Listen Marcus,

Don’t ever presume to know how I am feeling because you never will and never can!!!!!!!

I remain,
Your Mother

I am truly going to miss the “person I thought I knew”.

So, I wrote a long letter to mom last night but don’t think I will send it because it seems the more honest I am the more trouble it seems to cause. This is an uncomfortable place to be stuck in.

The words I heard the night I was forced to out myself to my parents still ring in my ears from time to time. They were very specific words that one doesn’t forget when they seem to be directed at you. Words like disgusting, sinful, evil, satan, ridiculous, impossible are words that can come back to haunt a person. Until I hear something dispelling those feelings what else am I to presume? This is a question that surrounds my very existence. At what point will I no longer hear the words that hurt me so much? I hear them when I am awake. They invade my dreams at night. I cannot escape them. I am a tortured soul caught between self-acceptance and self-loathing.

http://www.leaderu.com/stonewall/pages/jerry_l.html

Here is my response to my aunt and a glimpse into what struggles I face from a family point-of-view.

what am I ?

how am I ?

Explain. Explain. Explain. I sometimes get tired of having to explain everything I do.

I chatted with a guy on line today, and, for the 15 minutes, or, so, we chatted he was nothing but questions. How this. Why that. It was all I could not to be completely honest with him in answering the questions. Luckily, for me, I was in a mood to tell it like it is, and, maybe not so lucky for him he was on the recieving end of my “why must I always have to explain this” rant. If I was his first contact with a trans person, then, I may need to apologize to the trans community for my actions. Not that I was rude, but, I certainly didn’t hold back much.

He asked me if I was born a boy. Yes. Easy enough. He asked if I acted like a girl when I was little. This I said no to for the reason that I acted like a boy, instead. That threw him for a loop. I explained that even though I knew myself to not be a real boy I had to act like one if things were to appear normal. Expressing my feminine desires were not to be tolerated in our house. Christians don’t do that. He asked if I was a total woman. No on this one too. For the reason (explaining) that I haven’t had any surgery that would prove otherwise. I have had an orchiectomy, but, alas, women don’t have penises (do they?). He asked why I would go through all “this” to not have surgery and be complete. Why not just stay a boy? Good fu*^ing question, genius, is what I should have said, but, I simply explained how I didn’t want to kill myself, that I don’t have that kind of cash lying around, and, the last thing I want to do is travel to wherever in hopes of getting MAJOR surgery at a discount price because I didn’t have enough to go to someone more qualified that would give me plumbing that works properly. Not to mention there is a risk with any surgery of that maginitude, period. I freely admit to the fact that SRS scares the complete SHIT out of me. Would I still do it? Yeah, I reckon so.

The whole explaining thing has really been on my mind for the last (ever), because it is such a humongous burden we, as a community, are linked together by. And it isn’t that I have to explain everything I do, but, in certain situations when I have to explain why people shouldn’t touch each other like that, or, why I go through what I do to be comfortable when it possibly risks the comfort of the people surrounding me. There are times when I don’t exactly feel invisible, but, I certainly don’t feel as if I am inconveniencing, or, risking the comfort of, people around me to see me for who I am. If they feel that way, then, those are their feelings. Not mine. There is no relation in my mind.

I am rambling big time at this point…..The other day at work while getting banks ready before the store opened I asked to exchange some bills for some change. A supervisor (not normally in there at this time) chimed in, jokingly, with “yeah, give him some change. he just needs some change (laughing)”. I froze as he handed me the change I asked for. What was probably an innocent pronoun error was maginified as it was heard by 3 other co-workers who surely already know that I am something they may not exactly know the word for. Innocent or not it was an awkward situation, and, I plan on having a talk with the supervisor tomorrow at work just to explain how he may want to work on his pronoun usage in the future, and, if he could that would be just super!

