A journey to San Francisco to become no less than Me. (BLOG REBOOT: Former site of Hairy Legs.)

Posts tagged ‘puberty’

Day Three: Freewriting.

I knew this day would happen pretty quickly- I’d hit a day in the Challenge where I had to sit down and write something gender related, and I wouldn’t be able to come up with something that I haven’t already beaten to death or that I don’t want to think about, etc.  So I think I’m just going to freewrite and see where it goes from there.

I feel like I’ve finally crossed that threshold- that I’ve gotten as far as I can without taking testosterone, and it’s taken me almost a year.  That must be why that seems to be the standard unit of time they make you go through before they usually put you on T.

I’ve gotten to where I can actually walk into a men’s room, use my STP at the urinal without any trouble or even any nervousness, within a few feet of someone else, walk out and not see a single sign of questioning from any of the guys.

I’ve deflected my first “Are you a guy or a girl?” without missing a beat.  I’ve gotten my voice (with some straining) to sound semi-natural, at least, like a guy going through puberty, and not like a chick trying to sound like a dude.  And essentially, I feel like I’m about to go through my real puberty.

In a way, I kind of feel like a neophyte- I’ve heard it said that we all technically start out as female, and the only thing that really scientifically determines whether our genitals come out male or female is hormones.  Now, it’s obviously all far more complicated than that, and my feelings really can’t fit with the way a lot of other people feel, especially from a feminist perspective, but I feel like I’m just late on my development- like I’ve somehow become an adult without fully developing.  (Now, before anybody gets up in arms, I’d like to say that I know there are horrible implications in that thought, as if to say that women aren’t fully human yet, but that’s so far from what I’m trying to say that it’s not even relevant.)

The point here is that I feel like my body and mind were engineered to receive that boost of testosterone eventually, and as long as I don’t get it, I’m going to just hover around puberty for the rest of my life.  My looks reflect that feeling- people generally estimate my age to be somewhere between 13 and 16 years old, and I’m 21.  It’s extremely irritating that “wow” is the typical sentiment when I say that I’m 21.  I feel like my lack of T is holding me back from growing up, and when I get it and I’ve been on it for a year or two, I might even look something a little closer to my age.

In another way, though, it’s a kind of miraculous thing.  I never really got to have a boy’s childhood, and while my paperwork may say that I’m already a legal adult, I feel like I’ve been given a second chance to go through my proper puberty with my body at least close to the right age.  They say that HRT is like a second and accelerated puberty, so ultimately, I’m grateful for my condition as it is because it’s so compatible with what I’m about to do with it that it’s as if I had it custom ordered for the job of being FTM.

Wow, you really learn a lot about how you really feel about things when you just sit down and start writing without any goal in mind.

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Transmen Haiku

A haiku about my perspective on the beginning of transition-

We are all young boys

Fighting for our puberties

Held back as children.

~

I’ve been feeling more like that lately than ever.  It seems like my childhood was stolen from me, and we have to fight the whole world, at every step, tooth and nail for our rights to have that experience.  But when we’re going through it, we’re gaining back our boyhoods, day by day, at an age that’s way too late, along with having to deal with the responsibilities of being adult.  At best, I’d say it’s a unique perspective through which to see life.

(I’d like to point out that I don’t mean this to be offensive- I don’t view a state of femininity as a childlike state in any way!  I just feel denied the hormones that I should have gotten around the age of 13.)

This is now my transition AND integration journal.

EMO RANT INCOMING.

Geez, that last post was a huge chunk to handle.  I don’t think anyone even knows how to respond to it.  But I guess that’s okay, because nobody’s ever known how to respond to my DID.  It’s one of those situations that is so completely outside of the norm that people expect, so they have no internal dialogue prepared for it when it comes up, no way of figuring out even what to feel about it.

