I just got an email from someone, an old friend of mine who had heard about my "struggle with my true identity and the one that the devil is trying to give me."
I shit you not, that's what she said to me.
Now, it's been a few years since I went to seminary school, but I do remember attending and more than that I remember being at the top of my class...getting higher grades than this "friend" of mine, so I do know a thing or two about the Bible and the Torah.
I was raised in a home that practiced both Christianity and Judaism. I pretty much grew up referring to myself as a Messianic Jew, which means that I studied the Torah, celebrated Chanukah (Hanukkah for you Gentiles-LOL), celebrated the different Jewish holidays, and believed that Jesus is the son of God, sent down to the Earth to die for the sins of the world to give us access back to the Father (YHVH). I speak a little bit of Hebrew, can say some Hebrew prayers, listened to Christian music...
I was one confused, but extremely devout...something.
When I got older, one of the things that I always, always, always struggled with was the amount of judging and condemning that went on in the two different religions: Christianity and Judaism. These were the two religions that weren't supposed to be judging people. The God that they served (YHVH) was a God of forgiveness, second-chances, acceptance and most importantly LOVE. Like seriously, as I grew up I wondered how the God I served, and the God that my biologicals served could be so glaringly different.
My God said to "bless those who curse you and spitefully use you." Their God said "I will curse those who curse you." My God said "Love your neighbor as yourself." Their God said "Vengeance is Mine saith the Lord."
My God said "Judge NOT lest ye be judged." Their God said "And all liars, prostitutes, gamblers, those who practiced witchcraft, deceivers, adulterers, those who burned in lust, murderers, thieves, blasphemers...all burned in the lake of fire for all eternity."
And yes I know that all of these verses are in the Bible...I studied it...thoroughly and I began to notice how some things contradicted with other things. It was almost as if God changed his mind about some things and said "Okay, this wasn't as bad as I thought," and then on others said "OH! Wait! Nope, changed my mind, you see this? THIS is going to send you to hell...forever." Being a seminary student attending school to become a pastor and having been raised in the home that I was I accepted a lot of what I'd been told without question...for the most part.
However, when I'd get alone I'd study different words and realize that the truth of the Scriptures had been completely lost in translation.
"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." Well this is a verse of Scripture that the biologicals used to say to me and the other kids so that we would have a healthy "fear" of God. I grew up thinking that if I screwed up, God was going to strike me with a lightning bolt. Upon further study I found out that that "fear" was actually "awe".
Yeah, makes that verse of Scripture take on a whole new meaning huh?
And the verse of Scripture "Spare the rod, spoil the child," that my parents used to justify whipping us with a belt or a switch when we'd misbehaved (really all of the adults in my family used it-even the ones who didn't believe in God), has also been wildly mistranslated. The "rod" that's being referred to in that Scripture is not an instrument of discipline, it's the Torah. Yes, the roll of Scriptures, or book of Scriptures, known as the Torah, is referred to as "the rod." So in essence that verse of Scripture is "If you don't teach your child the Torah, they will grow up disrespectful, spoiled and rebellious."
So I said all of this to this "friend" of mine. Pointed out to her that there was no way she could use any Scripture to justify her statements to me, that Romans 1:26-27 had been wildly mistranslated, that there were 6 times as many Scriptures, cautions, and chastisements in the Bible for "religious, saved, Christian heterosexuals" as there were for "heathenistic homosexuals" and that she should really study her Bible a whole lot more than she did when we were in seminary school if she was going to tell me that my lifestyle "choice" was wrong.
Then I pointed out to her that there's not one verse of Scripture in the Bible that speaks about transgenders.
Not one.
I don't think I'll be hearing back from her. Especially since at the end of my reply I told her that she'd broken more "laws" of the Bible and had committed more acts of sin by emailing me, than I have by living my truth and loving my man.
So while she told me that I can't "love God and be transgender and gay," I'm very happy to tell you that that's not true. YHVH (God, Jesus, the whole gang) and I are good friends. I love Him and He loves me and I am an OUT AND PROUD, transgender male homosexual who knows for a fact that I'll get into Heaven.
Thank you very much.
-Vicktor Aleksandr B
*My name is Vicktor and I approve this blog post*
I'm not normal, I love being different, and it's one of the sexiest things about me...next to my creative brain and "Lil' Big Vic".
No H8
Showing posts with label truth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label truth. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Can I Bleed Over You?
I'm always amazed when someone is interested in what I have to say.
No seriously.
Whenever someone wants to know more about me, I always search for the most interesting things I can find:
I used to serve in the United States Army.
I auditioned for American Idol and almost got on television.
I was in the process of making my first album.
I auditioned for Broadway on a dare and got a callback.
I auditioned for Sex & The City 2.
I've been on the BET show "106 & Park" and met Marlon Wayans and Channing Tatum.
I met Kirk Franklin before.
I used to live in San Diego.
I went to seminary and am an ordained pastor.
I watch the History Channel for fun.
I write books.
I write naughty, sexy, erotic M/M romance books.
I'm a Scorpio.
I love sports.
I know how to do hair.
I'm an undercover painter/sketcher.
I design buildings and property layouts for fun.
I love playing the Sims 3.
I was accepted and attended Harvard University for a year for Business Law.
I auditioned and was accepted to AMDA (American Musical & Dramatic Arts)
I love to ride horses.
I study foreign languages for fun.
I study the Civil War for fun.
I love to laugh.
I love to help people.
I want to have 6 kids, even if I have to adopt most of them.
I am a firm believer in the power of love and a second chance.
I have a weakness for strawberries, Italian food and Italian men.
But I tend to shy away from people who want to know the deep, dark personal secrets about me.
Trust is a major thing for me, so if I've told you, it's because I trust you enough to slice myself open and bleed all over you.
Because that's what I'm doing, I'm bleeding over you. Cutting major arteries, slicing open tendons and muscles, organs and veins to let you see a part of me that very few are privvy to.
I have lost friends, boyfriends, even biological "family" members because of those deep, dark, personal secrets. Because of the things that happened to me. I learned quite a while ago that not everyone can handle my personal pain. Not everyone can deal with my scars, my wounds.
Not everyone can or even wants to look past the smile and see the scars that are still bleeding, the wounds that still haven't healed.
Not everyone wants to know their friend, their lover, their little brother, their big brother, their nephew, their uncle, the author they brought books from, is someone who's just learning how to breathe again. Just learning how to walk without pain again. Just learning how to live again. Just learning how to survive without the deep, emotional pain ripping him open with every step.
Not everyone can deal with it and I don't begrudge them that truth. It's hard and emotionally draining. For me, I hate the way people look at me afterwards. The looks of pity. The gentle touch of comfort that doesn't actually comfort only infects the oozing wound with someone else's pain, someone else's expectations, someone else's desire for me to have not endured the things that I have.
But I did endure them and because of that I can talk to and identify with others who have suffered the same fate. Because of the wounds and the scars that I bear I was able to endure losing my biological family and gaining a new one. Because of the wounds and the scars that I bear I was able to stand up and face off with a group of people online and tell them that they don't know me or my struggle, share a bit of my past pain and then let them know that I, and only I, am in control of what I have to reveal. I control how much of my scars you see, which of my wounds you'll be able to observe. I will not be bullied or forced into telling anyone anything else. Not anymore.
Because just like forcing someone out of the closet is wrong and forcing someone to reveal their true identity online when you yourself haven't revealed yours, is wrong, so is forcing someone to slice open a wound to fulfill your own morbid curiosity, to satisfy your need to know everything, to justify your belief that you have all of the power and therefore have the right to slice open wounds at will.
However, having someone ask me and having someone force me to bleed all over them is very different from me walking up to someone else and asking them if I can bleed all over them.
"Can I perform open heart surgery in front of you? You might get some of my blood on you. You may feel nauseous and you may have nightmares...you will probably never be the same...but...can I bleed over you?"
I would think that most people would say no, but I've been asked and encouraged to write my autobiography, even if I write it and say it's about someone else: "The Autobiography of Alexander Valentine Bougoise."
And it confuses me. Wait, people want me to bleed on them? The want to see me slice open my wounds and scars? They want to see this? They want to read about my pain? Really?
Perhaps they want to share in my triumphs, perhaps they want to feel better about their own lives, maybe they want to know how I became who I am today. Either way, it seems as if I'm being asked to bleed all over people and it fills me with fear that either bleeding over people will help me heal quicker that I ever thought I would, thereby taking away that power or that once I start bleeding I'll never stop.
And that, dear friends, scares me most of all.
-Vicktor Aleksandr B
No seriously.
Whenever someone wants to know more about me, I always search for the most interesting things I can find:
I used to serve in the United States Army.
I auditioned for American Idol and almost got on television.
I was in the process of making my first album.
I auditioned for Broadway on a dare and got a callback.
I auditioned for Sex & The City 2.
I've been on the BET show "106 & Park" and met Marlon Wayans and Channing Tatum.
I met Kirk Franklin before.
I used to live in San Diego.
I went to seminary and am an ordained pastor.
I watch the History Channel for fun.
I write books.
I write naughty, sexy, erotic M/M romance books.
I'm a Scorpio.
I love sports.
I know how to do hair.
I'm an undercover painter/sketcher.
I design buildings and property layouts for fun.
I love playing the Sims 3.
I was accepted and attended Harvard University for a year for Business Law.
I auditioned and was accepted to AMDA (American Musical & Dramatic Arts)
I love to ride horses.
I study foreign languages for fun.
I study the Civil War for fun.
I love to laugh.
I love to help people.
I want to have 6 kids, even if I have to adopt most of them.
I am a firm believer in the power of love and a second chance.
I have a weakness for strawberries, Italian food and Italian men.
But I tend to shy away from people who want to know the deep, dark personal secrets about me.
Trust is a major thing for me, so if I've told you, it's because I trust you enough to slice myself open and bleed all over you.
Because that's what I'm doing, I'm bleeding over you. Cutting major arteries, slicing open tendons and muscles, organs and veins to let you see a part of me that very few are privvy to.
I have lost friends, boyfriends, even biological "family" members because of those deep, dark, personal secrets. Because of the things that happened to me. I learned quite a while ago that not everyone can handle my personal pain. Not everyone can deal with my scars, my wounds.
Not everyone can or even wants to look past the smile and see the scars that are still bleeding, the wounds that still haven't healed.
Not everyone wants to know their friend, their lover, their little brother, their big brother, their nephew, their uncle, the author they brought books from, is someone who's just learning how to breathe again. Just learning how to walk without pain again. Just learning how to live again. Just learning how to survive without the deep, emotional pain ripping him open with every step.
Not everyone can deal with it and I don't begrudge them that truth. It's hard and emotionally draining. For me, I hate the way people look at me afterwards. The looks of pity. The gentle touch of comfort that doesn't actually comfort only infects the oozing wound with someone else's pain, someone else's expectations, someone else's desire for me to have not endured the things that I have.
