Soon, as soon as I get my paycheck, I will purchasing some new glasses.  In which case I will actually wear glasses in my photos.  The glasses I have now are rather feminine, but alas, I can’t see without them!

On another thought, I may dye my hair a darker colour when I get the chance.  I’m not sure yet.  What do you think?

You see, I go back and forth whether I think it’s more important to be a strong woman represented on the job that can do the same work as men, just as well as the men. Or if I think it’s more important to honor my identity as a man on the job. The feminist in me thinks it’s really important to be visible as a strong woman who is capable of physically tolling labor. To be a role model for other women while doing a job like landscaping. The other part of me thinks it’s more important to be acknowledged as a man doing physical labor.

I was talking with a friend last week and expressing these things. She said I of course have to honor myself and my capabilities as a strong man. I should leave it to the women who are confident in their femininity and just as capable in a job of that type to be the strong women role models.

There are some really strong, independent and hardworking chicks I work with at this job. They are fully confident and rooted in their femininity. I do not need to be represented as a female to fulfill some quota I have made up in my mind. Those women are taking care of themselves and breaking stereotypes. I do not feel comfortable nor do I have to put myself in this box that I’ve created for feminism’s sake. I can be a strong man who is a feminist, who recognizes and makes space for women in society and in a job like landscaping.

Side note: I pushed over 800lbs of mulch up a hill with a 45 degree angle for over 2 hours on Friday. Beast mode complete. And it made me feel good to have my coworkers use male pronouns when describing how beastly my endeavors were. Yay.

I wish I could just move somewhere and start fresh.  I don’t want to transition- I don’t want to go through that whole process.  I just want to wake up tomorrow and be male.  Why doesn’t it work that way?

We Who Are Sexy: The Whirlwind History Of Transgender Images In Cinema
Film lecture by Susan Stryker
Amsterdam TranScreen-IHLIA:
Wednesday 29 May 2013 // 17:00 – 18:30 hrs

Join film historian Susan Stryker for a whirlwind ride through the history of transgender images in film. This program showcases rarely seen tidbits, ranging from the bad old days of guys in dresses and pathological trannies through the empowered self-representations of the early ’90s and into the hot transgender best of the 21st century. Featuring clips from WE WHO ARE SEXY (KAMING MGA TALYADA), QUEENS AT HEART and BY HOOK OR BY CROOK.

Location: IHLIA-plaza, Hella Haasse-Simon Vestdijkzaal, Main Public Library Amsterdam, 6th floor, Oosterdokskade 143, 1011 DL, Amsterdam
Free and open to the public. Registration necessary (up to 55 participants): art@transcreen.org

DOING GENDER lecture by Susan Stryker
Christine in the Cutting Room
The Netherlands Research School of Gender Studies/Graduate Gender Programme (Utrecht University): Thursday 30 May, 2013 // 14:00 – 16:00 hrs

In a new media project that straddles the boundary between documentary and art, transgender scholar and filmmaker Susan Stryker uses the career of 1950s transsexual icon Christine Jorgensen to explore identity, embodiment, technology and representation. This program will feature an overview of Jorgensen’s career, highlights from archival media discovered during research and a clip from the work-in-progress.

With a response after the lecture by Eliza Steinbock (Maastricht University, Center for Gender and Diversity)
Location: Utrecht University, U-Theater Studio T: Kromme Nieuwegracht 20, 3512 HH, Utrecht
Free and open to the public. Registration necessary: nog@uu.nl

Biography Susan Stryker:
Susan Stryker, Associate Professor of Gender and Women’s Studies and Director of the Institute for LGBT Studies, University of Arizona, won an Emmy for her 2005 documentary Screaming Queens: The Riot at Compton’s Cafeteria. She is the author of many articles and several books on transgender and queer topics, most recently ‘Transgender History’ (Seal Press 2008). She won a Lambda Literary Award for the anthology ‘The Transgender Studies Reader’ (Routledge 2006). Dr. Stryker currently teaches classes on LGBT history, and on embodiment and technology. Research interests include transgender and queer studies, film and media, built environments, somatechnics, and critical theory.

