tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59433122861367809412024-03-12T23:51:54.923-07:00Thoughts On TransitionJosie Nemohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10407767993809767834noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943312286136780941.post-91404725491365152562016-08-28T21:26:00.001-07:002016-08-28T21:26:24.277-07:00So, I should probably sit down and write something. My therapist is reading this blog and she wanted me to post something. She gave me some questions, but I'm going to talk about more than that.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>What do I do when I feel stuck at my house?</b><br />
Once recently I went on a bike ride, but mostly I just talk to people on the internet. It feels like socializing and I tend to say more than I do when I hang out in person. Plus everyone I talk to online knows I'm a girl. There are people I've met who I don't correct when they misgender me, because it scares me to confront them.<br />
<br />
<b>The experience of riding your bike through a small town?</b><br />
Honestly, it's been positive so far. When I nod to people, they mostly nod back. The part I really don't liek is that I'm so out of shape that biking has become hard for me.<br />
<br />
<b>What gets in my way?</b><br />I think fear? And a lack of motivation. When I last applied for a job, anxiety attacks stopped me from scheduling an interview. I think out these elaborate issues with each thing I want to attempt to do and it stops me. Also, not having energy to do things. Not having the desire to do them.<br />
<br />
Other things: I recently broke it off with all my partners. All five of them. I don't have a lot of regrets about this, other than that I regret I stopped being into those relationships. Now I've developed a somewhat shitty crush on another girl I met online.Josie Nemohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10407767993809767834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943312286136780941.post-77105583847596458542016-05-06T22:41:00.001-07:002016-05-06T22:42:16.826-07:00Something I submitted for a zine but never heard back aboutSo, I don't cry. Not easily at least. Usually I go months without crying. Not for lack of wanting or trying. There are so many things that make me /want/ to cry, too many to list here, but chief among them the hopelessness of my own life. I have spent nights with my face buried in a pillow, shouting into it, "Cry, damn you," but I just can't seem to. The only things that really make me cry are happy things, like when a partner does something that makes joy bloom in my heart. This is pretty rare, I can go days without even smiling.<br />
<br />
Crying is an emotional release, one I desperately wish I had more access to. I'm sullenly envious of the girls who say they cried all day. I wish I could do that, to release this heavy burden on my heart. I can't, though. My face remains slack and my eyes remain dry. I can't cry. I can tell you what makes me hurt, but I can't tell my face that.<br />
<br />
Maybe it's the childhood of isolation, maybe it's all the time I spent denying my own feelings, but whatever it is, my ability to cry is broken. Even writing this, I want to cry, but it brings me no tears. I remain stolid, stoic, seemingly-unfeeling. I am so jealous of your tears. So don't curse them, hold them to be something sacred. Because they are. You can feel and you can cry and that, to me, is a wonder. If you can cry, cry for me. Thank you.Josie Nemohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10407767993809767834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943312286136780941.post-41504804480090354722016-05-06T22:40:00.002-07:002016-05-06T22:40:54.853-07:00Short story I was working on, but have since abandoned<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-12691c4f-89ba-8d21-6168-585beb81cd07" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Ours is a story not told.” (too dramatic, but lampshade it?) I surveyed the room as I said this.</span></div>
<br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Meeting in the laundry room of the same apartment building. Awkward fumblings and getting to know yous.</span></div>
<br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">If we had sex, would I still be a lesbian?</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I think so -I turn and look away- but some people don’t think so, they think I’m a man</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Shh shh shh, I don’t think you’re a man.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Do you think I’m a woman?</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Of course I do, I always have. Ever since I first saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I’m not beautiful</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Don’t say that</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Well, I’m not</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Don’t say that to me</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Why not</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Because that’s really how I see you</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">How could you? I’m so hideous.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">-she traces a finger along my cheekbone- No</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I am</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">-she grabs my hand away from where they’re twisting knots into my hair and holds them together- No. Listen to me</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">-I look away-</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Listen to me. You’re not ugly. I do like you. Here, let me kiss you again</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">-she guides my face back to hers with her hand. tears are streaming down my face, but my lips meet hers and it’s like drinking the nectar from a thousand blossoms-</span></div>
