A large part of my coming out story and my transition
.....I was forced to hide who I was for many years as I tried to pray the feelings away. I met my first transsexual in 2006 when I was 24 and it was not until then I realized transition was even possible and there might be a way out of my misery. For several years I thought constantly of transitioning and becoming a woman was always on my thoughts.
I wanted to end it all, but I had a daughter and I wanted to see her live.. My ex and I had been broken up for some time already and one of the things she had told me during the breakup was that I was more of a girl than she was. My daughter was born July 24 2008. I chose to hold this agony inside of me a bit longer out of fear of losing my daughter. My ex had read my private journal in which I had written that I couldn’t take it anymore and I wanted to kill myself if I couldn’t be a girl. She went to my mother with this trying to turn my mother against me, and I had to lie through my teeth about being straight in order to keep my sanity….
I don’t like the word transgendered, it doesn’t accurately describe me. I am transsexual, but I don’t care for that word either. Too many people think sexual when they hear it. I believe the word Transsexed is the most accurate way of describing myself. In Late-September/early October 2009 the agony of pure simple existance became too much and making the switch was the ONLY thing on my mind; it was affecting every other thing I did in my life and dragging me into a deep depression and I wanted nothing more than to die and I couldn’t take it anymore. When I had my final breakdown and actually did make the switch it was overnight, with no planning, preparation, or looking back.
My girlfriend at the time was the first person I told, I broke down while we were lying in bed and told her that I couldn’t live like this anymore, I hated the way I felt and I just wanted to be a girl and if I could trade places with her for even a second of her screwed up life I would do it. She promised to support me and I sobbed in her arms that night and never wanted to let go. I believe it was that initial support that helped me get started, believing I had her to support me through thick and thin as I was terrified inside of losing everything I held dear to myself, and she promised to see me through. Unknown at the time, that promise was short-lived. A few weeks later when her family learned of my intent they gave her the ultimatum: Either them or me. If she chose to stick with me she would have to move out the apartment she was renting from her dad and she would have to find her own place, also they would try to take her daughter away from her, whom I completely adored more than anything. It wasn’t long til I was abandoned, and little did I know this was going to last for a very long time.
I had spoken to my managers at work the week before and the only thing they could find was a Transgender Anti-Discrimination Policy under the dress code, stating only that I could dress however I wanted to express my gender as long as it did not violate company policy for dress typically associated with that gender. I felt a growing support network, and a week after chopping off my hair in anguish I came to work en femme with long, red hair. People would glance at me out of the corner of their eyes while I looked at no one, focusing only on my job and trying to ignore the whispers. Nearly Overnight I was the talk of the entire store and much of the community. Word spread fast.
I did not pass, and I did not care. I was so lost in my own misery just trying to sort out my confusion and anger that I did not even notice most of the finger pointing and name calling at first.
My ex heard about the switch from one of her friends before I had a chance to tell her anything. When I went to pick up my daughter for my weekly visitation, which was only one night per week, she asked me what was going on. I told her that It was too stressful living as a guy, and my switch was for the better, I even pointed out that she had known when we were together that I had been overly-feminine, as she had tried different things to both make me more masculine and to bring me out of my depression. My daughter, who was just over a year old, laughed at me that day when she saw me the first time, but my ex stood in shock and let me keep seeing my daughter for visitations as she wondered if it was a temporary thing and she even asked me if I was doing it for the Rocky Horror play.
Immediately after the conversation with my ex, I had just walked through the door of my parent’s house with my daughter curled up in my arms comfortably, as if nothing had changed. I would bring her there every Monday for our weekly visitations. I have blocked much of this memory, but I do remember Dad asking me what was going on and telling me he knew what I was going through, and I remember screaming that he couldn’t possibly know me and that my life was a lie and I could do it any more…. It was around this time that he noticed the eyeliner and he asked me what the hell I was doing wearing makeup, screaming in the chair that I couldn’t take it anymore, that I had been living as Marissa the last few days and I couldn’t take the disgust I felt for myself, I wanted to burn my face off every time I felt the whiskers and the body hair was so nasty and my skin itched just thinking about it, and I felt so nasty and gross all the time, I was depressed and I couldn’t deal with it any more. I couldn’t function anymore. My dad was pacing around the room with my daughter in his arms, she was crying because I was crying and my dad was trying his hardest to hold back but I could see he wanted to lash out more than anything and he looked so pissed off and scared and just mad at me. He was viewing me as if I were a demon who had taken over his son, and it scared me to the core.
