Do you think anger is a sincere emotion or the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain?

Monday, December 31, 2012

ETA

I, apparently, cannot sing when I'm drunk. And I gesture like Johnny Depp a la Captain Jack. At least I can still type? Mr Earrings has to use the voice-to-type on his iPad to be able to function, and I've had a lot more vodka than him. Ha!

Happy New Years!

Good news: Mr Earrings man toy thing didn't come. He isn't even messaging Mr Earrings on Grindr. While that sucks for Mr Earrings (well, in his opinion. I think it's a good thing, personally.), I'm quite pleased that no icky old men have shown up at my home.

PLUS! We're drunk, watching The Big Bang Theory (which, as much as I love, I normally don't find funny once I actually think about it since it mocks autistic people), waiting for the NBC New Years thing (I won't watch the other one, because Jenny McCarthy is hosting and she's an anti-autistic allistic cow), and trying to remember not to drunk-message people.

HAPPY NEW YEARS 2012, EVERYONE! I hope your 2013 is much better than your 2012.

Oh dear

     Tonight, Mr Earrings and I will be driving up to my apartment in the Valley with the sole goal of getting absolutely trashed as we watch the ball drop. Honestly, I'm not incredibly fond of being drunk (I drink socially with my family, but that's the extent of that, really), but as I'd much rather be spending my New Years Eve sharing a midnight kiss with The Fiancée, at least this is a way to spend my evening that won't result in me being lonely and miserable.

     The one hang up I encountered is that Mr Earrings decided to invite his current... well, I would call him boytoy, but that would be inaccurate. While my dear friend is only 20, his current thing of interest is (wait for it!) 48 years of age. I won't lie: the fact that my good friend is interested in someone older than his parents goes towards the squick level for me. Not only is nearly a 30 year age difference a bit much in my opinion, but I have to wonder what's going on in a nearly 50-year-old man's head that he thinks trying to hook up with someone only 6 years older than his own son is a wise plan of actions. Not to mention, the old man and Mr Earrings have yet to meet and Mr Earrings can't even get his paramour's phone number (they met on Grindr and the old perv refuses to give out his number; can we agree that this is incredibly sketch?). Needless to say, I rescinded Mr Earrings invitation; older, unknown, overly secretive men from Grindr are not welcome in my home.

     I can certainly commiserate with Mr Earrings' desperation to be in a relationship though. Not only was I head over heels with The Fiancée and absolutely ecstatic over the idea of being allowed to spend the rest of my life with her, there's a certain level of comfort and stability I felt from knowing how that part of my future would play out. Even at my age, I loved knowing I was going to be settling down and forging a new domestic life with the woman I loved. To lose that, in addition to the heartbreak, was deeply unsettling. To know that not many people would want to date a transguy, especially one who is still pre-everything, only exacerbated the feeling. Mr Earrings feels the same way; he wants to be wanted and loved and settle down with someone. That's why, he admitted, he regularly turns to trying to be with older men. I get that, I really, deeply do. Somehow, though, I doubt finding men nearly three decades your senior on a sketchy iPad app is the way to find your future husband...

Monday, December 24, 2012

Thankful

     I think the "thankful" posts were supposed to center around Thanksgiving, but this just seems more appropriate for me now.

     Recently, I've been reconnecting with a good friend (R-on-the-eye, after her name sign) who was in my year in the interpreting program and a friend who was in one of the classes I TA-ed for who's in the interpreting program now. The other week, we went to SeaWorld since R-on-the-eye had won tickets to an after-hour party. Our friend, Mr Earrings, and R-on-the-eye have season tickets there anyways and are really rather addicted. Going with them was intensely fun and I played with the manta rays for much longer than could be considered manly (my grin couldn't have been bigger if I was trying; the rays kept nibbling on my fingers!). At the same point, though, it was nervewracking: I knew I was planning on coming out to them as trans*. Mr Earrings is gay himself and I know R-on-the-eye is extremely accepting. Still, though, nothing like telling your friends you're really a guy to test a friendship.

     As Mr Earrings and I rode the coaster there alone, I came out to him first. He told me he'd had a gut feeling that I might be and he loved me no matter what. He loved the first name my mom and I chose. I came out to R-on-the-eye afterwards; just like Mr Earrings, she had no issues with me. He called me "Jay" several times throughout the evening, which made me grin even bigger than the manta rays did.