A long time ago, in my prepubescent years, when I first started to really deal with this, really be able to even talk about it, that frustrated me to no end because I thought people were just hiding from me what they were really thinking because they were afraid it would hurt me.  But I didn’t care whether they hurt me, I just wanted even the first inkling of an outside perspective.  I wanted someone to be able to tell me what to do, what was going on- I wanted for there to be even ONE person who could say, “Yeah, I know what that’s like, here’s what I did,” or even, “I knew someone who’s going through what you’re dealing with, and this is how we all dealt with it,” or EVEN this- “I can relate to you on SOME level because I read something other than fucking Batman comics with Two-Face in them, and I know that you’re not just a media-generated sensationalistic freak or a comic book villain.”  But nobody even said anything like that, one way or the other, no implication of whether they thought I was less than human, spawn of Satan, a circus freak that should die- they game me NOTHING to go on, no indication of what they thought, they just stood there with their slack-jaws and said nothing, forever.

But the fail part of it is, I finally believe that nobody’s hiding what they’re thinking about me, because they just DON’T KNOW WHAT TO THINK.  And on some level, I’ve finally come to respect that.  Some things are just so weird that you can’t expect anyone to know anything about them.

I guess I’m feeling bitter.

I just wish, for once, that I was normal.  And ironically enough, being trans brings more of a sense of normalcy than anything else in my life ever has.  (Trust me, if you think the pronoun problem sucks for transpeople, it’s a definite step down in complexity from the DID pronoun issue.  But that’s hardly the point.)  People in the trans community are some of the most intelligent, enlightened, clear-minded and realistic people I’ve ever met.  It really takes living from so many different perspectives like they have, I think, to give you such an empowered, enlightened way of thinking.  Not to mention, being among the most persecuted peoples on this planet will do that to you, too.  And you don’t get fakers and posers in the trans community, not that I’ve seen, not like in the DID community.  Ugh.  The few weeks I spent trying to relate to those people were too many.  No, in the trans community, by the time they get past learning about how daunting and how much of an undertaking transitioning is, by the time they get past learning how permanent HRT is and how expensive that and different surgeries are and how socially estranged you will be and how your family is going to reject you and how you’re going to have to leave everything behind just to be yourself…

By the time you get past all that, you’ve weeded out the posers and the curious and the people who generally think it might be “fun” or whatever to be trans.  By the time you get that far, all that’s left are the tough and the true with the hearts of gold.

Not so with the DID community.  There’s no way to prove anything, no test of character, it’s a completely speculative field, and it’s obnoxious how many people are there because they think it’s “cool” and “edgy” and “unique”.  How many people out there walk around pretending they’re insane because it’s the “in” thing nowadays?  It’s heartbreaking and disgusting how so many people will basically roleplay DID for a few months online because they think it’s fun to be weird and unique, and then be like, “okay, I’m not insane anymore,” when they’re bored with it, and inexorably leave this pockmark of… of… FAKE on the credibility of the few people out there who actually have a problem.  We are BURIED beneath the avalanche of it.  How many people do you think would still claim to be DID if it meant they had to go through anything similar to a trans experience, to be visually easy to be picked out as a freak, to be socially persecuted and in danger every day, to possibly leave their lives and jobs and friends and homes behind just to be themselves?  I postulate that so many of them would go, “whoops, I was just kidding, now wasn’t I being silly?  Ha ha…” and hightail it for the hills, and only the few people who actually HAVE this problem and can’t make it go away and have to deal with it EVERY DAY would still identify and band together, just so they could have someone to relate to.  But it’s SO hard to weed out all the fakers and actually find someone who is truly, diagnostically, mentally ill with this particular condition, so fucking hard.  I don’t think I’ve ever really met one person who could convince me they were telling the truth about this, not one person who sounded like they really knew what they were talking about.

I guess, at the end of it, I’ve always been alone in that sense.  I gave up hope looking for people like me long ago.  I hate to sound emo, because I’m not, I’ve really come to accept that I’m weird and my condition is rare and that it’s just not worth dealing with so many losers just to find one genuine person, and I deal with it the best I can.  And I know I must sound like a middle-schooler in adolescent angst, thinking the world is out to get me and I’ll always be alone and nobody in the world knows what I’m going through, but the funny thing is, after 20 years of looking for even one person of my species, it’s very easy and hardly even saddening to believe that I’m the only one of my kind out there.  In fact, it’s the only way of thinking that doesn’t kill you.  If I come across someone who truly does get it, hurray for me, but until then I choose to believe that it just ain’t gonna happen, and I don’t get hurt.

/END EMO RANT

I hate indulging in those, but sometimes you just gotta get it out.

