Another step on the way
I now knew there was a name for what I was - and THAT meant I wasn't alone. There really were others out there that felt as I did! I was in college by then, around my early twenties, and still only had the word, and that there were two versions of transgender - the MTFs and the FTMs, like myself.
I was still in untreated depression, but at least I had a clue there might be something that could be done about what I was. I started listening in to programs like Discovery Channel, and National Geographic Channel, hoping to hear something about transgenderism. I looked it up, and found what it meant, and saw myself in its definition. I asked - carefully - around in the local gay/lesbian scenes if there were any transgendered people I might talk to, and met with no success. Either there were none, or they didn't want to talk to anyone they didn't know. I can't blame them - this is the South, in the midst of the Bible Belt. Anything that makes anyone the least bit different often makes them a target for fears and hatreds. Plus, I was a college student - they might have feared I was going to write a paper or do a study on them.
During this time, I met a lady - married, with two young boys - who was bisexual, and very loving. I had only gone out on a few dates - as public life demanded to look "normal" - with guys, and never felt very attracted to any of them - more the "I want to be like HIM" than "I want to be LIKED by him" - so she caught me off guard. She could see the guy inside me, picked up on that vibe right away, and played up to him whenever we were alone. It was novel, to have someone seducing the young man inside me, and she tried very hard to make it feel good. I told her I wasn't mentally a woman, that I was a guy - she put it into the context of me being multiple personality, not transgender. Still, she seemed to accept me for the guy I was, and seemed willing to stay with me. It never occurred to me that I was breaking up their marriage; how could I do that when her husband was always leaving her bed to drive across town and climb into bed with some other woman? He had three other women on the side THAT SHE KNEW OF, and my body was female, so.... When she decided to leave him, he was almost living with another woman already. He knew his wife was bisexual, and frowned at ANY of her friendships. I realized I was being used as her safe way out of her marriage when she started dating men as soon as she moved out from her husband and in with me.
I wasn't devistated; oddly, I was relieved she wanted to date others. I hadn't fallen in love with her; and really only wanted to be friends. Now I look back on things, I can admit to myself I was "the other man"; only I didn't precipitate any of this, I just went along for the ride, accepting things as they happened. But, I did let things happen. I could have stopped it; I could have backed away and left her to patch up her marriage or leave him on her own. All I can say is, she treated me like the guy I felt I was; and as that guy, I couldn't just leave her to choose between going back to him or going to live on the streets.
A note about always moving around as you grow up: you get VERY good at making friends; but not any good at MAINTAINING friendships for very long. You keep expecting to pack up and move again, so you sort of reach a point where you don't know what to do with your friendships anymore, and they sort of die off, or fade away. I have currently known only ONE person outside my relatives for longer than FOUR years. That's the lady I mentioned above. With her help, I have begun learning how to maintain a friendship. We've been friends about 20 years now.
About ten years ago, I was finally seen and diagnosed with chronic depression. Ah, prozac! My wonderful happiness in a pill. I would have killed to get it, once I tried it and felt HAPPINESS. It cost as much per month as the rent on my house did, and I didn't have insurance. Sadly, I had to choose between paying rent and living under a roof with my depression, or taking prozac and living happily on the streets. It was a struggle this time, setting aside the desire to feel HAPPY in order to be a responsible adult and pay my bills, but I did it, and felt the weight of my depression return with a vengeance. You see, NOW I knew something COULD be done about it - I just couldn't afford it! But this got me to thinking,... What's the root cause of my chronic depression? Why not treat that and cure myself?
I've tried talking to shrinks before, I know how that works, and how to look past the little lies you tell yourself in an effort to protect yourself. How to see the truth you are trying to hide or hide from. So, I played a long game of in depth "what if...?", looking at each possible cause in turn, and playing out how things might be different if that no longer applied. Only one item had the painful sting of truth, only one item kept resurfacing as the root cause: my gender.
I had felt happiest(other than on prozac) when I had dressed as a man - suit, tie, the works - for a LARP - Live Action Role Playing game- where my character was male. It hadn't been easy, making DDD cups look like a man's pectorals under a shirt and jacket, but it had been worth it to see people I knew fail to recognize me and react as though I was really a man. A gay friend who saw me dressed like that later told me that he was impressed - I actually had the mannerisms of a straight man, and even attracted him! Looking at my reflection, I felt right for the first time ever. While that character "lived", I had something to look forward to - a night of being the man I really was. It felt good in a way nothing else ever had.
