Now's the time for the much-delayed conclusion to my "The Good, the Bad... and the Lovely" posts. If you remember, these were about three different experiences I had dealing with health care professionals while being trans. As I said, this is the third part, meaning it's time for...
The Lovely
It's the summer of 2006, and I'm driving in the direction of my mother's house. She's on the phone and I'm telling her that I have to go to the emergency room because I'm having chest pains and feeling dizzy and just in a bit of a daze. It's the middle of the week and it's around midnight.
She's telling me that I should go to one of the ERs in the neighborhood, because the wait will be much less there than if we go into downtown Philadelphia. At the time, she knew I was trans, but she didn't know that I was on hormones (i.e. doing anything about it), though I had been for just over a year. That being the case, I wanted to avoid these neighborhood hospitals and go someplace that promised to be a bit more accepting of my situation. I insisted that we go into town – to the hospital that was affiliated with the LGBT center that I was getting treatment at. Now I don't know what would have happened at another hospital, but in hindsight I feel safe in saying that going to the hospital I wanted to was very much the right choice.
After we'd gone through all the waiting, they finally take me back into an exam room. A nurse was there and he said that they wanted to do an EKG on me to check my heart. I was nervous to begin with, and getting this test done made it even more nerve wracking, because, like I said, I had been on hormones for over a year, and that being the case, I was starting to get some noticeable breast tissue. Still, the test occurred and nothing was said by anyone in the room as far as anything being abnormal about my appearance, though the nurse did tell me that there was something slightly irregular on the test. Of course, I got a bit worried about this.
I realized at that time that I had to let the nurse know what was going on with me and what hormones I was taking, just in case I was having some kind of reaction. Since my mother was sitting right there, however, and I figured that this was NOT the way to let her find out what was going on, I waited until she left and went back out to the waiting area. I then began to jitteringly tell the nurse that I was trans, and that I've been or hormones for a year, and that I waited to tell him this privately because my mom didn't know.
He immediately put any and all of my concerns to rest, saying something along the lines of: "Don't worry about this at all. I'm gay myself and we deal with people in your situation all the time. Don't worry about any of this stuff, it's all fine." And he smiled and he was super-supportive, and it was simply amazing.
After this conversation, I was sent back out to the waiting area. There I found my mother. We went outside to get some air and that's where I told her that I was on hormones, and that I'm telling her this now because they found something a little odd with my EKG, and they also said that there may be a chance that the hormones were part of the abnormality. Since my mother was at the ER with me, I figured she should know this.
My revelation, however, was met with her tears. That sucked. That was a bad, bad part of the evening. To try to comfort her in some way... in any way... I told her that I mentioned all of this to the nurse, what he said about everything, and in doing so, I told her what was the most important lesson that I learned that night...
There are going to be people who will be fervently against me and what I'm doing. It's just the way it is. Either they have a problem with it from a religious standpoint, a societal standpoint, through lack of understanding, or just out and out fear of the different. I get that people are going to be like this, because the news is inundated with stories of this kind of hatred and intolerance. What we often fail to see, however, is that there are people who will IMMEDIATELY jump to your aid just BECAUSE you're in this position. You get support from literally out of nowhere, just like I did by the nurse who was treating me who just happened to be gay himself.
I stayed in the ER overnight that night, and underwent a litany of test. I remember around 6 in the morning the nurse who was treating me earlier, and who I hadn't seen since the EKG, came into the little cube that my bed was set up in and said that he just wanted to check on me before his shift ended. He squeezed my hand for a second or two and told me, "Don't worry, sweetie, everything's going to be okay." Then he asked if I needed anything before I sincerely thanked him and he left.
So... not only do you get support from out of nowhere, but you also get support like this. You get support that will take people out of their way to make sure that you're okay. You get support in that people will look out for you. And I think that in this case it comes from an almost kind of kinship that people across the LGBT spectrum share with one another. There's a lot of looking out for one another, or so I've seen.
Additionally, there are people who aren't in this group who are just kind, caring, and supremely understanding people. They seem to truly comprehend two things about what I'm going through:
1) This is NOT something I chose.
2) It's DAMN tough to deal with.
And once people get these two things, it really seems like their heart opens up to you... and in amazing ways. When you hear story after story about trans people getting attacked, or murdered, or being fired from their jobs with no recourse, you tend to get more than a bit dejected. Then someone comes along and bowls you over with an intense act of kindness, and it's truly astounding. It smacks you in the face with hope and shows you just how insanely good people can be to one another. This was the first time I witnessed anything like this when it came to dealing with health care... and it was quite simply lovely.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Flying Blind... But Still in the Air
"Of flight or fly, This choice is left ye, to resist or die."
- Alexander Pope
It's been about 6 months since my last inspirational and uplifting post, and over 7 months since my last post of any real substance. In that time I've experienced a kind of "shut down". Essentially I just couldn't process and/or deal anymore. I didn't know what else to do, so I tried to shut off my brain as best I could. Seemed reasonable... or not. Actually, I think that it was more of a defense mechanism than anything else.
You see, the majority of my thoughts during the past months just flat out hurt. They hurt to think about. They hurt to dwell on. The hurt to write about. I didn't want to get into it. I didn't want to think about being trans, or my place in the world, or just about anything really. I just wanted to be. If only.
Pretty much every bad thought about being trans had a few good kicks at my ribs (and/or my psyche) during that time, and writing about it would usually help to ease this. Writing would get these thoughts out into the open and help me to deal with them more. Writing would help me to see my way around them and maybe even find a solution buried in the ranting. In this case, however, writing made it worse, because I was thinking about an impossible situation even more than I had been. It mired me in The Bleak even more so than I was already. I couldn't do it. I no longer felt liberated and mentally cleansed after I was done writing. What I did feel was hopelessness, sorrow, and yet more hopelessness. Writing proved to be nothing more than an intense dwelling on the unattainable. I couldn't do it... and for years and years it had been my predominant way of coping.
What I have come to realize through this sunny stretch of time, is that what I want out of life is truly unattainable. I will never have it. And when you're hit with the realization that all you want out of life is the one thing that you can never have, it kind of leaves you in a "ready to die" kind of mode. Not a lot of fun. It was best not to exacerbate it. So, I shut my brain off to it and just tried to be... an especially black-or-white decision, since the alternative is NOT to be. Aren't I just SO fucking Hamlet-esque? Bleh.
The important thing here, however, is that through all of the shit... through all of the despair... through all of the life-loathing thoughts of suicide... I still plodded on. I still tried to be. I still tried to exist. Even when it seemed like everything in my world was telling me not to.
The key to this was staving off my constant thoughts of trans-like issues in any way that I could. Old bad habits resurfaced – overeating, smoking, not caring that I was overeating and/or smoking. The last of these being the most telling indicator of where my head was at. I mean, can you really give a shit that you've gained 20 pounds or that you're killing yourself slowly with cigarettes when you're just out and out apathetic about the very concept of being alive? If so, I'd have to think that it's pretty damn difficult to do.
