Reeling in Recovery

In the tomes of literature I received from the doctor’s office prior to my facial surgery in November, I read a few things about how patients should try their best to stay positive in the weeks following surgery, and that depression or regret is natural. I certainly felt a tinge of that from the first surgery I had in contending with this gender bullshit that is the utter bane of my existence, but at least with my bottom surgery I also had the feeling that part of me was finally right… so there was a bit of internal harmony that drowned out most of the depression I felt when I was laid up, cloistered and healing.

The experience I have been contending with since my facial surgery in November has been quite different. I saw this surgery as crossing a finish line of sorts. I saw it as the second of two surgeries I wanted for decades, and that I needed to have so I could be the truest version of myself, fit this truest version of myself into the world, and grant me some semblance of internal peace.


Wow, has it not been that at all.


First off, I need to say that, even though it’s been three months since my surgery, I still feel pretty beat up. My chin is almost completely numb, as is my upper forehead and the crown of my head. I also now have an incision that crescents across the top of my head from ear to ear, and the scar is very visible because they had to shave that area to make the incision AND because the scar there is going to prevent a swath of hair from growing back. Couple that with scalp trauma from the surgery itself and the hair loss that seems to come from going under general anesthesia, and my hair has never looked worse and never looked thinner.

Add in to all of this, that while the surgery has helped soften me a bit, it’s still nowhere NEAR enough. While the frequency may be a little less than it was before, people who see me on the street still pretty much instantly “sir” me. In short, to the world… and to me… my face ultimately still looks male, and my staunchest hope in going through this ordeal is that this would NOT be the case.

On top of that, my neck and jaw still look SO wrecked that they may have looked better before surgery, and I don’t know how much, if any more, I'm going to heal.


All of this is CRUSHING to me.


People have told me, “Well, if you’re not happy, you need to tell the surgeon. You paid a LOT of money for this and he should be able to fix whatever you’re not happy with.”

But the thing to realize here is that: a) you can only do so much, and I kind of trust that the doctor did all he could, and b) if I have to go through the pain and discomfort of yet another surgery (not to mention cover the additional cost of reserving another operating room and anesthesiologist, which both aren’t covered by the surgeon), the very thought of it makes me want to dive headlong through my third-floor window and plummet skull-first into the concrete below.

I just can’t bear the thought, especially after going through the insane pain, expense, stress, and struggle of having two major surgeries in the span of 11 months.


But if all of this… if all I struggled DECADES to get to and get through... isn’t enough, then what do I do? There is nothing left for me that I’m planning on. There is nothing I can look forward to for solace.


Before the surgeries I had, I was depressed, and hurting, and upset at my situation in the world, BUT I lived with the constant hope that once I got these surgeries taken care of, it would be enough for me, and I would feel better.

Now that these surgeries are behind me, and there is nothing else I can point to that will help me live my life and help me fit my new self and my new life seamlessly into the world, I am beyond depressed. I am completely forlorn and utterly hollowed out. I am supremely bereft of hope. Because I know now, FOR CERTAIN, that no matter what I do and no matter what I struggle to achieve when it comes to this transition, that it’s not EVER going to be enough. People are ALWAYS going to see me as something I’m not. I’m ALWAYS GOING TO FEEL WRONG… ALWAYS. There is NOTHING MORE I CAN DO ABOUT THIS.

And with all of this weighing on me, I can’t think straight, I can’t be social. I hole myself up and avoid everything and everyone. I struggle just to make it through the work day and be constructive and it is enormously tasking just to do that. I have never felt this hopeless in my life. I have never felt this upset in my life. I’m trying to fight on and do whatever is next for me, but I have no idea what that even is, because with this plan there wasn’t another step. There were the two major, difficult steps that I took, and now there is nothing. There’s just me contending with the results and trying not to break down every other minute of the day… which is even more difficult every time I look in the mirror.

I feel completely crushed and I don’t know what I can do to make me feel better, if there is anything at all. It hurts in ways I can’t even describe. I feel like my life has careened into a dead end. How do you recover from this? What do you do next?