IN OTHER SHIT,
Tomorrow I’m going to the gay arts and music festival “Homo a Go-Go” in San Francisco.  My biggest goal for this weekend is to use a men’s bathroom for the first time.  (Well, really, it’s the second time I’ll have used a urinal, but that hardly counted because we were camping in the off-season, there was NOBODY else in the campground when I snuck in to use it, and I wasn’t even really dressed as a guy anyway.  It was more a practice run than anything.)  This time, it’ll be in a public place somewhere that’s hopefully safe.  Honestly, my biggest fear isn’t that I’ll run into trouble with any people, because people never question my gender when I put a decent amount of effort into my appearance.  It’s that I’m going to somehow fuck up getting the STP into the right position and piss all over myself, even though I’ve been practicing for months at home and I’ve “got it down cold”, as Hudson’s Guide recommended.  I guess I’m glad I put off the STP post because this content might beef it up a little.

I doubt I’ll see anyone I know from WordPress at the festival, although one of the main events is the SF Drag King contest (which I couldn’t really get into anyway because I’m not 21 till a few months AFTERwards, which sucks.)  It seems like everyone on here isn’t really from the west coast, although if anyone was and happens to see me there, give me a shoutout.  Now I really wish I’d made a heads-up on this earlier.

SECONDLY, a sign from the universe that I’m doing the right thing in bringing this DID stuff out.

I don’t usually buy into the whole universal-mystical-fate bullcrap, but yesterday was pretty convincing.  Not long after finishing that post, we went to go up the hill to do an odd-job for someone. ($40 bucks for this weekend, how could we pass it up?)  At this point, Jack was in-body, which is an important point to make for reasons that will become clear soon.

Now, where I live, there’s a steep grade between our town and the next, where we had to go.  About halfway up the grade, my clunker-van decided to overheat, which is a little unusual in the evening, but anyway, Jack chose to pull over at the last gas station before the final stretch and put some water in the coolant system and let it cool off.  As he was pulling in, this lady on a motorcycle was looking at him and smiling, and all he can think is, “Is that hot milf flirting with me?”

After he put the water in, she calls out- “K——“, which made Jack flinch in disgust and also wariness.  He didn’t have a clue where she knew me from, couldn’t visually recognize her.  But weirdly enough, she told him that she was Jane, my recent and favorite therapist, who I’d told about Jack and his gender dysphoria months ago on my quest to get him a transition.  On my first appointment with her, she’d taken a serious interest in Jack and helping us on our way, and then the next time I’d gone in to make an appointment, the receptionist told me that she’d left the county and closed the case!  I had been sorely disappointed.  Turns out, she’d gotten laid off like just about everyone else in this county.

But she’d never personally met him, and when he introduced himself as Jack, she was delighted.  He told her he was working on getting gender therapy, and she said that she knew someone volunteering at a local peer help group that would probably love to meet him- a transgirl!  Finally, someone in the community who can at least relate to us that much!
They talked about other things, but more or less, it was incredibly encouraging to see someone who basically knew the whole scenario and wanted to help.  Sometimes it’s hard not to think there’s a Tranny God out there watching out for us poor sinners.

Fucking with my hormones.*

(*And for your information, I happen to very much like how the first word that anyone reads on this blog will be “fucking” as long as this is the latest post, and anyone who finds that offensive probably shouldn’t be mucking about in this territory anyway.  This post gets explicit.)

Hormones.  How long throughout my adolescence I thought the whole hormone stigma was a cop-out for people who can’t deal with their emotions in a healthy and rational way!

To be fair, looking back, I went through more of a boy-puberty than anything.  At about 13, I hit a sex drive amp-up that pretty much took the forefront of my mind.  It was then that I started wishing for a fuckbuddy.  I wanted a girlfriend, a boyfriend, ANY friend, that would, above all, have the drive of a sex-starved orangutan.  I didn’t care about looks as much as personality (read: a horny personality.)  And for years, because I was a repressed, shy little boy who was humiliated by being forced to wear skirts every day and socially awkward because of an overbearing religious lifestyle, I kept that to myself.  During a considerable chunk of my freshman year, I couldn’t concentrate during class because visions of humping danced through my head.