My mom came in from work a bit later to see the unfolding situation and she began screaming at me calling me a prostitute, telling me that I needed to grow up and make up my mind and I couldn’t be a girl and it was a sick fetish and I needed help more than anything. She held me down while I tried to get away from her and searched my arms for drug marks, tears in her eyes as I screamed at her to leave me the fuck alone and stop calling me Steve and my dad trying to calmly explain that he knew “everything that I was going through” as he had taken a class a long time ago on sexuality and gender, I tried my hardest to calmly explain that I’d been living full time as a woman for a few days and I couldn’t go back and there was too much agony…. I don’t remember much except my parents went into the other room to talk about me and I clung to my daughter as she wiped away my tears and she was my life raft.
The next few weeks were a blur as I tried to sort everything out and adjust to the huge change.
Shortly after the social switch I began seeing a gender therapist in my quest for hormones; he referred to me as a cross dresser and made me take a bunch of tests to link my transition to sexual fetishes, after many meetings and his assurance that it would be a full year before he would even consider letting me take hormones, I wrote him a nasty letter. He left me crying and disgusted and scared for my life and he had broken my sanity and left me desperate and desolate, but most of all he left me with a determination to find myself, no matter what happened. I began researching everything I could on hormones for MTF transsexuals, speaking to hundreds of other transsexuals, and in December 2009 I finally began taking hormones which I had ordered from a reliable site off the internet. I believe that had it not been for those hormones and that faint glimmer of hope I would not be here today.
By this time I had begun electrolysis, it was hell on earth and nothing could compare to the disgust I felt every day as I was forced to grow out my facial hair in order to undergo the weekly treatments. The looks I received from others as I was trying to pass as a woman, covering massive amounts of facial hair and on the days off from electrolysis shaving as much as 3-4 times a day, was beginning to effect every other part of my life. The physical agony over having a needle shoved into my face again and again with large jolts of electricity zapping me each time, then the constant plucking as I thrashed on the table screaming out in pain, would drive me mad at times. Sometimes I would leave with scabs which would later fall off, leaving pitting on my face and a redness that was visible for months, even after applying makeup. My confidence was suffering, and the daily harassment was beginning to get to me. I could feel myself slipping into madness.
Even after my name change, on March 25, 2010, people would still refer to me by my old name. The name change was a long process. I had to apply at the courthouse and fill out a bunch of forms, costing about $150. Then I had to get myself fingerprinted at the police station, $10, and send that off to the FBI for the background check, about $65. Then the waiting was torment. When I got the approval came back from the state police I had to return to the courthouse and receive the paperwork, go to the local newspaper and publish the hearing date with both my old and new names on the publication. This was humiliating and I remember the constant fear of harassment when I saw it in the papers, I was prepared for hate-filled phone calls in the middle of the night, but nothing ever came of it. The only person who mentioned it was my mom, who was mad that I had decided to change my last name as well. When I had decided on my name I had been confused, alone, and wanting to distance myself from my family as much as possible. They were pushing me away with their ignorance, and I couldn’t handle it any more. I had been shunned by a few family members, all of my coworkers, most of my friends and all of the community. Even the local LGBT community would no longer speak to me, afraid of me for the drastic way in which I had transitioned. One of my ex-friends who was also trans later told me while she was drunk that the only reason they even kept me as friends on their facebooks was for entertainment value, that they would laugh about my struggles and be glad their transition wasn’t mine. The moment I learned of this I blocked everyone in the local LGBT group. I was done with drama, I was fed up with everything, and I would much rather do my own thing then suffer in their eyes.
When the hearing date arrived I had one friend with me, I appeared at the court in my best female appearance and I had spent all morning trying to look my best. I waited trembling in fear that the judge would refuse me, and I felt like a scared puppy with her tail between her legs, ashamed to be myself and afraid of being kicked once again. The judged asked me a few simple questions and ten minutes later came out feeling the adrenaline rush of accomplishment, having made the switch from Steven Robert Mattis to Marissa Jayne Wolfe. I had done something on my own and it felt uplifting and it helped provide me with a much-needed confidence boost and the motivation to continue on my path!!!