Further announcement:
Workshop with Susan Stryker
@ Queeristan Festival
Interactive workshop and demonstration on research activism (details still to follow)
Saturday 1 June
16:00-19:00 // De Valreep (Amsterdam east)
More info can be found on www.queeristan.org

TranScreen, the Amsterdam Transgender Filmfestival: http://www.transcreen.org
Graduate Gender Programme: http://www.genderstudies.nl
Netherlands Research School of Gender Studies: http://www.graduategenderstudies.nl

Love does not run,
Love does not hide.
Love does not keep
Locked inside.

Love is a river
That flows through,
And love never fails you…

Love will sustain,
Love will provide,
Love will not cease
At the end of time.

Love will protect,
Love always hopes,
And love still believes
When you don’t.

Love is the arms
That are holding you.
Love never fails you….

When my heart won’t make a sound,
When I can’t turn back around,
When the sky is falling down,
Nothing is greater than this,
Greater than this…

Cause love is right here,
Love is alive.
Love is the way,
The truth,
The life.

Love is the river that flows through
Love is the arms that are holding you
And love is the place you will fly to
Love never fails you….

-Brandon Heath-

What if the world you know is something you have to leave behind in order to get what you want and become the person you ought to be from the very beginning? What if…………?

Well it took me long enough to do just that. While still having a large foot in what you can call the lesbian subculture, I started to change. I felt myself drawn to the inner changes. While that was happening and while I was leaving the world I knew so well behind, something other remarkable happened as well….I fell in love with this gorgeous woman whom I happened to meet a very long time ago. We actually met once when I was 17. But that one brief moment was enough……

A long the way of the days of your life you meet people and some you never meet again but in this case we did. We did meet again and what was impossible when we were younger became a possibility in present time. Out of nowhere I found myself falling in love, something I did not expected to happen and neither did she. But we did. It feels like that The One, The God of Love, looked at us both and in our hearts and gave us love for each other. Love that goes deeper than we ever experienced. A feeling of love that feels so natural and at the same time so overwhelming. Needless to say that I am filled with joy and happiness.

To me it feels like a present, a gift sent from above. To me it feels like when you close a door and say goodbye, a new hello will eventually come into your life when you let it happen. I’ve could have chosen otherwise. We both could have chosen otherwise. But we decided to accept that gift. That gift of love, given out of love to us. That is how it feels. That this was given to us as an opportunity.

Now it is up to us……to let it bloom and to give it time and space and enjoy every moment that we choose to be together. To spend time together and get to know each other better. And even when we are not in the same space to know that our hearts are and that it is good to spend time on our own and enjoy our own company or the company of others.

Love never fails. Love wins every time.

To me it is also like that I loved myself enough to get this physical change and by doing so, I created an opportunity, so that love could come my way in a way I was dreaming about when I was still trapped inside my body. To me it is like a dream come true and I am enjoying each and every minute of it.

I am almost 7 months on Testosterone and I am doing very, very well.

As for my own mother, I don’t know if she is living or dead (I assume she’s alive), nor do I even know the country she now lives in. I assume it is South Africa, where she (and I) was born.

While I admire the sacrifices mothers make every day to raise strong, healthy, well-adjusted children, my own complicated relationship with my mother prevents me from reaching out to the person who brought me into this world. I hope she is well wherever she is. And while our estrangement has been painful – to both of us I’m sure – I do not foresee ever seeing her again in my lifetime. For us the road together ended long ago.

I’d like to devote this blog post to the motherless ones. To those of us who lost our mothers along the way to adulthood and ourselves.

My mother wasn’t a terrible person. At least, I trust she did not strive for that. She was born in 1944 in a small farmer’s town in rural South Africa. The youngest of three children (sort of – she had a fraternal twin brother and an older sister), she was the first person in her family to attend university, where she studied psychology. It was during those university years that she met my father, also a student, studying to become a physician, and later a psychiatrist. They met on a blind date, set up by mutual friends. From the sounds of it, my mother wasn’t overly impressed with my father at first. But they became an item eventually; married in 1963. Then two years after, my father faced a grim medical prognosis. His kidneys were failing and he would need to undergo a transplant if he were to survive. Despite his protestations to leave him be, his own mother stepped forward as a donor and the surgery took place some time in 1965.

My father survived what was then still considered experimental surgery and my mother stayed by his side throughout. She was the rock that got him through it all, he used to say. It would take another three years before my oldest sister was born. And then four years later my middle sister followed. After that my parents took a hiatus from conceiving until seven years later in 1979, when I was born one winter day. I try to imagine my mother and father as lovestruck youngsters. My mother, a lowly farmer’s daughter, had bagged herself a doctor for a husband – she must have felt pretty good about her prospects.