But I did endure them and because of that I can talk to and identify with others who have suffered the same fate. Because of the wounds and the scars that I bear I was able to endure losing my biological family and gaining a new one. Because of the wounds and the scars that I bear I was able to stand up and face off with a group of people online and tell them that they don't know me or my struggle, share a bit of my past pain and then let them know that I, and only I, am in control of what I have to reveal. I control how much of my scars you see, which of my wounds you'll be able to observe. I will not be bullied or forced into telling anyone anything else. Not anymore.
Because just like forcing someone out of the closet is wrong and forcing someone to reveal their true identity online when you yourself haven't revealed yours, is wrong, so is forcing someone to slice open a wound to fulfill your own morbid curiosity, to satisfy your need to know everything, to justify your belief that you have all of the power and therefore have the right to slice open wounds at will.
However, having someone ask me and having someone force me to bleed all over them is very different from me walking up to someone else and asking them if I can bleed all over them.
"Can I perform open heart surgery in front of you? You might get some of my blood on you. You may feel nauseous and you may have nightmares...you will probably never be the same...but...can I bleed over you?"
I would think that most people would say no, but I've been asked and encouraged to write my autobiography, even if I write it and say it's about someone else: "The Autobiography of Alexander Valentine Bougoise."
And it confuses me. Wait, people want me to bleed on them? The want to see me slice open my wounds and scars? They want to see this? They want to read about my pain? Really?
Perhaps they want to share in my triumphs, perhaps they want to feel better about their own lives, maybe they want to know how I became who I am today. Either way, it seems as if I'm being asked to bleed all over people and it fills me with fear that either bleeding over people will help me heal quicker that I ever thought I would, thereby taking away that power or that once I start bleeding I'll never stop.
And that, dear friends, scares me most of all.
-Vicktor Aleksandr B
Thursday, December 29, 2011
On The Verge of a Burnout
I can always tell when I'm about to crash for about 18 hours.
I can usually go on 4-6 hours every night for months and be totally fine.
But as I get closer and closer to that inevitable moment when my body tells me that it's effing tired and it wants some real sleep, I get crankier.
I get headaches. I can't focus. And everyone starts to piss me off.
Everyone.
Children. Friends. Family.
But I'm so good about not letting people know when they're annoying me that no one ever knows this about me...until now of course.
But I become so tired, so physically drained and I'm like a baby, totally fighting this long ass sleep that I know is inevitable, that I'm just testy.
I'm testy, possessive, jealous, easily annoyed and easily the most sensitive person in the world.
Just like a baby.
When I'm about to crash I want my blue blanket that was given to me by a friend of my birth mother, one of the only people who used to always tell me that if I needed to get away that I should. I want my teddy bear, my pillow and I want to be left alone.
So I know that I'm on the verge of a burnout. The dull, throbbing headache has already started. And yeah, I know that I should probably just sleep now and get the 8 hours or whatever now, but it doesn't work like that, because I stay up late to have my alone time. I stay up late so that I can write or draw or meditate or read or do whatever, when the rest of the house, the building, the city is sleeping. It's the time when the fiance is asleep or about to wake up, when the Nieceling is asleep and so is the big sister. The hours of 10pm-4am are my six hours of uninterrupted work/reading/Vic time.
I don't want to lose that. I need that time otherwise I will lose it.
I'm a loner both by nature and by circumstance. I know that I seem very friendly, outgoing, personable...and for the most part I am, but there are two sides to this Vic coin and one side of that is "go away, leave me alone and let me reconnect with me."
So those six hours are precious to me.
And I know that when Daniel and I get married and are living together that those hours may get cut down a bit and for the most part, I'm fine with that...but it's also one of the reasons why I am trying to stock up on "Vic time" right now.
So knowing that I'm on the verge of a burnout has done nothing but make me more determined to get as much done as possible. I'm pushing harder in my writing, in trying to get stuff done. Working on my website (www.vicktoralexander.com). I am trying very hard to not yell out and tell everyone to just leave me alone so I can get shit done before I have my major burnout.
Because contrary to what has been said about me recently. I am a nice person.
So I'm letting you all know that the burnout is coming. That moment when my body just stops and says "Aye, yo, Vic. We're all going on vacation so...yeah, you might as well sleep."
It's very close. Very, very close. And when it happens you won't hear from me for a while.
Because I'll be too busy sleeping.
But once I get my sleep and I've rested and am rejuvenated?
I'll be back. And we'll start this whole lovely cycle again.
I can usually go on 4-6 hours every night for months and be totally fine.
But as I get closer and closer to that inevitable moment when my body tells me that it's effing tired and it wants some real sleep, I get crankier.
I get headaches. I can't focus. And everyone starts to piss me off.
Everyone.
Children. Friends. Family.
But I'm so good about not letting people know when they're annoying me that no one ever knows this about me...until now of course.
But I become so tired, so physically drained and I'm like a baby, totally fighting this long ass sleep that I know is inevitable, that I'm just testy.
I'm testy, possessive, jealous, easily annoyed and easily the most sensitive person in the world.
Just like a baby.
When I'm about to crash I want my blue blanket that was given to me by a friend of my birth mother, one of the only people who used to always tell me that if I needed to get away that I should. I want my teddy bear, my pillow and I want to be left alone.
So I know that I'm on the verge of a burnout. The dull, throbbing headache has already started. And yeah, I know that I should probably just sleep now and get the 8 hours or whatever now, but it doesn't work like that, because I stay up late to have my alone time. I stay up late so that I can write or draw or meditate or read or do whatever, when the rest of the house, the building, the city is sleeping. It's the time when the fiance is asleep or about to wake up, when the Nieceling is asleep and so is the big sister. The hours of 10pm-4am are my six hours of uninterrupted work/reading/Vic time.
I don't want to lose that. I need that time otherwise I will lose it.
I'm a loner both by nature and by circumstance. I know that I seem very friendly, outgoing, personable...and for the most part I am, but there are two sides to this Vic coin and one side of that is "go away, leave me alone and let me reconnect with me."
So those six hours are precious to me.
And I know that when Daniel and I get married and are living together that those hours may get cut down a bit and for the most part, I'm fine with that...but it's also one of the reasons why I am trying to stock up on "Vic time" right now.
So knowing that I'm on the verge of a burnout has done nothing but make me more determined to get as much done as possible. I'm pushing harder in my writing, in trying to get stuff done. Working on my website (www.vicktoralexander.com). I am trying very hard to not yell out and tell everyone to just leave me alone so I can get shit done before I have my major burnout.
Because contrary to what has been said about me recently. I am a nice person.
So I'm letting you all know that the burnout is coming. That moment when my body just stops and says "Aye, yo, Vic. We're all going on vacation so...yeah, you might as well sleep."
It's very close. Very, very close. And when it happens you won't hear from me for a while.
Because I'll be too busy sleeping.
But once I get my sleep and I've rested and am rejuvenated?
I'll be back. And we'll start this whole lovely cycle again.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Just When I Thought It Couldn't Get Any Better
*Short post for me-I know, I know. Gasp and all that*
Yesterday was the greatest birthday I ever had. Not because I got presents (although have authors in my family meant that I got free books for my birthday yesterday-free books and gift cards for...you guessed it, free books! LOL), not even because of the AMOUNT of people that wished me "Happy Birthday" and it was amazing to me. But because of the amount of love and support and encouragement from my family.
It was amazing.
My homemade lasagna and homemade birthday cake were "slap your Mama" good (I'm putting up pictures-don't worry) and having "Happy Birthday" sung to me almost made me cry.
But just when I thought it couldn't get any better, the one thing that I wanted. The one important relationship that I've craved since I realized at the age of 4 that the one I had was corrupt and evil and wrong, I got in spades.
I got a dad for my birthday yesterday.
Doesn't that sound like a book? "A Daddy for Vic." (Yep, I totally think I'm going to write that)
Anyway. I asked someone that I have long admired and someone who (in the back of my mind I've held in the fantasy position of friend and father-anyway) has recently shown such amazing courage and strength to fill the role of father to me. I'll be honest, I expected a "Thank you but no thanks" from him or an "I'm flattered but I don't feel comfortable with that." I got an "I'm honored that you asked and I'm honored to accept."
Yeah, I cried.
Then today, an amazing "day after" my birthday, he listed me as his son.
That's right, his son.
I almost cried again.
I recently told someone that yes I think that my life is turning around for the better. Not just because I'm living my truth and I believe that the universe, the gods, God, Allah, Krishnu, whomever you serve, honors you and blesses you when you're living your truth, but because now when life throws crap and heartache my way (and bad things will happen, it's life people, I don't live in delusions....except where it concerns John Barrowman and Shemar Moore-*shiver of delight*), I'll have people to help me back up. I have people who are standing in front of me and taking the brunt of the hit.
I have have a dad, moms, older brothers and sisters, younger brothers and sisters, a Nieceling and Nephrew who are surrounding me and loving me and supporting me and telling life and the hatred and the discrimination and the transphobics and the homophobics and the racists and the hellish and shittiest aspects of life that they can't have me, that they can't get to me.
I've always been the warrior, the one who protected those that I cared about, it's so nice to have people to do that for me (even if I protest that I need it).
And honestly, that's the greatest present that I got yesterday.
{HUGZ, SQUEEZES AND FIST BUMPS}
Vic
ETA: I FORGOT the pictures!! LOL. Here they are:
Yesterday was the greatest birthday I ever had. Not because I got presents (although have authors in my family meant that I got free books for my birthday yesterday-free books and gift cards for...you guessed it, free books! LOL), not even because of the AMOUNT of people that wished me "Happy Birthday" and it was amazing to me. But because of the amount of love and support and encouragement from my family.
It was amazing.
My homemade lasagna and homemade birthday cake were "slap your Mama" good (I'm putting up pictures-don't worry) and having "Happy Birthday" sung to me almost made me cry.
But just when I thought it couldn't get any better, the one thing that I wanted. The one important relationship that I've craved since I realized at the age of 4 that the one I had was corrupt and evil and wrong, I got in spades.
I got a dad for my birthday yesterday.
Doesn't that sound like a book? "A Daddy for Vic." (Yep, I totally think I'm going to write that)
Anyway. I asked someone that I have long admired and someone who (in the back of my mind I've held in the fantasy position of friend and father-anyway) has recently shown such amazing courage and strength to fill the role of father to me. I'll be honest, I expected a "Thank you but no thanks" from him or an "I'm flattered but I don't feel comfortable with that." I got an "I'm honored that you asked and I'm honored to accept."
Yeah, I cried.
Then today, an amazing "day after" my birthday, he listed me as his son.
That's right, his son.
I almost cried again.
