Every once in awhile an occasion arises that I feel requires me to re-introduce myself to some people, so that I can introduce myself to a few new readers.
In this case, I sense that introducing myself to my FISA reader is warranted. I’m going to refer to you as Paul. I know that is unlikely to be your name, but I like the name Paul, and it was the name of one of my more subversive friends back in my hippie days. I think that it was likely also not his real name, times being what they were.
This diary can also be viewed as me taking a break from reporting on news stories from the transgender community and being a lot more personal.
So what you will find on the inside was compiled 17 years ago…and contains writings from before that. It also may be viewed as the introduction to the book I may write after I retire. But then, by now I’ve probably written a good half dozen introductions to that non-existent book, so who knows? We’ll have to see if I ever really finish writing my life.
Introduction
Let’s get this straight right from the beginning. I’m a transsexual woman. For whatever reasons I may have had (which will be explored elsewhere), I changed my sex. I was born with some male body parts, but I’m much better now.
Being transsexual is an evolving process. It takes longer for some people to evolve than others. In my case it has taken nearly 48 years so far…less than some, more than most. I’m still evolving and I imagine I will continue to do so for the rest of my life.
Evolution is painful for any individual, so many of us fight it tooth and nail for most of our existence. If we’re lucky, we realize at some point that we have to stop trying to swim upstream and let the river of life carry us to whatever shore it will. That’s a frightening prospect because there’s no guarantee that we still won’t drown along the way. All that is certain is that swimming upstream isn’t a fruitful endeavor.
The vast majority of the people in the societies of the world cannot possibly imagine what would drive someone to change sex. Waking up in the morning is not an occasion for self-doubt for them as it is for us. Gender is not a confusing issue for them. For us transsexual people gender is the supreme issue. It colors just about everything in our lives in one way or another.
Our obsession with gender sets us apart from mainstream societies which consider gender one of the few immutable attributes in a human being. Tampering with anything which is supposedly immutable is fraught with danger. In the past few years I have seen signs that societies are beginning to evolve away from the concept of immutability of gender, but as it is with evolution of an individual, evolution is a painful process for a society and unfortunately the pain of a society is generally inflicted on some of its individuals.
For those few of us that can escape the whirlpool of fear, pain, and danger that we find swirling around us, there is the hope someday of reaching some distant safe shore. It’s not an easy journey because it involves an investigation and interrogation of one’s self that the vast majority of people would be hard put to withstand. We must delve into our soul and peel away the layers of deceit we have cloaked it with, forever searching for who we really are. In the end we are compelled to bare that stark naked soul to the world.
I’m sure that there are still more layers of my own soul to be peeled away until I get to that nugget that may be in there somewhere. Or maybe I’ll just keep peeling until I die and never reach it. I do know, however, that I’ve become a better human being through this process: stronger, braver, kinder, more patient, more understanding, more open to new ideas, more committed.
I hope that through my writing I can help others through their own personal journeys of discovery, especially my transgendered sisters and brothers, but also anyone who has ever had a family member or a friend who was transgendered and anyone else who encounters the compulsion to rip apart their soul as they travel the river of life.
| A Secret
A secret
buried deep within my soul
A secret
hidden from one and all
A secret
too hard for me to tell
A secret
complex enough to kill
A secret
that cannot see the light
A secret
I kept it locked up tight
A secret
leaking out so late
A secret
determining my fate
-June, 1992 |
| Senses
Tears cloud the vision.
Silence enshrouds the ears.
Touching is denied.
Taste and smell are dulled.
Pain pierces the heart.
Loneliness hammers at the brain.
This is how a friendship ends.
-June, 1992 |
| Sorry
I’m sorry that you hurt.
I’m sorry that in living my life I have caused you pain.
I’m sorry that you are having trouble attaining your goals.
Love may mean never having to say you’re sorry,
But Friendship demands it.
-July, 1992 |
| Love
Love is hard to give
and harder still to take.
Life is hard to live
unless it’s lived for Love’s sake.
-July, 1992 |
September 30, 1992: I begin therapy and real life test simultaneously.
October 19, 1992: I begin hormones.
| Loneliness and Isolation
The mind–yearning, seeking, questing, emerging–female.
The body–betraying the mind–male.
Can one express what it feels like to be transsexual?
