Can you understand what it's like to be a transsexual woman? No. In my experience, even other trans women have a hard time understanding each others' experiences. And I will show you things some of you might be able to understand - my struggles are
not all about being trans. In this blog I will do my best to explain all this.
When I was young, I had a lot of dreams about wombs and learned a lot about anatomical differences between men and women. In combination with the affirmation that my gender expression could be anything while my gender would remain as a boy, this reinforced the biologically-essential view of gender.
The biologically essential view is that your genes/genitals/etc determine your gender instead of you yourself having the right to determine that. Gender is contained within the 'essence' of biology. And variant gender expression is acceptable because nothing about it can change your gender in this view, it's set by your biology, immutable.
That may seem rather theoretical, but it's that thinking that led me to view what I learned about transsexualism as basically being unreal, something I could /never/ aspire to, that would just make me a freak.
But over the years, I found it impossible to deny that trans women are women. And when I was eventually confronted with the clearly-stated 'scientific' view (which is pretty firmly rejected by science) that gender is biologically set, I realized I couldn't take it anymore. I started realizing that the essentialist lie had trapped me too.
For a long time, the thought, "I don't
want to be a
man," echoed in my mind, seemingly at odds with the thought, "I wish I could grow up, I'm sick of being a child." To try facilitate the latter though I have, over the years:
- shaved my head repeatedly (always when having a a self-hating nervous break down) - and I love my hair, I love having it long
- grown facial hair, despite hating beards and mustaches and being very physically uncomfortable
- had sexual intercourse, despite being sex-repulsed asexual (more on this in a future post
- worn some truly ugly clothes
- worn clothes several size too large to fit my parents expectations and to hide the body that i was ashamed to have
- ran from and learned to hate make-up because on some level i know it would out me and/or force me confront how I felt inside
- shunned queer pride things... something I'm still struggling with. not because homophobia, but because I have a hard time feeling I'd belong there
And that is a far-from comprehensive list. Which is why a blog is necessary. What I have to write about this could fit in several book volumes. Here, we can explore it in a less-strict and hopefully more accessible format. Continuing on:
Initially I conflated the gender expression I defaulted to and was comfortable with, androgyny, with my gender. But the more I read of
androgynes and the more I compared it to being a trans woman, the more I realized that the latter was what fit me, what had always fit me, and where I felt comfortable and
right. It's hard to quantify gender identity, but it's real.
So I my fledgling transition finally caught wind and I began to move forward. At this time I was involved in some quasi-legal activities to make money, since it had been several years since I'd managed to hold a job (one that I had gained through nepotism, more on my troubles working in a future post), much less a well-paying one.
Some of the first advice I found was rather bad - overcome depression before trying to transition. So the over $300 I made in my quasi-legal activities all went towards seeing a rather clueless therapist, some self-care, and finally on drinking.
I also found a local local-income volunteer-based health provider. They would not start me on HRT, but wanted to refer me to the sole endocrinologist in town, an appointment that would have required the money I had just spent and possibly more (though not all up front). So at my doctor's urging I worked to secure an appointment, the soonest opening being six months hence. The health-provider's office claimed this violated their policy, despite the fact that it didn't - I was pursuing this lead with my doctor's permission.
But soon that doctor (who was as helpful as she knew how to be), had
rotated out to a placement working in another town. And my replacement
was... less accepting. Her plan involved me getting on anti-depressants.
And to their credit, the anti-depressants worked - sort of. They pushed
me from depression into mania and hypomania, driving me to drink to
manage the overwhelming feelings I now felt. In classic manic style, the
money I had made (which had stopped flowing in because the friend who I
relied on to help me stopped, so they could pursue their hobby of
vandalism... I mean their hobby of graffiti) evaporated as I spent it
without judgement. I could no longer focus on productive things in my
slow depressed way, I had to have the world
now, I had to enjoy
all the things.
As
you might imagine, this severely derailed my transition. Realizing that
I needed to get off that anti-depressant before I completely
self-destructed, I quit it. During the withdrawal, my depression and
loathing of the world and friends got worse. The not-friends I had
tolerated because of the hypomanic feelings became intolerable. I quit
drinking, though and started to put my life back together. I quit
cigarettes again, a habit I had picked up again as a social tic to feel
the 'need need need' manic feelings.
I came out to my mom for the first time, only for her to tell me that no matter what I'd still be her son.
And then it was winter. I hate winter. I hate the cold. I hate the barren limbs of trees. I hate the ugly white snow that is only rarely charming, but mostly like an oppressive blanket draped over the world, rendering it lifeless. I didn't get much done. Over the past four or five years I've been embracing art again and trying to finally start a business I've dreamed of for years: screenprinting t-shirts with designs and sayings I've made. Instead, I almost killed myself several times - if it wasn't for my best friend (who understands a lot of where I'm coming from) proactively interceding, I probably would have.
Finally, it was spring. And this year that meant the expansion of Medicaid. Repeatedly pushed to apply for it, I got accepted. This was basically the best news up until that point. I had learned my lesson about doctors - upon being told that I had to choose my primary care provider, I picked a nurse practitioner. Why? Because in my experience, the nurses had always made effort to be accepting where the doctors had had a harder time doing so. I have friends who've studied nursing and have had many nurses as friends. Even reading online, I see far more doubt directed at transsexuals by doctors than by nurses.
And my judgement paid off. Within a few sessions I was prescribed to HRT. My NP was responsive to my needs as a patient. Now, there are limitations - someday, after jumping through hoops, my orchiectomy (testicle removal, maybe more on this in a future post... probably not)
might be covered (and legally it is, but medically there's a lot of gatekeeping, "for my own benefit," which is... not beneficial), but the far-more pressing facial hair removal (I can shave, I can put make-up on, I can be on HRT for months now, but... it's
still visible and causes me to be misread as male).
It also doesn't help with the college debt (declaring bankruptcy is
unlikely to excuse them) I accrued while trying to figure out my life years before transition, resulting in the failure of many classes I would have otherwise excelled at, and nervous breakdowns that resulting in dropping out of school approximately five time. It doesn't help me legally change my name or birth certificate (which can be costly) so that the way introduce and present myself matches my 'legal identity' - which is a further barrier to work and a source of constant stress when some places are required to use that legal identity, which results in misgendering and being referred to by a name that's not who I am. Which might seem minor (I guess? it seems pretty major to me), but it's absolutely crushing, each time hurts and each time adds up.
So now I'm trying to raise money. And I know it can be done, people
will give, but it's an uphill battle I shouldn't
have to fight. At the urging of a friend, I'm trying to write this so people can see that contributing is very important. There will be more posts in this series, this is just a brief introduction. Some upcoming posts will cover mental health, the United States healthcare system, my difficulties working, my struggle with school, and other topics. This post will be updated as time goes on, with links to subsequent posts. Thank you for reading!