     The part I'm thankful for, though? I've seen them both since that night, and literally nothing has changed in the way they treat me. Even better, they constantly make the same little jokes to me as they do for other male friends; they behave just like I'd always been a guy in their eyes. Dealing with the constant struggles with my mother and the awful reactions of people when I only came out as gay, the unwavering love and acceptance I'm getting from these two when something as drastic as my gender changes seemingly over night makes me nearly tear up. Moreso than ever, I'm intensely grateful to have friends like these in my life.

Saturday, December 22, 2012

Not solely my fault

Whenever I look back on the relationship with The Fiancée, my habit is to think every failing, struggle, and shortcoming should rest solely on my shoulders. I struggle to find any fault with her; the same was true about her while we were together. As much as I often became frustrated and took it out on her in cruel ways, I was never able to, in a moment of calm rationality, find a fault with her. By being so smitten with her and so clear on my issues, I often viewed her as perfect.

This isn't to say that my issues weren't typically at the heart of our problems. I can't and won't deny that.  I'm finally starting to realize, though, that her issues came into play too. It wasn't only me. Having now met many other people who are very similar to me in my issues and disabilities (whoo Internet for making the world such a small place!), I've seen relationships work where mine failed. I can see how, when problems and scary things come up, their partners handle things very different than how things got handled between The Fiancée and I. I see where their partners stood up for themselves, even when it hurt, and told the truth even when it was hard. Those were things that didn't happen in my relationship.

I was the whirlwind, the overbearing force of nature that, unopposed, left destruction and devastation behind me. As much as the responsibility for that lies solely on my shoulders, it's unexpected, from my end, to realize that our relationship didn't fail only because of that. We both brought shortcomings in. We both handled things poorly. We both did things that we shouldn't have, said things we shouldn't have, and failed to do or say things that we should have. It wasn't that I was a uncurable monster or am incapable of ever learning how to be in a healthy relationship. It's just that The Fiancée was not the person, as much I love her, that I could do that with. We just weren't meant to be.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Both ends of the spectrum

I lived 18 years presenting solely as female. Starting at maybe 12, I learned to fear men. They would catcall me on the streets, harassing me wherever I went. I was 15 when I got into my first relationship; he emotionally, physically, and sexually abused me. That was the trauma that triggered my development of BPD. My 16th birthday was the first time I had sex with an adult male, in his car parked on some dark street; that same man raped me when I was 17. This recent October, at 19, I was raped again by a male friend of four years.

I know what it's like to have that deep-seated, gut-instinct fear of a man. The terror when you've stayed late on campus and now you're alone and your phone is dead, with a man following you from the shadows, knowing that, if you're attacked, no one will hear you scream. The fear of a man walking near you on the sidewalk, even in the sunlight of mid afternoon, because that's never stopped people before. The feeling of betrayal when someone you thought was a friend turns out to want more of you; that betrayal that happens whether it's a classmate you thought was just being friendly or your online friend of years because, in the end, they always ignore your "no." That instant panic when you're closing at work, the only one on your entire floor, and two men step off the elevator when no one else is supposed to coming in. The frustration you feel when you realize just how little you trust men now.

Now, though, as I'm being read as male with increasing frequency, I'm starting to experience the other end of the spectrum. I find myself having to watch how closely I walk behind or next to women; what was read as innocuous when I presented as female now appears frightening from a shaved headed teenage boy. I try not to be hurt when women cross away from me; even with knowing what the fear feels like, it's still a hard pill to swallow. Likewise, I'm not trusted near children when people read me as male. No longer is it acceptable for me to interact with the little girls who I encounter in a store; where once talking with a munchkin who wandered over was expected, now parents give me a side eye and hustle their child away. I make sure not to touch women without warning now like I might have before; the threat of coming off as overly flirtatious or harassing is omnipresent.

It's a switch I'm not sure how to handle. Truthfully, I'm not sure I like it. While I cherish nearly every time I'm read as male, these ones throw me for an unpleasant loop. In some ways, by gaining some modicum of male privilege, I feel like I'm losing the "privileges" associated with being read as female. Sometimes, it's hurtful. I had a friend tell me, when she found out I'm a guy, that she couldn't be alone with me anymore because her boyfriend might not approve. As miserable as I was as a girl, I miss the benefits of it.

Monday, December 17, 2012

Triggers

My rapist messaged me again on Facebook tonight. I haven't been brave enough to block him. I keep just hoping he'll go away, but apparently he's persistent. Maybe part of me is a masochist; I feel like, after four years of friendship, I owe him the ability to contact me.

