Memoir June 5 2014

“Know yourself, and to your own self be true.”

As a child I could these words terribly perplexing. Know yourself? How could I know myself? It seemed so nebulous. Indeed, how the hell could I not know myself? I am me, right? I did not feel to be of two (or more) minds or bodies. I was just jesse. Being. Here. Now.
It was not until adolescence that it was painfully obvious that most people hid their true selves, whether to conform to beauty culture raging in southern california, or out of desperation to find a mate, a home, a job, what ever they felt they needed to fill the void inside themselves that desire burned upon like a bonfire of dry leaves and twigs of uncertainty of self and belonging.

Years later in Honolulu it became far too obvious what the dangers, curses, blessings and gifts of knowing my self and being true to myself.
I had been going to my gender therapist for a few months, and determined that it would be appropriate for me to go to and endocrinologist and start hormone replacement therapy.
I had told my partner and wife christine the previous evening. We had a long and painful conversation.
The next morning as we lay in bed to the sound of cooing doves and chirping jays a blanket of dread covered us.
” i don’t want to be a transsexual!” i wept. yet i knew that i was transsexual and their was no avoiding it. I had had enough of being a vampire, hiding my personality during daylight hours with a stoic exterior, or masking it with liters of tequila.