At work, rumors were starting to fly. People referred to me as the *insert workplace here* tranny, when I switched my badge over to the new name they would sing Marissa the Tranny to the tune of Rudolf. I was spit on, my name badge was defaced with my old name and slut and whore were written on papers shoved through the slats in my locker. People would outright refuse to work with me, and spread horrible rumors about me. I was accused of flashing people, mooning, throwing freight, coming after coworkers and customers, threatening others, swearing, cursing, and chasing customers away. People would refer to me as IT, tranny, the dairy fairy, freak, bitch, tranny, shemale, heshe, transvestite, the local cross dresser, and worst of all, by my old name. I was outted to customers, and I was told by members of management when I complained that it there was no way I could link any of my treatment to my transition, it was NOT sexual harassment, there was nothing I could do about it, and so I’d better forget about the whole thing. Over time it became so bad that I was pulled into the office on a daily basis, berated, forced to confess to things which I had no part in, written up and punished for things I didn’t understand, I would often leave the office bawling only to face the hostile stares of many of my coworkers and the sympathetic glances from those afraid to step in. As far as I know only one coworker wrote a letter in my support to management. I lost friends when they too became victims of the vicious rumors circulating about. People told me I had no right to work there and they tried everything to get me fired or force me to quit. After numerous write-ups and threats I sent more than 60 pages of documented sexual harassment, complete with signed witness statements, to corporate and corporate sent a few people to the store to interview me. I wrote a long statement under their watchful eye, and they said I would be hearing soon about the results of the investigation. They held an all associate meeting to discuss harassment in the workplace based on someone’s status, but they were careful to leave sexual orientation and gender identity out of the discussion. As of 6 months after their visitation, my coworkers have been leaving me alone for the most part, especially since management knows I have been speaking to an attorney at the ACLU. But management still refuses to give me an update for the investigation which they themselves are in charge of, and I remain only one step away from termination.
My daughter, well that’s another story. My ex was being bombarded by rumors about me and hate-filled comments, she tried to refuse me visitation on an ongoing basis, assaulting me several times, filing false police reports, having her boyfriend assault me, posting to her facebook that she wanted to castrate me and she hoped my plane crashes, the rumors she had heard and other mean things…. I filed assault charges against her twice and they were denied both times while she tried endlessly to make my daughter hate me. I would pick my daughter up and she would scream in her mothers presence, then laugh as soon as we were out of sight and cling to me for the remainder of the visitation. When I would ask her if she had fun she would say no, because her mother didn’t want her to. I would take her walking, frog-catching, to the beach, the park, shopping, and would do girly things with her. My parents would spoil her with attention and try to make each visitation go as smooth as possible. My daughter took to calling me Marissa right away; I was certainly not going to have her call me Daddy; that would have been just weird and uncomfortable. My parenting confidence and ability improved dramatically as my physical changes became more noticeable and my confidence and self image improved.
My ex’s other child would still call me Steve. Every time I would go to pick up my Riley he would look at me weird, tell me it’s NOT POSSIBLE to become a woman and to change my name, while we had once been close he would suddenly share the hate-filled looks of his mother as I left with my baby, who overall was indifferent to the whole thing.
It was over a year into my transition, having been full time the entire time, that I finally began passing as a female. It was almost overnight, subtle at first. I had been actively working on my voice over 12 hours a day since the very beginning, the roughness was suddenly gone from my voice and the pitch was starting to increase. It was all about practice, every now and then my voice would crack and it would switch back to male, sending me into silence which would sometimes last for days in front of others. The self-disgust was sometimes too much and the fear of not passing would keep me locked in my room or in my car, wherever I was living at the time.…. My mannerisms were beginning to change as well. I immediately noticed that when I was able to pass, even if only for a few minutes, I was treated like a human, respected, people would talk to me but the moment they figured it out they would turn away. Sometimes people would call me beautiful and I would cry it felt so wonderful. I had had over a hundred hours of mind-blowingly painful electrolysis, and my skin was beginning to smooth out. The nasty body hair had disappeared months before from the hormones, and when I started showing cleavage at work my coworkers attitudes began changing as people began realizing I was doing something they’d never seen. Some were awed by the whole thing and respected me like a human and even used the correct gender pronouns, while others would still avoid me like the plague or look the other way. A few problematic employees continued to harass me on occasion. In public, no one would look at me any more when I would use the woman’s bathroom, but at work, fear of harassment kept me in the family restroom or simply holding it.
I began to feel safer and became more daring, talking to strangers and suddenly making friends. In a short time I had made more friends than I had had in my entire life, but I was still lonely. I had been single over a year and a half, Id been on few dates and most of them were out of morbid curiosity, they would never speak to me again after the first date and once, I found out from one girl’s guy friend that she had only asked me out on a dare. My pain continued to grow; while I had friends that I got along with and a family that was trying to be supportive but was inadvertently pushing me away; I felt I had no one to talk to about my pain except my diary.
Seriously I think people should see a therapist periodically throughout their transition, but for many of us this is an issue as THEY are the ones that drive us to madness. It is definitely important to have someone to talk to in order to let it all out; it is certainly not healthy to keep in all inside where it can morph into something dangerous.