<br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">They start fooling around again</span></div>
<br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Can I touch it?</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You can, I hope you don’t get grossed out.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">No, I wouldn’t -she puts her hand down my pants-</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s just different, I haven’t touched one of these before.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s gross, I’m sorry</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">-she takes her hand out of my pants and rests it on my jawline. I look back at her-</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">No, it’s just different. Something new. That isn’t bad.</span></div>
<br /><br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I want to do it</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You do?</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Just take off your clothes</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">-I take everything off but leave my panties on-</span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Really?</span>Josie Nemohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10407767993809767834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943312286136780941.post-22058340770485997132015-03-06T13:14:00.004-08:002015-03-06T13:15:09.646-08:00<i>Here’s something I wrote awhile ago in response to</i> <a href="https://sites.google.com/site/dear15yearoldme/how-you-can-help">Dear 15 Year Old Me - Letters of Hope for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Teens</a> <i>project.</i> <br />
<br />
Sparrowhawk,<br />
<br />
Let’s
get to the point. Right now, you’re 15-years old. About to start your
sophomore year of High School. You end up quitting band and joining the
swim team in an attempt to be less of a nerdy loser (you’re not a nerd,
but a geek amirite?) and get back in shape. This was after a summer
where you probably spent more time hiding inside and feeling like shit
than anything. Right now? It’s probably one of the best chances to turn
things around. I know it’s when you became deeply ashamed of your own
body while simultaneously becoming fascinating (maybe even obsessed)
with intersex and transsexual people. I know you’re excited enough about
the very idea that, despite not understanding the proper context,
you’ll listen when I promise to tell you how it relates to you. Because
it does relate to you. And it’s vitally important - it’s the key to so
much of the misery you’re suffering through.<br />
<br />
The people whose
idea it was to write a letter want it to be a letter of hope, but that’s
something I’m short on, so I’m going to give you context. And I’m going
to give you advice. I’m going to warn you. And that’s what you need -
not hope, but understanding. Because I believe in you. I believe in you
so much more than I believe in myself. Because no one knows you better
than I do… no one knows the challenges you’ve faced and how much hope
you’ve already lost. I know you’re confused and becoming increasingly
bitter. I know you’re thinking about killing yourself more and more
often. I know that so many people have tried to fix you. But I also know
what they don’t know, what they’d never realize in a million years:
you’re a girl. And a lesbian.<br />
<br />
Please bear with me when I say
that, even though you probably want to rip this up right now! It might
seem like I’m trying to insult you like all the people that have teased
you, but they’re trying to find a way to hurt you through your
insecurities and single you for all the ways you never fit in. You like
to dress weird, you like to keep to yourself, you like to read, you
generally like your hair long or if it’s short, to be nice looking (oh
yeah, and forget about bleaching your hair with racing stripes - you’re
gonna get called a skunk, but more to the point it just doesn’t turn out
the way you want… in fact, now would be a good time to stop letting
your mom cut your hair - if you can get into the cosmetology program at
the Jacobetti Center, years of avoiding shitty haircuts and having an
employable skill will be worth it), you like to use your imagination,
you’re a vegetarian, you don’t like cruel people, you don’t ditch class,
and you’re committed to remaining sober. You like to write a lot and
other kids are scared of how smart you are and how unwilling you are to
back down, but they always out-number you or out-muscle you.<br />
<br />
So… I
know you. It’s taken me until I’m nearly twice your age to realize
this, even though there were earlier chances. We’re both stubborn
people. That can be our best quality at times or it can be our most
self-injurious. In this case the stubbornness of our denial is the
latter. And I know it doesn’t feel good to admit who you are, because on
some level it makes the bullies seem right, doesn’t it? But they’re not
right… they’re assholes. That they call you girly has nothing to do
with you a girl, trust me… it has to do with them trying to attack your
identity in a way that society has taught you devalues it. If you
retorted to them that you were a girl, they’d eat their words and call
you ‘gay’ (or some undeniably pejorative synonym), implying you’re a boy
who likes boys. They don’t care what garbage they say, as long as it