I also discovered masturbating at about that point.  It became like a drug, to the point where I’d be so wired by sexual tension throughout the day that, often, I’d come home and the first thing I could think of was running to my room and jerking off.  I remember a point in my adolescence where the average j.o. tally for the day ran around 5.  When you think about it, it’s not that hard to imagine, since not being limited to a “reload” time ofen led to multiple sessions.  Waking up with the proverbial morning wood almost every morning, it became the “best part of waking up.”  Returning home from a school, off to the bedroom with ya.  And most of the time I couldn’t fall asleep without getting it out.

It became a very comfortable and integral part of my life.  It was really the only emotional need that was overbearing, and since I could take care of it in a private and non-intrusive way, I considered myself a very rational and unemotional person.  For many years I didn’t cry about anything, ever, not even at my mother’s funeral.  I could always think things through steadily and come up with a reasonable solution at the end.  I never experienced PMS and thought that girls just used it as an excuse to be dramatic  And looking back from this end of things, I guess I had more of a testosterone mental setup than anything.

Enter sex.

This was where things started to shake apart.  I began to realize the difference between orgasm and fucking, where an orgasm was a physiological reaction that released feel-good chemicals, reduced stress and put me in a generally happy place for a little while, while fucking was an above-all important psychological need.  And not just sex.  Lying there and taking it, bottoming… well, it felt nice if I was in the mood, it gave some intimacy, which was okay, but I could get all that if I wanted it through snuggling.  The physical act of fucking something, topping it and dominating it, was an all-important stress release mechanism that was so bittersweetly close to what my body and mental map needed that it took me into a new emotional place, where screaming, laughing maniacally, and even crying were permitted.  My beautiful partner gave me all that and more when I gave him a desperate bootycall last year, and the rest, as they say, is history.  Most people don’t build relationships based on sex, but as fairly simple, male-minded creatures who each needed nothing more than sex, our relationship couldn’t be better.

But back to fucking.  It almost became humiliating how obvious my emotional need to have a functioning dick was.  I’d be there on top, humping and fucking furiously, almost completely unaware that the phantom sensation of my missing dick was, for all intents and purposes, unreal, lost in my passion and frustration, so close to climax and yet so far from the physical act of ejaculating, and right there, where the tension between how close I was and how far I was reached critical mass, I’d lose it.  I’d reel into a kaleidoscopic paroxysm of mania and lose control of my reaction, yelling, sobbing, and generally throwing a fit.  I came to the conclusion that the only way for my body to physically come was through my tear ducts, and tried to cope with the embarrassment of my sexual inadequacy and the emotional issues on top of it without falling into a complete wreck.

I wasn’t doing so hot.

My gender dysphoria, particularly in an area so important to my mental health as sex, started taking over my life and, paradoxically, the more I realized I was meant to be in a man’s body, and the closer I came to trying to right this wrong, the more emotional I got.  But it generally remained in the bedroom, up to a certain point in time.

Enter birth control.

Up to this point, everything had been naturally occurring.  My emotional roller-coaster had been due to the increasingly obvious need to be in my proper body.  But now, stupidly, I threw something else into the mix.

You see, me and my partner both love sex in all its various forms so much that, often enough, I’m willing to take it the traditional way, as long as I’m feeling confident enough in my own gender that having sex with the wrong body parts doesn’t rock my mental boat.  I generally prefer your traditional gay buttsecks if I feel like bottoming, but sometimes it’s just easier to work with what I was given.

Well, to that end, and since one of my longest and most gripping phobias is pregnancy, we decided that being responsible with our condoms was not enough and opted for birth control.

This was the worst idea I ever had.

I chose to go with Depo, which is a birth control shot that works for 4 months without having to take any pills.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.  I’m notoriously bad at remembering to take pills, and since at that point I was convinced that hormones are such a psychosomatic and easy to control thing, I was confident that it wouldn’t affect my mental state in any way.  One of the other things that I flouted was that once you take the shot, you’re STUCK with the effects for a third of a year and there’s nothing you can do about it.

