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So many boxes. Outside them all. [message #89252]

Mon, 08 February 2010 08:46

Anonymous

It's tough living in a society of excessive labeling. Where everyone feels entitled to an explanation and every issue needs a name. It's particularly difficult when, in seeking like-minds, you realize you are seemingly unique. Unlablable. Alone.
I feel as if I have scoured the internet bare and have come up empty handed. I want to discuss how I feel, my options, and I seek companionship and yet I don't fit into the mold. Every website I visit is either information based or caters to a very defined group of people...Generally MtF. And with every click of the mouse I feel a little more secluded. A bit more abnormal. Where do I fit in?

I try to explain myself to my family and friends but the words never sound right and their discomfort is often obvious but perhaps the reason I have such difficulty is because I don't know what's going on myself. But I am going to try and hopefully someone out there can relate or at least give a little advice...

I was born a female, or so I am told, yet couldn't give a damn less what I'm supposed to be. At times I'm okay with being a girl, after 24 years, I've developed a certain fondness for pretty clothes and the ability to turn the heads of perverted oldmen. And yet often, in my darker hours while in my bedroom all alone, I dig out my stash of men's clothes and try them on. Squishing those damn little hills on my chest down into valleys. Then I go into the bathroom and painstakingly shade my cheeks and chin. I apply shadows it to my forehead to make it short and wide, arrange my hair in a more masculine fashion and carefully coat each baby-fine hair on my jaw with mascara until I've got a decent amount of stubble. Then my transition is complete. I am James.

I used to do this in secret, and only when the voice inside me was screaming with rage to be released, but now I am more open about it. Halloween was fun. My family tolerated my crossdressing, knowing full well it was not just a costume. James pranced around, posing for camera beside my dad. A father and his quirky gay son. I like that picture. And somehow over the past year or so, I have come to accept this as a part of who I am. A gender-malcontent. A pretty boy with a sly grin buried inside a pale blond waif. Since I've entered mens clothing into my usual rotation, dubbed myself Prince James all over the internet, and entertained a little freedom from the confines of femeninity I have felt much happier. Only rarely does the voice in my head howl and rage and beg to be 'full-time'. I consider surgery then the reality sets in. I'm too weak, mentally I am unwell, and I'd never be content anyway. I stay the same and the days roll by. My mania fades. Life goes on for James and I.

But still there is that nagging doubt. On those days when I walk down the street feelin ambiguous, not girl or boy, just ME and some butthole honks his horn in admiration of my figure, then I remember how the world sees me and how very very different it is from how I feel. I'm not defined by gender. I am just ME. Sometimes I dress up like a girl. Sometimes a boy. Sometimes I get crazy and so confused I don't know what I am and all I want is to fall asleep and never wake up to this damn body again, but all in all I am only myself. Which is fine but so difficult to define. My friend Lawrence calls me a lesbian (as if sexual-preference has anything to do with gender identity... idiot) and it infuriates me. My sister and her husband tell me, "You were born a girl! You have always been and will always be a girl! So stop it!" and it feels as if my heart will shatter. My grandmother says she won't love me anymore if I ever transition and that is the final nail in the coffin. I have already decided I can pass as male or female. With a little make-up, I can become whomever I wish... though a mastectomy would be heaven ;) But nothing too drastic. I will not be taking cocktails or getting plastic surgery. Yet still their words hurt. Undying love, it seems, has stipulations. And everyone is quick to write me off under one vague category or another... 'Gender identity disorder', cross-dresser, drag king, lesbian, queer, sister, brother, Katrina, James... Take it all back. I don't need a title. I'm just ME. Sigh.

Anyway, thanks for letting me get that off my chest. And just to clear things up, I am not a lesbian. Call me butch and I'll knock your teeth out. But I will save the issue of my sexuality for another day.

>^..^<