Not to be outdone a similar situation happened the next day as we were having a plant sale outside on a day it was raining for most of the day. (Rain + wind + fine hair= disaster..FYI). As I asked a woman if she was next in line she replied with a “sir, can you please help me with something out in the yard?”. “Me?”, I said. “yes, sir. can you tell me about blah blah”. She went to repeat a few times to her sister that “this gentleman” is going to help me with the hanger, as we were walking away. She managed to squeeze in a few more he’s by the time we were done with her order, and, I can honestly say she could not have left soon enough. My sour mood of late can be directly related to the two times in which I, looking back, allowed people to not see the real me somehow. That troubles me in a way I am still working towards putting my finger on. ( am I not proud enough of who I am to correct someone the first time so as not to let it happen again? )

Thankfully, later on during the plant sale two women approached the table with a warm friendly glow about them. It was the happy feeling a daughter has at a plant sale with mom, I guess. The daughter looked me in the eye and told me she was 6’1″, and, she wanted to know how tall I was. We instantly started talking about getting clothes that fit when her mom jumped in and told me that she has heard all the women in Germany were apparently very tall, because that is where to get clothes for tall women. In a matter of an hour I had gone to questioning my existence to feeling the warmth that life has to offer when who I am is just that. I am just as I am. And there is no damn explaining anything.

I try not to think about things like all this too much, but, it is often impossible, for me, not to think about who you are, and, how it is people see you. To fall into the trap, if even for an instance, of judging your worth to other people to that of your own worth can, and, often does, get me into trouble. Funny, in controlled environments I am open to talk about who I am and reveal personal information without a problem, but, put me out in public where I live my life and I clam up like I don’t know what to say, or, worse yet, feel as though what I have to say isn’t worth saying.

This is what I get for being in such a good mood last week, I supose.

Good night. And, good luck.

Karen

Two weeks ago the Pride Leadership program began with a two day retreat at a lodge in Newark, Ohio. Pride Leadership is being run by the United Way of Central Ohio. It’s the only such program in the country which selects applicants from the TLGB community to be educated on what it takes to be in a community leadership role, and/or a position on a not-for-profit Board. Needless to say, but I am the lone Trans person in the program that also includes 16 members of Project Diversity (men and women of (all) colors) making the total at the retreat 32. This is a win-win situation from a personal standpoint. For 8 months I will be trained twice a month in everything from cultural competence and resource development to parliamentary procedures, leading through conflict, racial disparities, and more. Seeing the various aspects of community service can only help make me a better, stronger person for others, and myself. Not to mention meeting 32 new people that have much better jobs than I do with degrees to spare. Good things happen when you meet good people. I am starting to really believe that.

Feeling good about the future can be a wonderful thing, and, that can lead to more potentially wonderful things. Being in TransOhio http://www.transohio.org/ has opened up the opportunity to take part in discussion panels at OSU’s main branch & the Newark campus for Gender & Sexuality courses, PFLAG meetings, and, even a group of 14-16 year old kids at a local college prep school to talk about what it’s like to be trans in today’s world. One point that’s important is to say that I only speak for me, as far as experience, and most trans individuals can, potentially, share an eerily similar story. The groups have all been great. Very receptive. So far it’s 5/5 with positive responses. mmmm, I’m feelin alright.

Not wanting to let a good thing go to waste I went out Saturday night to the http://urnotalone.com/  UR NotAlone T party. It’s a monthly thing. You may have one in your town, or close maybe. So, I put on my favorite jeans, a purple tank, and a sweet red leather jacket I got from a antique store for $12, and some heels. Ok, I’ll say it. I looked good (hah!). My hair, for a change, did exactly what I wanted it to which is always a plus. So, I get to the bar, grab a beer, and turn around right into a very drunk, and very gay man who greets me with an “oh, my god. you’re hot!”. He then went on, and on, to say that I looked like several different girls on tv that he couldn’t remember the names of. He then reached out to tug, allbeit gently, on my hair, and asked me if it was really mine. Ok, I’m now thinking about how annoying this guy truely is, and, the next thing I know I feel him squeezing my right breast (wtf?). My first reaction, thankfully, was to (smack him sober) simply tell him that he needs to ask before doing anything like that, and, that even if he did ask I would, of course, tell him “No. You cannot touch me like that”. His response to hearing this was “oh, I’m sorry. I’m just drunk”. I told him I was walking away, he needed to go home, and then told him goodbye. A not so great start to what would be a great night.