All of the above came about (in short) because I truly realized what I stated earlier: I can never have the only thing in life that I ever really wanted, and the only thing in life that I really care to get out of it. Never. It's not going to happen. Ever. Never. Ever. Ever.
So... now what?
Well, here comes the part of my life where I completely reassess what I hope to get out of it, what I'm looking to attain in this world, and what steps I can/should take to salvage something good from the rubble of my utterly smashed hopes and dreams. It's quite literally cultivating a change of my entire perspective on the world and my place in it, AND doing this while still dealing with the fact that I'm oh-so desperately trans. I mean, that feeling isn't going to go away (and from what I've seen, it's only going to get worse). So, how do I deal with this issue – THE issue – inside these new parameters?
Well, first things first.
I am throwing away the lens that I used to view my life for so many years. I have to find a new one, and I don't think that's going to be a swift process. Until that time, however, I have to be okay with the fact that I don't have any real idea of where I'm going. I mean, it's hard to know where you're going when you can't even see.
Be well.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
An Update
I haven't been on here in a while, so I figured I'd at least pop in and give an update. The update will actually tell why I haven't been blogging here. It's short, sweet, and to the point. The following is an excerpt from a "catching up" e-mail that I sent to a friend recently.
Be well.
These same sentiments have been expressed to a couple different people, none of whom really know what to tell me at this point. And the hope wanes more and more.
I'm also at the point where I don't know that this life thing is all it's cracked up to be. I've been fairly apathetic about being alive these days. I have no real reason to live and absolutely nothing to look forward to. Then there's the whole being 6'4" and trans thing to kind of take the wind out of any sails that I have. I've been pushing and pushing to make things happen with it, and I find myself going in circles... if not outright going backward. I am just completely mentally exhausted and I can't find A reason to push myself anymore... especially because I'm realizing more and more that what I'm pushing myself for is a total and complete fantasy that can never be achieved. It's the only thing that even matters to me... and it's a completely hopeless endeavor. It's the only thing on my mind... and I am SO miraculously tired of thinking about it. It governs everything in my life, it's never going to go away, and in fact, it only gets harder and harder to deal with. This is what I have to look forward to. It'd be different if I hadn't tried a million different things to make it better. But I've been fighting and fighting for years now, and losing... time after time... and things are only getting worse. It is DESTROYING me. Quite literally. And I don't know what else (if anything) I can do about it. I don't even know what's left to try, and more to the point, why I should even bother. It's never going to go away. Never. And, as I said, I am so, SO tired of dealing with it. I can't even explain the depth of the pain these days. I'm not even sure how I deal with it. I guess it's just a one day at a time type thing. I don't really know.
Be well.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Part II: The Bad
Where we last left off, the protagonist of this-here story (i.e. yours truly) had just gotten a written referral to see an endocrinologist to hopefully get prescribed hormones. I called the office, made the appointment, and waited something like two looooonnnnng months in a feverish anticipation that was riddled with both fear and apprehension. Talk about a fun two months.
Now when I called the doctor's office, I told them that I was coming in hoping to get prescribed hormones and all of that. They gladly took the appointment and didn't say anything that would make me think that this was not the place to go. Well, it wasn't.
When I finally met the doctor, he asked me why I was there. I thought that a question like this would have been addressed by what I said when I made the appointment. Obviously I was mistaken.
What followed was me nervously stammering my way through an explanation of what I wanted to do. I was having these feelings; I wanted to try hormones to either confirm these feelings as being one thing... or another. When the doctor wasn't sure what I was asking for, even after a long explanation, I explained it again, and quite possibly even a third time.
Finally, the doctor understood. Here's what he said (again, paraphrasing a bit here):
"I think that this is a crime against nature, and it's not how you were meant to be. I don't know why anyone would do this to himself. What are you hoping to get out of this? You were born a male and you'll always be a male. How could you want to do this to yourself? This is very, very wrong."
And so on... and so on. This went on for an excruciating five minutes. Finally, I just said, "Okay, I get it," and started to get myself together to go. Then this braying jackass had the stupendous amount of gall to ask me:
"Would you like us to keep your information on file in case you decide to come back here for treatment?"
Ummm... what??
My response was:
"Look, you obviously have a problem with this, so why would I ever want to be treated for something by someone who has a problem with it?"
"Well," he answered, "we have prescribed hormones for people before."
"But you have a problem with it, so why would I want YOU to prescribe them for me? So I can come back here and have you tell me about your problems with what I'm doing? No thanks."
"We could still keep your information on file..."
"That won't be necessary."
"Are you sure?"
"Ummm... yeah, I'm pretty certain."
WTF!?
I walked out of there and I was FURIOUS. People have problems with this kind of stuff, and whatever, I sort of understand that. However, how could you, as a "professional", start laying into someone like this... and then have the sheer audacity to ask me if I want to come back for treatment? Seriously, what IS that??
I was actually shaking when I walked out of the office. I didn't even know what to do. I was mad that he acted that way towards me. I was also pretty mortified by the fact that I went there in a pretty iffy emotional state, baring something that was VERY difficult for me to talk about even under the best of circumstances, and then I was met with a lecture about how I was a "crime against nature."
This experience, needless to say, was nothing but BAD.
As a postscript:
On the way home I was so upset that I stopped off at a pay phone to call a friend (remember pay phones?). While talking to her, I actually just started to laugh about the whole situation. Then I just started to feel kind of bad for the doctor. He was so blinded by his own fear and ignorance that he never took time to even look at the situation from a different perspective, or to talk to me about it, or to talk to anyone about it. He just decided to think what he thought about it and be magnificently blind as to what was really going on.
But as nervous and scared as I was, I got through it. Even with his wondrously supportive words scraping every soft nerve in my brain, I got through it... AND I wound up laughing it off soon after it went down. It made me stronger. It made me less afraid. It made me want to do it more... though I wouldn't be prescribed hormones til some five years later.
One final note:
When I next went back to my primary doctor and related the story, she was aghast at the endocrinologist's behavior. "Even if he does have a personal problem with it, it was HIGHLY unprofessional for him to talk to you like that."
Yeah, I'll tend to agree with that assessment.
As I've said, my primary kinda rocks.
That's all I got tonight.
I hope all is well.
Now when I called the doctor's office, I told them that I was coming in hoping to get prescribed hormones and all of that. They gladly took the appointment and didn't say anything that would make me think that this was not the place to go. Well, it wasn't.
When I finally met the doctor, he asked me why I was there. I thought that a question like this would have been addressed by what I said when I made the appointment. Obviously I was mistaken.