Well, if you’re me, you continue to go to therapy, and work on your weight and your overall health, and hope there is still some miraculous healing that’s going to take place and things can somehow still get better. What else is there to do? I’m stumbling like a beat-up zombie through the world at this point, trying to find any source of joy I can in what has suddenly turned into the most excruciating and painful time of my life.


And for those who say, “Well, you just need to learn to accept it,” well, they just need to learn what it is to be trans and about the pain that comes with it. They need to learn that THIS is what the experience is… you CANNOT accept it, because if you COULD accept feeling SO off and SO misunderstood all of the time, then you wouldn’t be trans. It is the VERY DEFINITION of what it is. You feel wrong. Always. I hoped that this would make me feel not wrong, and while the first surgery did to a big extent, it’s still not right. It’s STILL all wrong. It’s all wrong and I don’t know how to make it better.

THAT is what the experience of being trans is in a nutshell. Dealing with these feelings and trying to just hold on in the middle of a raging tempest. Though why I’m holding on at this point is anybody’s guess. Yet, I do. I honestly don’t know what else there is to do.


All the best to you.

---

As an addendum to this post, actually writing this stuff down and getting it out of my head and onto “paper” has helped a little. I felt a bit of an uptick in my attitude from a few days ago when I first spit all of this out of my brain. I’m still plodding on the best I can and trying to take the best care of myself… even when the depression hit so violently that I heard cigarettes calling to me again after spending years with the habit pretty much kicked. I was just looking for that stress relief again, and, really, a distraction. It says something that I haven’t gone back to them yet, like so many other trans people do… because, let’s face it, when you have no hope, do you care about the damage that nicotine is inflicting upon you? Apparently I'm hanging in there enough to not go back down that path.

That said, I’m still not good, but I’m a smidge better than when I wrote this post initally. This being a blog about the whole trans experience, though, I felt it important to share the rawness of it all.


One final thing. Yes, I’m partially destroyed at this point, but I still do realize that people have gone through worse than this and that I do not hold a monopoly on life struggles. This is just my struggle… and while there are worse things to go through, it doesn’t make what I and other trans people are contending with any fun at all. In fact, it’s still pretty fantastically terrible.

Thanks for reading.

Pardon Me, I Need to Rant

Alas, the time has come yet again for me to decry the ravings of fools.

And, truly, I don't mean to start off with an abusive or attacking tone, but those screaming sheer preposterousness for any and all to hear about people like myself... about trans people... well, it's difficult for me to see this in any serious light.

Firstly, to these people... not that you would probably ever really read this blog, but I speak to you anyway... You say trans people are mentally ill. You say trans people are simply confused. You compare saying that you're an animal... like a panda or a rhino... to being a human gender other than the one your appearance leads people to think you are...

...okay, see... that last thing you say... this is why I used the word "fools" to start the post. Because really, if you can't see the difference between someone saying their gender is more nuanced and different from most people's and SAYING YOU'RE A DIFFERENT FUCKING SPECIES... well, you a fool.

As far as the other nonsense above, this is actually REALLY simple.

Ready, here it is:

1. Who made you a doctor, such that you would know these things and can diagnose ill people? Do your numerous degrees in Psychology give you a deeper insight of the inner workings of the human psyche?
2. Are you aware that most mental health professionals recognize that trans people are not insane, and that a large portion of mental issues they may have are caused by society's attitude towards them? Do you realize that attitudes like yours make us crazy? Do you realize that your attitude, when tossed into the caustic din of attitudes like yours, costs us lives? Do you realize that when people constantly berate you and degrade you just for being who you are, that we're only human and, as steely as us transfolks can be, it eventually starts to hurt? Are you comfortable with inflicting pain on people for no good reason? And if you do think we indeed have mental issues, do you enjoy inflicting pain on those who have such issues?
3. Who knows more about a subject, someone who lives and deals with it every day, or someone who gets cursory glances into it through media blurbs that are quite often sensationalistic? Chances are that I don't share your job. Do you think after hearing 30 minutes of scattered news stories about your job that I could possibly know more than you about it? Do you think I would know anything at all about it other than what the name of your job is and maybe a really high-level understanding of what it is that you do? Do you think I could have many erroneous assumptions about your job? Can you now see that when you say the things you do about something you barely understand that you could be very, very wrong? Do you think you could possibly know more about gender and the conflict that it can cause than someone who lives with it, literally, every second of every day? Do you realize that trans people are supremely aware of gender and think about it all. the. time., and this includes researching and reading many things about it from a wide variety of sources? Do I need to go on?