I found my friends Jan, Debi & Tammy, and challenged them to a game of pool. It was me & Tammy v/s Debi & Jan. Surpisingly, Debi & I won 2 in row, but, I then scratched on the 8-ball to end our run. We had a good run while it lasted, though. There always seems to be great conversation during a game of pool at these parties. All night friends were asking me if I had done something different with my hair or make-up, but, I couldn’t think of anything other than my hair being down for a change, and that I had got a little sun a few days before. A few told me they have noticed the changes in me over the last year and how I looked happy, and, full of life compared to a year ago when I first moved to Columbus. It’s so very humbling to hear such kind words from people you consider good friends, but not so much from drunk gay guys.

I was then introduced to a girl from Pa. who was dealing with a family who was telling her how terribly consumed by sin she was, and that she was worthless. An all too familiar story. This girl was gorgeous, and, just sweet as can be. We got to talking about life, and the struggle to feel proud of who you are when everyone around you is saying how sick and twisted you are. I did my best to remind her how she really is a good person, and that you can’t value your own worth by how other people view you. It can be a bottomless pit of guilty emotion that is awfully difficult to climb out of.

As the two of us continued to talk I felt a connection with her that I hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Because the bar was so loud (kareoke night) we were standing very close arm in arm while we spoke into each others ear. As we were yelling sweet things into each others ear (e-zone) I found myself attracted to her. A lot.

The night was winding down, and I was thumbing through the karaoke book just like I usually do after 2 beers. I then found my song, turned in the sheet, and waited my turn. A few songs later my new friend told me she had to get going. I asked her to stay to hear the song I wanted to dedicate to her. We shared another hug as my name was called to the stage. Though I had a bit of a cold I belted out “Beautiful” by Christina Aguilera anyway, and made sure to look at the reason I was singing as I was singing. Much to my surprise my performance recieved thunderous drunken applause from the crowd. I acknowledged them with a couple of elegant bows and a girly jump off the stage into the arms of my new friend. She thanked me, and as we hugged again every part of my being was telling me to kiss her. Now, if the whole bar hadn’t been looking at us (least it felt that way) I, perhaps, would have. I am one who puts tremendous value in the power of a really good hug. I mean a really good hug. As we released our embrace my belly felt all weird as she looked into my eyes with her big baby blues and told me I was beautiful. (breathe, Karen)

It’s only 340 miles, or so, from here to Harrisburg, Pa.

Early in ’06, true to her word (though we had corresponded on-line), she called us with an invitation to come out to SF for a week, and while there, attend a GLBT job fair being held at the GLBT community center. This offer was too good for my room mate, and, I to pass up. The bonus was that we were going to be staying at the B&B our friend was working at the whole week, and at a crazy-good price to boot. The B&B house was a wonderfull place. I instantly felt at home as soon as I walked in and set my bags down. There were times when I didn’t want to leave just because I was enjoying just being able to relax without all the pressure that came with “home”. A few afternoons were spent reading in the great room while classical music massaged my nerves in the background. I could have stayed in that house forever.

The job fair was good. I wish I could say great, but it was just good. Overall, there may have been 15 companies represented such as Chase, Wells Fargo, Goodwill, but I was really just testing myself at that point to see what it was like to be in a job interview situation as a woman. So, that was a good experience, though I would still find a way to screw that up, probably. But, there was just no way of moving out there. I’m more of a country girl. Too much concrete and I start to feel dirty…..Anyway, I was able to meet some remarkable people during the week I was there. Also, while there I had arranged to meet a cousin of mine living in SF for a night out on the town.  A few weeks prior to flying out I had e-mailed her to tell of my upcoming trip, and in that e-mail I came out to her. Her reaction was a blessing. We had a great time when we went out for dinner and some dancing. Again, I cannot overstate the joy of being out without the fear of wondering, or, caring for that matter, if you’re going to see someone you know. Freedom is under-appreciated until you discover what it feels like, again, for the first time.