What followed was me nervously stammering my way through an explanation of what I wanted to do. I was having these feelings; I wanted to try hormones to either confirm these feelings as being one thing... or another. When the doctor wasn't sure what I was asking for, even after a long explanation, I explained it again, and quite possibly even a third time.
Finally, the doctor understood. Here's what he said (again, paraphrasing a bit here):
"I think that this is a crime against nature, and it's not how you were meant to be. I don't know why anyone would do this to himself. What are you hoping to get out of this? You were born a male and you'll always be a male. How could you want to do this to yourself? This is very, very wrong."
And so on... and so on. This went on for an excruciating five minutes. Finally, I just said, "Okay, I get it," and started to get myself together to go. Then this braying jackass had the stupendous amount of gall to ask me:
"Would you like us to keep your information on file in case you decide to come back here for treatment?"
Ummm... what??
My response was:
"Look, you obviously have a problem with this, so why would I ever want to be treated for something by someone who has a problem with it?"
"Well," he answered, "we have prescribed hormones for people before."
"But you have a problem with it, so why would I want YOU to prescribe them for me? So I can come back here and have you tell me about your problems with what I'm doing? No thanks."
"We could still keep your information on file..."
"That won't be necessary."
"Are you sure?"
"Ummm... yeah, I'm pretty certain."
WTF!?
I walked out of there and I was FURIOUS. People have problems with this kind of stuff, and whatever, I sort of understand that. However, how could you, as a "professional", start laying into someone like this... and then have the sheer audacity to ask me if I want to come back for treatment? Seriously, what IS that??
I was actually shaking when I walked out of the office. I didn't even know what to do. I was mad that he acted that way towards me. I was also pretty mortified by the fact that I went there in a pretty iffy emotional state, baring something that was VERY difficult for me to talk about even under the best of circumstances, and then I was met with a lecture about how I was a "crime against nature."
This experience, needless to say, was nothing but BAD.
As a postscript:
On the way home I was so upset that I stopped off at a pay phone to call a friend (remember pay phones?). While talking to her, I actually just started to laugh about the whole situation. Then I just started to feel kind of bad for the doctor. He was so blinded by his own fear and ignorance that he never took time to even look at the situation from a different perspective, or to talk to me about it, or to talk to anyone about it. He just decided to think what he thought about it and be magnificently blind as to what was really going on.
But as nervous and scared as I was, I got through it. Even with his wondrously supportive words scraping every soft nerve in my brain, I got through it... AND I wound up laughing it off soon after it went down. It made me stronger. It made me less afraid. It made me want to do it more... though I wouldn't be prescribed hormones til some five years later.
One final note:
When I next went back to my primary doctor and related the story, she was aghast at the endocrinologist's behavior. "Even if he does have a personal problem with it, it was HIGHLY unprofessional for him to talk to you like that."
Yeah, I'll tend to agree with that assessment.
As I've said, my primary kinda rocks.
That's all I got tonight.
I hope all is well.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
The Good, the Bad... and the Lovely
One of the trickier things about being trans is that sooner or later you have to actually discuss this personal decision with someone administering to your health care, i.e. a person who may very well be a complete stranger. This may be because it's pertinent to what you're being treated for, or it's just something you need to say due to the obvious physical differences that hormones bring to your world. What follows are three brief stories, which will be written over the course of three different posts, about different reactions to this news by the people who attend to physical health. We'll start with...
The Good
About seven years ago or so, I was deeply embroiled in the whole coming-to-terms phase with all the feelings I was having and what they actually meant. I was seeing a therapist, who, while not knowing much about the topic, was very helpful in getting me to admit to myself that what I was feeling (that I wanted to be a woman) was real, and that it would greatly behoove me to explore my options when it came to this.
I did a lot of reading on the topic of trying to figure out what these feelings actually meant, as this was the point where I was desperately trying to convince myself that I WASN'T trans. A course of action was discussed that seemed to be somewhat doable, as well as something that may indeed help me to better know what it was that I wanted. This was: To go on hormones for about three months or so, just to see how it made me feel. If I felt better and liked what was happening to my body (and to my mental state as well), it would be an indication that this may indeed be the path that I should follow. If I didn't like it, it would be an indication that something else was amiss, and I should start trying to figure out what that issue was. Additionally, all the changes that the hormones would cause in me after a mere three months would be completely reversible if I stopped taking them. So I wouldn't be permanently changed if I decided this wasn't for me. All in all it seemed like a great idea, and I was excited to try it. The issue was - where do I get prescribed hormones?
My therapist thought a great place to start would be with talking to my primary care physician (seems kind of obvious when I thought about it after she suggested it, but at the time, it sort of didn't dawn on me). The only problem I had was actually going in to tell my doctor that I was having these feelings and that I wanted to try hormones, because, at the time, I could barely even admit that to myself, let alone admitting it out loud to someone else. I mean, it took all of my courage to even just admit it to a therapist.
My therapist, however, saw my hesitance and apprehension, so she offered to call my primary and tell her what I was dealing with. She did. Which was super-awesome of her. A few weeks later I found myself in my primary's office, discussing all of this with her. Here's how she started our conversation (though I'm paraphrasing a bit here):
"I spoke with your therapist and she explained everything to me. This is obviously a very difficult personal decision your dealing with, and I'm not here to tell you whether you're right or wrong in what you're doing. That's not my job. My job is to ensure that no matter what you decide to do, you do it smartly, and you remain healthy.
"That being said, I have no experience with this, so I'm hesitant to prescribe you anything, because I wouldn't know what to prescribe. I suggest you talk to a doctor who would better know what to do and how to address this best."
It was then decided that I should go see an endocrinologist, as I read that this was where one should go if they wanted to get hormones and be safe about it. She had the referral written up immediately for an endocrinologist in the area, with more than enough visits to take care of any problems that may arise.
Since then, she has been nothing but understanding, very professional, and extremely helpful. I couldn't have dreamt of anything better. This experience... was nothing but good.
To be continued...
Be well.
The Good
About seven years ago or so, I was deeply embroiled in the whole coming-to-terms phase with all the feelings I was having and what they actually meant. I was seeing a therapist, who, while not knowing much about the topic, was very helpful in getting me to admit to myself that what I was feeling (that I wanted to be a woman) was real, and that it would greatly behoove me to explore my options when it came to this.
I did a lot of reading on the topic of trying to figure out what these feelings actually meant, as this was the point where I was desperately trying to convince myself that I WASN'T trans. A course of action was discussed that seemed to be somewhat doable, as well as something that may indeed help me to better know what it was that I wanted. This was: To go on hormones for about three months or so, just to see how it made me feel. If I felt better and liked what was happening to my body (and to my mental state as well), it would be an indication that this may indeed be the path that I should follow. If I didn't like it, it would be an indication that something else was amiss, and I should start trying to figure out what that issue was. Additionally, all the changes that the hormones would cause in me after a mere three months would be completely reversible if I stopped taking them. So I wouldn't be permanently changed if I decided this wasn't for me. All in all it seemed like a great idea, and I was excited to try it. The issue was - where do I get prescribed hormones?