But my father was not a well man. His health was precarious all throughout my childhood and we were raised in a household of fear and mistrust. Every argument or disagreement was seen as a potentially fatal blow to my father’s health. My mother raised us to behave well or else bad things would happen. As an impressionable and fearful child, I wanted nothing more than to be good at all times, and I was eager for my parents’ approval. I thought only they could be trusted in the whole wide world and I followed my mother everywhere like a puppy. As for my father, we all approached him with a kind of fearful reverence and affection: he was the man who lived when he shouldn’t have and who suffered from chronic pain all his life.

I grew up, until the age of 11, in a smallish city called Prince George in northern British Columbia, Canada. It was a far cry from the dusty South African landscape my parents both were from. They had left for Canada on the advice of a family friend, who had encouraged them to see the world. So, when my father was almost forty years old, and my mother four years younger, they landed in Canada in search of adventure. The adventure lasted 10 years, give or take, with a short intermission in the middle – a year and a half stint during which we returned to South Africa briefly. We lived in Canada long enough that we each earned our citizenship cards – and life, at least from my childish perspective, was pretty good. Until it wasn’t anymore.

My relationship with my mother had started to sour before I entered my teens but it got much, much worse as puberty hit me. In 1990, with my father’s health starting to fail and my middle sister and mother calling for a return to our home country (it was home to them – for me, Canada was all I knew), we did just that: we flew back to South Africa and my father and mother bought a modest little house in a mostly white suburban neighbourhood in Pretoria – a city known for its large conservative Afrikaner population.

Depression hit me hard soon after and I struggled to make sense of my new cultural surroundings, my gender expression and my sexual identity. My parents, I felt pretty sure, were not going to be able to help me figure these things out. And no one I knew seemed to be struggling with the same issues as I was. I knew no one who was gay nor did I have any concept of what it meant to be a transsexual, let alone a female-to-male transguy. My mother, I knew, had a low opinion of lesbians – I knew this because when I was still a pre-teen in Prince George she had forbidden me from playing with a school friend because, she said, the girl was a “lesbian”. She also disapproved of the conductor of the children’s orchestra I was part of because this woman, too, was a dreaded “lesbian”.

But I had no real feeling of myself as someone who fit under the lesbian label. I liked girls just fine, but I liked boys too. More importantly, though, I was drawn to boyish things – and this had nothing to do with sexual attraction. While my mother tolerated my tomboyish ways when I was just a child in Canada, as a teenager in a conservative South African neighbourhood, I was expected to behave a certain way. I failed at it miserably. I hated wearing dresses, was useless at putting on make-up or learning how to cook. I preferred the company of my father’s male friends and was much more drawn to the types of conversations they would have – conversations about the news and politics and philosophy and music. I had little interest in exchanging recipes or discussing soap operas in the kitchen.

As graduation day from high school approached, my mother and I barely were on speaking terms. She felt I was intentionally badly behaved and showed little sympathy for my mental illness. By then I was severely, suicidally depressed, and my father, the psychiatrist, took the step of feeding me anti-depressant pills he received for free from the drug reps that visited his office. I had no language with which to explain what was ailing me, and my parents showed little interest in finding out the cause.

After high school, I left for Canada to study and stayed with my eldest sister who had settled on Vancouver Island. That move probably saved my life. I was still a very troubled person but the continental divide gave me enough distance from my critical mother to begin to seek my own answers for what was wrong. At university, I eventually discovered a language for what I was going through, and a term for what I was. I was transgender. A female-to-male transsexual. A transman.

My relationship with my mother never recovered.

(to be continued)

But I have to say, coming out of the closet has been awesome for me.

I know full well that coming out can have its issues.  It can be uncomfortable, you may have people oppose you and treat you badly because of who you are, and sometimes it can be dangerous.

Though we’re not here to talk about the bad stuff.  That’s another article.

We’re here to talk about why coming out of the closet can be amazing!