Before I was man and was treated like man.
After I will be woman.
Now I am both/neither.
Neither generally wins, excluded from both.
Is it too difficult for others to comprehend
Or is it too difficult for me to explain?
Is there anyone who will accept me as I am
Or will I only be accepted/rejected
For who I was/will be?
Loneliness and isolation nip at the edges of my being.
Certainty becomes expectation.
Expectation becomes hope.
Hopes become dreams.
The dreams dissipate into nothingness.
Another friend is gone.
New friends are made.
Life changes but why must the bridge be so tenuous?
Loneliness and isolation blur my consciousness.
Why must others always bring up the past
Which has become so foreign to me?
The events are there but the feelings are gone.
How do I describe the deeper feelings that have replaced them?
Emotions long submerged boil to the surface
And erupt full-blown into the mind
But there is no one present with whom to share them.
Loneliness and isolation crowd around my soul.
How do I explain the feeling of hormones
Coursing through my body,
Changing it to fit the mind?
How do I deal with the sexuality, the sensuality
Exploding in every nerve ending?
When there is nobody with whom to explore these sensations,
Time slows considerably.
How does one measure the growth of a breast?
With a watch, a sundial, a calendar, or with a life?
Loneliness and isolation seek to smother my existence.
-November, 1992 |
December, 1992: I go on the Internet.
| E-spacing
There is no sound but the clickety-clack of fingers on the keyboard.
There are no sights but the electronically formed letters on the screen.
But there are people in my computer,
Riding the crest of the technological future,
And I have joined them.
We have stripped ourselves down to the thoughts we express,
Mind meeting mind with no distractions.
The carefully chosen phrase can be undone
By the carelessly tossed word.
A misplaced comma may cost a friendship.
We become our vocabulary and our usage of it.
Our emotions are expressed only through punctuation.
Yet we bare our souls to each other
And form relationships deeper than those in the real world
Because we must always trust each other.
Finland, Australia, South Africa and Canada,
Maine, Virginia, New Hampshire and Kansas,
Baltimore, Cleveland, San Francisco and Boston,
I have trod on your virtual streets today
And visited with some of your most caring inhabitants.
We embrace each other mind to mind
And love each other’s wisdom.
We share our joys and pain
And support each other through our sorrows and triumphs.
This is life in e-space.
-June, 1993 |
I begin writing a new poem for every public speaking gig.
| Unfinished Woman
Some assembly required.
Includes non-factory installed equipment.
Read instructions completely before beginning.
Mistakes are not correctable.
Insert tab A into slot B.
Batteries are not included.
-June, 1993 |
| Is There a Place for Me?
Is there a place for me
Among the beings of light?
Or must I grow like a fungus
Alone in the musty dark?
Am I like a wildflower
Providing beauty in the wilderness?
Or am I like a weed
That needs to be removed from a lawn?
Can I find someone
Who will love me as I am?
Or am I to be doomed
To a life of loneliness?
Is there a place for me
Where I can thrive and provide beauty?
Or am I forever condemned
To the dark ugliness of society’s cellar?
-July, 1993 |
| A New Life
There was a man whose life was meaningless
Filled with self-hate and bitterness.
He was an empty husk of a human being
Because he denied his core existence.
As the days slowly passed by
He wondered what life was meant to be.
As the years slowly accumulated
He wondered what love was.
Inside the dim recesses of his mind
Was a glimmer of another life.
Crouched in the corner of his brain
Afraid of the light of day.
The man came to a place and time
Where there was no point to his life.
He gave up trying
To find the path to happiness.
But as his life crumpled into non-being
The sliver of consciousness in his brain
Asked if it could have a try
At finding love and acceptance.
The man gave up his body
To the new being who fearfully
Peeked out from the prison
That was the man’s fear of living.
She was a timid being
Having known no other emotion
Save an all-consuming fear
Of being discovered.
Now she had nowhere to hide
And was forced to learn how to survive.
As she came forward to greet the sun
Society drew back in horror.
She tried to show
That she was better now,
At last a whole person.
But Society was filled with fear.
She changed the man’s body
Into something she thought
Society would accept.
But Society would not forget the past.
So she was cast out from the nest
Alone in the wilderness
Of loneliness and desolation of the soul.