Look, this is probably the most abrasive blog post I've ever written, but when you ask and ask for understanding and you get more and louder voices screaming back to you about how you're twisted and inferior, it tends to grate. All we're looking for is understanding. An open mind and/or an open heart. That's it. Can you strive for that, or would you rather stay mired in hatred?

Either way, I'm a fucking hippie at heart, so I'll send you love back, and hope, at the very least, that maybe you'll think twice before plastering hurtful words for your own misguided shits and giggles or to scratch at whatever itch you may have.

And for those of you who are awesome and supportive, I'm sorry you had to read through that, but feel free to send anyone who doesn't get it here if you ever get stumped in trying to get through to them.

I can't thank those in my life and other trans people's lives enough for the good that you do whenever and however you do it. You honestly don't know how much you help, especially when there are people saying the utter shit that this post addresses.

All the best to you all, always.

The Bounce

A few months ago I was enjoying a night of dining and drinking with a bunch of people I work with. One of these people, who is in the process of learning about me, though who knows I’m trans, was chatting with me. During the course of the conversation, I said something that I can’t even remember now, but whatever I said sort of took him aback. His response to my comment was a sentiment that I’ve heard thrown at me quite often, especially over the past few years. Basically what he said was…

“You’re one of those people aren’t you? You’re just….special. You’re an extremely good person who goes out of their way to be nice and respectful to everyone. I know so few people like you, that when I meet someone like you, I’m always amazed.”

And despite the fact that this is a wonderful thing to hear, I essentially shrugged it off.

This is because I knew what he said was true (well, with the exception that I always thought there were more people like this in the world than he made it out to be… though perhaps that’s just his experience). I also knew that people saw this kind of “specialness” (for lack of a better term) in me, because people have a tendency to tell me about it. I’ve been told something similar to this dozens of times, because apparently I have a “really good energy” about me or something.

Anyway, after he said this, he essentially continued with, “I especially don’t know how you do it, because if I was in your situation (read: trans), I would be mad at the entire world and wouldn’t know how to hold it back. So the fact that you’re exceedingly nice astounds me.”

Again, I shrugged this off, because, at the time, I thought to myself, What does being mean, angry, and mad do? It’s not going to change the situation, and it would really only make things worse. And while what this person said has stuck me with (obviously, since I’m writing about it), it’s not something I thought much about since then. Well, not until recently anyway.

The first time I admitted to having any trans-fueled feelings to someone was in 1998. I started hormones in 2005. And through all that time, while I have made great strides in the process of accepting myself and moving forward with this snail’s-pace crusade, the way I live now is STILL a lie. And even though the people closest to me—and perhaps even ALL my family and friends at this point—know that I’m trans (an achievement in and of itself), I STILL live a lie.

One of the gigantic reasons for this is because I have a severe issue with how I look. I struggle incredibly with my appearance. Actually, to be completely honest, I loathe my appearance… and I find it impossible to try to be true to myself while feeling the way I do about how I look, as I appear NOWHERE close to who I actually am.

My appearance, or more specifically my feelings about my appearance, holds me back in a MAJOR way and keeps me from publically jumping from the Male side of the fence to the Female side… which is something I desperately need to do. I’ve been saving money for years to try to address this in any way I can, and recently I thought I had FINALLY scraped enough together to make a good, solid push to address it so that I can FINALLY feel more confident about moving forward in this process… and, you know, just feel better about the everyday action of looking into a mirror.

So what I want to do (and have wanted to do since I first came to this I-am-trans conclusion) is have surgery on my face to feminize it, to make me feel better about looking at myself, and to help me make the huge and scary-as-hell step of entering the world in a way that is more representative of the person I am. (Though the thought of surgery certainly is frightening to me, but that’s a topic for a different post.)