My point has been to finally say that, after a week of living as I knew I should be, I was less than thrilled about going back to the ever so drab life of “male mode” ( surely, Lori, Tiana, Nikki, and others KNOW what I mean ). So, a few weeks after coming home a wonderful friend of mine told me of a job opportunity at Anthem Blue Cross. She had also taken the liberty of informing her manager that I was transgender, and asking her if it would be an issue if I were to apply there, to which her manager’s reply was “absolutely not. experience is what counts”. It just so happened I had years of related experience for the job in question, and the chance of a lifetime was dangling right in front me on the end of stick I was pretty sure looked like I could reach the end of if I tried hard enough. Sssssttttrrrrreeetttttcccchhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Most company’s idea of diversity in the workplace is having the one gay guy who always seems to bring the best fixin’s at the christmas party. So, when I went for my interview I went as me. Karen. True self. Whatever. Me. The interview went well, I was able to give good explanation as to what I would bring to the position, blah, blah, blah. I also made mention of my transgenderedness, making sure there would be no surprise if/or when I am offered a position. “We here at Anthem pride ourselves on our committment to diversity in the workplace, and would welcome you onto our team. Your situation wouldn’t be an issue.” Needless to say I was a little excited after the interview. The day before the interview I had taken an on-line assessment test, and had apparently scored favorably enough for them to call me in. Two days later I get the call, and am offered the job, then told I would have to start the following Monday (it was Wednesday). Suddenly the thought of leaving a job of 12 years was beginning to weigh heavily on me. It was told to me by Anthem that this was a hiring phase they do twice a year, and if I choose not to begin then, I could re-apply in August during the next phase. (Ooh, a way out. excuse me, please). I asked for, and was given a night to think over my options.

That phone call had taken place on my lunch hour, so, I lasted all of another 2 hours before I started to freak out over what I thought should have been an easy choice- quit hated job and go to work for a company that knows I am trans & still wants to hire me, or ( dammitt! ), stay on hated job and give my employer until August to find and train my replacement. Well, instead of taking the prize behind door #1, and walking away, I ended up going into my manager’s office and proceeded to breakdown right in front of him. Everything came spewing out – trans, the job frustrations, family, vacation seperation anxiety, everything. To his credit he sat and listened to everything I had to say. He said he would do what he could to support me on the job when I was ready to transition, but couldn’t guarantee a conflict free atmosphere. Did someone say ENDA? I tearfully told him I would stay on until August, but would then take my leave to pursue my new life. I second-guessed myself, and it would cost me dearly.

As August arrived I began trying to contact the manager who had interviewed me 5 months prior just to put my name in her ear as the next phase of hiring began. What I had thought was a good interview and solid opportunity was turning into an episode of “why wasn’t this woman calling me back”. I was finally told that my interviewer had taken another position in the company, that I would need to re-submit my application on-line, and I would also need to re-take the assessment test on-line. Whatever. It’s in the bag, I tell ya. Come to find out, just because I was told one thing by one person ( “your situation wouldn’t be a problem. welcome to the team” ) doesn’t mean squat when it comes 5 months later, and suddenly I don’t even get so much as a call back after re-applying. (Nope. Not this time. Fight for it, girl). I called and bugged the crap out of anyone that would listen to me about how I was this close to the job before, and now I couldn’t even get a phone call. Eventually, management in Baltimore assured me that my being transgender had nothing to do with me not being offered a position at that time, but that it was the fact that I failed to show the ability to committ myself on a long term basis, This, after choosing ( accepting their offer ) to wait, and give my job of 12 years proper notice and time to replace me. I specifically recall the conversation with the woman back in April on how difficult it must be to have to make a decision like not being able to give a company, after 12 years, the standard 2 week notice, and only give 3 days notice, instead. Oh, I was pissed. But, in the end it was my word against a woman who, eventually, claimed ignorance. Lesson learned. Don’t trust anything you hear in a job interview unless you get it in writing. Got it. Thanks. Bitch.