Since beginning my transition I have never turned around, never missed a dose of medication, have watched my diet, exercised, and have kept physically healthy throughout my transition with keeping a journal and having limited medical intervention. During this time I was homeless 7 months (living in my car), facing death threats at the apartments I looked at. My parents, though trying to be helpful, were only pushing me away with their ignorance for the subject of transsexuality and every time I came home they would make rude comments based on their assumptions that would drive me away. Several times I exploded at them and stormed off for forgetting to use my new name. The only time I felt safe going to their house was when I had visitation of my daughter, which was the only time I could be there without hearing about my transition. They remained supportive as best they could, but their unintentional insensitivity drove me to tears many times as they learned how to cope with the loss of the son and the discovery of their new daughter. I felt shunned by everyone, at work no one spoke to me, few of my friends sounded supportive, and the local lgbt group stopped speaking to me when I was at the meetings, afraid of the drastic things I had done and the way in which I had made the transition.
About this time one of my close friends urged me to seek another therapist, her advice was that without a therapist letter, there was no way in hell they would take my medical expenses into account when child support was established through the courts, which was bound to happen sooner or later. I found a local female therapist on Google and scheduled an appointment with her. A lot happened all at once then. My therapist concluded that yes, my transition was medically necessary, and she agreed to write a carry letter and a letter for establishment of child support to take medical expenses into consideration. Her letters were free, whereas the original therapist would have charged over 300 per letter. This new therapist offered me much more. Hope began to grow in my mind.
Suddenly I was hopeful, sexual reassignment surgery began to look like a possibility. With a new confidence I began asking for available dates with the three surgeons I had narrowed it down to after months and months of research. My deciding factors were the cost and method used, and I chose to go with Dr Suporn in Thailand. I tentatively scheduled my surgery for July 13 2011 and then called my therapist to schedule an appointment to see if I could get my letter. At the appointment I remember I was so scared she would say no, terrified she would be hateful like the other psychologists were. I had scheduled my appointment for two hours, when we sat down I quickly went through the list I’d prepared of why I was ready and how much I had done and been through and how I was prepared. She asked me if I’d considered any other doctors and I said yes my second choice is Marcy Bowers and my third was Brassard on Montreal Canada, but I didn’t like either of their techniques as much as Suporns and that the price was more to my liking. I offered proof that I had done everything she’d wanted me to do at our last meeting and answered a few other questions. She said it was obvious I was ready, she cut our appointment short and said she was not going to waste my time or my money, she could have my letter ready in two weeks.
Sending the deposit to hold my surgery date was a nightmare. My bank did not do international bank transfers and I went to 6 other bank in town before I decided to western union the minimum amount to hold my date. Some banks just rolled their eyes at me when I told them the reason for the money transfer. Through Western Union I sent $4,000, they took about $300 of it for the transfer fee. A few weeks later I stumbled upon another bank in which I could actually do the transfer, though I had to wait 30 days after opening the account.
I believe it was late February or early March that I began genital electrolysis in preparation for my surgery. If you think facial electrolysis is bad, genital electrolysis is a thousand times worse. I cannot put into words how bad it hurt and I had to go back time after time over the coming months to catch every hair in the surgical area. People who do not have to transition have no idea how rough the journey is and what we must endure. I don’t wish to write much on the subject of genital electrolysis, only that when I had finished my last session in late May 2011 I knew then that I could bear the pain of surgery, and my confidence surged. One step closer and I achieved my total clearing only 55 days before I was to go into surgery.
Counting down the days until my surgery was maddening. There were freak-out days, days in which I just cried and I couldn’t focus or think about anything, I would try to force the feelings to the back of my mind, there was the second guessing and fighting the lies and rumors that other people had told me, panicking that I was doing it all alone and going overseas alone for 43 days.
I had my passport, my plane ticket, I had sent for and received my Visa, I had my surgery letter and copies of her credentials, two documents containing evidence I’d been full time over a year, and my surgery was entirely paid off from the roth IRA I’d cashed in and all of my stocks which I had sold. My property was listed for sale and if it sold I would be getting my face done too while I was over there. I felt ready by this time and confident as I tried to tie up all the loose ends while watching the calendar closely. I was scared to death they would fire me from my job, I was sleeping in my car to save money to help me pay for last minute things, and I was more scared than I had ever been in my life.
And there was the upcoming 10 year class reunion on my mind, which I would be going to only six days before I was to leave for my surgery. I was more than kind of scared, when I had left high school I had been Steve and everyone had thought I was gay; I would be returning as Marissa with my girlfriend. I had watched other class reunions of trans people and I was shocked by some of them, some received threats while others were warmly welcomed with ‘huh’ moments and confusion. In the past I had been asked why I was getting the sex change if I was only interested in women, I was getting really fed up with having to explain the difference between gender identity and sexual orientation and I did not want to go to the reunion without a girlfriend.
Having been shunned by nearly all of society, I had had no one to talk to about anything, no one to hold me and let me cry, no one to tell me it would be alright. My parents did not hug me anymore and I was still only seeing my daughter one night a week. From the moment I dropped her off at her mothers I was missing her again and I was still more scared than anything that each visitation would be my last. My daughter was and always would be my everything, and for her I would do nearly anything.