For me, that was my wake-up call; seeing my reflection as a man. I knew then that for my own sanity and wellbeing, I HAD to find a way to make that fantasy a reality once and for all. But the time wasn't right yet. Other people could still be hurt by my choices. My dad was still working as a Minister, preaching to small churches, and Mom was still working as an RN at the hospital. I started looking into how to get it done, and how much money I had to save up.
I planned to save up, get it done, and vanish - no coming out, no family or friends who "knew you when"; no past life at all. I thought that would be easier on everyone. I also kind of figured my three brothers and sister probably had a clue about me already; so why rub their faces in it? Just do it and move on.
I saw a special about a MTF person undergoing the transition surgeries in some foreign country - cost about $9,000.00 to get it done there - and began thinking I might go that route. The surgeries here seemed priced way too high - as though to discourage everyone from getting them done - and insurance companies won't pay for them. Yet this could cure chronic depression in a segment of the population. For the first time, I tried going online to learn more. Or rather, I tried to talk myself into going online to learn more. I was afraid.... Of learning I was wrong, of discovering there was NOTHING that could be done to help me, of learning I really was the only one. Of being labeled crazy - again.
Flashback: as a small child, I was repeatedly told by my father that he would have me locked away as crazy if I didn't stop telling people I was a boy, not a girl. This threat was waved at me many times during my life, until I quit saying anything and tried to blend in by(yuck!) dating boys. Disaster. I couldn't go from BEING one of the boys to DATING them. I tried. I couldn't stand it; it felt all wrong, and the guys ALWAYS expected to get sex out of me because of my large boobs, never guessing just how REVOLTING the entire notion was to me. They treated me as though I was weird for refusing to have sex. I felt confused and hurt - I just wanted to hang out as one of the guys; not be some dude's sexual plaything. After several tries, I called dating quits, and never went out again. I never told my mother why.
I got to see some more information on the series Taboo, about transgender people; mostly in other cultures and nations. This helped reassure me I wasn't alone, and then there was an entire program about transgender children, teens, and adults. By now, I knew; and my parents had retired. then Mom dropped the bomb.
Dad had Alzheimers. He was far enough along that she needed someone to come help her with him. I went home to help. We were lucky - Dad never became violent. He just continued to fade away, despite treatments. He no longer knew anyone - not even Mom - and was quickly loosing himself. I knew there would never be any reconcilliation between he and I, and somewhat bitterly accepted it, trying to make his remaining time easier on Mom by giving her a day or two off each week. For his part, he couldn't recognize me at all - used to think I was his older sister - and because of that, he avoided me. This made keeping him inside easier - I just placed myself quietly between him and wherever I didn't want him to go, and he turned away. For a while, he seemed to get better, so Mom sent me away. By the time she asked me back, he was pretty well bed-bound, with his advanced diabetic condition and looming kidney failure. He passed from kidney failure not long after that.
Out of the five of us kids, I was the only one to come home and help. When the funeral was over, instead of wanting to renew our relationship, Mom sent me away with a "Thanks, but I don't need you any more." She had a grandbaby to bond with. I was only her single grown daughter - her weird single grown daughter. I had been there for her - and she still wasn't there for me. Hurt, I left, and continued planning to transition alone, and disappear - convinced no one would notice or care.
Slowly, I moved forward, getting more information, adjusting my plans, trying to see where the money for surgeries was coming from. At one point, I had entered the armed forces - between high school and college - and was listed as a veteran. Given the "Don't ask, don't tell" attitude, I doubted any help would come from there - but maybe for the pain and trouble my shoulder injury had been giving me. I looked into it, and lo, a miracle: the pain in my shoulder injury was being made worse by the weight of my DDD sized breasts. Those could be REDUCED, free of charge, given my lower income bracket. As treatment for my shoulder injury. But before that, they wanted to discover why I had always had such severe pain and nausea and violent mood swings during my monthly cycles. Enter the OBGYN, who, finding no physical reason for the pain, etc., still offered to remove - total hysterectomy - the internal organs that were causing such agony. Maybe that would end the male hair growth on my neck and chin,... which I had suffered despite electrolysis, lasers, shaving, hot waxing, bleaching, you name it - for decades. I leapt at the chance. The VA was offering to pay for surgeries I couldn't afford to get - under the guise of medical necessity to treat my injuries from when I was in the service.