Recapping. I now was in the position of working at a place that had already found my now fully trained replacement. And on the other side I was no longer going to have the job that I had originally given notice to my current job I was leaving to take ( ugh, dizzy ). Nice going. Thankfully, work allowed me to stay on for 90 days while I looked for employment elsewhere. Truth be told I was so crushed by my own ability to somehow sabotage the one thing I wanted more than life itself, and at the end of 90 days I had yet to find work. It is so very painfully humbling when you put yourself out there for the world to judge you like they can when you go looking for work. Oh, they don’t judge you with their words. It’s the words they don’t say, and the looks they give when looking across at some one ( some thing? ) that they, surely, do not want working in their office. Basically, I got alot of “ why is it you want to work here ?”. It wasn’t the question they asked, it was the words they stressed when asking the question. Ask any question about insurance coverage and I could practically see the dream cloud appear over their head as the doctor bill$ were rolling in and sucking the company dry of all its money so I could have my pills & surgery. Because, that’s all I wanted, afterall, in their minds.

So, there I was, no job, & the rent was due. I called up my landlord and gave him a need-to-know type of explanation as to why I had to forfeit my lease and move out. Fortunately, he liked me and decided to just keep my security deposit, because, he was sure he could rent my apartment quickly. Ok, now it’s no job, and nowhere to live. Low and behold my mom offered to let me stay with them for a while. How delightful this would be. I was clear to say that I would still be going in and out as me when the time deemed it necessary, and if that would be a problem we should talk about it now. Nothing to say right then. I moved in that weekend. Six months never seemed so long.

A move was imminent.

As I began to come out of the fog and haze that was the years of Junior high school it was dawning on me how painful life was about to get as puberty was ravaging my neutral body into a fragile shell of a man. From the first day of high school I could tell that all the guys were maturing into men, and the women who had begun blossoming a year or so before were that much more beautiful, and then there was me. Needless to say gym class was weird. The locker room banter and disrobing made me feel on display for all to see my freakish self in my underwear. Hence why I didn’t always dress for gym. The anxiety trip that high school ended up being allowed for me to become quite the recreational drug user. I would go to parties with friends, blend in to the crowd, find a quiet corner, or, try and lerch onto someone so it doesn’t look like I am alone on an island. Typical parties, really, with weed, cocaine, acid, and alcohol being staples. Yeah, I was a real loser, allright. Whatever made me not want to think about who I was, and how I was just wasting away, well, I would try it- within reason. No needles (even a loser like me has principles).

As the years went by I saw friends die young due to drug or alcohol induced accidents, and I would think to myself “how is it that you are killing yourself to live and bad things are happening to other people..yet here you are. You can’t even live your own life. You should just get it over with, because its never going to happen”. Having played a small part in one friends death haunts me to this day, and he may be alive today if I would have simply agreed to go somewhere with him instead of him getting into another car that would eventually be totaled and he the only one killed. Who knows, I could have ended up in that car, and with my long, lanky ass, would have surely been killed, also. Instead. Maybe, who knows. At the time guilt was a powerful ally to my already low self-esteem, and, the two combined did a real number on how I viewed the world viewing me….for a long, long time. Oh, mother, did I have secret.

When I made it to 26 I started going out and about and seeking out support groups to help me figure out why I knew I was a woman on the inside, but, considerably different on the outside. I didn’t have the internet yet (Al Gore had just invented it a few years prior), and it never really occured to me to go to a library and research the subject. The all-consuming thought in my mind was why the hell I am the only one that feels this way? Because if other people feel this way too, well, good luck to ‘em! Low and behold, though, I did find others, and only half of them were crazy, and I was able to make a few friends. Being out in a social situation was like nothing I can describe (is there a word for it?). Surreal, maybe, is close to it. I went out whenever I could, just to feel like I was, at least, trying to be true to myself. Due to my late blooming, though, I wasn’t able to do the bar and club scene until 3 or 4 am like some of the other girls did (how?), and usually faded out by 1 or 2. A certain girl needs her beauty sleep, or, she is a bitch! Soon, going to clubs wasn’t realling doing it for me, anymore, and, I felt the need to take the next logical, but scarey, step forward. Funny enough, I stood on the thresh hold of the next step for the next 5 years almost.