After exploring what surgeries were available and how they could help me, I reached out to a surgeon, who is apparently excellent at this kind of work, and I had a good consultation. The next day his office sent me an estimated cost of the surgery. That cost was $28,000.

As I’ve mentioned, I have been saving for years to try to get the money together for this, but this price was FAR more than I expected it to be, and it sent me spiraling into a wild exploration of my options and what I could do to make this happen as soon as possible.

And, let me be clear when I say this, I need this to happen as soon as possible. This is because the way I’m living my life now has simply become agonizing. Every day I’m forced to endure living like this, and all the badness that comes along with not being your true self to pretty much anyone, is excruciating. To think of doing it for even another year is unbearable. To think of suffering it longer than that… well, that’s when I start thinking about giving up on everything and just yanking the power cord out on my life.

Yes, it is THAT painful, and destructive, and maddening. This is why trans people are so disproportionally self-harming. This is why over FORTY PERCENT of trans people attempt to kill themselves. Whatever you think about this situation, please keep in mind that the feelings associated with it can be THAT horrendous.

On top of this, I’m overwhelmed by bitterness that I need to spend THAT amount of money in an attempt to physically get myself to the point where I feel I somewhat coincide with who I am mentally, which is something that 99.9% of the population doesn’t need to even think about. (Though I do realize that people who aren’t trans experience body issues, and image issues, and all of that awful stuff. I’m coming at this purely from the whole contending-with-being-the-wrong-gender standpoint here.)

Despite all of this, I have recently been exploring options that basically boil down to taking a loan or using some crazy combination of credit cards just so I can get through THIS part of it. And I will say that while I make a decent salary, I would barely make enough to cover the not-at-all-extravagant expenses I generate now if you throw another huge monthly payment on top of it.

Still, if this was just for a few years, I could tighten my belt for this time and I’m sure I could navigate my way through it. The additional issue, however, is that this is just the first surgery for me, and the other surgery… the bottom surgery… is something that I also need to have as soon as I possibly can, because every day I feel wrong is another day that erodes at my will to go on. This surgery can cost up to $20,000, and I would then have to save for that, which I wouldn’t be able to do if I took a loan or credit card payment for this first round of surgery, because I would have exactly zero extra money to put away with the massive monthly payment the first round of surgery would rain down on me.

All of this, combined with a bunch of other factors in my life right now, are a swirling mass of stress and pain that surrounds me. And that stress and pain was insanely exacerbated when I finally got the strength and resolve to try to address this, and then just hit massive roadblocks that I don’t know how to navigate around.

The past few weeks have been a tornado of awfulness, and it’s certainly started to affect this nice, respectful person that was referred to at the beginning of this post. Because this pain is transforming me into a sullen, bitter, spiteful, hurtful, terrible person.

I’m an ardent believer that people have a good nature, and that when you see people acting in awful ways, it’s due to a pain they’re experiencing… either due to the fact that the pain makes them focus on themselves so much that they can’t see past it to see how they affect others, that this pain fosters anger in people and then they take that anger out on those that surround them, or the pain makes them so bitter that they just stop caring about anything and anyone.

This is the road I can feel myself getting pulled down. This once always-good person is now finding that I’m careening towards being someone who is so engulfed with bad that I am now taking it out on the people around me. I am not at all pleasant to be around. I can’t sleep at night. I can’t steer out of destructive behaviors, and I truly fear where all of this is leading me. I don’t know how to address it and I don’t know how to make it right.

I’m am trying, though… at least for now. Though, because of everything I described above, I had an EPIC meltdown over the past weekend that literally left me gasping for air. For someone who has undergone their share of stress and panic attacks, this is the worst that I have ever felt, and I am not exaggerating when I say that for a while I was keeled over in tear-ridden agony, uncontrollably shaking, nauseous, and hyperventilating, and then spent 24 hours in and out of overpowering crying fits and ugly tears, like to the point that I was amazed that someone could cry that much. And to top all of this off, also mixed into that 24-hour period was an insanely nasty fight between me and someone who I considered to be my best friend.

So, you know, life has been a cavalcade of fun for me lately.