My therapist thought a great place to start would be with talking to my primary care physician (seems kind of obvious when I thought about it after she suggested it, but at the time, it sort of didn't dawn on me). The only problem I had was actually going in to tell my doctor that I was having these feelings and that I wanted to try hormones, because, at the time, I could barely even admit that to myself, let alone admitting it out loud to someone else. I mean, it took all of my courage to even just admit it to a therapist.
My therapist, however, saw my hesitance and apprehension, so she offered to call my primary and tell her what I was dealing with. She did. Which was super-awesome of her. A few weeks later I found myself in my primary's office, discussing all of this with her. Here's how she started our conversation (though I'm paraphrasing a bit here):
"I spoke with your therapist and she explained everything to me. This is obviously a very difficult personal decision your dealing with, and I'm not here to tell you whether you're right or wrong in what you're doing. That's not my job. My job is to ensure that no matter what you decide to do, you do it smartly, and you remain healthy.
"That being said, I have no experience with this, so I'm hesitant to prescribe you anything, because I wouldn't know what to prescribe. I suggest you talk to a doctor who would better know what to do and how to address this best."
It was then decided that I should go see an endocrinologist, as I read that this was where one should go if they wanted to get hormones and be safe about it. She had the referral written up immediately for an endocrinologist in the area, with more than enough visits to take care of any problems that may arise.
Since then, she has been nothing but understanding, very professional, and extremely helpful. I couldn't have dreamt of anything better. This experience... was nothing but good.
To be continued...
Be well.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Stupidity Is Stupid
On a recent reunion-centered trip back to my old college, I came across a friend of a friend who I knew vaguely 15 years ago. This guy and I seemed to hit it off pretty well during our reintroduction, and, having some things in common, we got to talking a decent amount over the course of the weekend. The conversation at one point drifted into him talking about his marriage, and that was followed by a very friendly and casual, "So, are you married... or do you like guys...?"
A question of this sort makes sense when posed to me, as I guess I give off a "vibe" or I "have an air about me" that says that I'm not your standard heterosexual guy. Since I'm not that, and since gay people are far more numerous and visible than trans people, it's a fairly natural assumption to make about someone who you suspect of being not-heterosexual. In short, no one has ever met me and jumped to the assumption that I'm trans.
More recently, while at a reunion of people who used to work at my current company, I was told by a friend that a former coworker of ours (who I really didn't even talk to that night) asked if I was gay. Putting off a vibe indeed.
All of this really shouldn't surprise me, yet it still kind of does. I think this is because I have no idea of what I'm projecting to the world at large. In essence, I am really just out there trying to be more as I see myself to be, and, based on the frequency of these questions, it seems like I'm succeeding in this effort.
This is big for me because...
When I first started to get a handle on what I was feeling and told a few close friends about it, I was TERRIFIED of anyone else even suspecting that I was anything out of the norm. I went through a great deal of worrying about what people knew about me, what they didn't know, etc. etc. I was afraid of even being seen as gay, which may seem slightly ludicrous in 2009 with gay acceptance in our society growing at exponential levels (YAY!), but at the time, it scared me senseless.
I never wanted to be anything other than what everyone else was... at least when it came to this. I never had anything against gay people or trans people, but I didn't want to be labeled as one. Part of this is because I generally hate to be defined by a label, as labels provide the launch pad for people to make erroneous assumptions about other people. The other part had to do with, I would think, the fact that I was fighting all the feelings I was having, and the more people who I admitted this to, and the more people who knew about it, would only serve to make all these feelings more real.
Additionally, even just 10 years ago, while it was still okay in certain circles to deviate from the heterosexual paradigm, it certainly isn't accepted like it is today. This in and of itself would (and I'm sure still does) keep people closeted.
In the years since I first fearfully started telling people close to me how I was feeling, a lot of the concerns I had about what people were thinking about me and my sexuality have greatly dissipated. In social settings I'm growing increasingly unconcerned and blasé about it all. Where I once used to be terrified by the thought of people knowing anything about this, I am now completely unconcerned as to who knows what's going on with me in any instance of my social world.
There is only one exception to this statement at this point and time: At Work.
Now everyone is a different shade of themselves while at work; it's just sort of the nature of the beast. However, I was told by a friend and fellow coworker recently that the difference between Work Me and Social Me is "much more so than the av-er-age bear." (And yes, I loved the reference.)
In work I have played things pretty close to the cuff. Not so much that I would go and salivate over pictures of well-endowed women with the guys in the workplace just to "fit in", but that I really didn't give an indication one way or the other. My actions were much more a pretty accurate representation of the I'm Totally a Guy... Just a Different Kind of Guy mask that I wore for years (and wore quite well, I might add, as I'm apparently a pretty good actor).
And I should say here that I don't even really care if the people I work with know this about me or not. Interestingly enough, when people know about this it actually makes my interactions with them better and less awkward. They have some general sense of who I am, I can relate to people better, and I get related to better. Where my concern comes into play is: I live and work in a place where I can actually be fired solely for being trans with NO legal recourse, and this sad fact isn't at all uncommon in our country today.
Though I should pause here to say that people in many states and situations can still get fired for being gay, and they too would have no legal recourse for being dismissed in such a fashion. The company that employs me, however, has sexual orientation written into their non-discrimination policy. Gender identity, which would cover someone like myself, is not yet given the same protection. It's for this reason that I'm really in no rush to out myself to everyone I work with.
The troubling thing about this is that even with my more open social attitude, I was still concerned about people at work thinking that I'm gay. Like I didn't want them to even have an inkling that there was anything about me that was out of the ordinary, even with this non-discrimination policy in place.
This was stupid of me. This was fear and whatever other horrible emotions rearing a collective head to keep me from any overt behaviors that would make anything about me seem questionable. As I said, this was stupid of me. Especially if what I am actually rankles people more than being gay does.
I recently realized this stupidity, and have taken measures to get over it. I made a conscious decision recently to be more myself in work; whatever that means, and whatever that will mean. So, people around my office may start seeing me as gay. At one time I would have been scared shitless about this happening; now I see it as a good thing. It means that I AM being more who I am, and if people are going to think what they're going to think about me anyway, why shouldn't I at least be someone who's being as true to themselves as they can possibly be?
So, like I said, one day soon I may be thought of as this gay guy in my workplace (if I'm not actually already). Again, this is a big and important step for me... and a good thing in every possible way that this can be a good thing.
Be well.