I mean, what was I supposed to do? Start taking female hormones? Have SRS? Live as a woman? Me? Please my family would dis-own me so fast the world could take a while break from spinning for a sec. Get real. There’s no way I can just expect everything to be fine after I snap my fingers and make the pain go away? Is there? These, and other questions I asked myself, in Spring 2003, as I lay on the floor in my grandmas basement in the room where it all began so many years ago, having a nervous breakdown. At one point a moment of calm washed over me as I started to believe in myself for the first time, whole heartedly, for, maybe, ever.

So, shortly after that I was living alone, going to a support group, seeing a therapist (or at least trying to find one that understood), and gaining valuable confidence in myself as I was now presenting my true self to the world more, and more on a regular basis. Whispers at work became half-hearted remarks about how I was walking funny, when I was going to cut my hair, do men wear lavender?, are your legs shaved?. It got to be fun to answer the questions honestly when they asked me, because, odds are that was the last time that question got asked. By that same person anyways. So, yeah, that confidence, thing…. the cat was beginning to get out of the bag all by her self.

Confidence allowed me to come out to my brother in January 2005. I wrote what I thought was a good letter trying to explain what I wasn’t quite able to say out loud to someone yet. My soon-to-be-learned-lesson was that once I told him there was no going back. In other words a small snowball would start rolling and pick up momentum to where it would go up the side of another hill, go airborn and then land right back on me and all I would be able to do is hold out a sign that says “help” from underneath the now huge boulder. Within 2 weeks my brother demanded he and I meet face to face so I would have to tell him in my own words. As difficult as it would prove to be I managed to look him in the eye and explain myself for a few hours. We left with hugs and love for each other, and he even took a copy of “She’s Not There” & “True Selves” when he left. I thought there was hope, at least that things may work out ok. Two weeks later, come to find out, my brother is now harrassing my room mate (cd) on their myspace page. I, foolishly, interfere, and my brother goes and writes a letter to my room mates department head at the university he was working at, and explains to this guy how my friend likes to parade around in women’s clothing and leads an overall very deviant lifestyle. Basically, begging for for my friend to be let go on morals alone. My friend was later denied tenor. Big brother was just getting warmed up, though. Soon after he told mom all about me, and phoned me at work at 3pm one day to tell me how I was going to go explain myself to mom after work (in 2 hours…..freak…OUT). None the less, I went to moms and got a full dose of how, although, I may be a good person, I was Satan incarnate. Wrought with sin, and in desperate need of saving. It was difficult to try and convince them that I had already been saved, and that is why I was still alive. This is my path, I told them. They don’t want anything to do with it is what they told me. Oh, i could visit, but not as a woman. No way. Never.

In the two years since that time the only communication my brother and I have had was through text messaging, e-mails, or him stalking me through my yahoo360 web page. In one of my blogs on 360 I copied the messages he and I shared when he asked me if I was going to be at a family reunion. I told him I was going to wear a tube top, mini-skirt, and stilletos. He told me he would have me arrested and removed from the park regardless of what I would be wearing. He forbid me to go. He invited him to come to my apartment, and bring the police with him because someone was going to end up in the cruiser, and I had no intention of it being me. I’ve been told recently that my nephews are told that “uncle M” doesn’t feel well, and that he needs prayer whenever they ask about where I am, and why I don’t visit or call. I have begged my brother to let me be a part of their lives, but he won’t have anything to do with it. I miss those kids terribly. It will be just over 8 years befor the oldest one is an adult, and even if I can track him down who’s to say he’ll want anything to do with me after so long and such a great change that he never knew anything about? And those two books I gave my brother to read? When I asked him for them back he told me they were in a garbage heap somewhere in Southeast Missouri shortly after I gave them to him. Come to think of it he never did send that check, either.

All of this make me anxious, and, at times, unbearably so.

I ‘ll add more to the story later.

Karen