I underwent one of the most horrifying transformations of my life.  I’m not sure what kind of hormonal cocktail is in those shots, but I’m convinced that it kicked my estrogen production into overdrive.  The fatsacks on my chest decided to grow half a cup size, my figure feminized as my waist slendered and my hips packed on fat like fucking camel humps, even developing stretch marks.  And the worst thing was what it did to my mind.  I took this shot five months ago and I’m just barely beginning to remember what it was like to be rational.  For the first two months, I didn’t even connect the dots and realize the shot was the cause.  I just thought I was going insane.  My sex drive dropped off the face of the earth for no adequately explored reason, which confounded and horrified me.  For the first time since I was tiny, I knew what it was like to not want sex every waking moment, and it was unbelievably uncomfortable to the way my mind worked.  (Also, though I guess it could be considered a good thing, my compulsion to masturbate dropped to only once or twice a week, though in itself it was a frightening sign of things drastically changing in me.)  When I was challenged with something, I’d become frustrated and overreactive, sometimes screaming something in response before I even realized what I was saying; a stark contrast to my previous mode of thinking any response through before letting it out of my mouth.  I was bitchy and moody, getting angry over the stupidest, most inconsequential things, and my relationships with people were falling apart.  It killed my social confidence, and while I outlashed at the slightest provocation, my initial aggression and assertion waned.

It was the worst thing I have ever been through, and when I realized it was the result of a compound in my body that would be gone in a matter of months, I praised Jesus (in spite of all the things that man has done to fuck up my life in current society).  My head has been clearing slowly but steadily, and though I still have the occasional irrational backlash, I’m definitely feeling more stable these days.

Enter the Pill.

***

Other methods.  What can I say?  I’m on medicare and it only covers the shot, the IUD (which we tried and failed to insert), and the Pill.  I have a prescription for it sitting down at the Rite-Aid pharmacy and I’m scared shitless to go pick it up (as if, just by touching that demonic little round case, I’ll be turned into a raging psychobitch again).  Of course, the major benefit is that, if I don’t like the side effects, all I have to do is stop taking it and wait for it to filter out of my system, which will be more a matter of a week than several months.  But after that horrible experience, I don’t want to be like that even for one more day.  Of course, I have to factor that into my terror of having a living alien spawn inside of me, growing and sucking off my life force, and then clawing its way through the most unwelcome part of my body into the world to guilt-trip me into figuring out what to do with it.  Fuck that, all of it.  The entire idea has been completely unsavoury to me since the first time I heard where babies come from, and I’ll have none of it.

I guess it’s off to try these stupid, evil little pills.  Last resort.  If it does what I hope it won’t, it’s back to condoms and hoping something doesn’t go terribly wrong.

Of course, all of this confirms to me that testosterone is the Good Idea of the Year.  I’ve been to one end of the spectrum and it scares the living shit out of me, and being fairly convinced that I’ve been living closer to the other end of the spectrum naturally all my life anyway, I’m just more at home there.  Besides, it’s possible that I’ve always naturally produced more testosterone than usual anyway.  My physical body has some evidence to it.  I’ve always had broad shoulders (one of my friends once said I had a “man-back”), heavy musculature and strength that surpasses any female (and a lot of guys) I’ve ever had the chance to arm-wrestle.  I’m a little hairier than your typical bio-female and I’ve always craved far more red meat and general protein than anything else. And oddly enough, when I’m really in domination macho-man-mode, my boyfriend says he thinks he can see a little bit of five-o-clock shadow, which is really strange because I thought I saw it before but decided it was too silly to bring up.  I mean, I don’t know if it’s possible to be so mentally male in a certain moment that your body puts out an extra shot of the corresponding hormone and it causes a slight physiological reaction (especially in facial hair, which would be doubly weird because it apparently goes away after a little while), so I think he and I both are probably just seeing what we want to… but it’s enough to make you wonder and dream.

Of course, my biggest fear is the whole hormone-reversal bit, in which you get too much T in one dosage and your body amps up the estrogen to try and balance it.  Or anything else along those lines.  Or even that T will make me as crazy as that Depo shot did, which I seriously doubt but still fear to an extent anyway.  Long story short, that experience with the Depo has made me very wary of fucking with my hormones ever again, but in the long run it’ll probably just make me more cautious, which could be a good thing anyway.

Fuck it, why do I always try to make the ends of these things positive?  That shot with the Depo SUCKED ASS and that’s all there is to it.

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