hurt you. Remember, these are the same people who call you stupid and
speculate on your race, they’re really not perceptive or insightful. And
you’re not weak for finding what they say hurt - stick and stones may
break bones, but only words can make you slit your wrists. Which I know
is tempting at times, but promise me that you at least consider what I
have to say here and give it more weight than their words.<br />
<br />
It’s
okay to feel ashamed - society taught you that. Mom, specifically, has
always tried to mold you into her little prince - not just to be a boy,
but to be a very specific boy. And people in schools have always
reinforced that. Remember when we first moved to Marquette and we were
in that stupid play? When you put on the shirt with the ruffled sleeves
or whatever and got teased mercilessly for it? While red is gauche,
there’s nothing else wrong with you having worn that, regardless of what
was said. And yet from that point on you were very careful. Remember
when you told your best friend about how you thought you should have big
boobs? He scoffed, but you just thought that would be the most
proportional for your already broadening shoulders. But you remembered
that and internalized it, never realizing that your thoughts of breasts
were informed not just by lustful desire, but the desire for your body
to be different. Yeah, I know the things you’re ashamed of and… I don’t
care. I know you wonder what people would think, how you’d be judged for
the thoughts you have, but there’s nothing wrong with your thoughts.<br />
<br />
In
fact I want to encourage you! I’d like to be able to be your guide on
this, but I know that just telling you what I’ve told you so far, your
future will be so much better than my past. I want you to encourage you
to stay interested in being fit and strong - but don’t just swim or
bike. There’s something called Cuong Nhu taught locally, you should look
into that, as well as Tai Chi, Yoga, and meditation - they’ll
eventually help you manage your thinking better as well as other more
obvious benefits. You might also want to try coding in Java again,
getting into the school’s video-journalism program (ignore the
jackasses), sticking to free-swimming (ugh, locker room, I know), and
backing up your computer more often (not on floppy disks! trust me), and
getting a better summer job than just delivering newspapers (again,
cosmetology is worth looking into - even if you don’t stick with it,
it’s a good back-up), and working harder on your science homework (I
know biology is way too focused on dissecting things and chemistry is
hard, but you’re going to want to know those things, even if you’re
encouraged to be an artist instead).<br />
<br />
I also want to tell you -
staying sober is a good call. I know what you’re going to have to do to
live life in a way that is actually satisfying and I know it’s not easy,
so you might want to cope somehow. If you do… try to stick to pot. And
if you drink, try not to drink more than a few beers. It might sound
silly, but when you go someplace while people are doing that, focus on
dancing and moving. I know you’re more interested in writing, art,
ideas, and escapism such as role-play, but you have to be prepared to
cope with what other people think is normal, especially since you’re not
going to want to embrace it (nor should you, much of it is bollocks -
stick to working hard, learn to think more critical - as in formal
logical not just doubt, broadening your perspective on
race/class/gender/language/art/science/feminism, and above all - getting
the hell out of that town)!<br />
<br />
And I want to tell you, just because
you’re a girl, doesn’t mean you have to be a certain type of girl. I
want you to know that the two places you want to go to college (and yes,
take that year of school off after you graduate, don’t let mom bully
you into going directly to NMU, make sure you try to get good grades so
Northland and MSU accept you, but if you can get out to California to
live with Aunt Amy - despite her being hippy dippy and married to a
total jerk - do it) as well as many other places will accept you no
matter how you live. If you don’t want to shave your legs or get surgery
downstairs, you don’t have to. Right now it’s mostly important that you
pursue options that will allow you to become more independent, so you
can have more choices in life.<br />
<br />
I also suggest reading more
authors like Joan Slonczewski, doing more research into what
‘transition’ is (and if anyone tells you absolutely have to do it a
certain way, you don’t have to listen, you don’t need the burden of
their insecurities). I know that to some degree you don’t trust doctors
and anyone in the psych field, but if you look there are already people
(albeit far away) that can help you (and no, you don’t need
antidepressants - of all the drugs you could take, these will cause you
the most trouble, because it’s your life that makes you miserable, not
your misery that makes your life) with a) understanding what it is to be
a girl (feminists, as well as the women you already idolize, are a good
starting place), b) with the actual medical aspects of transition c)
and finding a community of somewhat like-minded individuals. <br />
<br />
This
is probably a lot for you to take in, but I also know it’s stuff you
need to know right now. Take some time, let the thesis of this letter
sink in: you a girl, you’re a transsexual, and you’re a lesbian. And all
that is not just okay, but awesome. Why is it awesome? Because knowing
yourself to that degree will make you happy and it’s that context, that
missing piece that you keep looking for in life. I know it’s hard to
believe you’ll ever be the person I describe, but you are that person.
