Twenty-seven

It feels like I'm living in a box when at work or at home, wearing blinders when I'm actually outside. Yesterday's road trip was, really nice. At one point Z, J and I were sitting on top of a high, rocky hill overlooking the sea at sunset, and there were clear-cut sunbeams slicing through the heavy clouds right over the water. It was a moment in time I hope to never forget.

"My mother used to say that when the light shines through like that, God is talking to someone," J said.

I like J's mom.

Tim Minchin's Hilarious Insights on Life

Twenty-six

At work, I often come across some pretty shitty copy written by businessmen whose mother tongue is not English and whose appreciation for the rules of grammar is as negligible as their choppy grasp of the language. That being said, I have never had the misfortune of editing copy that is so warped, so senseless, so weak it practically crumbles under its own weight, as I have over the past few days while helping a friend proofread his LGBT e-magazine's articles.

Why? Why do you write if you clearly can't string a single coherent sentence together? I get so frustrated working on pieces like this. It takes time out of my life that I'd rather be spending reading slash, gaming, being chewed and shredded by the Flatmate, taking out the trash, vegetating in bed, ANYTHING. Just not this. Not this.

But here I am, editing article after article of utter crap. There are good pieces in there, of course. Many of which I've enjoyed reading. But it's those handful of pointless quagmires that are making life miserable at the moment. I've tried recommending scrapping them, but apparently "they're important".

Sure. Whatever. FML.  
 

Twenty-Five

This makes me a horrible person, but I can't stand my five-year-old niece. That being said, my 10-year-old nephew has always been a pleasure to be around, even during his hellion days. Hanging out with him doesn't stress me out. While he's messy, he isn't deliberately a slob, he doesn't eat crap and then ignore me when I tell him not to touch the furniture or not to drop chicken on the floor for the pets to get at. He's never demanding, he doesn't nose around and meddle in everything he can reach, he's not loud and obnoxious, and he sure doesn't try to get off as fucking cute while doing shit. You know what I mean. Kids who think they're so adorable, they lay on the coy sweetness too heavy to get attention or get away with stuff. 

Kids. I don't mind the clumsy, well-meaning ones. It's the manipulative, older-than-their-age sort that I can't stomach. And it shows on me. I can't keep it in. It doesn't phase my niece, who seems to like me just fine, but it pisses off my sister - her mom - and it draws the attention of the family. It sometimes feels like I'm the only sane person in the room. So what if my tone turns sharp when the brat is wiping her hands all across the table after eating eggs with her fingers? I'm not cussing her, I'm not traumatizing her, I'm just telling her not to do it and to go wash her hands. So what if I tell her to hold onto the new plate I bought to stop it flop slipping off her bouncing lap? I'm not "waiting for her to screw up", I KNOW she's going to screw up, I'm just trying to control the damage. That should her mom's job, but she doesn't even notice it.

Fucking kids.

Gender Change - Full Episode

FTM transition: One year on testosterone

Twenty-four

It started when a gay friend asked me why I was so supportive of the LGBT community when I was so clearly straight. I'm always uncomfortable with that question, because I don't know how much to admit. With this friend, I sort of took a little leap of faith and switched from my usual "because if it were me I would have wanted to be supported", to "because there was a while when I was confused about myself and I understand what it feels like".

He couldn't leave it at that, of course. So I explained, and as I spoke he took on a strange look, a suspicious sort of understanding. And then he said, "Q, you do realize that you're describing what they call transgender or transsexual tendencies."

Wow, the discomfort. The squeamishness. The stream of denial. "Nah, it's not like that. I can't be transgender, I grew out of it. You can't grow out of that, right? I'm fine being a woman. Really. No, really. Stop looking at me like that." 

Since then, I've been struggling not to think about it. But inspite of myself, I have been thinking about it, and while I don't know what to do with it, I've started to accept that, maybe, my tomboyish-ness, self-loathing and severe depression as a kid and well into my late teens did have an underlying reason other than crazy hormones.

I'd always hated being a girl. I resented everything about it, from my body to the social norms I was expected to follow. A few times during my early and mid teens I was even thought to be a lesbian by classmates (though they'd never come out and say it to my face) because of the way I dressed and acted. I guess the most telling discrepancy was that, when I dreamed, I was always a guy. It wasn't until I turned 23 that I would sometimes be 'me' when dreaming. Now, I'm always female in my head, and I've even grown comfortable with it. Can you grow out of hating the sex/gender you were born into if you really are transgendered?
 
A more important question is, if I or my parents had recognized my situation for what it was, gender dysphoria, how would my life have turned out? Then again, with my parents being the way they are, maybe it's a good thing that they never realized. Maybe it's a good thing that I never realized, because it would have been too complicated. Especially considering that I like guys.

I really don't know what to do with this. All that I know is that, as ridiculous as it might be, if I'd followed my instincts as a kid, I would have turned out to be a gay guy. But now that I've become 'normal', should I even think about this any more?