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ramblings |
Diary 4
2002.07.21
Thursday, July 18, 2002:
I played hooky in the morning from work. Mom made some time for us and we had arranged to meet up and discuss in more depth some of the issues surround me. (That and she said she'd cook me breakfast, how could one not resist?
)
We actually spent most of the morning avoiding the issue entirely
and just catching up with other things in our lives. I guess we
needed time for that too.Sometime a little after lunchtime we finally broke the ice and got to the meat of the conversation, the real reason which I had come by. It was a pretty tough talk and it was high time we had it. (Previously neither of us just could seem to make enough time to have a private discussion like this.)
One of the things she talked about was if there was another way of approaching this situation. Maybe there might be a solution that wasn't so invasive for my body and their lives. Like, if it was a hormonal imbalance then maybe I could take some drugs, or there might be therapy to make me change my mind. Or maybe I could do cross-dressing at home.
I conceded that I had not explored all my options in therapy and with medicine but I had reached a point where I felt I was satisfied with the solutions. I always fear I may have stopped short somewhere, but really, after 4.5 years of active searching shouldn't I have known by now? I don't think (or at least hope that) my judgement hasn't been clouded.
I feel I know myself well enough and transition is one of the few ways to address my internal discomfort. I said that I have never heard of any hormone therapy or counseling that could solve issues with GID. All that those things do (provided you don't have some multiple personality or schizophrenic condition) is allow you to live with yourself. In general I am not satisfied merely with putting up with the status quo if I really feel something is amiss. I take an active role in making things right. While transition isn't the perfect solution, it gets me closer than other solutions I can think of.
Mom also brought up the point that I'm probably going to be very lonely. She warned that they (my parents) won't be here forever and that I may live a life stuck inside the T* community only. And she would like to see me get married and have grandkids for them.
I said to this I recognize that I may be very lonely; I have repeatedly said that I often felt alone a lot of the time anyways so loneliness wasn't a new thing to me. I added that I hope not to spend my life in seclusion in the T* community. No I plan to be out in the Real World dealing with the mundane everyday issues and having everyday friends. If I have friends and ties to the T* community it won't be because I only relegated myself to them but rather because I had grown close to certain people through friendship. I hope I'm not going to turtle away from everyone and not make new friends.
As for giving my Mom grandkids, I didn't actually get around to saying this but I would have told her that even if I hadn't been undergoing transgender therapy I still might not have them. It is highly dependent upon when/if I get married, if my parter and I feel we can raise a family without putting a strain on our resources, and if my partner and I are emotionally ready. I'm not going to have kids for their sake. I think it's cruel to bring new life into this world and treat them as trophies to be shoved in the face of everyone else.
I think that ties into something else I did mention to her. I am doing this transition for me and no one else. I realize the burden it places on everyone else around me and I would like to avoid that, but I have to live with me and the decisions I make. If I want kids, or buy a house, or go back to college, or marry it is because it's my life. I respect my parents and I think they respect me.
All the fear over HRT and the uncertainties of my future in general are also weighing on Mom's mind. I tried to allay some of those fears by saying that I'm not on the same regimen as the Prempro study women and that my endocrinologist says what I'm on is relatively safe. (I don't know who to believe but I tend to shy away from hype.) I brought out my laptop and showed Mom my reaons lists and she saw that these medical fears were on my mind even as early as four years ago. She also read through the lists and was nodding her head at all of them. I think we're on the same wavelength now.
In the end we didn't really solve anything, but that's OK. The thing is that she needed to talk and I needed to show her that I have been doing this in a controlled, detailed manner versus being swayed by some cult leader or some chemical imbalance. During most of our chat she went through a bit of tissue. I hated to see her with tears in her eyes, though it was unavoidable. I either cause her pain now or later and I'd rather it be now while both of us can talk about this rationally.