When you deny it, it’s by putting on that mask and armor that I know
weighs you down every day, that hurts you, that becomes the jar filled
with inky hate. Yes. That. That is what that weight is, that is what
that feeling of isolation is, that feeling of being trapped, that
constant frustration. I know it’s hard to believe, but I also know
you’ve always wanted guidance from your future self… so here it is. I
love you more than I could possibly love myself (and you know, due to
differences in timelines, that that’s not a paradoxical statement) and I
want you to someday be able to love yourself again, too. So please just
trust me on this? Because someday I hope to meet you, looking the
mirror.<br />
<br />
With love, <br />
Panther Variable<br />
<br />
reposted from: <a href="http://josienemo.tumblr.com/post/76322016045/heres-something-i-wrote-awhile-ago-in-response-to">http://josienemo.tumblr.com/post/76322016045/heres-something-i-wrote-awhile-ago-in-response-to</a>Josie Nemohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10407767993809767834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943312286136780941.post-52994835040402123092014-12-16T20:48:00.003-08:002014-12-16T20:52:47.552-08:00How Depression and Dysphoria can become a feedback loop.It's pretty easy to call into a feedback loop between depression and dysphoria. First, there are many overlapping symptoms, not limited to : feeling bad about oneself, feeling futureless, losing motivation, etc.<br />
<br />
To help stem off dysphoria, it's often important to do things to regulate one's appearance. For me, shaving, having decent nails, being clean, and wearing clean clothes help. However, when one is depressed, it's often very hard to do these things.<br />
<br />
In turn, that leads to more dysphoric feelings, which tend to also be depressing. In turn, one's self-care lapses further, or becomes harder to keep up with, until you're a mess who can barely get out of bed, if at all. It's not complicated, but breaking out of it is hard.<br />
<br />
You have to find the motivation (how? where?) to begin that selfcare and bring it to a level where dysphoria weighs on you minimally. That itself can be exhausting and lead to more depression and a return to intensified dysphoria.<br />
<br />
And this is why transition is often so important - if I complete permanent hair removal on my face, I will never have the sinking feeling of seeing stubble or the frustration of having a beard-shadow despite shaving that stubble off. That seemingly minor change gives me back some time and effort and it also keeps me from starting off on the wrong foot when I go to the bathroom in the morning and glance at the mirror.<br />
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This is a vast oversimplification, not taking into account how other people's loos and comments can trigger dyphoria, how observing cultural norms can trigger it, or how the world being fucked can make us depressed. But you begin to get the idea.Josie Nemohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10407767993809767834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943312286136780941.post-31049984459023922712014-12-16T20:08:00.000-08:002014-12-16T20:13:56.630-08:00On #ThisTweetCalledMyBack and #KnowYourHistory and why I find it so upsettingThese are some thought stemming from reading: http://know--your--history.tumblr.com/post/105347135300/knowyourhistory<br />
<br />
Being me, I'm not nearly as conciliatory as its anonymous author. Why should I be when I've publicly flipped out in rage over this topic? And have different grievances, vague grievances unlike those specific grievance in the above link.<br />
<br />
Months ago, I block Lauren Chief Elk on Twitter. I'm not the most tolerant person, but I felt my identity as a mixed-Potawatomi trans woman was being erased by her. It's so long ago that I don't what she said. And I thought she was a trivial enough asshole so as not to screencap.<br />
<br />
Well, recently a rather problematic hashtag called #ThisTweetCalledMyBack started. On the one hand, it's great to call out activists who denigrate online activism. On the other hand, there was a lot of irony in that, as LCE and many cosigners had acted similarly towards other online activists.<br />
<br />
Several of those people made ignorant claims about appropriation or being looped out of the narrative. Ironic, as those claims on appropriation relied on weak arguments that failed to examine the evidence, instead relying on an appeal to their authority. Further ironic, because they themselves were acting appropriatively and looping people out of the conversation.<br />
