Bitter Knowledge of Morning

Bitter Knowledge of Morning

Today I woke up to discover that I still have the growth between my legs. I think some part of my psyche is still shocked to discover the scrotum and penis there every morning, a useless stranger that just won’t go away. My genitals are so useless to me now. I struggle to think of some way that I can get surgery to correct the problem. I still don’t have the money. How can I get insurance that will cover it? I still don’t know. It depresses me, piles my body dread ever higher. Except for down there, everything else feels like it is where it should be physically.
I think part of me must still want to have kids, because every time a woman I know says she wants to get pregnant soon I have to bite my tongue to not offer my services as a sperm donor. I doubt I would have the patience to stop taking estrogen long enough to ressurect sperm production. I am too happy with the results to want to go back to hairy muscular stinky body of manhood. Even if I did, I have my doubts that my sperm production would even be adequate, never having gotten anyone pregnant in the past sleeping with women.
So now I must spend my day searching for employment so that I can continue to try to save for surgery. I don’t know if or when the day will ever come. In the meantime I will try to ignore the shame between my legs until it is time to wake again.

Gender: an identity?

Gender: an identity?

I have noticed my gender identity didn’t really fit with my societal norms around puberty. This was a point where, instead of people saying,
“who’s that fat kid over there,” ey would say:
“Is that a girl or a boy?”
Later, they mostly just assumed whatever they wanted.

I was given an androgynous name at birth. By this trait, when I changed high schools in freshman year my peers at my new school were at odds with how to appraise my gender. I wound up making the most lasting friendships with others that in some way were not easily categorizable, or others that were interested in me because I peaked eir curiosity.

As a child, many of the toys I like were “construction” oriented. Construction type toys such as blocks are given to be categorized as male in our society, and as such were consider gender appropriate to my assigned sex of male. I also had an inordinate fondness for stuffed animal toys as a child, and played with an Israeli girl whose father shared an interest in chess with my father. When we would play together, it was only following the taunts of other children that I ever considered that my gender expression was anything other than normal.

I began to deeply examine gender and its component parts during a period of time transitioning from living as a male to living as a female. Reading the book “Whipping Girl” by Julia Serrano it became clear to me through her biological analytical perspective that each discrete trait could be assigned a gender, and that gender was arbitrary from society to society. I concurrently read “Gender Outlaw” by Kate Bornstein, which suggested one use what ever gender best suited the needs of the moment, to oversimplify it.
Every trait that could be defined, and when assigned to every society there is, shows no trait is patently female or male.
Therefor, while my gender may not conform exactly to the society in which I live or any other society, it is my unique identity. My traits are just my traits, and they do not derive from gender. My gender is just a tool for people to try and define me so that they make presume many modes of interaction and aspects of character; it is for convenience of thought only and should not be used as a true description. Gender may suggest typical commonalities, but gender cannot define that person.