I recently told someone that yes I think that my life is turning around for the better. Not just because I'm living my truth and I believe that the universe, the gods, God, Allah, Krishnu, whomever you serve, honors you and blesses you when you're living your truth, but because now when life throws crap and heartache my way (and bad things will happen, it's life people, I don't live in delusions....except where it concerns John Barrowman and Shemar Moore-*shiver of delight*), I'll have people to help me back up. I have people who are standing in front of me and taking the brunt of the hit.
I have have a dad, moms, older brothers and sisters, younger brothers and sisters, a Nieceling and Nephrew who are surrounding me and loving me and supporting me and telling life and the hatred and the discrimination and the transphobics and the homophobics and the racists and the hellish and shittiest aspects of life that they can't have me, that they can't get to me.
I've always been the warrior, the one who protected those that I cared about, it's so nice to have people to do that for me (even if I protest that I need it).
And honestly, that's the greatest present that I got yesterday.
{HUGZ, SQUEEZES AND FIST BUMPS}
Vic
ETA: I FORGOT the pictures!! LOL. Here they are:
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Something You'd Never Know Part Two
So yesterday I spent a while on a thread on GR speaking about coming to terms with being transgender. Now I know that the people questioning me were not attacking me, but I didn't realize this at first, it took me venting and shaking and crying to a friend of mine before I realized that these people were probably just trying to understand me.
See unless you email me you'd never know how I agonized over coming out. You'd never know the conversations I had with Sidney and Thorny and K Ray and Luci and Kate. You wouldn't have read the emails where I tried to rationalize how I felt, tried to explain it away, tried to ignore it, laugh it off, the way I had a panic attack when I realized the truth about who I really am.
It's not something I shared here on my blog.
And maybe that was wrong. I mean I have always prided myself on being open with you all, but I don't share everything, some things are just for me. Just as you're entitled to your privacy, I am entitled to mine. So I didn't share that.
I didn't share that I tried to commit suicide about two months ago. That I picked up a knife and tried to slice my wrists because I was so freaked out about everything, that it took my friend Keesha and an email from Thorny to save my life.
It's not something I wanted to share.
I also didn't share that when I was growing up I never wanted to wear skirts or dresses. I hated the stupid purses my mother used to always buy me and that every Easter when my mother and aunt would go out and buy our Easter clothes I always pitched a fit because I wanted to wear a suit and not a "stupid dress with lace and flowers." I didn't mention that when I was 10 and I had that tantrum that my mother pulled out this thin leather belt and whipped me in the dressing room and then told me that if I cried too loudly she was going to get my father to deal with me when we got home. That was the last time I tried to fight about wearing a suit.
It's not something I wanted to share.
I didn't tell you all about the day that I realized that I didn't actually love my tits and being a woman, but I loved my family and I knew that if I didn't have those things, if I didn't live as a woman, wearing heels, wearing makeup, wearing flattering outfits that I wouldn't have my family anymore. And it may be wrong, but I loved my family enough to be the woman who merely wanted a dick and prostate that could be hidden from plain sight in order to keep my family.
It's not something I thought I had to share.
Many of you read the post when I talked about my mother finding the pamphlets and brochures about reassignment surgery. Many of you read the post where I talked about the exorcism I endured. You all saw the way I stopped talking about my desire to be both and my need to be what I'd been fighting my whole life, being a man.
It's not something I thought I had to share.
There are times when I still think of myself as "bi-gender" or what others are calling gender queer, is it because that's a more accurate description of who I am? No. It's because at this point I'm still filled with glass sticking out from skin, still so emotionally fragile and hurt and sensitive that I am still fighting my need to dress up in women's clothes (what to me would be considered "drag") and go to my parents's house and beg them to let me come back, to turn my back on everything and just continue living as I have been. Hiding my books, ignoring my need, my desires, my dreams, my wants, my truth, in order to have my family, in order to not be homeless in order to know who I am, even if who I am is a lie. This whole feeling like a man but seeing a woman is horrific for me. I avoid the mirrors. I don't brush my hair or my teeth in front of the mirror, because I don't like seeing a woman looking back at me. That's not something I've ever told you.
It's not something I wanted to share.
But reading the comments and the questions on this thread I had to ask myself if I was remiss in not doing so. Can I let you in 75% and then hide 25% from you? But is it fair to offer up all of me to people who are offering me nothing? Not necessarily you all, but people on the thread.
My life is, for the most part, an open book. I don't mind answering questions for those who are trying to get a general understanding of my life and the process I am undertaking, the transition I am going through. I want people to understand, but at the same time I want them to understand that on here, in this blog on GR, on twitter and tumblr, I'm not going to give you 100% of me. It's not fair to ask that of me and especially if you're not going to give me the same thing in return. Realize that of the millions of thoughts that run through my head, the emotions I've dealt with, the memories I have, the interactions I've experienced, the childhood I grew up with, I may only share with you 2 of them and that's fine. Don't ask me for something that you're not going to give and don't instantly go on the defensive if I feel as if you're attacking me because of you asking me something that most people already know.
There are different facets to me. There are parts of me that I'm realizing are just reflections of my parents, my family. There are echoes in my brain and my heart that aren't my voice, but their voices of condemnation and judgement. There are things that I will share and things that you will never, ever know. If there's ever a time when you want to ask me a question, however: "Vic you said this five months ago and now you're saying this, what gives?" Realize that I'll answer, but also understand that I'm like Julia Roberts in "The Runaway Bride" after she met Richard Gere, except Richard Gere was my true self and in order to be "with" my true self I have to figure out how I really think about some things, what I really like and what I really don't, who I really am and how I really feel about that. I'm growing and learning and living my truth and even though I've pretty much invited you all to go on this journey with me by having this blog, there are still some things that you will never know.
You can accept it or hit the unfollow button, it's that simple. Not saying that I won't miss seeing your comments, but at this stage in my life I've had about all I can handle of people only supporting me if I fit into their idea of how I should live, of people who say: this is who you are and you can never change, or people who say: everyone who says they are like you have felt like this, you don't so you're not one of them. Realize that b/c I didn't share it doesn't mean that I didn't feel it or think it. It's just something that I didn't share with you.
And that's perfectly fine.
{HUGZ AND SQUEEZES AND FIST BUMPS}
-Vic
See unless you email me you'd never know how I agonized over coming out. You'd never know the conversations I had with Sidney and Thorny and K Ray and Luci and Kate. You wouldn't have read the emails where I tried to rationalize how I felt, tried to explain it away, tried to ignore it, laugh it off, the way I had a panic attack when I realized the truth about who I really am.
It's not something I shared here on my blog.
And maybe that was wrong. I mean I have always prided myself on being open with you all, but I don't share everything, some things are just for me. Just as you're entitled to your privacy, I am entitled to mine. So I didn't share that.
I didn't share that I tried to commit suicide about two months ago. That I picked up a knife and tried to slice my wrists because I was so freaked out about everything, that it took my friend Keesha and an email from Thorny to save my life.
It's not something I wanted to share.
I also didn't share that when I was growing up I never wanted to wear skirts or dresses. I hated the stupid purses my mother used to always buy me and that every Easter when my mother and aunt would go out and buy our Easter clothes I always pitched a fit because I wanted to wear a suit and not a "stupid dress with lace and flowers." I didn't mention that when I was 10 and I had that tantrum that my mother pulled out this thin leather belt and whipped me in the dressing room and then told me that if I cried too loudly she was going to get my father to deal with me when we got home. That was the last time I tried to fight about wearing a suit.
It's not something I wanted to share.
I didn't tell you all about the day that I realized that I didn't actually love my tits and being a woman, but I loved my family and I knew that if I didn't have those things, if I didn't live as a woman, wearing heels, wearing makeup, wearing flattering outfits that I wouldn't have my family anymore. And it may be wrong, but I loved my family enough to be the woman who merely wanted a dick and prostate that could be hidden from plain sight in order to keep my family.
It's not something I thought I had to share.
Many of you read the post when I talked about my mother finding the pamphlets and brochures about reassignment surgery. Many of you read the post where I talked about the exorcism I endured. You all saw the way I stopped talking about my desire to be both and my need to be what I'd been fighting my whole life, being a man.
It's not something I thought I had to share.
There are times when I still think of myself as "bi-gender" or what others are calling gender queer, is it because that's a more accurate description of who I am? No. It's because at this point I'm still filled with glass sticking out from skin, still so emotionally fragile and hurt and sensitive that I am still fighting my need to dress up in women's clothes (what to me would be considered "drag") and go to my parents's house and beg them to let me come back, to turn my back on everything and just continue living as I have been. Hiding my books, ignoring my need, my desires, my dreams, my wants, my truth, in order to have my family, in order to not be homeless in order to know who I am, even if who I am is a lie. This whole feeling like a man but seeing a woman is horrific for me. I avoid the mirrors. I don't brush my hair or my teeth in front of the mirror, because I don't like seeing a woman looking back at me. That's not something I've ever told you.
It's not something I wanted to share.
But reading the comments and the questions on this thread I had to ask myself if I was remiss in not doing so. Can I let you in 75% and then hide 25% from you? But is it fair to offer up all of me to people who are offering me nothing? Not necessarily you all, but people on the thread.
My life is, for the most part, an open book. I don't mind answering questions for those who are trying to get a general understanding of my life and the process I am undertaking, the transition I am going through. I want people to understand, but at the same time I want them to understand that on here, in this blog on GR, on twitter and tumblr, I'm not going to give you 100% of me. It's not fair to ask that of me and especially if you're not going to give me the same thing in return. Realize that of the millions of thoughts that run through my head, the emotions I've dealt with, the memories I have, the interactions I've experienced, the childhood I grew up with, I may only share with you 2 of them and that's fine. Don't ask me for something that you're not going to give and don't instantly go on the defensive if I feel as if you're attacking me because of you asking me something that most people already know.
There are different facets to me. There are parts of me that I'm realizing are just reflections of my parents, my family. There are echoes in my brain and my heart that aren't my voice, but their voices of condemnation and judgement. There are things that I will share and things that you will never, ever know. If there's ever a time when you want to ask me a question, however: "Vic you said this five months ago and now you're saying this, what gives?" Realize that I'll answer, but also understand that I'm like Julia Roberts in "The Runaway Bride" after she met Richard Gere, except Richard Gere was my true self and in order to be "with" my true self I have to figure out how I really think about some things, what I really like and what I really don't, who I really am and how I really feel about that. I'm growing and learning and living my truth and even though I've pretty much invited you all to go on this journey with me by having this blog, there are still some things that you will never know.
You can accept it or hit the unfollow button, it's that simple. Not saying that I won't miss seeing your comments, but at this stage in my life I've had about all I can handle of people only supporting me if I fit into their idea of how I should live, of people who say: this is who you are and you can never change, or people who say: everyone who says they are like you have felt like this, you don't so you're not one of them. Realize that b/c I didn't share it doesn't mean that I didn't feel it or think it. It's just something that I didn't share with you.