A question of this sort makes sense when posed to me, as I guess I give off a "vibe" or I "have an air about me" that says that I'm not your standard heterosexual guy. Since I'm not that, and since gay people are far more numerous and visible than trans people, it's a fairly natural assumption to make about someone who you suspect of being not-heterosexual. In short, no one has ever met me and jumped to the assumption that I'm trans.
More recently, while at a reunion of people who used to work at my current company, I was told by a friend that a former coworker of ours (who I really didn't even talk to that night) asked if I was gay. Putting off a vibe indeed.
All of this really shouldn't surprise me, yet it still kind of does. I think this is because I have no idea of what I'm projecting to the world at large. In essence, I am really just out there trying to be more as I see myself to be, and, based on the frequency of these questions, it seems like I'm succeeding in this effort.
This is big for me because...
When I first started to get a handle on what I was feeling and told a few close friends about it, I was TERRIFIED of anyone else even suspecting that I was anything out of the norm. I went through a great deal of worrying about what people knew about me, what they didn't know, etc. etc. I was afraid of even being seen as gay, which may seem slightly ludicrous in 2009 with gay acceptance in our society growing at exponential levels (YAY!), but at the time, it scared me senseless.
I never wanted to be anything other than what everyone else was... at least when it came to this. I never had anything against gay people or trans people, but I didn't want to be labeled as one. Part of this is because I generally hate to be defined by a label, as labels provide the launch pad for people to make erroneous assumptions about other people. The other part had to do with, I would think, the fact that I was fighting all the feelings I was having, and the more people who I admitted this to, and the more people who knew about it, would only serve to make all these feelings more real.
Additionally, even just 10 years ago, while it was still okay in certain circles to deviate from the heterosexual paradigm, it certainly isn't accepted like it is today. This in and of itself would (and I'm sure still does) keep people closeted.
In the years since I first fearfully started telling people close to me how I was feeling, a lot of the concerns I had about what people were thinking about me and my sexuality have greatly dissipated. In social settings I'm growing increasingly unconcerned and blasé about it all. Where I once used to be terrified by the thought of people knowing anything about this, I am now completely unconcerned as to who knows what's going on with me in any instance of my social world.
There is only one exception to this statement at this point and time: At Work.
Now everyone is a different shade of themselves while at work; it's just sort of the nature of the beast. However, I was told by a friend and fellow coworker recently that the difference between Work Me and Social Me is "much more so than the av-er-age bear." (And yes, I loved the reference.)
In work I have played things pretty close to the cuff. Not so much that I would go and salivate over pictures of well-endowed women with the guys in the workplace just to "fit in", but that I really didn't give an indication one way or the other. My actions were much more a pretty accurate representation of the I'm Totally a Guy... Just a Different Kind of Guy mask that I wore for years (and wore quite well, I might add, as I'm apparently a pretty good actor).
And I should say here that I don't even really care if the people I work with know this about me or not. Interestingly enough, when people know about this it actually makes my interactions with them better and less awkward. They have some general sense of who I am, I can relate to people better, and I get related to better. Where my concern comes into play is: I live and work in a place where I can actually be fired solely for being trans with NO legal recourse, and this sad fact isn't at all uncommon in our country today.
Though I should pause here to say that people in many states and situations can still get fired for being gay, and they too would have no legal recourse for being dismissed in such a fashion. The company that employs me, however, has sexual orientation written into their non-discrimination policy. Gender identity, which would cover someone like myself, is not yet given the same protection. It's for this reason that I'm really in no rush to out myself to everyone I work with.
The troubling thing about this is that even with my more open social attitude, I was still concerned about people at work thinking that I'm gay. Like I didn't want them to even have an inkling that there was anything about me that was out of the ordinary, even with this non-discrimination policy in place.
This was stupid of me. This was fear and whatever other horrible emotions rearing a collective head to keep me from any overt behaviors that would make anything about me seem questionable. As I said, this was stupid of me. Especially if what I am actually rankles people more than being gay does.
I recently realized this stupidity, and have taken measures to get over it. I made a conscious decision recently to be more myself in work; whatever that means, and whatever that will mean. So, people around my office may start seeing me as gay. At one time I would have been scared shitless about this happening; now I see it as a good thing. It means that I AM being more who I am, and if people are going to think what they're going to think about me anyway, why shouldn't I at least be someone who's being as true to themselves as they can possibly be?
So, like I said, one day soon I may be thought of as this gay guy in my workplace (if I'm not actually already). Again, this is a big and important step for me... and a good thing in every possible way that this can be a good thing.
Be well.
Monday, August 24, 2009
An Onslaught of Caring
This past weekend involved me getting together with a friend who I see about once every six months (if that). We met some other friends at a bar for a few drinks, had a great time, and eventually left said bar some long hours later.
He and I were the only people left at the end of the night, and we stood in the parking lot for a good while after everyone we knew had left. Well, we didn’t just stand there. We stood there and talked. Mostly about me and what I’m going through. You know all that gender stuff I’m dealing with? Yeah, that.
His thoughts on the topic that he conveyed to me that night are as follows:
“You’re never going to look good.”
“You’re too big.”
“You’re going to be a freak.”
“I would feel weird bringing my friends around you because I don’t know how they would react.”
“You’re going to LOOK like a freak.”
“People will treat you like a freak.”
“You WILL look like a guy in a dress.”
“You’re WAY too big to look like anything BUT a guy in a dress.”
“Why would you do this??”
“DON’T DO THIS!!”
And so on, and so on.
These phrases were all fired at me during the course of our conversation, and I, having already played this sort of game with an uncle of mine back in December, deftly answered questions with dizzying clarity and alacrity, which even had my friend questioning his thoughts on all that he said (or so I would like to think… if even just a little) by the time that we left each other that night.
I had an answer to everything because these are the thoughts that bombard me fairly regularly, and I have to tell myself something to get the thoughts out of my head. I have to have some sort of answer to these comments, lest I stay festooned in a dazzling sort of hopelessness and apathy.
Additionally, every single one of the comments that my friend made was answered with nothing but a smile and a calm explanation about things – even when essentially being called a freak, or when being verbally assaulted with your worst fears from a voice outside of your own head (scary!).
Calmness prevailed, however, because I know that he cares. I know that he’s saying all of this stuff to me, believe it or not, because he cares about me and doesn’t want to see me suffer. He believes that me going through this will yield nothing but suffering, so he’s trying to “hit me with some reality”; when IN reality, these thoughts and comments may as well be surgically affixed to me. I take them with me wherever I go… even when I try my damnedest to leave them behind.
This was the same kind of caring that ensued with the aforementioned uncle in December:
“Can I just say something about all of this?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“DON’T DO THIS! You’ll be a freak! Please don’t do this!”