Which brings us to just two weeks ago when I met her, and everything suddenly changed.
.......
I wanted to end it all, but I had a daughter and I wanted to see her live.. My ex and I had been broken up for some time already and one of the things she had told me during the breakup was that I was more of a girl than she was. My daughter was born July 24 2008. I chose to hold this agony inside of me a bit longer out of fear of losing my daughter. My ex had read my private journal in which I had written that I couldn’t take it anymore and I wanted to kill myself if I couldn’t be a girl. She went to my mother with this trying to turn my mother against me, and I had to lie through my teeth about being straight in order to keep my sanity….
I don’t like the word transgendered, it doesn’t accurately describe me. I am transsexual, but I don’t care for that word either. Too many people think sexual when they hear it. I believe the word Transsexed is the most accurate way of describing myself. In Late-September/early October 2009 the agony of pure simple existance became too much and making the switch was the ONLY thing on my mind; it was affecting every other thing I did in my life and dragging me into a deep depression and I wanted nothing more than to die and I couldn’t take it anymore. When I had my final breakdown and actually did make the switch it was overnight, with no planning, preparation, or looking back.
My girlfriend at the time was the first person I told, I broke down while we were lying in bed and told her that I couldn’t live like this anymore, I hated the way I felt and I just wanted to be a girl and if I could trade places with her for even a second of her screwed up life I would do it. She promised to support me and I sobbed in her arms that night and never wanted to let go. I believe it was that initial support that helped me get started, believing I had her to support me through thick and thin as I was terrified inside of losing everything I held dear to myself, and she promised to see me through. Unknown at the time, that promise was short-lived. A few weeks later when her family learned of my intent they gave her the ultimatum: Either them or me. If she chose to stick with me she would have to move out the apartment she was renting from her dad and she would have to find her own place, also they would try to take her daughter away from her, whom I completely adored more than anything. It wasn’t long til I was abandoned, and little did I know this was going to last for a very long time.
I had spoken to my managers at work the week before and the only thing they could find was a Transgender Anti-Discrimination Policy under the dress code, stating only that I could dress however I wanted to express my gender as long as it did not violate company policy for dress typically associated with that gender. I felt a growing support network, and a week after chopping off my hair in anguish I came to work en femme with long, red hair. People would glance at me out of the corner of their eyes while I looked at no one, focusing only on my job and trying to ignore the whispers. Nearly Overnight I was the talk of the entire store and much of the community. Word spread fast.
I did not pass, and I did not care. I was so lost in my own misery just trying to sort out my confusion and anger that I did not even notice most of the finger pointing and name calling at first.
My ex heard about the switch from one of her friends before I had a chance to tell her anything. When I went to pick up my daughter for my weekly visitation, which was only one night per week, she asked me what was going on. I told her that It was too stressful living as a guy, and my switch was for the better, I even pointed out that she had known when we were together that I had been overly-feminine, as she had tried different things to both make me more masculine and to bring me out of my depression. My daughter, who was just over a year old, laughed at me that day when she saw me the first time, but my ex stood in shock and let me keep seeing my daughter for visitations as she wondered if it was a temporary thing and she even asked me if I was doing it for the Rocky Horror play.
Immediately after the conversation with my ex, I had just walked through the door of my parent’s house with my daughter curled up in my arms comfortably, as if nothing had changed. I would bring her there every Monday for our weekly visitations. I have blocked much of this memory, but I do remember Dad asking me what was going on and telling me he knew what I was going through, and I remember screaming that he couldn’t possibly know me and that my life was a lie and I could do it any more…. It was around this time that he noticed the eyeliner and he asked me what the hell I was doing wearing makeup, screaming in the chair that I couldn’t take it anymore, that I had been living as Marissa the last few days and I couldn’t take the disgust I felt for myself, I wanted to burn my face off every time I felt the whiskers and the body hair was so nasty and my skin itched just thinking about it, and I felt so nasty and gross all the time, I was depressed and I couldn’t deal with it any more. I couldn’t function anymore. My dad was pacing around the room with my daughter in his arms, she was crying because I was crying and my dad was trying his hardest to hold back but I could see he wanted to lash out more than anything and he looked so pissed off and scared and just mad at me. He was viewing me as if I were a demon who had taken over his son, and it scared me to the core.
My mom came in from work a bit later to see the unfolding situation and she began screaming at me calling me a prostitute, telling me that I needed to grow up and make up my mind and I couldn’t be a girl and it was a sick fetish and I needed help more than anything. She held me down while I tried to get away from her and searched my arms for drug marks, tears in her eyes as I screamed at her to leave me the fuck alone and stop calling me Steve and my dad trying to calmly explain that he knew “everything that I was going through” as he had taken a class a long time ago on sexuality and gender, I tried my hardest to calmly explain that I’d been living full time as a woman for a few days and I couldn’t go back and there was too much agony…. I don’t remember much except my parents went into the other room to talk about me and I clung to my daughter as she wiped away my tears and she was my life raft.