And that's perfectly fine.
{HUGZ AND SQUEEZES AND FIST BUMPS}
-Vic
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
My Major Flaw
I am a very flawed individual.
You know it, I know it, my parents know it, hell even the government knows it. I haven't tried to hide it and I have no problem shining a light on those flaws and uncertainties and and my weaknesses.
It's what makes me so approachable and lovable....I think.
Anyway, my major flaw is how unbearably clingy I can be.
I'm serious.
It's like a real sickness. I'm not like a "You can't spend time with anyone but me," but I definitely have these moments of "Why aren't you talking to me? Don't you like me anymore? What did I do wrong?" if a few days go by and I haven't heard from you but I've written you.
The biggest issue is that you'll NEVER know that I'm having these thoughts, these doubts about my importance to you, that you actually like me or want to know me or hang with me or whatever. I talked to my doctor about it yesterday and he just gets this really serious look on his face and says: "Well Vic (he calls me Vic-*sigh*-it's why I love him), why do YOU think you have these fears, these insecurities and doubts of your worth to others?"
Damn doctor.
That's how they work. They get you to "fix" yourself. If I could do that why am I having the government pay you all of this money to do it for me? LOL.
Anyway, so I answer the doctor with a "Um..probably because of my parents." Then we get into that whole issue.
I grew up knowing that if I did that one big thing that my parents didn't approve of that I'd be disowned. So for most of my life I played the part of the perfect daughter while doing all of my dirt on the side. When I realized that I was getting caught anyway and they were getting all upset over it, I stopped trying to hide most of it and was very outspoken and upfront about it.
Almost all of it.
When I came out I knew that I was going to lose people, I expected my parents to disown me, I hoped that they wouldn't, but I expected it. I figured a few of my "Christian friends" would stop talking to me. I hoped that they wouldn't, but I prepared myself for when they did. I wasn't expecting the whole extreme condemnation, but again, not too much of a shock there.
However, when people who initially supported me then turn around and stop supporting me or stop talking to me or just ignore me completely? Well, those old insecurities and fears pop back up.
What did I do wrong? How can I make it better? Am I being too suffocating? Too clingy? Too...whatever. So then it becomes the whole "Maybe I shouldn't have come out, maybe I shouldn't be making this decision, this major life choice. I should just stay female, stay a straight female and be miserable."
Yes, one tap of doubt and the whole house of cards can come tumbling down.
So anyway, I've been like this, my whole life I guess. I second guess almost everything. Oh, I'm blunt and I'm honest (brutally so), but I doubt myself the whole time after it's over. Before every email I bite my lip, chew my thumb nail but send it without making changes, and then I sit and wonder if I can get the email back.
So when I'm writing a book I'm like 10 times worse and then when it comes to a relationship or a friendship? *Rolls eyes* Well, let's just say I get on my OWN nerves.
The thing is, I know I need reassurance, I'm not fishing for compliments because I'm vain or because I have a major pride or arrogance issue, I need reassurance because hell, I was ignored growing up. I was punished for things that weren't my fault, berated, criticized and insulted by my own father and had my mother play a very passive role in letting it happen. And I know that at 27 these things shouldn't still be affecting me, but they do.
You see, my father's voice has become my own and I have to actively silence the doubts in my own head about myself. And no, I don't need to be reassured that I'm like or loved or beautiful or talented everyday, because it loses its sincerity after a while and it becomes extremely draining. Trust me I know because I do that for others. But I think that's why I need it.
I play the part of the supporter, the encourager, the uplifter. It's something I love doing and I do it well. But you know what? When I'm supporting someone I stupidly think that they're going to support me in return. Some of them do. A lot of them do. And I learn who I can turn to when I need that boost of confidence, who's going to cheer me on from the sidelines and I go to them for that, but then that paranoia comes back and it's like am I annoying them? Asking them to encourage me too much? Am I draining them?
*Sigh*
So most of the time, I don't ask and I don't share and I won't come to you and ask you if I've done something to annoy you or bother you or if you're mad at me, I'll just bow out gracefully. Maybe not the most mature thing. Maybe not the best thing to do, but I don't even want to bother you by asking you if I'm bothering you, because won't that just bother you? (Could you follow that?)
Once in a blue moon I'll ask someone if they're mad at me when I haven't heard from them in a while and usually once I do that I stress so much about it that I have to walk away from my computer or my phone. It's not a great way to be and yes, it sort of makes me feel crazy (although my doctor assured me that I'm not. "It's perfectly normal for someone who has been through what you've been through to feel this way"). But, that's just it, I'd have to explain everything I've been through to everyone that I get close to so that they'd understand those moments when I tell them "You probably won't hear from me for like two days, I need to just be by myself" or when I ask "Am I bothering you too much? Being too smothering? Too stalkerish/crazy person?" But usually when they hear what I've been through they can't handle it and they walk away.
It's a damn cache-22.
So, I take to my blog, I tell those who I know suffer through the same insecurities, the same fears, the same paranoias and I let them ease that fear or give me advice: "Just ask him." "Just text her and see." "Vee, you're not crazy, you're a caring supportive person, you just want to continue to be that way and if you weren't a caring and supportive person then you wouldn't care about if you were smothering or annoying someone."
*Sigh*
It's a flaw, a major, annoying flaw, that need for reassurance, for someone, anyone to give a damn, to care and then to pretend as if I don't need it. To ignore my brain and my heart yelling for me to make sure that I haven't crossed a line or to make sure that I'm not being too pushy. To go on like nothing's wrong and that it doesn't kill me or tear my heart to shreds when an email from me goes unanswered for a week or two but others are being responded to. When a voicemail from me gets deleted or a call gets ignored from my cell number but you answer someone else's. And yes, if I were talking to someone else, I'd be all like "Just ask them what's going on. I'm sure there's an explanation, they wouldn't just stop talking to you or ignoring you, you're an awesome person and they're a total jackass if they don't see that." But that's me talking to you, giving you truth.
I don't necessarily feel that way about myself.
So I was talking on messenger with Kate and on the phone with Jack and I'm telling them both about this insecurity I'm having and about how I'm so unsure about whether or not to ask or talk to this person and how I really just need to get this whole, this is me, take it or leave it, I'm an insecure, selfless, possessive, protective, loyal, empathetic bitch thing off my chest and Kate tells me to message the person.
Jack tells me to write a blog...and message this person.
So I did both.
So yes, I am insecure, possessive, protective, loyal, empathetic, selfless bitch who will forever be independent and do things for myself but will silently be screaming for reassurance and love and caring and encouragement.
That's just me.
You know it, I know it, my parents know it, hell even the government knows it. I haven't tried to hide it and I have no problem shining a light on those flaws and uncertainties and and my weaknesses.
It's what makes me so approachable and lovable....I think.
Anyway, my major flaw is how unbearably clingy I can be.
I'm serious.
It's like a real sickness. I'm not like a "You can't spend time with anyone but me," but I definitely have these moments of "Why aren't you talking to me? Don't you like me anymore? What did I do wrong?" if a few days go by and I haven't heard from you but I've written you.
The biggest issue is that you'll NEVER know that I'm having these thoughts, these doubts about my importance to you, that you actually like me or want to know me or hang with me or whatever. I talked to my doctor about it yesterday and he just gets this really serious look on his face and says: "Well Vic (he calls me Vic-*sigh*-it's why I love him), why do YOU think you have these fears, these insecurities and doubts of your worth to others?"
Damn doctor.
That's how they work. They get you to "fix" yourself. If I could do that why am I having the government pay you all of this money to do it for me? LOL.
Anyway, so I answer the doctor with a "Um..probably because of my parents." Then we get into that whole issue.
I grew up knowing that if I did that one big thing that my parents didn't approve of that I'd be disowned. So for most of my life I played the part of the perfect daughter while doing all of my dirt on the side. When I realized that I was getting caught anyway and they were getting all upset over it, I stopped trying to hide most of it and was very outspoken and upfront about it.
Almost all of it.
When I came out I knew that I was going to lose people, I expected my parents to disown me, I hoped that they wouldn't, but I expected it. I figured a few of my "Christian friends" would stop talking to me. I hoped that they wouldn't, but I prepared myself for when they did. I wasn't expecting the whole extreme condemnation, but again, not too much of a shock there.
However, when people who initially supported me then turn around and stop supporting me or stop talking to me or just ignore me completely? Well, those old insecurities and fears pop back up.
What did I do wrong? How can I make it better? Am I being too suffocating? Too clingy? Too...whatever. So then it becomes the whole "Maybe I shouldn't have come out, maybe I shouldn't be making this decision, this major life choice. I should just stay female, stay a straight female and be miserable."
Yes, one tap of doubt and the whole house of cards can come tumbling down.
So anyway, I've been like this, my whole life I guess. I second guess almost everything. Oh, I'm blunt and I'm honest (brutally so), but I doubt myself the whole time after it's over. Before every email I bite my lip, chew my thumb nail but send it without making changes, and then I sit and wonder if I can get the email back.
So when I'm writing a book I'm like 10 times worse and then when it comes to a relationship or a friendship? *Rolls eyes* Well, let's just say I get on my OWN nerves.
The thing is, I know I need reassurance, I'm not fishing for compliments because I'm vain or because I have a major pride or arrogance issue, I need reassurance because hell, I was ignored growing up. I was punished for things that weren't my fault, berated, criticized and insulted by my own father and had my mother play a very passive role in letting it happen. And I know that at 27 these things shouldn't still be affecting me, but they do.
You see, my father's voice has become my own and I have to actively silence the doubts in my own head about myself. And no, I don't need to be reassured that I'm like or loved or beautiful or talented everyday, because it loses its sincerity after a while and it becomes extremely draining. Trust me I know because I do that for others. But I think that's why I need it.
I play the part of the supporter, the encourager, the uplifter. It's something I love doing and I do it well. But you know what? When I'm supporting someone I stupidly think that they're going to support me in return. Some of them do. A lot of them do. And I learn who I can turn to when I need that boost of confidence, who's going to cheer me on from the sidelines and I go to them for that, but then that paranoia comes back and it's like am I annoying them? Asking them to encourage me too much? Am I draining them?
*Sigh*
So most of the time, I don't ask and I don't share and I won't come to you and ask you if I've done something to annoy you or bother you or if you're mad at me, I'll just bow out gracefully. Maybe not the most mature thing. Maybe not the best thing to do, but I don't even want to bother you by asking you if I'm bothering you, because won't that just bother you? (Could you follow that?)