• You won’t have to feel like you’re hiding or lying to others or yourself.  People will know and treat you as you really are!
• You can be on the outside who you are on the inside.  There’s no feeling better than that!
• Anxiety about your identity can start to melt away.
• You’re moving forward, and how great is that!?  Maybe you can’t afford hormone replacement therapy (HRT) right now, but you’re still moving forward!
• You can share your joy with others.  You’re excited you’re finally starting to see physical changes or you finally got your first binder!  Now that you’re friends/family know, you can share your happy news and gush with them!  If you don’t have friends/family that are supportive, you should find some new people to be in your life!
• You’ll have others to help you in your journey!  Need some help shopping in the men’s/women’s departments?  Now you’re free to ask your best friend to come with and help!  Maybe your coworker who’s clothes you’ve always adored will share where they shop and when the best discounts are!
• You’re helping a new generation!  The world is moving forward, and it’s thanks to those who’re brave enough to step forward out of that dark closet and share their life!
• The benefits are far too many to list here.  But trust me, there’s a world of sunlight waiting for you!

I’m so proud to have come out of the closet as far as I have (and to the people I have)!  I feel so free, so happy, and just feel myself!  I am truly honored to have had the support I’ve received, from such unexpected places at that!

I hold out my hand to you and ask you to come out of the closet with me.  It’s much brighter out here!

With that said, I know safety and emotional pain can be an issue, so you and only you know if it’s the right time or place to come out.  All that’s important is that you get somewhere where you CAN.  Come join us.  Whether today, or tomorrow.  Know that there are so many of use out here that will gladly join hands with you and give our support!

Keep Roamin’,

Roma

I generally don’t like labels, to me, the labels people or society put on themselves, do not define the person. But, as it makes it easier for most people to understand you, what you mean or how you feel, we have to use them. I’ve found that saying you’re human, either makes you a pretentious prick or a complete jackass in other people’s eyes.

Pansexuality, for me, means that I’m not attracted to someone’s gender, whether it be male, female, both or neither, or anywhere in-between, it’s the actual person I’m interested in, not who or what they identify as or what genitals they have. It has nothing to do with the cliché of “it’s not your looks that matter, but your personality“, because that particular cliché works for all sexualities, genders and relationships.

Being asexual, means that I’m not sexually attracted to anyone or looking for a sexual relationship with someone. That doesn’t mean that I don’t get turned on, nor does it mean that I don’t masturbate, but that’s a whole other subject in regards to my life. It also doesn’t mean that I won’t or don’t want to have sex, because at some point, with the right person, I would like to, but for me, sex is almost like a sideline or a by-product of a relationship. It’s not overly important, nor is it vital to make a relationship work.

Now for the most confusing part.

What exactly is a gender-neutral, transgender male? How I personally understand it, is that whilst I currently have a female body, I’m not 100% female, but nor am I 100% male. I’m not going to say my brain is either gender, because it’s not, it’s unique and complex, like everyone else’s, but inside my brain and inside my heart, I know I’m closer to being a male and I identify and present as a male. Some people might say that I’m genderqueer, but I’m not. I don’t identify or present as female and I haven’t for a long time, I don’t see myself as ever being female or ever wanting to be female. I have never seen myself as either gender, even though I identify as male and prefer male pronouns etc., I’m neither gender. My body and genitals don’t define my gender either, I could and will likely be perfectly happy as a man who happens to have a vagina.

I realise that my explanations may not make sense to some people, which I apologise for. For some people it’s very easy to explain their sexuality and/or gender, but for me it’s not. It’s a very difficult thing to explain and describe to someone I don’t know, or even to someone I do know, how I feel and understand myself. Just because I know how to explain it to myself, doesn’t mean I can explain it in the same way to someone else.

Those are my own feelings and explanations, how I explain them and view them, is not how every other transgender, gender-neutral, asexual or pansexual will view themselves or how they would explain how they feel. So please, don’t ever make assumptions or liken one persons experience to another’s, because, even if people go through the exact same thing, nobody experiences things the same way, we’re all different and we all think and feel in different ways.

I hope I’ve managed to clear up any confusion regarding my gender and sexuality, if not, I apologise. I’ll hopefully see you around for my next post.

Love and light,

Chris

This is mainly a means for my own self-expression and use, much like a diary, but not quite as self-centred or exclusive. I would like to be able to help people, LGBTQ or not, by entertaining, inspiring or just informing them, so please, feel free to join me.

So, what exactly is a “custom-made male”? Basically, it’s a phrase to document my journey in becoming the person I want to be and the person I know I am. I’m moulding and shaping (“customising”) myself to who I want to be, and that person just happens to be an asexual, pansexual, gender-neutral, transgender male. Confused? Don’t worry, I’ll explain.