<br />
For example, it's admirable to talk about how black people are systemically and violently oppressed by colonial anti-blackness (including in countries where colonies originated, it's worth noting). What's troubling is there's often an erasure and appropriation of the systemic oppression that Native Americans have suffered for years preceding black slavery (the first slaves in America were Native Americans, the first people raped in America were Native Americans, the first people killed for not being of enough use to their masters were native Americans). Nor did the oppression and genocide of Natives end when that of Black people began. It has continued to this day in which if we examine the proportions of how police violence affects people by race, Native Americans rank up there with black people - making it inaccurate to claim that all non-black people of colour do not understand. Yes, Native have a different understanding, true - but an equally valid one as well.<br />
<br />
And I've found many mixed voices silenced, especially trans women. It's a lot to unpack, but the mixed experience amount to more than such simplifications as 'passing privilege' or 'colourism'. Many of us do not pass and our racial ambiguity results in strange treatment, very little of it positive, much of it sexualized, degraded, and subject to violence. And there are often privileges we do not have - like that of community. Everyone is lucky to have a community who does. Many of us don't fit in the communities of either of our parents and thus we have only our direct family.<br />
<br />
Look, I don't blame them. I have made plenty of insular, shitty, offensive judgements in the past. I will continue to. And I understand how emotions can make it hard to approach things rationally, so I have some sympathy for LCE and cohort. But please keep in mind, they're about as flawed as the rest of us. And aggrandizement of anyone, including them, is no answer.<br /><br />Update:<br /><br />As you may no, I recently received notification that one of my short stories had won an indigenous writing contest with a rather large prize. That LCE and friends are willing to doxx their critics makes me understandably more nervous about the notification email that asked for my Social Security Number (I have not yet provided it). Even if it's not LCE etc, it's clear that they've contributed to an unfortunate climate of fear.Josie Nemohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10407767993809767834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943312286136780941.post-17179598013757737712014-12-13T17:15:00.001-08:002014-12-13T17:15:36.261-08:00In support of Chelsea Poe's call to stop using stigmatizing language in pornRecently Chelsea Poe <a href="http://www.xojane.com/sex/chelsea-poe-shemale-slur-petition" target="_blank">wrote a call</a> to stop using the term 'shemale' and other slurs against transwomen in porn. She touched on many reasons to do this, but one reminded me of something that still hurts today. Many people can choose to ignore porn or not look at it critically, but as she says,<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="ng-scope" itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Article"><div class="ng-scope">
"For trans people, we don't have that same disconnect from porn.</div>
<div class="ng-scope">
<br /></div>
<div class="ng-scope">
For
most of us it's our first exposure to what trans-ness is. The terms
that accompany our first exposure to trans women’s bodies are terms like
“Shemale,” “Tranny” or “TS,” terms to pointedly shame those who have
these bodies and those who are attracted to these bodies."</div>
</span></blockquote>
The language and stereotyping portrayals of trans women in porn made it impossible for me to truly relate when I was first questioning my gender in my early teens. The dehumanizing nature of these portrayals made trans women a taboo, a secret shame. There was something so important about seeing them, but I could never let myself relate. How could I be like these women when they were portrayed as not being women or men, but exotic creatures that existed only for male lust (because they did not portray Lesbian trans women like myself, that's for sure)?