Months went by, the OBGYN rescheduled surgery three times, and finally, in March 2011, it was DONE. Gone, monthly cycle. Gone monthly pain, nausea, and everything else. A patch for hormones, applied twice weekly.
My lady friend told me about hearing an ad on the radio - free samples of male hormone replacement stuff. She gave me two phone numbers, and said I might be able to replace the female hormone patches with some of this - and move my maleness along. After I had gotten a date for the breast reduction surgery, I went ahead and ordered the male hormone replacement pills. I talked the surgeon there into reducing as much as possible, within the allowed guidelines of the VA's paid surgical definition of "reduction".
I had the reduction about four days ago - he took those DDD cups and cut them down to barely there A cups. Personally, I wanted them completely gone - but the VA's paying for it, so... It's way better than before. Yes, there's pain, and some drainage. Yes, now there is itching as things begin to heal. I can breathe easier - had asthma before - and I no longer wake up with my boobs in my armpits at night. I'm still in a compression bandage - a tight fitting sports bra with bandage wadding to contain the drainage and protect the stitching. There's bruising, below and around, and I have had to relearn balancing as I walk. Looking in the mirror.... I see the guy I am more clearly now than ever - and so do people out in public. When I went in for the surgery, I stopped taking the female hormone replacement patches. About two days after surgery, I started on the male hormone replacements and boosters.
The biggest miracle of all: my Mom. I thought she'd be upset. I feared she would never accept me. But, when I saw the VA might actually help me get things done, I broached the subject of transgender with her. Her response? "OH, is that like Chaz Bono?" I'm thinking, who?! So she brings me an item in the Parade Magazine, and another one in Time Magazine, about Chaz Bono. I read them, and said, "Yes, in a lot of ways - but my life was different in other ways."
Chaz Bono gave us a point to begin talking about it. He gave Mom something she could begin to come to terms with and understand, and gave me the words I needed to explain myself. In a lot of ways, that has brought Mom and I closer together.
How am I feeling now?
More my true self, more comfortable in my own skin. I still stop and look in the mirror at the guy looking back at me, and I don't feel depressed any more. Even with my scraggly beard, I feel more at peace and at home with myself than since I was six years old and pretending to be the Red Baron, shirtless, with a scarf around my neck, and a mascara moustache. That was the last photo from the last summer before I began school and had to become a girl. I remember being happy then, in that photo; but never again since, until prozac,... or now.
Transitioning isn't really a goal; it's a process. You take it a step at a time, adjusting as you go along. When you reach the point in the process where you feel at home in your skin, it's time to stop. I'm not quite there yet, but much closer already. I plan to continue the male hormones - to help my body develop more outward male traits - and to replace the lost hormones from the hysterectomy. I've had night sweats and hot flashes; those stopped when I started the male hormones. I also had migraines on the female hormones - and none since I started the male hormone replacements.
Are any of my doctors on line with this? Uhm, no, not completely, and not yet. They are being paid by the VA - the military. "Don't ask, don't tell" is still how they work. But I am due to see the OBGYN doctor again soon - I'll tell her about the hormones as I ask her to give me a SRS letter for my birth certificate, the DMV, and SSN records to be adjusted to reflect my upcoming name and gender change in the courts. I'm sure between us, she and I can phrase things so that she keeps out of trouble, and I still get things done. I hope.
At any rate, I'm set on my path, and not turning back. I already like the new outer me better, and hope to continue as I develop more. In time, I'll go into puberty again, and have to deal with what that brings. I know life won't be all roses and cherries. But you know, people don't need - or even want - to know everything about someone else's life. If it would make them uncomfortable, then they don't need to know I wasn't born a man. Why stir up trouble by making a big deal out of a private decision? My life, my body, my choice.
I am very glad that my mother has chosen to accept me, though. We talk more now than before. Sad I had to wait almost 45 years to get to this point.