Ahh… the power of caring and candid honesty. It just slices right through you like 200 razors blades all at once. Thankfully this past encounter with my friend only took the wind out of my sails for a few days (I’m still feeling the effects, but I can tell that the pain is lifting a bit). In the past, something like this would set me back and stay with me for weeks… if not months. I can shrug this off a tad easier than I could in the past, and it doesn’t hurt as much, because over the exact points in your psyche that these honesty-fueled razor blades burrow into, I have a lot of scar tissue to cushion the blow.
However… it still hurts. Just not as much as it once did. I suppose that’s something to be thankful for. That, and for people who care. I can’t NOT respect honesty, and I certainly don’t want people to lie to me about what they think. I just wish that hearing one’s honest opinion of me and my life wasn’t like getting repeatedly kicked in the face sometimes.
My best to you.
He and I were the only people left at the end of the night, and we stood in the parking lot for a good while after everyone we knew had left. Well, we didn’t just stand there. We stood there and talked. Mostly about me and what I’m going through. You know all that gender stuff I’m dealing with? Yeah, that.
His thoughts on the topic that he conveyed to me that night are as follows:
“You’re never going to look good.”
“You’re too big.”
“You’re going to be a freak.”
“I would feel weird bringing my friends around you because I don’t know how they would react.”
“You’re going to LOOK like a freak.”
“People will treat you like a freak.”
“You WILL look like a guy in a dress.”
“You’re WAY too big to look like anything BUT a guy in a dress.”
“Why would you do this??”
“DON’T DO THIS!!”
And so on, and so on.
These phrases were all fired at me during the course of our conversation, and I, having already played this sort of game with an uncle of mine back in December, deftly answered questions with dizzying clarity and alacrity, which even had my friend questioning his thoughts on all that he said (or so I would like to think… if even just a little) by the time that we left each other that night.
I had an answer to everything because these are the thoughts that bombard me fairly regularly, and I have to tell myself something to get the thoughts out of my head. I have to have some sort of answer to these comments, lest I stay festooned in a dazzling sort of hopelessness and apathy.
Additionally, every single one of the comments that my friend made was answered with nothing but a smile and a calm explanation about things – even when essentially being called a freak, or when being verbally assaulted with your worst fears from a voice outside of your own head (scary!).
Calmness prevailed, however, because I know that he cares. I know that he’s saying all of this stuff to me, believe it or not, because he cares about me and doesn’t want to see me suffer. He believes that me going through this will yield nothing but suffering, so he’s trying to “hit me with some reality”; when IN reality, these thoughts and comments may as well be surgically affixed to me. I take them with me wherever I go… even when I try my damnedest to leave them behind.
This was the same kind of caring that ensued with the aforementioned uncle in December:
“Can I just say something about all of this?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“DON’T DO THIS! You’ll be a freak! Please don’t do this!”
Ahh… the power of caring and candid honesty. It just slices right through you like 200 razors blades all at once. Thankfully this past encounter with my friend only took the wind out of my sails for a few days (I’m still feeling the effects, but I can tell that the pain is lifting a bit). In the past, something like this would set me back and stay with me for weeks… if not months. I can shrug this off a tad easier than I could in the past, and it doesn’t hurt as much, because over the exact points in your psyche that these honesty-fueled razor blades burrow into, I have a lot of scar tissue to cushion the blow.
However… it still hurts. Just not as much as it once did. I suppose that’s something to be thankful for. That, and for people who care. I can’t NOT respect honesty, and I certainly don’t want people to lie to me about what they think. I just wish that hearing one’s honest opinion of me and my life wasn’t like getting repeatedly kicked in the face sometimes.
My best to you.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
So...
Just what the fuck am I going to do with myself in regards to the whole gender thing? I can’t see any way that I will ever start living my life as a woman. I mean, I guess I could really start scraping things together and just do it; but will that make me happier, or more miserable? I think that I want to do it when I have the chance to actually go and have the surgery soon after doing it, otherwise I’ll just be prolonging the agony of living in the world as a woman with a penis (and oh, how that's not too inconvenient or anything... if even just in terms of getting dressed and hiding things).
Though it's not like I’m not "hiding things" now, but in the scenario I just mentioned, all the world will see me and be much more aware of everything; and at the moment I'm sort of duping people into thinking I'm a guy... and pretty much making things easier on myself at the same time. (By the by, this only works because everyone who's close to me, knows I'm trans. If they didn't, the above described scenario would be quite hellish.)
I don’t know. I just know that I have to make a decision. If I’m not going to go through with all of this, will it be enough? I wish I could just have the bottom surgery, keep living like this, and if I ever want to transition socially, I could just do it.
It’s tough because I really don’t want to live without the anonymity factor going on. I want to be able to just walk into any place that people go, and not feel like all eyes are on me because I’m "the freak". I want to be able to interact with people and have them judge me on my interactions, NOT on the fact that I happen to be a 6’4” woman.
Well, if I’m lucky they’ll see me that way. If not, they’ll just see me and judge me as a transperson. And... well... whatever.
I have no doubt that these answers will come to me, but for now, I have no idea what they are. This is especially so because money is SUCH a factor with all of this.
I wasn't sure where I was going with this, but at least I posted. It's been a while. I hope all is well with you, whomever you happen to be. :)
Though it's not like I’m not "hiding things" now, but in the scenario I just mentioned, all the world will see me and be much more aware of everything; and at the moment I'm sort of duping people into thinking I'm a guy... and pretty much making things easier on myself at the same time. (By the by, this only works because everyone who's close to me, knows I'm trans. If they didn't, the above described scenario would be quite hellish.)
I don’t know. I just know that I have to make a decision. If I’m not going to go through with all of this, will it be enough? I wish I could just have the bottom surgery, keep living like this, and if I ever want to transition socially, I could just do it.
It’s tough because I really don’t want to live without the anonymity factor going on. I want to be able to just walk into any place that people go, and not feel like all eyes are on me because I’m "the freak". I want to be able to interact with people and have them judge me on my interactions, NOT on the fact that I happen to be a 6’4” woman.
Well, if I’m lucky they’ll see me that way. If not, they’ll just see me and judge me as a transperson. And... well... whatever.
I have no doubt that these answers will come to me, but for now, I have no idea what they are. This is especially so because money is SUCH a factor with all of this.
I wasn't sure where I was going with this, but at least I posted. It's been a while. I hope all is well with you, whomever you happen to be. :)
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Shaking My Fist At God
I realized recently, through a weird course of events, that I have anger issues. Now, I don’t really mean that in a way that's as bad as those words may seem; and the fact of the matter is, I’m usually a very placid person. Yes, placid. I can be excitable, but I’m pretty peaceful when it comes right down to it. Or so my exterior may make it seem.
Anyhoo, I am someone who seems to suppress a lot of anger. And before that's taken the wrong way, I should say that I don’t really experience a lot of anger these days. It’s not very often that I get angry, as it’s just sort of not in my nature. I’m also a pretty understanding person, so I don't usually get overly upset with people, because I can often see their point, even if I don’t happen to agree with them.