The next few weeks were a blur as I tried to sort everything out and adjust to the huge change.
Shortly after the social switch I began seeing a gender therapist in my quest for hormones; he referred to me as a cross dresser and made me take a bunch of tests to link my transition to sexual fetishes, after many meetings and his assurance that it would be a full year before he would even consider letting me take hormones, I wrote him a nasty letter. He left me crying and disgusted and scared for my life and he had broken my sanity and left me desperate and desolate, but most of all he left me with a determination to find myself, no matter what happened. I began researching everything I could on hormones for MTF transsexuals, speaking to hundreds of other transsexuals, and in December 2009 I finally began taking hormones which I had ordered from a reliable site off the internet. I believe that had it not been for those hormones and that faint glimmer of hope I would not be here today.
By this time I had begun electrolysis, it was hell on earth and nothing could compare to the disgust I felt every day as I was forced to grow out my facial hair in order to undergo the weekly treatments. The looks I received from others as I was trying to pass as a woman, covering massive amounts of facial hair and on the days off from electrolysis shaving as much as 3-4 times a day, was beginning to effect every other part of my life. The physical agony over having a needle shoved into my face again and again with large jolts of electricity zapping me each time, then the constant plucking as I thrashed on the table screaming out in pain, would drive me mad at times. Sometimes I would leave with scabs which would later fall off, leaving pitting on my face and a redness that was visible for months, even after applying makeup. My confidence was suffering, and the daily harassment was beginning to get to me. I could feel myself slipping into madness.
Even after my name change, on March 25, 2010, people would still refer to me by my old name. The name change was a long process. I had to apply at the courthouse and fill out a bunch of forms, costing about $150. Then I had to get myself fingerprinted at the police station, $10, and send that off to the FBI for the background check, about $65. Then the waiting was torment. When I got the approval came back from the state police I had to return to the courthouse and receive the paperwork, go to the local newspaper and publish the hearing date with both my old and new names on the publication. This was humiliating and I remember the constant fear of harassment when I saw it in the papers, I was prepared for hate-filled phone calls in the middle of the night, but nothing ever came of it. The only person who mentioned it was my mom, who was mad that I had decided to change my last name as well. When I had decided on my name I had been confused, alone, and wanting to distance myself from my family as much as possible. They were pushing me away with their ignorance, and I couldn’t handle it any more. I had been shunned by a few family members, all of my coworkers, most of my friends and all of the community. Even the local LGBT community would no longer speak to me, afraid of me for the drastic way in which I had transitioned. One of my ex-friends who was also trans later told me while she was drunk that the only reason they even kept me as friends on their facebooks was for entertainment value, that they would laugh about my struggles and be glad their transition wasn’t mine. The moment I learned of this I blocked everyone in the local LGBT group. I was done with drama, I was fed up with everything, and I would much rather do my own thing then suffer in their eyes.
When the hearing date arrived I had one friend with me, I appeared at the court in my best female appearance and I had spent all morning trying to look my best. I waited trembling in fear that the judge would refuse me, and I felt like a scared puppy with her tail between her legs, ashamed to be myself and afraid of being kicked once again. The judged asked me a few simple questions and ten minutes later came out feeling the adrenaline rush of accomplishment, having made the switch from Steven Robert Mattis to Marissa Jayne Wolfe. I had done something on my own and it felt uplifting and it helped provide me with a much-needed confidence boost and the motivation to continue on my path!!!
At work, rumors were starting to fly. People referred to me as the *insert workplace here* tranny, when I switched my badge over to the new name they would sing Marissa the Tranny to the tune of Rudolf. I was spit on, my name badge was defaced with my old name and slut and whore were written on papers shoved through the slats in my locker. People would outright refuse to work with me, and spread horrible rumors about me. I was accused of flashing people, mooning, throwing freight, coming after coworkers and customers, threatening others, swearing, cursing, and chasing customers away. People would refer to me as IT, tranny, the dairy fairy, freak, bitch, tranny, shemale, heshe, transvestite, the local cross dresser, and worst of all, by my old name. I was outted to customers, and I was told by members of management when I complained that it there was no way I could link any of my treatment to my transition, it was NOT sexual harassment, there was nothing I could do about it, and so I’d better forget about the whole thing. Over time it became so bad that I was pulled into the office on a daily basis, berated, forced to confess to things which I had no part in, written up and punished for things I didn’t understand, I would often leave the office bawling only to face the hostile stares of many of my coworkers and the sympathetic glances from those afraid to step in. As far as I know only one coworker wrote a letter in my support to management. I lost friends when they too became victims of the vicious rumors circulating about. People told me I had no right to work there and they tried everything to get me fired or force me to quit. After numerous write-ups and threats I sent more than 60 pages of documented sexual harassment, complete with signed witness statements, to corporate and corporate sent a few people to the store to interview me. I wrote a long statement under their watchful eye, and they said I would be hearing soon about the results of the investigation. They held an all associate meeting to discuss harassment in the workplace based on someone’s status, but they were careful to leave sexual orientation and gender identity out of the discussion. As of 6 months after their visitation, my coworkers have been leaving me alone for the most part, especially since management knows I have been speaking to an attorney at the ACLU. But management still refuses to give me an update for the investigation which they themselves are in charge of, and I remain only one step away from termination.