All that said, I feel that 24-hour span was my rock bottom, and when you hit rock bottom, oftentimes you get a bounce, and with that bounce comes a much-needed catharsis that can clear your head and give you the resolve to move on with a little less burden, because you cleansed so much of that bad emotion from you through tears, and painful howling, and having most of your brain functions shut down just so you can process everything that’s screaming at you through all of these horrific feelings.

And so I try to find a way to muster on through this. I try to find a way to resolve these issues… but, that said, I feel like I’m doing so as a lesser version of myself, and as someone who has a festering overload of hurt and bitterness that forces me to not be nearly as good as I want to be to the people I come into contact with and to the people I’m closest to.

So, you may now be wondering, “Okay, emo kid, do you feel good that you dumped this mountain of shit on us?”

Well, no, of course I don’t, though one of the reasons I decided to write and post this was to try to find some sort of clarity and strength through writing about it and getting these thoughts out of my head and on “paper”. I also put this together to show just how much of a picnic this whole trans experience can be (since, you know, that is what this blog is about)… and yet all I continue to hear from certain people is that we’re dangerous because OH MY GOD THE CHILDRENZ IN THE RESTROOOMZ!!!111! (Again, a topic for another post.)

Lastly here, I wrote this as an attempt to tell people that one person’s pain is all of our pain. When someone is hurting, if affects them and their behavior, and will affect those that surround them. If you could make someone’s pain less, everyone’s interactions with them become better, as they become a better version of themselves. So I implore people to reach out and help others with their pain as much as they can, because in doing so you are truly improving someone’s life, and in turn, making this world a better place. One day soon I hope I can again be the kind of person that my friend from work described above, because right now, I feel as far from that person as I can possibly get.

All of this said, I’m actually going to leave you on a positive note.

In the time since this magnificent meltdown, I did indeed get that hitting-rock-bottom bounce that I mentioned above. Since then, I called about getting back into therapy, I reached out to someone about a trans support group (that I plan on attending next week), and, oh look, I’m actually writing again, which is something that has provided great solace to me in the past, though something I’ve steered away from over the last few years because I work as a writer, and with that being the case, sometimes the last thing I want to do when I get home after a long day is write for myself. I’m currently re-realizing just how helpful this can be, though, and I already have more writing ideas that I’m working on, which is good.

On top of all this, I have gotten some amazing support, care, and love from friends who realize the severity of what I’m currently going through, and I am insanely grateful for this and for them. Again, nothing but good.

While I am still not entirely well right now and still a lesser version of myself because of what I’m contending with, what I’m trying to get through, and the pain that this is causing me, through all of that I wish much love and nothing but the best to you all.

Sickening Sounds

When I was younger, long before I was truly aware of what was going on with me and Overcompensation was my normal mode of life, I was told that I had a good speaking voice. It was deep, and loud, and clear, and attention grabbing. In fact, a friend of mine once told me an idea he had for a radio program and how he wanted me to be the announcer because I had a great voice for it. Yeah, mine was a nice sounding voice... but it was also very male sounding.

As time went on, and I became more fully aware of the lurking issue that was about to completely devour me, I not only came to hate everything about how I looked, but I really started to loathe my voice as well. So I worked at it and worked at it, and after all of the time and effort I put in to make it sound more feminine, I can only sound half decent on the best of my better days. More times than not, any sound waves that emanate from my head generally make me wanna retch, both violently and copiously.

The really fun part of this is that it’s not just limited to speaking. Whenever I cough, sneeze, laugh, cry, or jettison any other sound from my skull, I die a little inside. This problem is woefully exacerbated when I have a cold, or allergies are acting up, or I have a couple drinks and get The Stuffed Up Drinker's Nose. When any of these things are in play, I basically just don’t like to speak, and this reticence is even greater when I'm around others. 

Being that when I entered 2011 it was already going to be a cloistered year for me, this trifling little issue with my voice made it even more so. I didn’t want to go anywhere, because that would mean that I’d have to be social. Not that I have any issues with being social… I actually ENJOY being social. But in being social, I would have to talk to people, and when one talks to people, they generally use their voice. This is not something I wanted to do in any way.