"honestly, I'm confused by our one and only meeting. I didn't make that happen..."
"you clearly regret it."

I'm not sure what world he lives in that he didn't make my rape happen; perhaps he's just delusional enough to think me laying there, eyes closed and unable to move while begging for him to stop, was me asking for it.

Thursday, December 13, 2012

It is done!

Today has been a crazy day. I've officially finished all three of the classes for the semester and all the work for the fourth class that was due to make the Incomplete official. With that, I am officially on winter break!

As a perfectly timed reward, I got to ride the gelding I mentioned before today. His name is Harmony (which, other Potter fans, please tell me I'm not the only one who automatically thinks of Harry/Hermione shippers at that!) and he's a sweetheart. Not much of a looker, but a heart of gold. Today was the first time in two years and three months that I've been on a horse. Not only that, but I got to jump too. My legs are now tired to the point I can't actually pick them up to move from the gas pedal to the brake, but oh boy was it worth it. Now just to get the leg strength back to keep my legs in a better position and lose all the weight I've gained since I stopped riding (even with which, by the way, I still managed to fit into the same breeches that I wore back then!)...

In other news, I think my mother and I have decided on what I will legally change my name too. As I want to keep my initials the same, Jay, which I still plan to use in daily life, will become my middle name. We found and agreed upon a name that is actually fairly similar to my birth name. (Ironically, according to Wikipedia, this name is also the name of an important figure in Hinduism. Apparently I'm destined to be related to Hinduism somehow, though this will be a demotion from a head Goddess to a mythical hero.) As much as I detested my mother's original suggestion for a first name, I really felt she deserved to be a part of me finding a name. I know it's hard for her to watch her child transition and to lose the connection to the name she gave me at birth; I want to mitigate that as much as possible for her.

Crossing Lines

     Anyone who knows me in real life knows I have no filter. There are very few questions that I find offensive or won't answer. I'll willingly tell you about my sexual exploits, my recent rape, my mental illnesses, my political and religious views, why The Fiancée left me, everything. (ETA: The reason why I make a point of being okay with explaining why The Fiancée left is because it's my fault and I own up to it, not because she did something.) Even if I'm not totally comfortable with a question, most of the time, I'll answer it anyways; I think I owe that to some bizarre mixture of pride at being so open and a deep need to be polite and not embarrass someone for asking intrusive questions.

Lately, though, I've been struggling with this openness. Ignoring the fact it tends to get me into trouble (I've yet to learn how to have a filter... ever...), I feel like it's detrimental to me (and my brothers, sisters, and siblings) as a trans* person. While I, whenever possible, make the effort to educate ignorant people,  I end up often answering questions that are absurdly personal and rude (I mean, really, would you ask a cis guy about his penis? No, so why are you asking me about my bits? The same goes for asking how I had sex with The Fiancée. I fail to see how that is anyone's business other than ours...). I don't know how to tell a person that their question is unwanted in a polite way. While I understand that my transition brings up natural curiosity, there's still a line people need to respect. I constantly find I feel the need to emphasize to people that most trans*people aren't as open as I am, and I'm plagued by the worry that, because I've been so (albeit unwillingly) open in answering questions, I've set up a precedent in people's minds that other trans* people need to be willing to do the same. I'm not sure how to fix that.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Seriously?!

I managed to legitimately break my fucking nose with my laptop this morning. I've broken it maybe 5 times before and have a permanently severely deviated septum after having had a failed septoplasty when I was 15 after my boyfriend at the time broke it the first time. Of course I managed to drop the laptop on my nose in the same direction it's already broken; I couldn't have been lucky enough to drop it on the other side and break it straight again! Oye.

Monday, December 10, 2012

I swear to God...

If one more person around me gets fucking engaged, I take absolutely no responsibility for my actions. If they find it necessary to gloat to me and tell me their wonderful proposal story, I won't even be sorry when I murder them.

Sunday, December 9, 2012

Back in the Saddle Again

I spent the evening dancing with my best friend at her work Christmas party. (As much as I have a reputation for not dancing, it's only because I have absolutely no coordination and am loathe to embarrass myself in front of people I know. Tonight, when the only person I really knew was the hot girl grinding on me, it's hard to say no.) I'm fairly sure, even with her introducing me as her best friend, most of her work now things we're dating. The wonderful thing about tonight, though, was that literally everyone there knew me by my preferred name. Jaka introduced me as Jay and he; the only one of her coworkers who knew me by my birth name switched instantly to my new name. It was a wonderful, albeit still very foreign, feeling to just be accepted as Jay.

