speak of.

I will admit that I have an agenda. Not as someone who is Transgender, but as a person. As a human being.

I want to live my life free from fear.

I want to be able to be who I am without others telling me I am wrong, sick or delusional.

I want my children to be free to be who they are without the hate and discrimination I have known.

That is my agenda in a nut shell.

What is not on my agenda?

I don’t want anyone, no matter what their sex, gender, or orientation to feel that they have to sleep with me. I have never had sex with someone who didn’t want to be with me and I’m not about to start now.

I don’t want to usurp anyone’s space online or off. There are places that Transgender people can call their own and others should be allowed to have theirs.

I am not intersexed. I have never claimed to be and never will.

The things I want for myself, for people like me, and ultimately our children is the same as so many before us has wanted: to live, to be free, to be happy…

sound familiar?

It should.

Quite a bit of attention has been stirred up over Jenna Talackova and the Miss Universe Pageant. Normally I would say that attention was a good thing because it brings about conversation and that leads to people thinking about issues they may not understand and thus brings about a more honest discussion.

I don’t have that viewpoint in this case.

At this point all that has happened is that the issue of being Transgender, (or more to the point, Transsexual), has actually muddied the waters. Much of the attention has shifted to defining what “naturally born” means and not what makes someone a “man” or “woman”, which one should agree covers much more than what equipment someone had when they were born.

Much of the argument here is centered around that phrase, “naturally born”. That is, for the purpose of a competition, the contestants need to have been brought into the world with all the equipment that qualifies as “female”, or at least the appearance of being female, so that they receive the all important check in the “female” box.

I wonder how many people who agree with that assessment have really thought through what such a requirement might mean in a world where DNA can be recovered and analyzed?

If we say that in order to be considered male or female one must have the correct DNA to lay claim to said gender, then in what other ways might DNA be used to include, (or more importantly, exclude), an individual within a given group?

If we say that how we see and think of ourselves is unimportant, that all that can and will be taken into account is written on a piece of paper or in a DNA profile, then what we have done is reduce ourselves to a sum of our parts and disregarded the whole of what it means to be not just male or female, but to be human.

I have had all day to think about what happened yesterday and I realize that I really need to be able to sit down and talk with someone face to face. The internet is a wonderful place full of amazing people, but there is something about being able to sit down and speak with someone when you can see their face. When you can watch their expressions and hear their voice. There is a connection that is missing from reading words on a screen no matter how supportive or well intentioned.

I have found that the need for that interaction, that connection, is building and I don’t know how long I can hold it in. My slip was proof of how powerful that need can be.

Speaking with a therapist might help, in fact it would be better than nothing, but I don’t know when or even if it will be possible to do so. It seems like every time I think i have worked out the time issues, something else comes up that is more immediate, more demanding, more important. Besides that is the issue of cost. Even with insurance picking up some of the cost, it will be very expensive and our budget is pretty tight. I’m not sure what else I can cut back on to make sure I have the funds.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining and I’m not making excuses. I just have to find a way to balance things so that I don’t cause problems with the family budget. As I’ve said before, the kids will always come first and I refuse to do anything that might put unneeded stress or hardship on them.

I’m sure this will work itself out in some way. I don’t how, I don’t know when, but I am sure that something will present itself if I have the patience to wait a little bit. Making a rushed decision is a good way to make a mistake that you can’t get back. There is too much at stake to take a risk like that.

It is times like these that I wish I could have dealt with these issues when I was still a child, when I was the only one who would pay for my own mistakes. But I cannot turn back the clock, I cannot relive the past and all the wishing in the world won’t change the reality that I live in now.

Of course that doesn’t make things easier, but I do not and will not regret the decisions I have made that have brought me to this place at this point in time. Life is what it is, we can either live it or constantly pine over what could have been until there is nothing left of the here and now.