There is a lot more to being male or female, than how your body looks, or what genitals you have. Wherever you happen to fall on the gender spectrum (because it’s not just simply “male” or “female”), you are not defined by your genitals. For some people to feel complete, comfortable and happy within themselves and their chosen gender, they need to have either a penis or a vagina, and some feel they need both or neither, but nothing says your gender has to coincide with what’s in your pants.

Gender is diverse and ever-changing, there is no “right” or “wrong” way to be any gender, nor is there a “right” or “wrong” way to be a certain sexuality, everyone is different and everyone deserves respect for whatever makes them, them.

I’m at the beginning of my journey, I’m pre-everything (hormones, surgery), but as I write this, I’m waiting to start my Gender Therapy. Hopefully when I do that, it’ll kick-start my entire transition and help me to figure out what exactly I feel I need to do and how far I feel I need to go in terms of changing myself, to be comfortable and happy within myself and my skin.

How far any trans* person goes with their therapy and transition, whether they take hormones or have surgery, or both, is dependent on that person. No trans* person is exactly the same and no-one can tell them what they need to do in order to feel comfortable and happy within themselves, in terms of gender.

My definition of “custom-made” can apply to anyone and everyone, because we all want to become the person we want to be, who we wish we were, in either body or mind. Don’t be afraid to “customise” yourself, everyone’s different and nobody controls you but yourself.

Love and light,

Chris

The latest newsletter, with info on my NYC readings this week, a new interview with Lambda Lit Review and more!

Pictures from San Francisco coming soon.

Life has tough days. Life has tough months and tough years and tough decades. I do not have to choose to reflect on how tough those times are. I have a choice, absolutely. Some days I can totally vent and whine and complain until I feel empty inside. I get to do that as a human being. I also have to remember that if I expect things I will constantly be disappointed. I don’t have to have a good outlook on life all of the time. I don’t have to be Mr. Positivity all the time either. However, it is exhausting not to have a good outlook on life. Self pity is exhausting. “Poor me, poor me.” If I focus too heavily on the ‘problems’ or ‘injustices’ of some aspects of my life instead of the solution or what I can do to alleviate those things, I’m doing no good to anyone or anything. Myself included.

Transitioning is hard. It’s fucking hard. And also it’s not. It is life. It is my life. And it won’t be like this forever. This day today, May 11, I’m just living. Living in my skin, living in my Tess-ness and I FEEL GOOD FOLKS! I’m right here in myself and I feel okay and centered and peaceful. I want nothing. I don’t have to be anything. *Cue sigh of relief* I’m living in my skin right here right now, transitioning but not on hormones, presenting as female sometimes, presenting as male other times, but Tess all the time.

I’ll take each second today to be in myself just as I am. Tomorrow is another story, but I’m going to be in today, today.

I did a lot of thinking after I wrote the post last night, and came to several conclusions.  It is obvious that I don’t pass as a guy right now, because lo’ behold, everything about me looks like a girl.  So, what is there to change about that?  Well, as soon as I am getting paid next week, some changes will be made.  To start off with, I am going to be purchasing a pair of glasses intended for men.  I will get my hair cut, or I may cut it myself.  I’m not sure yet.  I will start wearing less feminine clothing outside of work.

I’m going to ask my friends to start calling me Phillip.  One of them already has decided to call me PJ.  He said it was either that or Philly Cheese Steak.

This is really happening.  Finally.  The past few weeks have been hell, and all because I’ve been thinking about this and worrying about it and bottling it all up.  Now that it’s finally out- now that I’m finally out to someone- I feel so much lighter.  Better.  Relieved.

Of course questions were asked.

“Since when?”

“How?”

When I couldn’t explain anything, all I got was an “I don’t understand.” and the conversation ended.  I suppose I really ought to get more comfortable talking about this, though, if I ever want to go anywhere with it.  Since I just came out, though, I suppose that it’s normal that I’m not quite comfortable talking about this whole situation.

—

If any trans* individual is reading this, would you mind contacting me?  I’d really like to talk to you.

phillisaurus@gmail.com

Today marks the beginning of,.. something.  I’m not entirely sure what it marks the beginning of yet.  I’m just extremely confused, and hope that this journey will clear up some of that confusion.