In other amazing news, I found one (possibly even two!) horses to ride up in the city I live now. My horse, whom I haven't ridden since I broke my back in a bad fall two years ago, lives two counties down on my parents' property. There's a lady looking for someone to exercise her 22 year old ex-Grand Prix jumper. He's arthritic, but can still jump most days and does trail on the days he's too sore for jumping. I'm more excited than I have words for. I crave being back in the saddle. I'd planned to bring my horse up here to ride, but those plans fell through once The Fiancée left since I don't know if I'll stay in this area after I graduate in May. I spent part of the day getting my boots and such ready; it is such a heady feeling to prepare for riding again! I may end up riding her friend's younger Haflinger pony too; that would be so much fun since the pony still needs training and work; I haven't gotten to train a horse in years now! I'll go ride the gelding on Thursday. It's a wonderful reward for how hard I've been working to finish up my semester. 

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Blocking

I have a friend who I was really close to once. She and I had a lot of similarities, having both been in love with girls, Christian, and about as socially awkward as you can get. She and I drifted apart, but stayed in touch randomly. We're pretty different now, as she's happily married and devoted to God and we live a few counties apart (which, in SoCal, is a much bigger difference apparently than in many parts of the country). I still considered her a friend though; it was the type of friendship that you could go months without talking and go to lunch and still be chatty.

She blocked me on Facebook. I have no idea why. She wasn't close to The Fiancée when things ended in September, so I assume, though that may have changed, it isn't why? I'm not sure. Most of The Fiancée's friends have deleted me on Facebook and The Fiancée outright blocked me, which makes me wonder if that's why this friend did as well. We haven't talked in an incredibly long time, but this actually hurts a lot more than I would expect. Losing more and more ties to my hometown, as tenuous as they might have been, while I have no solid connections here makes me feel kind of homeless.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Yays and Boos

Stealing this format from Mama because there's really just no other succinct way to sum up today (because, as evidenced by my previous posts, I clearly strive for succinctness... Right...)


  • Yay Gap! Their "Love Comes in All Shades" holiday advert series is seriously precious and includes queer people and people of color in it and includes Rufus Wainwright and his hubby, both of whom I'd like to cuddle.
  • Boo new coworker. When you're talking to a coworker whom you've only met in passing, you really should put on your filter. When they awkwardly stumble over calling The Fiancée their ex, going on for 20 minutes about how clearly the relationship ended because The Fiancée began seeing someone else is not a way to befriend me. Telling me I'm lying when I say that, no matter how heartbroken I was, I'm legitimately happy about the prospect of her being happy is also not the way to endear yourself to me. Telling me how you, as a straight person, love hanging out with gay guys does not make me like you and will bring you damn close to faghag territory with how stupid you are. Furthermore, when we've discussed two different pronunciations of my birth name that I accept, mispronouncing it a third way is ridiculous. Finally, when I present as very masculine and say I date women, now is probably not a good time to start mocking transgender people and how bizarre they are and laughing like we're the funniest freaks in all the world because hey I AM ONE YOU DUMB BITCH.
  • Yay The Professor telling me he likes to nitpick my work because the points he brings up are things he can focus on because I "have a higher ceiling of possibility than most other students" and he'd like to see me working at that level. Not to mention, while the average grades of the class for his two tests are 76% and a C-, mine were 92% and 96% respectively.
  • Boo to all of the above information, because it means I have to redo my freaking term video (our equivalent of a term paper) that I spent numerous hours on because of the little nitpicked things. Granted, according to The Professor, I don't have to redo it, and it would mean only a slight loss of points for formatting issues, but, as he said, "I know you better than that and I know you'd like your work to be as best as possible, so...". Remind me why I'm so desperate to impress him again?!
  • Yay for Christmas carols!
  • Boo for still having the Chicken Dance stuck in my head for (yes, literally) 6 weeks straight.
  • Yay for being able to finally see the end of the semester, even with the fact I have to redo my term video and take an incomplete.
  • Boo for the fact that I was running late today because my stupid snake decided to go to the bathroom all down my (one and only) bra, so I spent the day feeling like I smelled like digested mouse bits.
  • (Brevity is clearly not my strong point, even in bullet points.)

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

One sentence summary of the day:

I got up early enough to make myself coffee, ended up running late and leaving the full cup in the Keurig, and forgot about it until I just arrived home now.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Expanding and Contracting

Expansions and contractions are supposed to be effortless.
Like breathing.
Like the tide pulled and pushed by the moon.
Like my fingers spreading to grasp yours.