Once in a blue moon I'll ask someone if they're mad at me when I haven't heard from them in a while and usually once I do that I stress so much about it that I have to walk away from my computer or my phone. It's not a great way to be and yes, it sort of makes me feel crazy (although my doctor assured me that I'm not. "It's perfectly normal for someone who has been through what you've been through to feel this way"). But, that's just it, I'd have to explain everything I've been through to everyone that I get close to so that they'd understand those moments when I tell them "You probably won't hear from me for like two days, I need to just be by myself" or when I ask "Am I bothering you too much? Being too smothering? Too stalkerish/crazy person?" But usually when they hear what I've been through they can't handle it and they walk away.
It's a damn cache-22.
So, I take to my blog, I tell those who I know suffer through the same insecurities, the same fears, the same paranoias and I let them ease that fear or give me advice: "Just ask him." "Just text her and see." "Vee, you're not crazy, you're a caring supportive person, you just want to continue to be that way and if you weren't a caring and supportive person then you wouldn't care about if you were smothering or annoying someone."
*Sigh*
It's a flaw, a major, annoying flaw, that need for reassurance, for someone, anyone to give a damn, to care and then to pretend as if I don't need it. To ignore my brain and my heart yelling for me to make sure that I haven't crossed a line or to make sure that I'm not being too pushy. To go on like nothing's wrong and that it doesn't kill me or tear my heart to shreds when an email from me goes unanswered for a week or two but others are being responded to. When a voicemail from me gets deleted or a call gets ignored from my cell number but you answer someone else's. And yes, if I were talking to someone else, I'd be all like "Just ask them what's going on. I'm sure there's an explanation, they wouldn't just stop talking to you or ignoring you, you're an awesome person and they're a total jackass if they don't see that." But that's me talking to you, giving you truth.
I don't necessarily feel that way about myself.
So I was talking on messenger with Kate and on the phone with Jack and I'm telling them both about this insecurity I'm having and about how I'm so unsure about whether or not to ask or talk to this person and how I really just need to get this whole, this is me, take it or leave it, I'm an insecure, selfless, possessive, protective, loyal, empathetic bitch thing off my chest and Kate tells me to message the person.
Jack tells me to write a blog...and message this person.
So I did both.
So yes, I am insecure, possessive, protective, loyal, empathetic, selfless bitch who will forever be independent and do things for myself but will silently be screaming for reassurance and love and caring and encouragement.
That's just me.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Our Date Before the Date
Jack: Wut r u doin 2day?
Me: I've got to take my sister to class at like 12:50 for her 1:00 class then just chilling in the parking lot until she's done.
Jack: How about I bring u lunch?
Me: Seriously?
Jack: Yea. It can be our date b4 our date.
Me: Hell yeah!
So yes, Jack and I had a date BEFORE our big date!! {SQUEAL!!} We'd been texting off and on since yesterday and then he brought me Subway to my car in the parking lot of my sister's college. We sat in the backseat and ate our subs, drank soda and talked. He told me about his family and I told him about mine. He said he was worried about what would happen when my parents got back and I told him about the phone call I got this morning. I've been given until the beginning of the year to move out. We talked about my options. I told him that I was a semi-writer. He asked me what that was:
Jack: What the hell is a semi-writer? (laughs)
Me: Well, I write...almost all day. Books, short stories...gay romance you know? (he nods) But I don't know (I shrugged-I do that a LOT), I don't think I'm really all that good. My brother and sisters say that I am though.
Jack: Wait, your biological brother and sisters or your online ones?
Me: (laughs) My online family. They're all super supportive. Like Thorny, he's the really adorable one, who's like married to this great guy Jazz right? Thorny is like the reason I'm writing this stuff and making it available for other people to read......
So we talked about my online family (yeah, you guys!) and I told him about how Thorny sent me a few nice emails right when I needed them the most and how he pretty much saved my life. I told him about Matt's unending concern and support of me. I told him about how Lucy/Kat encouraged me to say yes when I saw him again (he now loves her). I told him about Kate and how she's like my Australian twin sister and was the first person that I "came out" to and how she never judged me and only supported me, and how she loves my writing, even though I think hers is so much better. I told him about Sid, who understands what I feel so much more than I would have ever expected.
I talked for a while, gushing over my online family and he just sat there watching me talk and smiling. When I stopped abruptly, after telling him that I wanted a relationship that was a mixture of Thorny & Jazz, Matt & Brad with a healthy dose of Vee all mixed together, he laughed.
Jack: Why'd you stop talking?
Me: Why did you let me talk so much?
Jack: Because you're fascinating. I can see why these people love you so much. You radiate...
Me: I radiate? What the hell does that mean?
Jack: You radiate. There's this...I don't know...this like light that just sort of pulls people to you and then you like wrap them in this light. I don't know what's wrong with your family...your biological family, maybe they've been around your light so long that now they're blinded to it, but I can see why your online family loves you so much.
Me: Are you a writer?
Jack: No. (laughs) I just get sort of sentimental and romantic sometimes.
Me: You're trying to make me fall in love with you aren't you? (My eyes widened and my mouth drops open. Yep, now I've scared him off and he's going to cancel the date on Friday)
Jack: (laughs out loud) That's the plan.
We talked some more and then I kissed him. Then he kissed me back and then we were making out in the car. I'm talking heavy making out. He never touched my breasts (LOL. He told me later that he had to stop thinking that I was a GIRL and keep reminding himself that I was just ME. Vic/Vee. Both male and female right now. But that inside I am a gay man.), but he kept his hands on my ass and it was DELICIOUS! We only stopped when the campus security knocked on the window and told us to "move it along."
I haven't made out in a car since I was a freshman in college. It was so exciting and so fucking CRAMPED! How the hell did I used to do that?! We laughed and separated, both of us fixing our clothes. He had to pull up his boxers and zip up his jeans because I HAD to see if it felt as big as it looked (the answer is a hearty FUCK YEAH!) and I had to adjust my jeans and my strap on, which he named "Lil' Big Vic". We saw my sister walking towards the car and with a final kiss, he promised to call me later and he got out of the car.
My sister stood behind the car with a look of shock on her face. Jack had hickeys and teeth marks all over his neck, chin and shoulders (I'm a little aggressive-LOL) and his hair was messed up. When she got in the car and I finally got into the driver's seat she sat really quietly for a second before she burst out with:
"This car smells like sex!!"
I laughed and said, "No honey, this car smells like PRE sex!" She rolled her eyes and proceeded to text our other sister who was at work, and my mother and tell them about "the white man that Vee had in the car."
Nothing can put a damper on my happy day though. I had a "date" before my date and it was glorious! But most of all, I realized how truly lucky I am to have people that have accepted me, sight unseen. Who encourage me to live my truth and then cheer me on when I do it.
Thank you all of you for everything. For reading everything I write (Suzi, Becky, Katharina, Lucy/Kat, Luci), for putting up with my insecurities and goofiness (Kate, Lucy/Kat), for being a constant source of encouragement and support (Thorny, Matt, Sid, Lucy/Kat, Kate, Katharnia, Luci), for believing in me when I don't believe in myself (Lucy/Kat, Kate, Thorny, Katharina, Luci) and for saving my life, even when you didn't realize that you were doing it (Thorny).
I love you all!
{HUGZ, SQUEEZES AND FIST BUMPS}
Vee/Vic
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Some Title.... (Vic Speaks)
I am a writer. I write. I create situations and characters and scenarios that are woven together to make a beautiful story, but I can't even BEGIN to think of what to name this post.
Today I had to take my sister to school. This is my baby sister, the one who just started college, not the one who graduated from college. So I dropped her off, waited to make sure that she got to her classroom safely and then I went to leave. I was in full on Vic mode today. Jeans, T-shirt, I had on my strap-on, my Boston Red Sox baseball cap and my shades. I was looking pretty damn sexy. So I went to take off when these two really tall, really sexy guys stepped out in front of the car. I slammed on brakes and just sort of looked at them in shock. Didn't they see me driving? So I put the car in park and got out of the car (I regretted how fast I got out as soon as my feet touched the ground, I'd left my cane on the backseat).
"What the hell? Didn't you guys see me driving? I don't discriminate on who I will hit, this isn't a crosswalk, a sidewalk or a pedestrian crossing, it's the parking lot which means if you're walking you have to watch out for cars, jackasses!" Not my finest moment, but I was shaking a little from fear, having a flashback from 7 years ago when I saw the old man get hit by a car and then run over by a car behind us while Christopher and I were driving.
"Sorry," the shorter of the two guys says. He looks like a football player, with his thick neck, brown hair, square chin, hugely muscled frame and his big hands. I know that my strap-on is plastic, but I promise you, I got an erection...like hardcore. More than that my "gaydar" was going off something fierce.
"It's alright," my voice instantly changed from angry motorist to "smooth Vic." My voice is naturally husky because I'm a singer in addition to everything else and when I slide into my "Vic" voice, I'm usually looking to score and since it's been over a year since I've been laid, I'm jonesing for some loving....real bad.
The two guys walk towards me and I'm totally checking out the hot football player. In my head we touch hands, feel the spark, I ask him out on a date, he says yes, we go out to dinner, go back to his place, make out, I fuck him, he fucks me, we fall in love, he's with me when I have my gender reassignment surgery, we move in together, move to New York, I get a job on LOGO Tv (that's a secret dream of mine), we find a surrogate, have us 4-6 kids, write this blog together, and live happily ever after. So we all are introducing ourselves to each other. His name is Jackson, goes by Jack, and he introduces his brother, William, who I will from now on refer to as "Dick" and not in a good way, in a 2 inches, slim, can hardly find it, totally disappointing, makes you mad when you see it, kind of way.
So very effortlessly we start talking and I notice that Jack keeps looking at my crotch. I've gotten this reaction before whenever I wear my strap-on because it's one of those BIG black ones, you know the MONSTER cocks? LOL. Because the Italian man inside of me, Vic, has a big ass dick, thick and long. *Grins* So after he looks for like the third time, I clear my throat and he looks at me with this really cute blush on his cheeks.
I'm a little worried that you know Jack is younger than me, because I'm almost in my 30s, but he's 34 and he does what I do, he brings his 18 year old brother to and from school. So I sort of step closer to Jack, just a little, and let my hand brush against his hand and yes, the mental erection I had, just got bigger, because I heard his breath catch. Apparently so did Dick.
"You know my brother's gay right?" he asks me with this really ugly snarl on his face. I laugh and said yes. I notice that Jack is blushing again and he's really so cute. Even though he's got like two or three inches on me, I want to sit him on my lap...after fucking him into the wall of course (Over a year people....I'm a walking hard-on).
"So why are you hitting on him?" Dick asks me. I shrug and say, "Because he's hot and I think we'd have a really hot...I mean a really hard...I mean a really fun time together." I notice that Jack is smiling wider and wider with each "mistake" that I made.
"But he's gay and you're a chick. He doesn't date chicks," Dick says, looking at me like I'm stupid.