<br /><br />The idea that trans women were 'traps', out to trick men into having sex relies on the trope of trans people as being deceptive, implying we are not genuinely the gender we identify as. How could my adolescent thoughts understand transition when the only way it was presented to me (in porn) was as some kind of tricky, a falseness. How could I ever transition? All there ever was was boob-jobs and anal or oral sex with men. That didn't into what I wanted for myself. I could never be them. And even if I could, why try when that's the only possibility for a life as a trans woman that was presented to me? And so it grew into a secret shame, instead of a path to transition.<br /><br />A decade and a half passed before I let myself revisit those feelings. This time I had learned that trans people are like anyone else. Finally I could understand myself in the context of womanhood. With the advent of cam shows (live video broadcasts by porn model), trans women were granted a greater degree of autonomy of their self-expression. While it was still often problematic (between how websites categorized us and how some of us retransmitted the tropes we had learned), some of it served as that gateway of rehumanization. For the first time transition became a relatable thing, something I could do. Living as a trans lesbian became something I could do. Reading and learning more? Became something I had to do.<br /><br />And so I began transitioning. It has been both the hardest and most rewarding thing in my life. But I can't help but wonder - if my first exposure to trans women had been more positive, maybe I would have waited so long. Those are years I regret losing, the secret shame of my feelings about myself something I never should have had to bear.<br /><br />And even now, I have seen another shame that comes from this. Because of the fetishization of trans women, trans women who are attracted to trans women of feel some shame. Many of us were those silent yearners, looking for a mirror in porn. When we learned about fetishizers (often what we call chasers, people who tend to pursue trans women solely, often spouting cliches and stereotypes at us, but also often paying the bills when we go on cam or do a porn shoot), some of us felt like we were implicated as well, even though our motivations and interests are different.<br /><br />So please read Chelsea's post (linked to above) and sign her <a href="https://www.change.org/p/mainstream-trans-porn-sites-who-market-models-as-shemales-give-them-motivation-to-change-the-use-of-the-term" target="_blank">petition </a>(linked to here). It could change the life of a young woman for the better. And given the rate of suicide trans people endure, it might even save some lives.Josie Nemohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10407767993809767834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943312286136780941.post-35548040179547143482014-09-04T09:01:00.005-07:002014-09-04T09:05:28.868-07:00Leg-shaving pro-tip<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Recently I figured out a way to make shaving my legs quicker, easier,
less-harmful, and cheaper! Sounds too good to be believed, but it is for
real! And it only requires a few things:</div>
<br />
1) Buy some new razors. Not anything fancy. In fact, what you want a dollar-store double-bladed razors. They are the <b>key </b>to this working, this is the main step. They look something like the razor on the left, the razor on the right is what you want to avoid:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqGJizGXmpekIP3-GlxW-XH6CHhZFFx9bzSsNL_rB4b7qEI42OBxQeVOioP2y7AhdYQP1yZDZqmAJtrqhLBa7Otbr_iPP-g7tMYkTY6xQfnrfFulJnrfoPfmRlCZhhDGwUCXIYP6jdPrw/s1600/140904_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqGJizGXmpekIP3-GlxW-XH6CHhZFFx9bzSsNL_rB4b7qEI42OBxQeVOioP2y7AhdYQP1yZDZqmAJtrqhLBa7Otbr_iPP-g7tMYkTY6xQfnrfFulJnrfoPfmRlCZhhDGwUCXIYP6jdPrw/s1600/140904_001.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzcA6wSq4x3aOzQhmDXo3FsdMKFGQfRBnAbF9VhxFlveDnn-6Q-iHMQMHY8pc9EVIDWHmc7uFyvxZerrYMTt-9Sre0sLejRDfVX6pfgX4qVZk0b9hVcQ0WzhP6m7GUpE3R9KFMUS0tIdk/s1600/140904_002.jpg" height="150" width="200" /><br />
<br />
(Click pictures to embiggen for more detail - left razor has two widely spaced blade, right razor has three narrowly-space blades, apologies for not having sharper pictures)<br />
<br />
Why the cheaper razor? Because widely-spaced blades don't really clog with hairs like the closely-spaced blades do. This makes shaving much quicker.<br />
<br />
2) Shave <b>with </b>the grain of your leg hair. This prevents getting <i>too close</i> of a shave and avoids pushing your hair follicles under your skin, avoiding in-grown hairs.<br />