I'm just really not a person who gets angry easily... until this week. I have been just GNASHING mad this week – seemingly at everyone and everything. It's bad. I hate it. I don't like it even a little bit. I loathe feeling this way. What makes it worse, is that I find I've been overly angry about things that I, more times than not, would find to be a minor annoyance.
It then occurred to me this evening, I’m not angry about these above-described situations that seem to be making me angry; because those things just aren’t worth getting upset about (they’re really not when I sit down to think about them).
It turns out that I’m angry, because… well… because I’m angry.
Essentially I have a lot of anger towards the universe, or god, or the It, or whatever moniker you use to describe the force (if there is one, and I believe that there is something) that governs the universe. Not governs. Guides? Something? I don’t know, and this is getting way more theological than I mean it to.
Reeling myself back in…
Whatever this is... I’ll call it “the universe”... I’m mad at it. I’m mad at “the universe”. And I very much mean that on a metaphysical level, and in no way on a physical level, if THAT makes any sense at all.
And I’m upset with the universe (even though it’s done wonderfully cool things for me) because I’m going through this utter gender-swap nonsense.
Now, now, I don’t mean “nonsense” in the sense that going through this process (or the people who do so) is in any way nonsensical. I’m going through it myself, so I get how these feelings are not stupid in ANY way. I get that. Believe me, I do.
What I am saying, however, is that it shouldn’t even fucking MATTER if I’m a man or a woman. I mean, cosmically, or whatever. And I know that I am totally sounding like a neo-turbo-hippie, but c’mon. Why does it even matter if I’m a man or a woman? I’m still a person; and I am very much of the belief that men and women are completely equal and, as such, both should be treated with the most absolute of respect. So what does it matter what kind of packaging I have? That exterior shouldn't say anything about who the person inside is. I believe in this kind of shit... like really believe in it. So, again, why does this even matter to me?!
Additionally, and to switch gears slightly, I think that in a WAY lot of ways women have it worse off than guys. Sure, there are some sucky things about being a guy, but there’s a bunch of shitty things about being a girl. Giving up your sense of safety in unfamiliar environments (and sometimes familiar ones) is just a start, and it beats ALL of the bad things about being a guy hands DOWN (or, at least, that's how I tend to feel about it).
So, considering all that I said above, and taking into account that these are actually my legitimate feelings on the aforementioned topics, why then would I even WANT to be a girl?
Well, I kind of answered that in an earlier post – either I just AM a girl and this is me just trying to return to a kind of an emotional stasis with things… or… I’m crazy.
Let’s work on the premise that I’m not crazy. It may be a stretch, but humor me. : )
If I’m not crazy:
I still see being a girl as being tougher than being a guy, AND I feel that the sexes shouldn’t be treated with any lesser degree of respect. If someone else is a man or a woman, in a lot of ways it doesn’t matter to me on any level (especially so because I don't date, and if I did, I'm not sure it would matter what sex I was dating, just so long as I liked the person... but this is WAY off topic).
Men and women, in my eyes, are simply two different sets of people and neither is better than the other. Both are good. Both are great, in fact. So, all of this being said, why should it matter if I'm a man or woman? Is the masculine or the feminine (or some combination of them both) really infused into us in such a manner? Does it really govern us that much?
Well, I guess so. How could I, of all people, say that it doesn’t?
I’m not sure I like that about the universe, then. Though I could rationalize a bit and say that it is this way because it’s instinctual – it is necessary, or humans wouldn’t have propagated. All of this is SO instinctually ingrained in a person, because there's millennia of survival that wouldn't have happened if these things weren't this way (though I don't know that any of that would necessarily be true, I could still totally argue the point).
But when it comes to me and people like me, propagation has nothing to do with it, because it’s not like I can go through this to give birth. So, AGAIN, why does it matter if I am male or female? It’s highly unlikely that I will actually reproduce in any way, so, “universally” speaking, why make people go through this? Why make them endure this amount of nonsense? It’s stupid. It makes no sense on ANY level... and I am still going through it. I'm still going through all the ups and downs that come along with it. I'm still dealing with copious amounts of shit because of it. And I can't find any kind of logical reason why I should be doing this... I just know that I can't NOT do this.
And that is why I get pissed at the universe from time to time.
That’s not a good way to be. I have to find a way to correct this.
More to come on this topic.
All the best.
Anyhoo, I am someone who seems to suppress a lot of anger. And before that's taken the wrong way, I should say that I don’t really experience a lot of anger these days. It’s not very often that I get angry, as it’s just sort of not in my nature. I’m also a pretty understanding person, so I don't usually get overly upset with people, because I can often see their point, even if I don’t happen to agree with them.
I'm just really not a person who gets angry easily... until this week. I have been just GNASHING mad this week – seemingly at everyone and everything. It's bad. I hate it. I don't like it even a little bit. I loathe feeling this way. What makes it worse, is that I find I've been overly angry about things that I, more times than not, would find to be a minor annoyance.
It then occurred to me this evening, I’m not angry about these above-described situations that seem to be making me angry; because those things just aren’t worth getting upset about (they’re really not when I sit down to think about them).
It turns out that I’m angry, because… well… because I’m angry.
Essentially I have a lot of anger towards the universe, or god, or the It, or whatever moniker you use to describe the force (if there is one, and I believe that there is something) that governs the universe. Not governs. Guides? Something? I don’t know, and this is getting way more theological than I mean it to.
Reeling myself back in…
Whatever this is... I’ll call it “the universe”... I’m mad at it. I’m mad at “the universe”. And I very much mean that on a metaphysical level, and in no way on a physical level, if THAT makes any sense at all.
And I’m upset with the universe (even though it’s done wonderfully cool things for me) because I’m going through this utter gender-swap nonsense.
Now, now, I don’t mean “nonsense” in the sense that going through this process (or the people who do so) is in any way nonsensical. I’m going through it myself, so I get how these feelings are not stupid in ANY way. I get that. Believe me, I do.
What I am saying, however, is that it shouldn’t even fucking MATTER if I’m a man or a woman. I mean, cosmically, or whatever. And I know that I am totally sounding like a neo-turbo-hippie, but c’mon. Why does it even matter if I’m a man or a woman? I’m still a person; and I am very much of the belief that men and women are completely equal and, as such, both should be treated with the most absolute of respect. So what does it matter what kind of packaging I have? That exterior shouldn't say anything about who the person inside is. I believe in this kind of shit... like really believe in it. So, again, why does this even matter to me?!
Additionally, and to switch gears slightly, I think that in a WAY lot of ways women have it worse off than guys. Sure, there are some sucky things about being a guy, but there’s a bunch of shitty things about being a girl. Giving up your sense of safety in unfamiliar environments (and sometimes familiar ones) is just a start, and it beats ALL of the bad things about being a guy hands DOWN (or, at least, that's how I tend to feel about it).