And she could not understand.
How could Society be so fearful
That it preferred the desolate
Former inhabitant of that body
To the loving being she had become?
-July, 1993 |
| FREEDOM!
Free from the prison of my mind
Free from the fear that bound me
Free from denial and guilt and pain
Free of the sorrows of the past
Free to experience passion and joy
Free to grow, free to feel, free to love
Free to laugh, free to cry, free to sing
Free to live rather than merely exist
Free to walk my own path
Free to follow my dreams
Free to embrace the splendor and the beauty
Free to explore; free to be me
-September, 1993 |
[Personal poem omitted.]
| Friends Along the Way
I started out on this
road all alone
Fear and Pain
my only companions
I wondered if
I would lose myself
The road seemed dark
and fraught with peril
Til I found I had
Friends along the way
As the road wound
through hard terrain
I sometimes doubted
my ability to go on
But I fought back
the Fear
and worked through
the Pain
With the help of my
Friends along the way
As time passed by
the road ascended
Obstacles less frequent
but harder to pass
And at times
I needed the
places of refuge
respite and care
offered to me by
Friends along the way
I’ve come to the crest
of the mountain
I’ve climbed
As I look down below
I see all of the
barriers crossed
the challenges I met
and the lessons I learned
I will never forget those
Friends along the way
What lies over
the top of the road
There is no
way of knowing
But deep in my heart
From the depths
of my soul
I know that I’ll have
The company of my
Friends from along the way
-July, 1994 |
August 9, 1994: I have surgery.
| I Sing a Song
I sing a song of sadness,
Of broken dreams and fear.
I sing a song of pain,
Of hopelessness and gloom.
I sing a song of changes,
Of remembrance and rebirth.
I sing a song of life,
Of exploration and growth.
I sing a song of gladness,
Of discovery and wonder.
I sing a song of joy,
Of acceptance and peace.
-October, 1994 |
| The Questions
When people ask me
“Who are you?”
I answer honestly
“I am me.”
When they ask
“What are you?”
I say “An individual, one,
And I am whole.”
When I’m asked
“Which are you?”
I know that others
decide that for themselves.
When I hear
“Why are you?”
The why is not important
“Because I am.”
-February, 1995 |
| Bleeding the Colors
I have bled blood red
Three decades later than
I would have liked,
aided by a surgeon’s knife,
but I have bled blood red.
I’ve bled before,
just not that color.
It’s the shade
I was missing
in my world.
I’ve bled the sickly yellow of fear
and the desolate blue of sadness,
the empty grey of loneliness
and the worn out brown of long years
of waiting.
I’ve bled the bluish purple of pain
and the emerald green of envy,
the dark scarlet of anger and
the all-consuming black
of depression.
I’ve bled the purplegreengold
sparkles in my vision
as I fell asleep
to dream of a life that
I couldn’t live.
I’ve bled the tarnished silverpink
of a love that I thought
was real but was
an illusion/delusion
and abusive and wrong.
I’ve bled the dusky rainbows
of confusion and turmoil
and the toxic hues
of insanity and dis-ease
and death.
I’ve bled the colors
until they ceased existing
and I would have joined them,
but I finally bled
the blood red of life.
I’ve bled red twice now
and the colors are back,
sharp and crisp
and bright and airy
and joyful.
I’ve bled red twice now
and the colors are real,
and they don’t need me
to bleed them,
for I have bled blood red.
-March, 1995 |
Of course, I don’t believe I am a terrorist threat…or a threat of any kind. But as far as I can tell from observations of the people striving diligently to keep it legal to discriminate against us, they do view us as terrorists. Cultural terrorists, out to inveigle their offspring into the illicit thought that we are not so different from them, to corrupt them psychologically, emotionally, and probably physically.
What kind of people think like that? And how is it that we are punished for their inability to adapt to our existence.
As Andrea said last evening,
Then being trans is less about me and really more about you!
—Andrea D
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It’s sometimes curious what happens when one finally removes the cork. And every poem has been paired with a graphic, which I have not shared here in the interest of file size.
And let’s face it. It’s been 17 years since this was assembled…enough time for a person to grow into adulthood. Much has changed since that time, but the bedrock of who I am remains firm.
I could stop here, but I shall add one bit more.