Prismatic fixation

Prismatic fixation

She is dressed, seasonably warmly, on this unseasonably warm December 22 day. If she had still been married, today: December 22 would’ve been her tenth anniversary. But that had not come to pass.  Winter solstice was no longer the celebration of love, but now of a love lost.

Brilliant sunshine’s and a crystal blue sky across Santa Barbara, her new home. She found herself quite by accident here, surrounded by the Spanish colonial architecture of her childhood she found new strength and a whole new clarity of vision

When her ex-wife left her for becoming a woman, she had completely lost her footing, offer feet she found her some of exiles to the hinterlands of Virginia. There, in Urbanna, without any help without any belief that life whatever get better, she found herself in a nasty motorcycle accident hit by a careless police officer.

Parking her old Lexus sedan on a side street she walked to her gym. Sweat rose on her arms in the heat of bright sun. Santa Barbara was known for its pleasant weather. Her first winter in Santa Barbara have been high in a 500 year drought, which had all the trees blooming in the middle of December.

She wondered if Santa Barbara could burn through all the evil karma, the way the sun burned through the velvet of her blue dress.  It burned through a divorce from her soulmate, perhaps she was, would, and will be free.

Know yourself, and to your own self be true.

Know yourself, and to your own self be true.

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.

Chain Reaction: Genetics, Body Image and Body Dysphoria

Chain Reaction: Genetics, Body Image and Body Dysphoria

Body Image and Dysphoria: I hate my body. Why are my mind and genetics at odds?

I quit letting Mary Jane dominate my life about a month ago. As a result, I am not able to disassociate as easily from the pain of having this body. Look at myself in mirror is painful. having the wrong genitalia is making me wonder if I will ever be comfortable enough in my body to have sex again. I know I will need many surgeries. Will I be ever able to afford the medical care I so desperately need?

I went on a hike this weekend with a local group of lesbians. I had a really good time, as I often do with friends who allow me to live in the relationship, but when pictures of me started to be posted online I was just reminded of how masculine my features are. People tell me I have a great smile. Wonderful. I wish I could feel the same way. It’s hard sometimes to not feel like I went from being a beautiful man to being an average woman.

I have always had a heavy build even as a baby. I have a rather nordic build, am six feet and two and a stout hundred kilos. This causes me to envy other transwomen I meet whose skeleton does not immediately out them. Although I have met other xx women my height, they usually have a much more delicate bone structure. And I always feel a kinship with them, knowing how we both cannot find clothes off the rack easily. I come from tall people. On my maternal grandmother’s side they are five foot ten women and six foot six men. I suppose my massive bones have been a benefit when I’ve been hit by cars, perhaps pain in life comes from many vectors, and this scar on my soul is what has impacted me.

I feel like my size often outs me. If I speak on the phone people cannot see how large I am, so they often misgender me and I have to correct them. It’s annoying, but feels like a minor point compared having doubts I will never be able to enjoy sex completely and without reservation.

I also realize that looking at my childhood my chronic depression has been lifelong. It never really hit me until the trifecta of my mother’s cancer, my parents breakup, and her death hit me at ages 9-12. It feels like a genetic predisposition, which, considering my paternal grandmother killed herself a couple of years before I was born it is quite likely.

Compared to other genetic dis-eases mine would perhaps seem trivial to most. I wish I could feel the same way. That I am still generally able bodied has probably increased my internalized guilt, shame, and transphobia for being who I am. I hope that through this process of writing perhaps I can better understand myself, and the cosmos I experience.

Pejorative Amazons

Pejorative Amazons

Trigger warning: hate speech terms.
I went to a late Fourth of July party last night with my parents. It was composed of mostly their friends people of retirement age or older. As I have been living with my parents for the past few months I’ve grown accustomed to the differences with older folks and younger folks. Of course there are other classics, a lack of keen eyesight inability to sense what’s around them, and other dulled senses like hearing.
As a man I was taller than just about every other man around me now that I’m a woman I’m still taller than everyone and I stick out like a sore thumb. I was in the 95th percentile for men, but now I’m in the 99th percentile for women. At first I felt very awkward about this, but over time I’ve just gotten used to being who I am. Some other women have even complimented me on my height.
Anyway, as everyone was just getting to desert and hanging out around the kitchen there was an old codger next to me one barstool over that asked one of the other people there “Who’s the Amazon?”. He clearly could not see me sitting 6 feet away from him.
“Oh, that’s uh, W****’s daughter.”
It was surprisingly jarring to me. The funny thing is, I often refer to myself as an Amazon. I’m 6’2″ tall, and a friend who’s 6’4″ tall who’s a big drag Queen. We call each other on Amazons all the time, but when someone outside of our group does it, it all of a sudden feels pejorative. I was a bit surprised because I never really thought of Amazon as pejorative term before.
I’m reminded of the comments a woman I went to school with once made during a class discussion. She was kind of soft butch lesbian, and she noted that and she called his cells a dyke of her friends were dykes, she heard some analyses the term recently who was not part of the community and it grated on her.
Language exists primarily to communicate. But it can also be used as a weapon. It is all too easy for one to use the term does not directly apply to them in describing somebody else can cause unintended damage by using it. They may know it is damaging language and use it anyway, it is up to the speaker to be well attentive to the words that they choose.
I was always taught to never say anything unless it was true, necessary and kind. I know many do not follow this type of perfect speech, but I feel that we as a society would all benefit greatly if we were truly careful before we spoke.
Unless we truly consider the feelings of others when we act, we will never truly have peace on this earth. Namasté.