My daughter, well that’s another story. My ex was being bombarded by rumors about me and hate-filled comments, she tried to refuse me visitation on an ongoing basis, assaulting me several times, filing false police reports, having her boyfriend assault me, posting to her facebook that she wanted to castrate me and she hoped my plane crashes, the rumors she had heard and other mean things…. I filed assault charges against her twice and they were denied both times while she tried endlessly to make my daughter hate me. I would pick my daughter up and she would scream in her mothers presence, then laugh as soon as we were out of sight and cling to me for the remainder of the visitation. When I would ask her if she had fun she would say no, because her mother didn’t want her to. I would take her walking, frog-catching, to the beach, the park, shopping, and would do girly things with her. My parents would spoil her with attention and try to make each visitation go as smooth as possible. My daughter took to calling me Marissa right away; I was certainly not going to have her call me Daddy; that would have been just weird and uncomfortable. My parenting confidence and ability improved dramatically as my physical changes became more noticeable and my confidence and self image improved.
My ex’s other child would still call me Steve. Every time I would go to pick up my Riley he would look at me weird, tell me it’s NOT POSSIBLE to become a woman and to change my name, while we had once been close he would suddenly share the hate-filled looks of his mother as I left with my baby, who overall was indifferent to the whole thing.
It was over a year into my transition, having been full time the entire time, that I finally began passing as a female. It was almost overnight, subtle at first. I had been actively working on my voice over 12 hours a day since the very beginning, the roughness was suddenly gone from my voice and the pitch was starting to increase. It was all about practice, every now and then my voice would crack and it would switch back to male, sending me into silence which would sometimes last for days in front of others. The self-disgust was sometimes too much and the fear of not passing would keep me locked in my room or in my car, wherever I was living at the time.…. My mannerisms were beginning to change as well. I immediately noticed that when I was able to pass, even if only for a few minutes, I was treated like a human, respected, people would talk to me but the moment they figured it out they would turn away. Sometimes people would call me beautiful and I would cry it felt so wonderful. I had had over a hundred hours of mind-blowingly painful electrolysis, and my skin was beginning to smooth out. The nasty body hair had disappeared months before from the hormones, and when I started showing cleavage at work my coworkers attitudes began changing as people began realizing I was doing something they’d never seen. Some were awed by the whole thing and respected me like a human and even used the correct gender pronouns, while others would still avoid me like the plague or look the other way. A few problematic employees continued to harass me on occasion. In public, no one would look at me any more when I would use the woman’s bathroom, but at work, fear of harassment kept me in the family restroom or simply holding it.
I began to feel safer and became more daring, talking to strangers and suddenly making friends. In a short time I had made more friends than I had had in my entire life, but I was still lonely. I had been single over a year and a half, Id been on few dates and most of them were out of morbid curiosity, they would never speak to me again after the first date and once, I found out from one girl’s guy friend that she had only asked me out on a dare. My pain continued to grow; while I had friends that I got along with and a family that was trying to be supportive but was inadvertently pushing me away; I felt I had no one to talk to about my pain except my diary.
Seriously I think people should see a therapist periodically throughout their transition, but for many of us this is an issue as THEY are the ones that drive us to madness. It is definitely important to have someone to talk to in order to let it all out; it is certainly not healthy to keep in all inside where it can morph into something dangerous.
Since beginning my transition I have never turned around, never missed a dose of medication, have watched my diet, exercised, and have kept physically healthy throughout my transition with keeping a journal and having limited medical intervention. During this time I was homeless 7 months (living in my car), facing death threats at the apartments I looked at. My parents, though trying to be helpful, were only pushing me away with their ignorance for the subject of transsexuality and every time I came home they would make rude comments based on their assumptions that would drive me away. Several times I exploded at them and stormed off for forgetting to use my new name. The only time I felt safe going to their house was when I had visitation of my daughter, which was the only time I could be there without hearing about my transition. They remained supportive as best they could, but their unintentional insensitivity drove me to tears many times as they learned how to cope with the loss of the son and the discovery of their new daughter. I felt shunned by everyone, at work no one spoke to me, few of my friends sounded supportive, and the local lgbt group stopped speaking to me when I was at the meetings, afraid of the drastic things I had done and the way in which I had made the transition.