"I believe that Vic is transgendered William," Jack says, looking really embarrassed. I just grinned, "Well, I'm bi-gendered. I'm both female and male, not a female born in a male's body or vice versa," I explained, still smiling because oh man I can almost TASTE Jack's sweat. My thoughts had drifted from the romantic to the erotic. I was imagining what would happen if he just dropped to his knees in front of me and started to....
"Oh my gosh! You're some kinda black freak huh?" Dick yelled.
SCREECH!! Hold up! Stop the presses. What the FUCK did this bastard just say about me?
"William!" That was Jack.
"Listen here asshole." Yep, that was me, Vic. "I am not a freak, first of all. I was born this way, it's acceptable, I am okay with it and if you're not then fuck off. Secondly, I'm not black you dumb fuck. My skin may be brown, but I've probably got more WHITE in me than you do, it's just that my family learned to look past race and all that other bullshit to make a beautiful family tree." By this point my hands are shaking and there are a few people standing around looking at us. I hadn't realized that I was yelling, but apparently I was.
"I am so sorry. He's not a homophobe or anything. I mean he's really accepting of me," Jack is apologizing. JACK is apologizing for WILLIAM. How fucked up is that? All the while William is glaring at me with his arms folded.
"You don't get to apologize for him Jack. That's not your job. He should apologize for himself," I say, still shaking in anger and trying to keep "Vee" from making an appearance. I WANTED to be pissed off. I didn't want to be compassionate and understanding right then. I wanted to beat the shit out of this bastard. I know that I have a temper problem, it's something I'm talking about with my VA assigned therapist, but hell, I don't get mad easily or often, but when I do, it can be a problem.
"I'm not going to apologize to some ugly black bitch that can't decide if she's a man or a woman. She's probably crazy anyway." Yep, you guessed it, that was Dick.
By this point some other black students have started to walk forward angry and I know that I have defuse this situation before it gets out of control. Polk County doesn't get a lot of racially motivated fights or hate crimes, but that racism thing is always just underneath the surface. So I glared at Dick, gave up on the fantasy of me and Jack together, in love and happy, and said, "So, what I'm hearing you say is that you're upset because I chose your brother over you and you were hoping that I was a girl that was open-minded so you could fuck me and be open to you introducing your best friend to me so that the three of us could have sex together and he could fuck you and you won't technically be gay or even bisexual, you only did it for the girl you were with? Right? Sorry to burst your bubble, but I'd be fucking the both of you and when I was done, you'd be gayer than your brother. Asshole."
I turned and limped my way back into the car, which was thankfully still there, and pulled off. This time no one stepped out in front of the car.
I was five minutes down the road when I had to pull over because I was shaking and crying too hard.
My looks and the color of my skin have always been a source of contention for me. In my family I was always the "dark one." That wasn't said in a nice way either, but in a "we'll forgive you for it" way. And in the past 27 years, I've had only one person in my life who ever consistently told me I was beautiful, my cousin Val and she died 9 years ago. Everyone else has maybe told me a total of five times and only when I was skinny, had my hair and nails done, was wearing makeup and dressed up.
I grew up feeling ugly, feeling as if I were too dark, as if I didn't belong in my skin, in my body, in my family and just as I start to embrace and live my truth, here comes this asshole and makes a huge dent in my armor.
I then got pissed off because I was JUST starting to embrace and live my truth and here comes this ASSHOLE and with a few well-placed words he TRIES to make a huge dent in my armor.
I don't think that Dick knew that I keep every email, every message, every comment that is encouraging and uplifting and supportive and once a week, sometimes once a day I copy and paste them into a word document and when I have bad days like today I read them so that I don't let them bother me too much.
So I came home and read the comments, the statements, the encouragement that you all left me. The emails from Thorny, Sid and Kate. The comments from Lucy/Kat and Sylvia and LC and Xara and Archie and Brad and Becky and Katharina. The messages on GR from Matt and Luci and Laura. And then I pulled out the letters from Christopher and the last letter from my cousin Val.
By the time I was finished I felt so much better, then I felt disappointed because DAMN Jack was fine. But you know what? There will be others, but more than that I found out how strong I am. A few years ago, a statement like that would have sent me spiraling into depression, but today it just lit a fire under me to continue to live MY truth, regardless of who likes it.
{FIST BUMP AND SNUGGLES}
{HUGZ AND SQUEEZES}
Vic
Today I had to take my sister to school. This is my baby sister, the one who just started college, not the one who graduated from college. So I dropped her off, waited to make sure that she got to her classroom safely and then I went to leave. I was in full on Vic mode today. Jeans, T-shirt, I had on my strap-on, my Boston Red Sox baseball cap and my shades. I was looking pretty damn sexy. So I went to take off when these two really tall, really sexy guys stepped out in front of the car. I slammed on brakes and just sort of looked at them in shock. Didn't they see me driving? So I put the car in park and got out of the car (I regretted how fast I got out as soon as my feet touched the ground, I'd left my cane on the backseat).
"What the hell? Didn't you guys see me driving? I don't discriminate on who I will hit, this isn't a crosswalk, a sidewalk or a pedestrian crossing, it's the parking lot which means if you're walking you have to watch out for cars, jackasses!" Not my finest moment, but I was shaking a little from fear, having a flashback from 7 years ago when I saw the old man get hit by a car and then run over by a car behind us while Christopher and I were driving.
"Sorry," the shorter of the two guys says. He looks like a football player, with his thick neck, brown hair, square chin, hugely muscled frame and his big hands. I know that my strap-on is plastic, but I promise you, I got an erection...like hardcore. More than that my "gaydar" was going off something fierce.
"It's alright," my voice instantly changed from angry motorist to "smooth Vic." My voice is naturally husky because I'm a singer in addition to everything else and when I slide into my "Vic" voice, I'm usually looking to score and since it's been over a year since I've been laid, I'm jonesing for some loving....real bad.
The two guys walk towards me and I'm totally checking out the hot football player. In my head we touch hands, feel the spark, I ask him out on a date, he says yes, we go out to dinner, go back to his place, make out, I fuck him, he fucks me, we fall in love, he's with me when I have my gender reassignment surgery, we move in together, move to New York, I get a job on LOGO Tv (that's a secret dream of mine), we find a surrogate, have us 4-6 kids, write this blog together, and live happily ever after. So we all are introducing ourselves to each other. His name is Jackson, goes by Jack, and he introduces his brother, William, who I will from now on refer to as "Dick" and not in a good way, in a 2 inches, slim, can hardly find it, totally disappointing, makes you mad when you see it, kind of way.
So very effortlessly we start talking and I notice that Jack keeps looking at my crotch. I've gotten this reaction before whenever I wear my strap-on because it's one of those BIG black ones, you know the MONSTER cocks? LOL. Because the Italian man inside of me, Vic, has a big ass dick, thick and long. *Grins* So after he looks for like the third time, I clear my throat and he looks at me with this really cute blush on his cheeks.
I'm a little worried that you know Jack is younger than me, because I'm almost in my 30s, but he's 34 and he does what I do, he brings his 18 year old brother to and from school. So I sort of step closer to Jack, just a little, and let my hand brush against his hand and yes, the mental erection I had, just got bigger, because I heard his breath catch. Apparently so did Dick.
"You know my brother's gay right?" he asks me with this really ugly snarl on his face. I laugh and said yes. I notice that Jack is blushing again and he's really so cute. Even though he's got like two or three inches on me, I want to sit him on my lap...after fucking him into the wall of course (Over a year people....I'm a walking hard-on).
"So why are you hitting on him?" Dick asks me. I shrug and say, "Because he's hot and I think we'd have a really hot...I mean a really hard...I mean a really fun time together." I notice that Jack is smiling wider and wider with each "mistake" that I made.
"But he's gay and you're a chick. He doesn't date chicks," Dick says, looking at me like I'm stupid.
"I believe that Vic is transgendered William," Jack says, looking really embarrassed. I just grinned, "Well, I'm bi-gendered. I'm both female and male, not a female born in a male's body or vice versa," I explained, still smiling because oh man I can almost TASTE Jack's sweat. My thoughts had drifted from the romantic to the erotic. I was imagining what would happen if he just dropped to his knees in front of me and started to....
"Oh my gosh! You're some kinda black freak huh?" Dick yelled.
SCREECH!! Hold up! Stop the presses. What the FUCK did this bastard just say about me?
"William!" That was Jack.
"Listen here asshole." Yep, that was me, Vic. "I am not a freak, first of all. I was born this way, it's acceptable, I am okay with it and if you're not then fuck off. Secondly, I'm not black you dumb fuck. My skin may be brown, but I've probably got more WHITE in me than you do, it's just that my family learned to look past race and all that other bullshit to make a beautiful family tree." By this point my hands are shaking and there are a few people standing around looking at us. I hadn't realized that I was yelling, but apparently I was.
"I am so sorry. He's not a homophobe or anything. I mean he's really accepting of me," Jack is apologizing. JACK is apologizing for WILLIAM. How fucked up is that? All the while William is glaring at me with his arms folded.
"You don't get to apologize for him Jack. That's not your job. He should apologize for himself," I say, still shaking in anger and trying to keep "Vee" from making an appearance. I WANTED to be pissed off. I didn't want to be compassionate and understanding right then. I wanted to beat the shit out of this bastard. I know that I have a temper problem, it's something I'm talking about with my VA assigned therapist, but hell, I don't get mad easily or often, but when I do, it can be a problem.
"I'm not going to apologize to some ugly black bitch that can't decide if she's a man or a woman. She's probably crazy anyway." Yep, you guessed it, that was Dick.
By this point some other black students have started to walk forward angry and I know that I have defuse this situation before it gets out of control. Polk County doesn't get a lot of racially motivated fights or hate crimes, but that racism thing is always just underneath the surface. So I glared at Dick, gave up on the fantasy of me and Jack together, in love and happy, and said, "So, what I'm hearing you say is that you're upset because I chose your brother over you and you were hoping that I was a girl that was open-minded so you could fuck me and be open to you introducing your best friend to me so that the three of us could have sex together and he could fuck you and you won't technically be gay or even bisexual, you only did it for the girl you were with? Right? Sorry to burst your bubble, but I'd be fucking the both of you and when I was done, you'd be gayer than your brother. Asshole."
I turned and limped my way back into the car, which was thankfully still there, and pulled off. This time no one stepped out in front of the car.
I was five minutes down the road when I had to pull over because I was shaking and crying too hard.
My looks and the color of my skin have always been a source of contention for me. In my family I was always the "dark one." That wasn't said in a nice way either, but in a "we'll forgive you for it" way. And in the past 27 years, I've had only one person in my life who ever consistently told me I was beautiful, my cousin Val and she died 9 years ago. Everyone else has maybe told me a total of five times and only when I was skinny, had my hair and nails done, was wearing makeup and dressed up.
I grew up feeling ugly, feeling as if I were too dark, as if I didn't belong in my skin, in my body, in my family and just as I start to embrace and live my truth, here comes this asshole and makes a huge dent in my armor.