So, considering all that I said above, and taking into account that these are actually my legitimate feelings on the aforementioned topics, why then would I even WANT to be a girl?
Well, I kind of answered that in an earlier post – either I just AM a girl and this is me just trying to return to a kind of an emotional stasis with things… or… I’m crazy.
Let’s work on the premise that I’m not crazy. It may be a stretch, but humor me. : )
If I’m not crazy:
I still see being a girl as being tougher than being a guy, AND I feel that the sexes shouldn’t be treated with any lesser degree of respect. If someone else is a man or a woman, in a lot of ways it doesn’t matter to me on any level (especially so because I don't date, and if I did, I'm not sure it would matter what sex I was dating, just so long as I liked the person... but this is WAY off topic).
Men and women, in my eyes, are simply two different sets of people and neither is better than the other. Both are good. Both are great, in fact. So, all of this being said, why should it matter if I'm a man or woman? Is the masculine or the feminine (or some combination of them both) really infused into us in such a manner? Does it really govern us that much?
Well, I guess so. How could I, of all people, say that it doesn’t?
I’m not sure I like that about the universe, then. Though I could rationalize a bit and say that it is this way because it’s instinctual – it is necessary, or humans wouldn’t have propagated. All of this is SO instinctually ingrained in a person, because there's millennia of survival that wouldn't have happened if these things weren't this way (though I don't know that any of that would necessarily be true, I could still totally argue the point).
But when it comes to me and people like me, propagation has nothing to do with it, because it’s not like I can go through this to give birth. So, AGAIN, why does it matter if I am male or female? It’s highly unlikely that I will actually reproduce in any way, so, “universally” speaking, why make people go through this? Why make them endure this amount of nonsense? It’s stupid. It makes no sense on ANY level... and I am still going through it. I'm still going through all the ups and downs that come along with it. I'm still dealing with copious amounts of shit because of it. And I can't find any kind of logical reason why I should be doing this... I just know that I can't NOT do this.
And that is why I get pissed at the universe from time to time.
That’s not a good way to be. I have to find a way to correct this.
More to come on this topic.
All the best.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Itchy & Scratchy
Sometimes there are really interesting (though odd) things that go along with transitioning, and one of these occurred to me recently. I’ve been getting electrolysis treatments for the past 4 years or so, and FINALLY there seems to be some sign of decent progress. At this point in time I have very little visible hair left on my cheeks and on either side of my face. My chin is also starting to thin out, though there is more hair there than on my cheeks.
The hair that is remaining on my chin, however, has gotten softer and softer from the treatments. This hair also seems to be the hair on my face (when there actually is hair on my face... as I SO strive to be turbo-clean shaven at all times) that I notice the most. It’s the hair that I have the most contact with, because I tend to touch my chin more than any other part of my face (and I suspect most people would as well, but I have no idea if that is so, and I certainly don’t have the means nor the patience to conduct a comprehensive study on the topic).
Anyway, this thinner hair also comes in contact with my mouth. There’s that bit of hair – the “soul patch”, if you will – that sits right under the bottom lip, which, when the mouth is closed in certain ways, will rub against the inner part of the top lip. For those of you who have never experienced this, it creates an odd sensation, and it's actually very pleasant on a tactile level, as in it “feels cool”.
Over time, this sensation changes. It's smooth when you are younger, then you get a bit older and you start to feel that “peach fuzz” forming there. That’s a whole new sensation. Then every few years I guess, from the constant shaving, it getting rougher and rougher, which produces a whole new set of sensations until it finally levels off a bit a some point, then it’s just sort of "the way it is" for you, and it's not really noticed too much after that.
Recently, however, all of this has been disappearing for me. This feeling of constancy resting just below my bottom lip is going away.
Now this is a good thing for me. I DO want it to go away. This is not to say that I won’t miss the sensation sometimes. Additionally, there is no better a place to scratch an itch on the palm of your hand, or even an itch on the back of your hand, than on the round part of your chin. I am CERTAIN that I’ll miss this little trick... like when I actually have that itch and don’t know what to do to make it go away, because THAT is one. dogged. itch.
The weird thing about all of this, is that with these things going away and the hair on my chin getting softer and softer, it’s almost reminding me of being younger – of being in high school and things like that. The sensation of soft hair on my chin makes me thing of early adolescence. I wonder if no hair will make me think of childhood, if it’ll help me recall more of it.
Then, years from now (and almost ironically), the clean chin will become the feeling more identifiable with the post-40 age than with the childhood age, and the days where I had the interesting stubble on my face will fade into my past and become “when I was young”.
Hope you’re having a good day.
The hair that is remaining on my chin, however, has gotten softer and softer from the treatments. This hair also seems to be the hair on my face (when there actually is hair on my face... as I SO strive to be turbo-clean shaven at all times) that I notice the most. It’s the hair that I have the most contact with, because I tend to touch my chin more than any other part of my face (and I suspect most people would as well, but I have no idea if that is so, and I certainly don’t have the means nor the patience to conduct a comprehensive study on the topic).
Anyway, this thinner hair also comes in contact with my mouth. There’s that bit of hair – the “soul patch”, if you will – that sits right under the bottom lip, which, when the mouth is closed in certain ways, will rub against the inner part of the top lip. For those of you who have never experienced this, it creates an odd sensation, and it's actually very pleasant on a tactile level, as in it “feels cool”.
Over time, this sensation changes. It's smooth when you are younger, then you get a bit older and you start to feel that “peach fuzz” forming there. That’s a whole new sensation. Then every few years I guess, from the constant shaving, it getting rougher and rougher, which produces a whole new set of sensations until it finally levels off a bit a some point, then it’s just sort of "the way it is" for you, and it's not really noticed too much after that.
Recently, however, all of this has been disappearing for me. This feeling of constancy resting just below my bottom lip is going away.
Now this is a good thing for me. I DO want it to go away. This is not to say that I won’t miss the sensation sometimes. Additionally, there is no better a place to scratch an itch on the palm of your hand, or even an itch on the back of your hand, than on the round part of your chin. I am CERTAIN that I’ll miss this little trick... like when I actually have that itch and don’t know what to do to make it go away, because THAT is one. dogged. itch.
The weird thing about all of this, is that with these things going away and the hair on my chin getting softer and softer, it’s almost reminding me of being younger – of being in high school and things like that. The sensation of soft hair on my chin makes me thing of early adolescence. I wonder if no hair will make me think of childhood, if it’ll help me recall more of it.
Then, years from now (and almost ironically), the clean chin will become the feeling more identifiable with the post-40 age than with the childhood age, and the days where I had the interesting stubble on my face will fade into my past and become “when I was young”.
Hope you’re having a good day.
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