About this time one of my close friends urged me to seek another therapist, her advice was that without a therapist letter, there was no way in hell they would take my medical expenses into account when child support was established through the courts, which was bound to happen sooner or later. I found a local female therapist on Google and scheduled an appointment with her. A lot happened all at once then. My therapist concluded that yes, my transition was medically necessary, and she agreed to write a carry letter and a letter for establishment of child support to take medical expenses into consideration. Her letters were free, whereas the original therapist would have charged over 300 per letter. This new therapist offered me much more. Hope began to grow in my mind.
Suddenly I was hopeful, sexual reassignment surgery began to look like a possibility. With a new confidence I began asking for available dates with the three surgeons I had narrowed it down to after months and months of research. My deciding factors were the cost and method used, and I chose to go with Dr Suporn in Thailand. I tentatively scheduled my surgery for July 13 2011 and then called my therapist to schedule an appointment to see if I could get my letter. At the appointment I remember I was so scared she would say no, terrified she would be hateful like the other psychologists were. I had scheduled my appointment for two hours, when we sat down I quickly went through the list I’d prepared of why I was ready and how much I had done and been through and how I was prepared. She asked me if I’d considered any other doctors and I said yes my second choice is Marcy Bowers and my third was Brassard on Montreal Canada, but I didn’t like either of their techniques as much as Suporns and that the price was more to my liking. I offered proof that I had done everything she’d wanted me to do at our last meeting and answered a few other questions. She said it was obvious I was ready, she cut our appointment short and said she was not going to waste my time or my money, she could have my letter ready in two weeks.
Sending the deposit to hold my surgery date was a nightmare. My bank did not do international bank transfers and I went to 6 other bank in town before I decided to western union the minimum amount to hold my date. Some banks just rolled their eyes at me when I told them the reason for the money transfer. Through Western Union I sent $4,000, they took about $300 of it for the transfer fee. A few weeks later I stumbled upon another bank in which I could actually do the transfer, though I had to wait 30 days after opening the account.
I believe it was late February or early March that I began genital electrolysis in preparation for my surgery. If you think facial electrolysis is bad, genital electrolysis is a thousand times worse. I cannot put into words how bad it hurt and I had to go back time after time over the coming months to catch every hair in the surgical area. People who do not have to transition have no idea how rough the journey is and what we must endure. I don’t wish to write much on the subject of genital electrolysis, only that when I had finished my last session in late May 2011 I knew then that I could bear the pain of surgery, and my confidence surged. One step closer and I achieved my total clearing only 55 days before I was to go into surgery.
Counting down the days until my surgery was maddening. There were freak-out days, days in which I just cried and I couldn’t focus or think about anything, I would try to force the feelings to the back of my mind, there was the second guessing and fighting the lies and rumors that other people had told me, panicking that I was doing it all alone and going overseas alone for 43 days.
I had my passport, my plane ticket, I had sent for and received my Visa, I had my surgery letter and copies of her credentials, two documents containing evidence I’d been full time over a year, and my surgery was entirely paid off from the roth IRA I’d cashed in and all of my stocks which I had sold. My property was listed for sale and if it sold I would be getting my face done too while I was over there. I felt ready by this time and confident as I tried to tie up all the loose ends while watching the calendar closely. I was scared to death they would fire me from my job, I was sleeping in my car to save money to help me pay for last minute things, and I was more scared than I had ever been in my life.
And there was the upcoming 10 year class reunion on my mind, which I would be going to only six days before I was to leave for my surgery. I was more than kind of scared, when I had left high school I had been Steve and everyone had thought I was gay; I would be returning as Marissa with my girlfriend. I had watched other class reunions of trans people and I was shocked by some of them, some received threats while others were warmly welcomed with ‘huh’ moments and confusion. In the past I had been asked why I was getting the sex change if I was only interested in women, I was getting really fed up with having to explain the difference between gender identity and sexual orientation and I did not want to go to the reunion without a girlfriend.
Having been shunned by nearly all of society, I had had no one to talk to about anything, no one to hold me and let me cry, no one to tell me it would be alright. My parents did not hug me anymore and I was still only seeing my daughter one night a week. From the moment I dropped her off at her mothers I was missing her again and I was still more scared than anything that each visitation would be my last. My daughter was and always would be my everything, and for her I would do nearly anything.
Which brings us to just two weeks ago when I met her, and everything suddenly changed.
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