Today is the day that my three closest friends realized that I have been serious about wanting to be called Phillip.  They realized that I want to become a man.  What made today so special?  I don’t have the slightest clue, and I’m not sure yet about how I feel with them knowing this.  I’m lost.  I’m confused.  I’m scared.

I’ve never talked about this to anyone, yet alone be so bold to actually agree with them that yes, I am transgender.  So I suppose I am fully admitting it to myself as well as to them.  My name is Phillip, not Jessica.  I might look like a regular girl on the outside, but on the inside I am so far from that.

I don’t really know how to go about speaking about this.  I’m just incredibly unsure at the moment.  I really just wanted to mark this day in history somehow.  It’s the beginning of my journey, leading to wherever.

I just need to think some things through, I think.  I’ll update you later.

So i am now in seattle, washington. I arrived last night. I left Chicago a bit early for a job interview i had today. It went well! We will see where it leads- if it leads anywhere.

Hey, seattle has changed. When i got off the light rail last night at about 11pm all i saw was homelessness everywhere. What blew me away was when i walked through the square… There was about 70-80 homeless YOUTH! Kids from the age of 15 to 24 if not you get and older. I went by the bench i once slept on many years ago… It was occupied by a girl who couldnt be much older than 16. I looked at her for just a moment and wished she would find her way home… But then it hit me that she may not have a place to call home. So i prayed she would someday find the courage to make her own home. To have have the strength to fight her inner struggles whatever they may be, and build a home for herself. And that someone may show her love and support. I wish i could be that person, but i didnt wanna get into a fight. never wake up somebody sleeping on the streets unless u plan on housing them or financing them.

So my first night was a little rough. But im okay and enjoying the day. Im looking forward to exploring a little.

Well i hope you all are well. Please… Please remember to show someone love. Tell someone they are beautiful. Give someone a piece of candy. Anything… Make someone smile. Spread the love.

God bless you.

-mickey

Keep hope alive! Head up!

Jinkx Monsoon and Vivienne Pinay are just as much men as Gerard Butler and Hugh Jackman if they want to be.

On to my point: you don’t have to look like a guy. You don’t have to act, walk, talk, eat, smell like a guy. You don’t have to do a damn thing ‘like a guy’. Do you know why? Because YOU ARE A GUY. You’re just a guy, 100% all the way through you. You don’t have to try to put on some act, you don’t have to sag your pants, or drop your voice, or bind your chest. You don’t have to do any of that to be a man. You could stand in front of me in pumps and a mini skirt and I would say you’re a man every time.

The outside, your body, the shell your soul is in, doesn’t mean anything about who you are. You are not your body. You aren’t those boobs, those curves, those small delicate hands. You are not those things. You are who you are, down in your heart. You’re ALWAYS a man to me, and you are ALWAYS going to be a man no matter what you’re wearing, or who misgenders you.

I know passing is important to make some of you feel like a man. I know how important it is to feel like a man, and I know how hard it is to not feel like a man. I understand, and I have been there. I know it is painful not to be respected for who you are, but I need you to take a deep breath, and believe wholeheartedly the next few sentences.

Passing isn’t everything. I know that is like a winner saying winning isn’t everything, but just believe it. You don’t have to look perfect every day, you’re allowed to take the binder off and take a break. Just because you dress in a girly shirt one day or you wear a bra, that doesn’t say you aren’t trans enough. There is no such thing as trans enough. You don’t have to be miserable all the time, you don’t have to hate your body. You are allowed to ‘not pass’ for a few days, you are allowed to want to look pretty some days, you are allowed to present female and be a male at heart. You are allowed to do whatever you want.

And society can shove it for not agreeing.

I got up and did my normal morning routine before school, but this time I packed up my testosterone to take with me to student health services so I could get my injection before class. However, as I was packing up my bag, I noticed Harry was in some weird contorted position just outside the room. At first, I thought he was having a seizure, but as I got closer, I realized he was looking. When I looked at it more closely, I saw his fur was all matted and wet from continued licking. This isn’t his normal behavior, so I checked the area to see what was bothering him. What I found was not what I expected. He had vaccines given to him earlier this week, and apparently the injection site was irritating him, so he licked it raw. =( By the time I disinfected the area and cleaned him up, I was running behind schedule by 10 minutes.