I wish I had known there was hope sooner.
But, decades ago, a lot of what I call hope wasn't possible.
I was still in untreated depression, but at least I had a clue there might be something that could be done about what I was. I started listening in to programs like Discovery Channel, and National Geographic Channel, hoping to hear something about transgenderism. I looked it up, and found what it meant, and saw myself in its definition. I asked - carefully - around in the local gay/lesbian scenes if there were any transgendered people I might talk to, and met with no success. Either there were none, or they didn't want to talk to anyone they didn't know. I can't blame them - this is the South, in the midst of the Bible Belt. Anything that makes anyone the least bit different often makes them a target for fears and hatreds. Plus, I was a college student - they might have feared I was going to write a paper or do a study on them.
During this time, I met a lady - married, with two young boys - who was bisexual, and very loving. I had only gone out on a few dates - as public life demanded to look "normal" - with guys, and never felt very attracted to any of them - more the "I want to be like HIM" than "I want to be LIKED by him" - so she caught me off guard. She could see the guy inside me, picked up on that vibe right away, and played up to him whenever we were alone. It was novel, to have someone seducing the young man inside me, and she tried very hard to make it feel good. I told her I wasn't mentally a woman, that I was a guy - she put it into the context of me being multiple personality, not transgender. Still, she seemed to accept me for the guy I was, and seemed willing to stay with me. It never occurred to me that I was breaking up their marriage; how could I do that when her husband was always leaving her bed to drive across town and climb into bed with some other woman? He had three other women on the side THAT SHE KNEW OF, and my body was female, so.... When she decided to leave him, he was almost living with another woman already. He knew his wife was bisexual, and frowned at ANY of her friendships. I realized I was being used as her safe way out of her marriage when she started dating men as soon as she moved out from her husband and in with me.
I wasn't devistated; oddly, I was relieved she wanted to date others. I hadn't fallen in love with her; and really only wanted to be friends. Now I look back on things, I can admit to myself I was "the other man"; only I didn't precipitate any of this, I just went along for the ride, accepting things as they happened. But, I did let things happen. I could have stopped it; I could have backed away and left her to patch up her marriage or leave him on her own. All I can say is, she treated me like the guy I felt I was; and as that guy, I couldn't just leave her to choose between going back to him or going to live on the streets.
A note about always moving around as you grow up: you get VERY good at making friends; but not any good at MAINTAINING friendships for very long. You keep expecting to pack up and move again, so you sort of reach a point where you don't know what to do with your friendships anymore, and they sort of die off, or fade away. I have currently known only ONE person outside my relatives for longer than FOUR years. That's the lady I mentioned above. With her help, I have begun learning how to maintain a friendship. We've been friends about 20 years now.
About ten years ago, I was finally seen and diagnosed with chronic depression. Ah, prozac! My wonderful happiness in a pill. I would have killed to get it, once I tried it and felt HAPPINESS. It cost as much per month as the rent on my house did, and I didn't have insurance. Sadly, I had to choose between paying rent and living under a roof with my depression, or taking prozac and living happily on the streets. It was a struggle this time, setting aside the desire to feel HAPPY in order to be a responsible adult and pay my bills, but I did it, and felt the weight of my depression return with a vengeance. You see, NOW I knew something COULD be done about it - I just couldn't afford it! But this got me to thinking,... What's the root cause of my chronic depression? Why not treat that and cure myself?
I've tried talking to shrinks before, I know how that works, and how to look past the little lies you tell yourself in an effort to protect yourself. How to see the truth you are trying to hide or hide from. So, I played a long game of in depth "what if...?", looking at each possible cause in turn, and playing out how things might be different if that no longer applied. Only one item had the painful sting of truth, only one item kept resurfacing as the root cause: my gender.
I had felt happiest(other than on prozac) when I had dressed as a man - suit, tie, the works - for a LARP - Live Action Role Playing game- where my character was male. It hadn't been easy, making DDD cups look like a man's pectorals under a shirt and jacket, but it had been worth it to see people I knew fail to recognize me and react as though I was really a man. A gay friend who saw me dressed like that later told me that he was impressed - I actually had the mannerisms of a straight man, and even attracted him! Looking at my reflection, I felt right for the first time ever. While that character "lived", I had something to look forward to - a night of being the man I really was. It felt good in a way nothing else ever had.