I then got pissed off because I was JUST starting to embrace and live my truth and here comes this ASSHOLE and with a few well-placed words he TRIES to make a huge dent in my armor.
I don't think that Dick knew that I keep every email, every message, every comment that is encouraging and uplifting and supportive and once a week, sometimes once a day I copy and paste them into a word document and when I have bad days like today I read them so that I don't let them bother me too much.
So I came home and read the comments, the statements, the encouragement that you all left me. The emails from Thorny, Sid and Kate. The comments from Lucy/Kat and Sylvia and LC and Xara and Archie and Brad and Becky and Katharina. The messages on GR from Matt and Luci and Laura. And then I pulled out the letters from Christopher and the last letter from my cousin Val.
By the time I was finished I felt so much better, then I felt disappointed because DAMN Jack was fine. But you know what? There will be others, but more than that I found out how strong I am. A few years ago, a statement like that would have sent me spiraling into depression, but today it just lit a fire under me to continue to live MY truth, regardless of who likes it.
{FIST BUMP AND SNUGGLES}
{HUGZ AND SQUEEZES}
Vic
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Ouch!
"I do not have to accept you. The law may have to give you certain rights, but I don't have agree or accept your choice and your new found lifestyle." These words are still ringing in my ears even though my mother said them to me an hour ago.
Let me back up.
I had an appointment with the VA at 0945.
I forgot.
Blame my pain meds, I took a cyclobenzaprine and it's 10mg and it always knocks me out. I didn't wake up until 0900 and it took 15 minutes for the fog to clear and then I wanted to finish my paperwork for my SSI disability stuff. So anyway, I didn't remember my appointment until my mother knocked on my door and came into my bedroom to hand me the phone where my doctor was calling to make sure I was okay. This is because the last time I missed an appointment with her it was because I'd fallen out of the bed and was laying on the ground for two hours in pain-yeah, my family didn't realize I was down there-sucks, *shrug* but it's life-now I always have my cane on hand as well as my cellphone-I'm not a complete invalid but when you have a back and a hip injury and you're already laying on the edge of the bed because your clean laundry is on the other side of the bed, because you just felt too lazy to do it? Yeah rolling off the bed isn't unfeasible. My cane was by the wall next to my chair, my cell was in the kitchen-I've since learned to conquer my laziness and do my laundry in its entirety before bed. LOL.
So, my mother hands me the phone and then she notices the brochures, notes, websites, papers, groups, etc. related to transgender, bi-gender and transsexuals and related to gender reassignment surgery. I noticed her noticing and my stomach dropped, my heart leaped into my throat and tears came to my eyes. I know that I should have been more optimistic, but I also know my family and my mother, she was livid, so mad she was shaking (yeah, you see where I get it from). She let me finish my call and then she started in on me.
Mom: Vee, what's this?
Vee: A brochure.
Mom: I know it's a brochure.
Vee: So why'd you ask what it was? (I told you I'm rebellious and a bitch, even with my mom sometimes)
Mom: Don't get smart with me young lady (since when am I a young lady?), why do you have this filth in my house?
Vee: It's not porn Marmie. It's brochures about gender reassignment surgery, transgenders, bi-genders, transsexuals-
Mom: It's about homosexuality and saying that God made a mistake when He made you a girl.
Vee: No, I'm saying society made a mistake when they said I could ONLY be a girl. God made me both and you said He never mistakes.
Mom: So you're saying God made you this way?
Vee: I don't understand. You tell people that people are born gay, but I can't be born bi-gender?
Mom: No.
Vee: Why?
Mom: Because you're my child. No child of mine is gay or bi anything. I raised you to know better.
Vee: I'm still me! None of that has changed! I'm still the same girl I was yesterday and last week and last month and last year. Nothing about me has changed except I'm more comfortable in my skin. I'm on my way to being happy. Don't you want me to be happy?
Mom: Not if you're going to be happy on Earth only to wind up in hell.
Vee: *rolling eyes* So now I'm going to hell? There's no verse in the Bible that says I'd go to hell for having my sex changed.
Mom: But there's one about homosexuality.
Vee: Don't go there. You read the paper I wrote on that, so you know you're wrong. Besides, since you say I was only born a girl, I'd still be having sex with men, just with a penis. So think of it this way. They'd be gay, I'd still be straight.
Mom: Don't joke with me.
Vee: Don't turn your back on me and condemn me to hell and stop loving me because I'm different.
Mom: I'll never stop loving you Vee *sigh* You know that.
Vee: You just won't accept me...
(silence)
Mom: I do not have to accept you. The law may have to give you certain rights, but I don't have agree or accept your choice and your new found lifestyle.
(silence)
Vee: I don't want to talk about this anymore.
Mom: Okay, but you know that I won't accept this, if you get this done, to me you will forever be my daughter and I won't let up until you get the surgery reversed and you know your stepfather-
Vee: What about him?
Mom: If you get it done, he'll want nothing else to do with you.
Vee: Meaning, I'll have to move out and find another place to stay.
Mom: (shrug)
Vee: Can you just go please?
Then she walked out. This conversation is etched in my brain. I wish I could say this is the first time my mother has told me that my stepfather is going to "kick me out" and she's going to support him, but it's not. I am painfully aware that I am no longer a priority in my mother's life and that's as it should be. I'm an adult and really only living here because all of my benefits and disability money isn't enough to sustain me living on my own right now. But if I did? I wouldn't be here and this wouldn't be an issue.
I'm not telling you all this to garner sympathy. I don't need it. I knew that this was a possible outcome when I went to see the doctor. I'm telling you all this so that you can come to the same realization that I did. My family's opinion of me doesn't matter. My opinion of myself is all that matters. Me. I can't make THEM happy and myself miserable, trying to please everyone is what leads to depression and thoughts of suicide and suicide attempts and all manner of things that you do to ease the pain of pleasing everyone but yourself. I have to please me. I have to make me happy first and then and only then can I worry about everyone else.
I'll probably have to come back and read this myself a few times over the next couple of years just to remind myself of this truth. But I can do that. What I can't do is continue to live for others. I must live for myself.
So while my mother's words induced an "Ouch!" reaction in my heart, it didn't shatter my spirit or destroy my soul as I thought it would be and to me, that's a victory in itself.
Let me back up.
I had an appointment with the VA at 0945.
I forgot.
Blame my pain meds, I took a cyclobenzaprine and it's 10mg and it always knocks me out. I didn't wake up until 0900 and it took 15 minutes for the fog to clear and then I wanted to finish my paperwork for my SSI disability stuff. So anyway, I didn't remember my appointment until my mother knocked on my door and came into my bedroom to hand me the phone where my doctor was calling to make sure I was okay. This is because the last time I missed an appointment with her it was because I'd fallen out of the bed and was laying on the ground for two hours in pain-yeah, my family didn't realize I was down there-sucks, *shrug* but it's life-now I always have my cane on hand as well as my cellphone-I'm not a complete invalid but when you have a back and a hip injury and you're already laying on the edge of the bed because your clean laundry is on the other side of the bed, because you just felt too lazy to do it? Yeah rolling off the bed isn't unfeasible. My cane was by the wall next to my chair, my cell was in the kitchen-I've since learned to conquer my laziness and do my laundry in its entirety before bed. LOL.
So, my mother hands me the phone and then she notices the brochures, notes, websites, papers, groups, etc. related to transgender, bi-gender and transsexuals and related to gender reassignment surgery. I noticed her noticing and my stomach dropped, my heart leaped into my throat and tears came to my eyes. I know that I should have been more optimistic, but I also know my family and my mother, she was livid, so mad she was shaking (yeah, you see where I get it from). She let me finish my call and then she started in on me.
Mom: Vee, what's this?
Vee: A brochure.
Mom: I know it's a brochure.
Vee: So why'd you ask what it was? (I told you I'm rebellious and a bitch, even with my mom sometimes)
Mom: Don't get smart with me young lady (since when am I a young lady?), why do you have this filth in my house?
Vee: It's not porn Marmie. It's brochures about gender reassignment surgery, transgenders, bi-genders, transsexuals-
Mom: It's about homosexuality and saying that God made a mistake when He made you a girl.
Vee: No, I'm saying society made a mistake when they said I could ONLY be a girl. God made me both and you said He never mistakes.
Mom: So you're saying God made you this way?
Vee: I don't understand. You tell people that people are born gay, but I can't be born bi-gender?
Mom: No.
Vee: Why?
Mom: Because you're my child. No child of mine is gay or bi anything. I raised you to know better.
Vee: I'm still me! None of that has changed! I'm still the same girl I was yesterday and last week and last month and last year. Nothing about me has changed except I'm more comfortable in my skin. I'm on my way to being happy. Don't you want me to be happy?
Mom: Not if you're going to be happy on Earth only to wind up in hell.
Vee: *rolling eyes* So now I'm going to hell? There's no verse in the Bible that says I'd go to hell for having my sex changed.
Mom: But there's one about homosexuality.
Vee: Don't go there. You read the paper I wrote on that, so you know you're wrong. Besides, since you say I was only born a girl, I'd still be having sex with men, just with a penis. So think of it this way. They'd be gay, I'd still be straight.
Mom: Don't joke with me.
Vee: Don't turn your back on me and condemn me to hell and stop loving me because I'm different.
Mom: I'll never stop loving you Vee *sigh* You know that.
Vee: You just won't accept me...
(silence)
Mom: I do not have to accept you. The law may have to give you certain rights, but I don't have agree or accept your choice and your new found lifestyle.
(silence)
Vee: I don't want to talk about this anymore.
Mom: Okay, but you know that I won't accept this, if you get this done, to me you will forever be my daughter and I won't let up until you get the surgery reversed and you know your stepfather-
Vee: What about him?
Mom: If you get it done, he'll want nothing else to do with you.
Vee: Meaning, I'll have to move out and find another place to stay.
Mom: (shrug)
Vee: Can you just go please?
Then she walked out. This conversation is etched in my brain. I wish I could say this is the first time my mother has told me that my stepfather is going to "kick me out" and she's going to support him, but it's not. I am painfully aware that I am no longer a priority in my mother's life and that's as it should be. I'm an adult and really only living here because all of my benefits and disability money isn't enough to sustain me living on my own right now. But if I did? I wouldn't be here and this wouldn't be an issue.
I'm not telling you all this to garner sympathy. I don't need it. I knew that this was a possible outcome when I went to see the doctor. I'm telling you all this so that you can come to the same realization that I did. My family's opinion of me doesn't matter. My opinion of myself is all that matters. Me. I can't make THEM happy and myself miserable, trying to please everyone is what leads to depression and thoughts of suicide and suicide attempts and all manner of things that you do to ease the pain of pleasing everyone but yourself. I have to please me. I have to make me happy first and then and only then can I worry about everyone else.