I hurried to student health services and checked in. The nurse who gave me my first injection called me in a couple minutes later. I walked in the room and sat down. This was it. I had to do it myself. She watched as I drew up the testosterone into the syringe. She showed me where to inject again. I sat for a minute or two holding the syringe in my hand. I am not going to lie. I was nervous about giving myself an injection. I didn’t want to wait too long though, no point in building up the suspense. Next thing I know, I was pushing the needle into my leg. My leg started shaking, but oddly, it didn’t hurt at all. I began to depress the plunger, but my leg just kept shaking. So, I had to take breaks from injection the testosterone to get a handle on my shaking leg. At this point, I don’t know why my leg was shaking. I had already done the hard part, but I finally got all of the injection into the muscle and quickly pulled out the needle. All in all, it wasn’t too bad. Next injection will be better since I’ll just be able to do it at home without having to go to student health services. I am glad that I had the nurses guidance though!

I ended up being half an hour late to my class because the nurse wanted me to wait around for 20 minutes, but it was definitely worth it. I found out that I didn’t really miss much anyway, since the professor had only started lecturing about 5 minutes before I showed up.

Anyway, as far as changes go. Nothing seems to have happened since last week. I think my face has gotten more oily, but that’s about it.

• Fished around the internet and called around for information on legally changing my name, and was advised to go down to the courthouse library.
• Drove down to West Chester (One of my favorite towns, by the way).
• Found a parking spot.
• Walked into the courthouse, emptied my pockets into the bowl, walked through the gate, and set the alarms off.  Oh, belt.  I forgot you.
• Paid a visit to the Law Library.  Fled the scene when I remembered that I’d forgotten to feed the metal monster on the sidewalk my change.
• Found my first-ever ticket on the windshield.
• Found another parking spot a few blocks away in a neighborhood that didn’t have meters or private/permit-only parking.  I found I didn’t have change.
• Returned to the law library, filled out the name change form on the computer, and printed out the rest of my forms and instructions on how to petition my name change.  On the form I identified myself as male, and being transgender, I’m hoping it won’t cause any problems.  We shall see.
• Learned I could get my fingerprints done in the sherif’s office downstairs.
• Fled the scene to run a few blocks to the nearest drug store to get a money order, whatever that is.
• Returned to the court house and got my fingerprints done.

HURRAY!

So, today I took my first legal step in my transition, learned what a money order is, and that one needs to remember to feed the meeter…and carry change.

I can’t explain how excited I am to soon legally be Roman.  < 3

As I continue on into the process, I’ll share some info and tips I pick up along the way!

Keep Roamin’,

Roma

As human beings and social creatures, we are naturally curious.  That is why young children ask lots and lots of questions about their surroundings and the people around them.  But our curiosity does not diminish as we age; we simply adhere more strictly to social standards that tell us when and where is appropriate to express our curiosities.  In spaces where you may be discussing transgender people, their experiences, and the issues they face, those standards still apply.

Names

In many areas of life, names are as vital as the air we breathe.  Our names identify us and distinguish us from the people around us.  Our identities are formed around our names.  Shakespeare’s play, Romeo and Juliet, is an example of just how important our names can be.  And though we may share our name with another person, or even several other people, we make it our own by attaching it to our personalities, our habits, and our individual lives.  When a transgender person changes their name, they are taking one of the first steps to formulating and developing their true identity.

One of the most common questions asked of transgender people is “What is your real/old/birth name?”  This is a question that will always be inappropriate to ask. Even when you use your prefatory request for permission, more times than not you will be told “No.”  Many, many transgender people are not comfortable disclosing their previous or given name.  It serves as a reminder of an identity that was forced upon them, by their parents, doctors, friends, families, and even society itself.  But more importantly, asking this question tells that transgender person that you have no intention of recognizing them in their true gender, and you have no respect for them as a human being.  It very strongly implies that you are someone to be wary of, and will inhibit their ability to trust you as someone who honors the purpose of a safe space.

Finally, that person’s former name is really not important at all.  What matters is their chosen name.  As an ally, you are not entitled to that information, so it’s best not to even entertain the idea of asking about it.

Gender

Another common question asked in discussions about transgender people is “Where you born a man or a woman?” or “Are you really a boy or a girl?”  Again, these questions are highly inappropriate, and should not be asked.  First of all, no one is born a man or a woman.  When we are born, we are assigned a sex, either male or female.  Normative social patterns dictate that males are raised as boys who become men, and females are raised as girls who become women.  With that in mind, no one is born a man or a woman, and no one is born a girl or a boy.