For me, that was my wake-up call; seeing my reflection as a man. I knew then that for my own sanity and wellbeing, I HAD to find a way to make that fantasy a reality once and for all. But the time wasn't right yet. Other people could still be hurt by my choices. My dad was still working as a Minister, preaching to small churches, and Mom was still working as an RN at the hospital. I started looking into how to get it done, and how much money I had to save up.
I planned to save up, get it done, and vanish - no coming out, no family or friends who "knew you when"; no past life at all. I thought that would be easier on everyone. I also kind of figured my three brothers and sister probably had a clue about me already; so why rub their faces in it? Just do it and move on.
I saw a special about a MTF person undergoing the transition surgeries in some foreign country - cost about $9,000.00 to get it done there - and began thinking I might go that route. The surgeries here seemed priced way too high - as though to discourage everyone from getting them done - and insurance companies won't pay for them. Yet this could cure chronic depression in a segment of the population. For the first time, I tried going online to learn more. Or rather, I tried to talk myself into going online to learn more. I was afraid.... Of learning I was wrong, of discovering there was NOTHING that could be done to help me, of learning I really was the only one. Of being labeled crazy - again.
Flashback: as a small child, I was repeatedly told by my father that he would have me locked away as crazy if I didn't stop telling people I was a boy, not a girl. This threat was waved at me many times during my life, until I quit saying anything and tried to blend in by(yuck!) dating boys. Disaster. I couldn't go from BEING one of the boys to DATING them. I tried. I couldn't stand it; it felt all wrong, and the guys ALWAYS expected to get sex out of me because of my large boobs, never guessing just how REVOLTING the entire notion was to me. They treated me as though I was weird for refusing to have sex. I felt confused and hurt - I just wanted to hang out as one of the guys; not be some dude's sexual plaything. After several tries, I called dating quits, and never went out again. I never told my mother why.
I got to see some more information on the series Taboo, about transgender people; mostly in other cultures and nations. This helped reassure me I wasn't alone, and then there was an entire program about transgender children, teens, and adults. By now, I knew; and my parents had retired. then Mom dropped the bomb.
Dad had Alzheimers. He was far enough along that she needed someone to come help her with him. I went home to help. We were lucky - Dad never became violent. He just continued to fade away, despite treatments. He no longer knew anyone - not even Mom - and was quickly loosing himself. I knew there would never be any reconcilliation between he and I, and somewhat bitterly accepted it, trying to make his remaining time easier on Mom by giving her a day or two off each week. For his part, he couldn't recognize me at all - used to think I was his older sister - and because of that, he avoided me. This made keeping him inside easier - I just placed myself quietly between him and wherever I didn't want him to go, and he turned away. For a while, he seemed to get better, so Mom sent me away. By the time she asked me back, he was pretty well bed-bound, with his advanced diabetic condition and looming kidney failure. He passed from kidney failure not long after that.
Out of the five of us kids, I was the only one to come home and help. When the funeral was over, instead of wanting to renew our relationship, Mom sent me away with a "Thanks, but I don't need you any more." She had a grandbaby to bond with. I was only her single grown daughter - her weird single grown daughter. I had been there for her - and she still wasn't there for me. Hurt, I left, and continued planning to transition alone, and disappear - convinced no one would notice or care.
Slowly, I moved forward, getting more information, adjusting my plans, trying to see where the money for surgeries was coming from. At one point, I had entered the armed forces - between high school and college - and was listed as a veteran. Given the "Don't ask, don't tell" attitude, I doubted any help would come from there - but maybe for the pain and trouble my shoulder injury had been giving me. I looked into it, and lo, a miracle: the pain in my shoulder injury was being made worse by the weight of my DDD sized breasts. Those could be REDUCED, free of charge, given my lower income bracket. As treatment for my shoulder injury. But before that, they wanted to discover why I had always had such severe pain and nausea and violent mood swings during my monthly cycles. Enter the OBGYN, who, finding no physical reason for the pain, etc., still offered to remove - total hysterectomy - the internal organs that were causing such agony. Maybe that would end the male hair growth on my neck and chin,... which I had suffered despite electrolysis, lasers, shaving, hot waxing, bleaching, you name it - for decades. I leapt at the chance. The VA was offering to pay for surgeries I couldn't afford to get - under the guise of medical necessity to treat my injuries from when I was in the service.