My heart effortlessly expanded to make room for you.
For your perfections, your flaws, your idiosyncrasies.
The way you drool on your pillow and never know what you're thinking.
For my soulmate, my other half, my perfect match.

My home expanded to squeeze you in.
A tiny space instead became cozy.
Filled to the brim but a perfect fit.
Inhabited by lovers and their cats.

My future grew in unbelievable ways,
Incorporating you into every turn.
My plans expanded into ours,
Our intertwined fates leading to happily ever after.

Some things are not meant to contract again.
Happily ever after could not shrink small enough for just me,
Dreams for our someday house were too large for one,
Minus my lover and our someday family.

Our home was not designed to have to
Dwindle down to just my lonely contours.
To have an empty space where your dresser lived,
With your half of our bed left empty.

My heart never learned how to contract.
Instead you have left gaping fissures where you used to fill me up.
The miles between my fingers longer still without
Yours there to bridge the gaps.

The same way that attempting to cut you out of pictures
Leaves a perfectly you-shaped crater in its wake,
My memory is the worst of all at returning to its original state.
How long before my you-shaped hole refills?

Worried

For as impossible as I find it to keep friends for more than perhaps a month, I've had my Best Friend since I was 12. We went to middle school together and, as is obligatory in (what used to be) opposite-sex friendships, I was in love with him for a good 3 or 4 years. We lost our virginity to each other, have gone climbing on rooftops in our hometown, and even broken into my church to play strip poker (he's the only person I've ever been so rebellious with!). I still absolutely adore the kid, and have been so blessed to get to watch him mature from the sweet homeschooler I met through his very very cruel and hurt stage to the wonderful man he is now. He speaks in riddles and sarcasm and I love him for exactly who he is. I'd reckon that, even with as little as he tells me, I know more about him than just about anyone. He recently randomly moved to Oklahoma for school, and, even though I hadn't seen him in probably a year, I feel his absence now a lot more acutely.

He grew up in a very redneck family. His father is an abusive ass, and his mother, whom I adore, keeps her mouth shut and lies low. He's nearly as racist as his father, and I'm sure homophobia ran rampant in the household. Yet, he never once batted an eye when I came out as a dyke, got engaged to a girl, and cut off all my hair. He never stopped treating me like his best friend; I'm not sure I have words for how much I value that.

He's coming back home for the holidays, and we've made plans for him to come up north to my apartment for a few days to sightsee and catch up. I'm ecstatic to see him. But good Lord am I beyond petrified. I haven't come out to him as trans. He and I, even though I'm only physically attracted to women, have always had the flirty friendship that comes with being so close to someone and having hooked up before. I'm not extraordinarily eager to change that, but how will my coming out affect it? Will this be the time his closed-minded upbringing rears its ugly head? He still very much views me as his female best friend who he flirts and cuddles with and complains about girl problems to. How do I tell him that I'm becoming some sort of a guy, who still wouldn't mind cuddling with him? I can't not come out; it's a bit obvious with my male clothes, refusal to shave, and attempting to switch to a new name. I don't see him really /getting/ it, which I suppose shouldn't seem so bad, but it's like salt in a wound every time he says "Hey girly!" I guess it comes down to whether I value his friendship or my gender identity more at this point. I can't help but feel, even if he can sweep it under the rug for now though, that it's a ticking timebomb. What will he make of me after surgery and testosterone have undeniably made me male like him? Will I still be his best friend? It terrifies me to look forward into the future without being able to guarantee he'll still be there with me.

Saturday, December 1, 2012

Week before finals week curse

We now interrupt our regularly scheduled complaining for technology-induced complaining.

I swear to the freaking Flying Spaghetti Monster that the week before finals in the Fall has a curse. This time last year, my hard drive crashed, losing my final papers along with all my pictures from Italy and the screenshots I'd taken of The Fiancée while we Skyped over night. Now, this semester, last week my laptop charger died, my backup 4.5 year old charger died tonight, and the Apple Store sold me the wrong freaking charger (at what point, when I tell you my laptop is 1.5 old, does that tell you to sell me a MagSafe 2?!) and I didn't discover that until I got home with only 7 minutes until their store closed. On the less technological front, my apartment complex's plumbing essentially exploded and filled my bathroom with black sludge, my wall is torn apart to install a heater after mine had three separate gas leaks, and my car door handle is broken (though my windows work now!).

Let's just that these past two weeks can't go die in a hole.