As with questioning a transgender person’s given or birth name, inquiring about someone’s assigned sex or “real” gender very strongly implies that their gender identity is somehow fake or a lie.  This could not be farther from the truth.  Gender identity is something that develops within an individual over time, whether you are transgender or cisgender.  When a transgender person says they are a woman, a man, genderqueer, et cetera, that is their real gender, and you should respect it as such.

Surgery

Every person’s medical records and medical history are protected by their right to privacy.  That is why we are required to sign disclosure agreements when our medical information changes hands between doctors and treatment facilities.  When someone asks a transgender person questions like, “What surgeries have you had?” or “Do you have a penis or a vagina?” or even “Are your boobs real?” it is a significant and tactless invasion of their privacy.

Aside from being crass and invasive, questions such as these can be quite triggering.  One of the struggles transgender people face has to do with their bodies.  Many experience what is referred to as “body dysphoria.”  Because both medicine and society have tied bodies so closely to gender identity, parts of our bodies serve as stark and unchangeable reminders that, in the eyes of others, we will never be accepted in our true gender.  Inquiring about genitalia and surgical procedures can very often trigger that dysphoria, which leads to anxiety, depression, body mutilation, or even suicidal thoughts and tendencies.  By asking about a transgender person’s body, you may inadvertently cause severe mental anguish and harm.

Motive

The fourth most common question asked of transgender people is “Why did you want to be transgender?” or “When did you decide to be transgender?”  This question implies that there is a choice in being transgender, and fuels the discriminatory and biased nature of social norms.  Being transgender is not and never has been a choice; it is a reality that is either pursued or ignored.

If you remember nothing else, please remember this:  No transgender person wants, chooses, or decides to be transgender.  Being transgender is often the most difficult aspect of a person’s life.  Facing discrimination, bias, violence, and abuse is not something anyone ever wants to deal with in their day-to-day lives.  But transgender people are forced to deal with it.  The only choice transgender people have is to come out and live in their true gender, or remain in the metaphorical closet and likely live a life of mental and emotional pain and anguish.

I came home yesterday to find no power in the house, the dogs were gone and so was his stuff and the fish were just about dead. And to top it all off, the vehicle was missing too. Ain’t that some SH*T?!?! I want so much to be mean and say hurtful things to his face because he really hurt me. He couldn’t have been a “MAN” and talked to me about this? Warned me? I knew deep down that it was only a matter of time. And I am really glad that I am out of that nasty house; out of the mentally and financially abusive relationship. And, honestly, I am a better person for these experiences.

All I have to say is that I will be Single for an Extremely Long Time. This will be my last post since there is no more Richard and I. It has been a fun ride with all of you to talk to, reading my point of view. I appreciate the time and energy you took to read my posts. I hope I helped at least one of you.

Love for ALL,
Hatred for None…

On the one hand, therapy is great and it helps so much to talk. On the other, a binder would give me results, right now, that would improve my life. On the other, I would have to deal with telling my mother about binding. Ugh, I hate this.

It’s such a pain, making this choice. I don’t really know what to do about it. I don’t want to have to deal with my mom, I really don’t, but I’m going to have to sooner or later, I guess. Sports bras are okay for sometimes, but I’m seriously having a hard time not being able to bind. Even if I would just wear it at home, which I doubt, I just know that it would help me. I’ve got my binder all picked out and everything.

The easy decision would be picking therapy. That way, I wouldn’t have to deal with talking about being trans* to my mother. I’m pretty sure she either doesn’t want me to bind, is uncomfortable with the idea of me binding, or both, because she’s said stuff about it before.

I can’t even explain how much I just want to pretend that have no gender issues going on until I move out. I don’t think I can deal with that, though, pretending to be a cis woman. It’s just not me, and it’s so hard faking something as intrinsic as gender.

I’m just so tired of having to hide who I am.

And I’m really trying to avoid my impulse to just crawl into bed and hope that the rest of the world will just go away. I really want to, but I know that it won’t work. When I manage to get out of bed again, the world will still be waiting for me, with even more problems than before.

I suppose I’ll go with therapy – I really need  a session. A binder will just have to wait.