Months went by, the OBGYN rescheduled surgery three times, and finally, in March 2011, it was DONE. Gone, monthly cycle. Gone monthly pain, nausea, and everything else. A patch for hormones, applied twice weekly.
My lady friend told me about hearing an ad on the radio - free samples of male hormone replacement stuff. She gave me two phone numbers, and said I might be able to replace the female hormone patches with some of this - and move my maleness along. After I had gotten a date for the breast reduction surgery, I went ahead and ordered the male hormone replacement pills. I talked the surgeon there into reducing as much as possible, within the allowed guidelines of the VA's paid surgical definition of "reduction".
I had the reduction about four days ago - he took those DDD cups and cut them down to barely there A cups. Personally, I wanted them completely gone - but the VA's paying for it, so... It's way better than before. Yes, there's pain, and some drainage. Yes, now there is itching as things begin to heal. I can breathe easier - had asthma before - and I no longer wake up with my boobs in my armpits at night. I'm still in a compression bandage - a tight fitting sports bra with bandage wadding to contain the drainage and protect the stitching. There's bruising, below and around, and I have had to relearn balancing as I walk. Looking in the mirror.... I see the guy I am more clearly now than ever - and so do people out in public. When I went in for the surgery, I stopped taking the female hormone replacement patches. About two days after surgery, I started on the male hormone replacements and boosters.
The biggest miracle of all: my Mom. I thought she'd be upset. I feared she would never accept me. But, when I saw the VA might actually help me get things done, I broached the subject of transgender with her. Her response? "OH, is that like Chaz Bono?" I'm thinking, who?! So she brings me an item in the Parade Magazine, and another one in Time Magazine, about Chaz Bono. I read them, and said, "Yes, in a lot of ways - but my life was different in other ways."
Chaz Bono gave us a point to begin talking about it. He gave Mom something she could begin to come to terms with and understand, and gave me the words I needed to explain myself. In a lot of ways, that has brought Mom and I closer together.
How am I feeling now?
More my true self, more comfortable in my own skin. I still stop and look in the mirror at the guy looking back at me, and I don't feel depressed any more. Even with my scraggly beard, I feel more at peace and at home with myself than since I was six years old and pretending to be the Red Baron, shirtless, with a scarf around my neck, and a mascara moustache. That was the last photo from the last summer before I began school and had to become a girl. I remember being happy then, in that photo; but never again since, until prozac,... or now.
Transitioning isn't really a goal; it's a process. You take it a step at a time, adjusting as you go along. When you reach the point in the process where you feel at home in your skin, it's time to stop. I'm not quite there yet, but much closer already. I plan to continue the male hormones - to help my body develop more outward male traits - and to replace the lost hormones from the hysterectomy. I've had night sweats and hot flashes; those stopped when I started the male hormones. I also had migraines on the female hormones - and none since I started the male hormone replacements.
Are any of my doctors on line with this? Uhm, no, not completely, and not yet. They are being paid by the VA - the military. "Don't ask, don't tell" is still how they work. But I am due to see the OBGYN doctor again soon - I'll tell her about the hormones as I ask her to give me a SRS letter for my birth certificate, the DMV, and SSN records to be adjusted to reflect my upcoming name and gender change in the courts. I'm sure between us, she and I can phrase things so that she keeps out of trouble, and I still get things done. I hope.
At any rate, I'm set on my path, and not turning back. I already like the new outer me better, and hope to continue as I develop more. In time, I'll go into puberty again, and have to deal with what that brings. I know life won't be all roses and cherries. But you know, people don't need - or even want - to know everything about someone else's life. If it would make them uncomfortable, then they don't need to know I wasn't born a man. Why stir up trouble by making a big deal out of a private decision? My life, my body, my choice.
I am very glad that my mother has chosen to accept me, though. We talk more now than before. Sad I had to wait almost 45 years to get to this point.
I wish I had known there was hope sooner.
But, decades ago, a lot of what I call hope wasn't possible.
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