The searing pain that my physical appearance bestows upon me grows exponentially and gets worse with each passing day. Lump the whole hating-how-I-sound thing into the conversation and it's no wonder that I've been magnificently anti-social over the past year. At times it's a real trial to even face people in the workplace, and I've spent a large majority of my "vacation" time this year, not taking any kind of real vacation, but using most of my 20 days off to call out of work and talk myself down from various ledges.

This is what it's like. This is what it feels like at all times. It's nasty, and relentless, and it's always tearing at you. It's also only getting worse. Thankfully I find ways to cope. I'm not exactly sure how. I guess after a while you just get used to dealing with a certain amount of pain when it's with you every day.

All that being said, please know that I'm fighting to get past this and I'm forcing myself to be more social than I have been... but it's been very difficult. I really just wish this insanity would stop.

Much love to you all.

Upon Entering 2011: The State of My World

In the months leading up to the holidays, I found myself shying away from social occasions, often preferring to just kind of lay low and spend the time by myself. "This can't be a good thing," I thought, and so I decided to be as accessible as possible in the time leading up to the end of the year. During this spate of party going and occasion hopping, I found myself not only getting sideways glances from those now "in the know" regarding my particular condition (which I actually can handle, btw), but I also got a litany of comments thrown in my direction. Some of these comments were:

"Dude, you are SO big! Do you ever walk into a place and feel self-conscious because you're so fuckin' big?"
Umm, no, but now I might... and shit, I thought I was losing weight. (Actually, I know I lost weight, but apparently I'm still just. that. fuckin'. big. Nice.)

"There he is... there's Mr. Big Strong Manly Man."
Eeesh.

"You look like a longshoreman."
Er...um... thanks?

"You have hair just like George Washington." (To the point where I was being called "George" for the rest of the night, even after I made my displeasure with this known and asked repeatedly for it to stop.)
Shit, and here I thought my hair was growing in okay and looked pretty decent that night... and I'm not THAT bald, am I??

And the list goes on for sure.

What makes all of this especially bad, is that not only did these comments come from people whom I consider "friends," but that after six years of physically going down this Path to Transition, I still can't escape things like this. Apparently this is just going to be the way it is, no matter what I'm trying to do. Apparently all the hard work, and thought, and tears I put in over the years has gotten me to a place where I'm still getting comments like this. Apparently everything I've been working my ass off for doesn't make a damn bit of fucking difference.

I keep thinking of a very old episode of The Simpsons where Bart, the chronically terrible student, has to pass a test or he's going to be left back or something. So he bears down, and he studies, and studies, and works his butt off... and he still fails the test. This then causes him to break down and start crying over the result of his test, which takes Mrs. Krabappel aback because since when does Bart Simpson care enough about his grades that a bad score causes him to burst into tears? It then comes out that he's so upset because this time he really tried. He put a massive amount of energy into it... and he still came up short.

Yeah, I know the feeling. It's one thing to fail when you're not really trying. It's quite another to pour your total self into it and still come up small. Based on everything that I heard over this past holiday season, all the hard work in the world ain't gonna get me to where I need to be. So really, what's the point?

Well, other than keep trying, there's not really another option. That being said, I have a feeling that 2011 is going to be a very cloistered year for me. At least when I'm home alone, I can live in the delusion that all my years of effort, hard work, oodles of spent money and everything else is actually leading me somewhere. When I step out into the world at large, all I seem to find is cold hard slap from reality after cold hard slap from reality. Alone, I can keep the hope (even if it is false hope) that all the energy I put into making my life right is actually getting me someplace good. Out in the world, among the majority of my friends, all I hear is the sound of that hope being tossed off a high cliff and being dashed to bits on the jagged rocks below.

Yep, it certainly seems like 2011 is going to be a year of solitude. Hey, at least I'll feel like everything I'm living my life for is actually progressing and, you know, has a point to it. If reality is never going to let me be happy, perhaps it's high time that I remove myself from that reality. Apparently that's the only way to get some peace with who I am without people telling me time after time how my views about myself are so utterly and hopelessly wrong.

Peace.