Bad at Updating

Alright. I'm awful at it.
Infact not only am I awful at updating, I don't feel like I'm very good at writing in the first place so why did I even think that starting a blog was a good idea?

I didn't really. I don't particularly like writing (mostly because I don't feel I'm very good at it) also I find it more difficult than talking out loud. That I'm an expert at. I could run my mouth all day if you let me and there was someone to pretend to listen. I sort of started this blog at the suggestion of my therapist who thought it could be a useful tool in venting frustrations or analysing some of my feelings about transitioning. I think it can be; for some people. People who are drawn to writing as a tool of expression to begin with. I, however, consider myself to be a visual artist. What that means in my case is; I can paint or sculpt or draw or be generally arty and creative or destructive depending on what the job calls for, heck I can write informally too if its just casual like this and I'm trying to avoid doing something that might in some way be emotionally taxing like I am doing right now. That is until I'm told I should write something.

I am currently supposed to be writing a "Written life story regarding my gender identity history and goals" I cannot begin to describe how frustrating it is for me to be requested to write something. This just feels like I need to qualify how feel about myself to prove to "the powers that decide" that I should be taken seriously about my needs to transition and that am seeking top surgery and need assistance attaining it because medical fees are expensive if you go to a private surgeon to have this procedure done but if I go through "the powers that decide" and they decide "yes" then I can have the government pay for this for me which means I can continue to pay the government what little money I have for letting me go to college so I can have enough education to have an entry level full-time job in a field I didn't go to school for so I could pay the bills.

That being said this life story thing is essentially what I've told my therapist and only a small handful of people. I wouldn't even say a handful really... my therapist... one close friend... my ex... No one really knows as much about my childhood except for my therapist and one of my close friends. Some other close friends know bits and pieces but no one knows everything like I do and its really hard telling people those things because they have been kept hidden and quiet and ignored and buried for so long because they are hard to deal with. And mine to deal with. They aren't for other people. I don't like... asking for help. I deal with my own burdens because I don't feel its fair for other people to have to deal with mine as well as their own.

I realise it seems a little hypocritical to then go asking "the powers that decide" for help but I don't feel like I really have a choice. I need the ability to just... be. To not have to explain to people why I feel the way I do or how I knew I was trans-man or whats in my underpants or be mistaken for being a really impressive trans-woman. I just want to exist and be comfortable with my body and until I pass I will have to continually qualify my existence.
The truth is it was transition or shut down completely. I was becoming a shell. Someone else. Someone who existed but had no insides. Hollow.

So I guess I will have to explain to "the powers that decide" just like I explain to every well-meaning, ill-informed, curious, sheltered person who asks.

"Oh... your name is John? I've never met a girl named John before. Is that short for something?"

"John huh? I've noticed a lot of girls are going by the male short-form of their names now a days. What's your full name?"

"Yeah but what's your real name?"

"I'm sorry I'm going to have to ask you to leave the men's room. you can't be in here. Leave the men's room or leave the bar. What does your ID say?"

"So... like... do you have a penis?"

"Do you think you'll get the surgery?"

"Wow, you used to be a boy? Cuz you're like... really pretty!" (I would like to say "fuck you" on behalf of Trans-women, you ignorant cow!)

"Why would you want to be a boy when you are so pretty as a girl?"

"This is a man's haircut. I will give you a similar ladies' haircut. Very pretty, you would make some boy very happy. Boys like girls with short hair."

"You know your... johnson right? Isn't it true you could just... get one as big as you like? Why wouldn't you just do that? I mean... why would you want a small one??"


By the way, as of August 21st I started T and have been on it for 16 weeks. I am still misgendered fairly regularly but the other day at the mall my cashier at Tim Horton's called me "Miss" and then called me "Sir" for the rest of my order and the guy in the HMV called me "man" and "dude". I'm fairly sure I've begun passing on the phone, hopefully I'll be able to find my mic for my XBox soon and I'll be able to put that theory to the test on XBL.

P.S. - My girlfriend is awesome!

Crazy Week

Alright, so some new things have happened and perhaps they're the kinds of things that'll be appropriate to share with strangers. Chances are, they are not. That's okay though, only friends are reading the blog at this stage anyways right?

Right?...

1. Last Thursday I started going to the gym. Well... sort of. At work we have what's called a "Wellness Room" which consists of a treadmill, 2 ellipticals and about 4 machines whose names I am unsure of. One of them is a Press I suppose... if it had a bench it would be a Bench Press, but instead it uses a sitting position. Another one is a Triceps Extender. (surprisingly hard. I had no idea that I had never used those muscles before in my life. I assume that because it hurt like hell and I could only manage 3 sets of 12 reps of 2lbs WTF) Another machine is that one where you exercise your chest muscles and arms. You know the one. Lastly there is a leg one... I don't use that one cuz it looks dumb. Yeah! Honesty! For the past week I've been at the gym every second day for about 2 hours. I suppose I'll keep doing it until I find a smoother routine.

2. I made some calls and on Wednesday had a phone interview with a center that has agreed to put me on a wait list to see a therapist! The only thing is the wait list is about 3-5 months long. Woo! but at least I'm on it now.

3. I haven't really spoken with my mum for a couple of months. No real reason, I just haven't really done it and she was away for a while in NFLD with my dad to sort out my Nan's issues. (long and complicated. a story for a different post)
ANYWAYS Thursday my mum e-mailed me to update me on what has been going on in her life since we last talked. Here is an idea of what's happened: a. My dad had blood work done and was diagnosed with mild type II diabetes. (btw my dad and I do not talk, and haven't for about 24 months) b. a day later my mum was hospitalized with a fever and was on IV antibiotics for a week, and c. my mum will be having minor surgery on her face just under her eye to have a(n unspecified) spot removed.

I read this and was like "WHAT THE $#!T ?!? WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN AND WHY WAS I NOT PHONED!? MY CELL STILL GODDAMN WORKS PEOPLE, YOU PAY FOR IT STILL!!" I was very frustrated and I still have not e-mailed her back... I have not planned out what I was going to say. In a way I can see not being told about my mother being in the hospital because my dad wouldn't go out of his way to fat-finger my number into his phone especially since we aren't talking but still! there are other people who could have let me know! /sigh

so that has been my week. Not including making this blog of course. I think I did that Monday or something. TODAY I get to hang out with some good friends and we're going to go catch The Muppets! Woo!

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get dressed because I can't go to a movie in just my Star Wars underpants.


p.s. my roommate wanted me to add that while I was writing this, she brought me raspberry sherbert and pocky, and that she thinks she's the best roommate ever.