<br />
3) Bonus tip: to release hairs from your razor when it finally does get
somewhat cloggy, push the razor along an unshaved (so as not to push the
follicles in, though this is less of a concern) but relatively hairless
area of your arm/stomach/leg. Your skin will grab the hair wad from
between the blades and then you may continue shaving.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNKJx7ufkfke8vor_aUYUBq8G99AJnxexpKnqkBRwp00qbET1SA-zuLMIia8jqed5dNU5JhpifK2Yh-QlJgrOf8PaeOGtYeIE2YKyg7WER5LbmSrkkdiBI7dYW82eDJ4wZav8RCfgtdQI/s1600/140904_003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNKJx7ufkfke8vor_aUYUBq8G99AJnxexpKnqkBRwp00qbET1SA-zuLMIia8jqed5dNU5JhpifK2Yh-QlJgrOf8PaeOGtYeIE2YKyg7WER5LbmSrkkdiBI7dYW82eDJ4wZav8RCfgtdQI/s1600/140904_003.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
Picture shows handle of razor facing right, with the head
of the razor flat against my skin. You want to push the razor to the
right in this orientation, away from as opposed to into the blades<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That's all there is to it! I hope this helps make shaving your legs quicker, easier,
less-harmful, and cheaper too!Josie Nemohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10407767993809767834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5943312286136780941.post-54992030750643358222014-09-02T08:33:00.003-07:002014-09-02T08:42:55.681-07:00Can you understand?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 <b>not </b>all about being trans. In this blog I will do my best to explain all this.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="storify" style="float:left;margin:10px;width:50%;height:100%">
<iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="no" src="//storify.com/JosieNemo/transition-timeline/embed?header=false&border=false" width=50%></iframe><script src="//storify.com/JosieNemo/transition-timeline.js?header=false&border=false"></script><noscript>[<a href="//storify.com/JosieNemo/transition-timeline" target="_blank">View the story "Transition timeline" on Storify</a>]</noscript></div>
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.<br />
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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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
For a long time, the thought, "I don't <i>want</i> to be a <i>man</i>," 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:<br />
<ul>
<li>shaved my head repeatedly (always when having a a self-hating nervous break down) - and I love my hair, I love having it long</li>
<li>grown facial hair, despite hating beards and mustaches and being very physically uncomfortable</li>
<li>had sexual intercourse, despite being sex-repulsed asexual (more on this in a future post</li>
<li>worn some truly ugly clothes</li>
<li>worn clothes several size too large to fit my parents expectations and to hide the body that i was ashamed to have</li>
<li>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</li>
<li>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</li>
</ul>
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:<br />
<br />
Initially I conflated the gender expression I defaulted to and was comfortable with, androgyny, with my gender. But the more I read of <a href="http://gender.wikia.com/wiki/Androgyne">androgynes</a> 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 <i>right</i>. It's hard to quantify gender identity, but it's real.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <i>now</i>, I had to enjoy <i>all </i>the things.<br />
<br />
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>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.</i><br />
<ul>
</ul>
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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) <i>might</i> 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 <i>still </i>visible and causes me to be misread as male).<br />
<br />
It also doesn't help with the college debt (declaring bankruptcy is <a href="http://www.ecmc.org/details/bankruptcyStudentLoans.html">unlikely</a> 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.<br />
<br />
So now I'm trying to raise money. And I know it can be done, people <i>will</i> give, but it's an uphill battle I shouldn't <i>have to</i> 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!Josie Nemohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10407767993809767834noreply@blogger.com0