Friday, July 19, 2002:
I was at home with both of my roomies and another good friend. Somehow the topic of housing came up because our lease needs to be renewed real soon. The two roommates seem OK with the idea of extending our lease for a few more months. I threw in the caviat that they knew impending changes were coming and they seemed agreeable to it. My exact words were:
Well, you guys know that we've been roommates for, what, four years now? So it's not like there's going to be any ... (pause) ... "unexpected surprises" going on.Right at that point our other good friend busts up laughing kind of like:
BWAHAHAHAAHA!!!! ... (ahem) ... um, sorry.As far as I know, this friend has not been told what's going on in my life whereas my roommates both have full knowledge. So, it's obvious our friend knows something is happening. I debated opening up the conversation at that point to bring him into that privileged Inner Circle of people who know about my transition. But I figued it wasn't quite appropriate then so I just threw him the usual middle finger along with a cheerful four-letter expletive. (We all have this relationship that is more of hate-hate than love-hate.
(pause)
hheehe..heehh...!
)Saturday, July 20, 2002:
Drove up to another friend's place to go play tennis. Our whole group ended up being only three people and we tried about three different tennis courts before settling on one out in the boonies near a waterfront area. This was the most painful tennis game I've ever played.
It wasn't the fact that I was out of shape, or the fact that I was wearing sweat pants and the weather was probably in the high 80s, or that I had only gotten about 4 hours of sleep the night before. No, it was the constant running, twisting, and quick stopping. Physics dictates that when you have a body in motion it will continue to go in that direction until forces exert enough, um, force to pull it in a new direction. Let me just say that this makes a tender chest scream with pain. Soon I will probably have to start wearing a sports bra without shame because even minor bouncing or jerking is annoyingly painful. It also did not help that I had a few bad bounces of the ball caught me above the ribs as well.
This last part is my own fault for being a mega klutz.I was really sweaty and grimy from the two hours of smacking tennis balls in the hot sun. (I was pretty stoked that it was me versus the two of them and I was holding my own pretty well until the end.) My hair did not enjoy this at all and was completely saturated with moisture and dust. Ewww. What a nasty feeling. I couldn't even really tie it back in a tail until it dried out. During lunch I just took out the hairband completely to let it dry and my black mane fell behind my ears like I do in Girl Mode. I silently wondered if my friends were looking at me all weird. I was hungry and parched and tired so I couldn't care less. I was also looking pretty grungy with a sweat-drenched t-shirt and baggy sweatpants.
Oh, I also embarrassed a sales rep later. After lunch I said bye to the guys and headed over to an electronics store to get some supplies. I did the checkout and at the exit door I had to present my goods and receipt. The guy looks at me, smiles, and starts reading over the receipt. It's obvious to me that he isn't looking very carefully because my guy name is at the bottom of the receipt in fairly large print. But, no, he then looks at me and asks, "find everything alright ma'am?"
I blinked a couple of times while I thought of whether to reply in Guy Voice or Girl Voice, and I just defaulted to Guy Voice. His eyes widen and gives me this quick once-over look from head to toe again and he becomes all apologetic: "oh, sorry Sir! I ... I guess I'm just tired." Of course I can't just leave the conversation like that, so I said back with a smile: "don't worry, it happens once in a while."
That was sort of an ego boost. To borrow a phrase from Kate, even though I was looking like butt I still was getting miss-read. How interesting. I smiled to myself a little and then climbed back into the driver's seat of my car. I finally made it back to home and took a semi-quick shower to wash off the day. My hair was happier then.
Later on that night a bunch of us guys met up for more network video gaming. Our dear friend who had BWAHAHA'ed me the day before was there too. When we all sit down to play our games we typically play ones where each of us takes on a role of a character so you get to name yourself. This friend purposely was using names which poked fun at me and my girliness all night. I couldn't just sit there and take it, of course, so I used names that made fun of him and his machismo. I guess it helps us all maintain this sort of quasi-healthy social balance. Go figure.
Maybe it is time to bring him into the Inner Circle.
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