I'll probably have to come back and read this myself a few times over the next couple of years just to remind myself of this truth. But I can do that. What I can't do is continue to live for others. I must live for myself.
So while my mother's words induced an "Ouch!" reaction in my heart, it didn't shatter my spirit or destroy my soul as I thought it would be and to me, that's a victory in itself.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Wow
That's the only thing that I've had in my mind all day. From 7 o'clock this morning until now, the word "wow" with a negative connotation has been swirling around in my brain all day.
I am a very empathetic person. I hate for people around me to be hurt, emotionally, physically, not just because I love them or care for them and don't want them to suffer but also for selfish reasons.
I feel nauseous, flush hot like I have a fever and shake.
Call me crazy, call me insane, it doesn't matter, but either way my friends and family either call me because they know that I'll feel their emotional pain (I cry with them, sometimes for them, I get angry on their behalf) or they don't call me for that same reason.
It's the reason that my brother didn't tell me what was going on with him. Why just last night I found out about EVERYTHING that was being said between him and the mother of his child. No one told me because I would "overreact" or "just get sick."
I said all that to say this: today has been a day when I swear I feel as though I've been put through the emotional wringer, from a car accident early this morning (very small, minor ding, no one was hurt), to a dear friend feeling emotionally raw, to the identities and realities of people I have come to care about being called into question, I think I've said "Wow" a lot today.
And my problem is that I have the "fix-it" gene and so I want to fix cars, fix relationships, defend people, solve problems of everyone in the world. But it's just not possible.
The other problem is that these things so affect me that my creative self suffers. I can't write. My mind is racing 1,000,000 miles a minute and all I can think about is if everyone is okay and what can I do to help and did I overstep when I said or did this or am I being a pest by asking if everyone's okay and what if I'm getting on everyone's nerves?
Even when I could dance, when moments like this happened, I couldn't dance. I could barely focus enough to read, I'd sit and watch the television without really understanding anything and I couldn't eat no matter how hungry I got (hey I lost weight at least right?).
And I'm not sharing this to make people feel bad like "Can't tell Vee anything she might have a panic attack," or to make anyone feel guilty because I think it's the mark of a true friend that they care for you so much that they feel what you feel while still being able to tell you what you need to hear. This may of course be my arrogance that I'm a really good friend of course. However, I'm sharing this because in light of everything today I was talking with Kate, someone I'm beginning to really consider as a friend, and I told her that I'm completely real about my flaws.
Hell, I've got a whole post that says I'm a selfish, possessive, protective bitch.
You can't get more real than that.
I feel like while the Internet is great for reinventing yourself, almost living a life of fantasy, not everyone is that way. For me, the fantasy world, the fake me is what I show my family. I am who they want me to be (for now), but online? Where I'm forging relationships with people who can't just walk into my room to see if it's real? I'm MORE honest, I'm truthful, I'm real.
So while none of what happened today is about me (and that's a first-LOL), I just wanted to let you few people know who find me interesting enough to care what I have to say, that what you "read" is what you get. I am a flawed individual and I'm going to share it with you. My major flaws and everything. If you don't like it, you can always unfollow or forget this page ever existed, but for those of you who appreciate it, I thank you.
I know that life's a bitch (and then you die) and I know that I have more days of "Wow" ahead of me...but I'm going to be real with all of you as I go through them.
So all of that to say this, I wanted to write another part of "Inconceivable" today, but I can't. My brain has shut down. I'll post tomorrow and be more of my normal, bitchy, happy, morose, confused, self-absorbed self (LOL I know that's not how I usually am but that's me here lately), but today? I'm feeling the emotional pull of my friends and family and so I'm going to spend the day trying to pull myself out of the emotional mire that I put myself into.
*Hope everyone on the East coast is safe and nothing was too damaged and that no one lost anything really valuable! {HUGZ}
I am a very empathetic person. I hate for people around me to be hurt, emotionally, physically, not just because I love them or care for them and don't want them to suffer but also for selfish reasons.
I feel nauseous, flush hot like I have a fever and shake.
Call me crazy, call me insane, it doesn't matter, but either way my friends and family either call me because they know that I'll feel their emotional pain (I cry with them, sometimes for them, I get angry on their behalf) or they don't call me for that same reason.
It's the reason that my brother didn't tell me what was going on with him. Why just last night I found out about EVERYTHING that was being said between him and the mother of his child. No one told me because I would "overreact" or "just get sick."
I said all that to say this: today has been a day when I swear I feel as though I've been put through the emotional wringer, from a car accident early this morning (very small, minor ding, no one was hurt), to a dear friend feeling emotionally raw, to the identities and realities of people I have come to care about being called into question, I think I've said "Wow" a lot today.
And my problem is that I have the "fix-it" gene and so I want to fix cars, fix relationships, defend people, solve problems of everyone in the world. But it's just not possible.
The other problem is that these things so affect me that my creative self suffers. I can't write. My mind is racing 1,000,000 miles a minute and all I can think about is if everyone is okay and what can I do to help and did I overstep when I said or did this or am I being a pest by asking if everyone's okay and what if I'm getting on everyone's nerves?
Even when I could dance, when moments like this happened, I couldn't dance. I could barely focus enough to read, I'd sit and watch the television without really understanding anything and I couldn't eat no matter how hungry I got (hey I lost weight at least right?).
And I'm not sharing this to make people feel bad like "Can't tell Vee anything she might have a panic attack," or to make anyone feel guilty because I think it's the mark of a true friend that they care for you so much that they feel what you feel while still being able to tell you what you need to hear. This may of course be my arrogance that I'm a really good friend of course. However, I'm sharing this because in light of everything today I was talking with Kate, someone I'm beginning to really consider as a friend, and I told her that I'm completely real about my flaws.
Hell, I've got a whole post that says I'm a selfish, possessive, protective bitch.
You can't get more real than that.
I feel like while the Internet is great for reinventing yourself, almost living a life of fantasy, not everyone is that way. For me, the fantasy world, the fake me is what I show my family. I am who they want me to be (for now), but online? Where I'm forging relationships with people who can't just walk into my room to see if it's real? I'm MORE honest, I'm truthful, I'm real.
So while none of what happened today is about me (and that's a first-LOL), I just wanted to let you few people know who find me interesting enough to care what I have to say, that what you "read" is what you get. I am a flawed individual and I'm going to share it with you. My major flaws and everything. If you don't like it, you can always unfollow or forget this page ever existed, but for those of you who appreciate it, I thank you.
I know that life's a bitch (and then you die) and I know that I have more days of "Wow" ahead of me...but I'm going to be real with all of you as I go through them.
So all of that to say this, I wanted to write another part of "Inconceivable" today, but I can't. My brain has shut down. I'll post tomorrow and be more of my normal, bitchy, happy, morose, confused, self-absorbed self (LOL I know that's not how I usually am but that's me here lately), but today? I'm feeling the emotional pull of my friends and family and so I'm going to spend the day trying to pull myself out of the emotional mire that I put myself into.
*Hope everyone on the East coast is safe and nothing was too damaged and that no one lost anything really valuable! {HUGZ}
True Family
I have learned so much about family and friends in the first few days of all of this and I haven't even gotten started with everything yet.
I learned that family, a true family is not necessarily the one you are born into but they are the people who love you, support you, and accept you unconditionally. A family is one that you love by choice not by blood. So many people have stepped up and decided to be in my corner and the knowledge that I will lose my biological family has been tempered by the realization that I have other people to fill the role of family for me. It is humbling and amazing and incredible.
I feel so unworthy.
I have my first therapy session on the 19th of Sept. The whole process is apparently going to be 6 months. I have been given websites, groups, programs to watch...it all just makes me smile because I am taking control of my life for once, not trying to please anyone but myself. "Living my truth." I want a shirt that says that.
So a family is one you choose. And with the brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, and grandparents of my heart those that have stepped up and supported me...I think I have chosen very well.
I learned that family, a true family is not necessarily the one you are born into but they are the people who love you, support you, and accept you unconditionally. A family is one that you love by choice not by blood. So many people have stepped up and decided to be in my corner and the knowledge that I will lose my biological family has been tempered by the realization that I have other people to fill the role of family for me. It is humbling and amazing and incredible.
I feel so unworthy.
I have my first therapy session on the 19th of Sept. The whole process is apparently going to be 6 months. I have been given websites, groups, programs to watch...it all just makes me smile because I am taking control of my life for once, not trying to please anyone but myself. "Living my truth." I want a shirt that says that.
So a family is one you choose. And with the brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, and grandparents of my heart those that have stepped up and supported me...I think I have chosen very well.
Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.8
Friday, August 26, 2011
For Veronica to Become Roni or Vic
I am, right now, sitting in a doctor's office with my friend K. Ray who drove all the way up from Miami just to take me to this appt and somewhat listening to the doctor describe the surgery and the steps I would need to take in order to become Veronica/Vic.
I know what you're thinking "Vee! Pay attention!" I am! But this doctor is really making me want to blog about him. I've never had a doctor try to talk me OUT of any type of surgery, but this one keeps talking about how beautiful I am as a young woman and why would I want to lose that to become a man.
Idiot.
He obviously didn't listen to me. So my friend K. Ray is arguing with him: "She has gorgeous tits! She doesn't want to lose them idiot! She just wants a cock! Preferably a nice, big, thick, long one that can get erect and she can fuck a man's ass!"
I love K. She really shocked the doctor then. Now he's wondering why I want to fuck a man.
Idiot.
Is this what I want? To let some doctor who doesn't agree with what I want for my life, how I feel inside, who I really am, operate on me? My family, who is going through enough hell with my brother won't understand what I need to do and I haven't told them. This is my big secret. It's been my secret for the last 27 years.
I'm sick of being who people think I should be. And this poor doctor is horrified that I WANT to be half woman and half man instead of just choosing. Atleast he hasn't called me a freak yet, although I have to wonder if he's thinking it. If he thinks it about all his patients.
I tell him that I want to fuck a man...or men *shrug* because I am both a straight woman and a gay man. Both sides of me like cock and a man's tight ass. So sue me.
I think he realizes I am serious. Or maybe he's noticed my Army Veterans card in my wallet when I go to pull out my I.D. but whatever it is he's smiling now and I am still listening with half an ear. I have my brochures, I am laying on this bed in a hospital gown with my girly bits exposed, let's get this over with.
******30 Minutes Later******
My consultation is over. It's possible. Not common. But possible. The amount I will have to pay is breathtaking. It's a partial Gender reassignment, I don't want a hysterectomy, I just want a cock...and maybe a prostate, but they don't do that yet. It's still expensive. I could buy a chest full of strap-on dildos and still have enough to move anywhere in the US that I wanted, but it wouldn't be the same. I want to feel myself get erect. I want to be able to whip out my hard cock and fuck some hot guy's ass, while my tits bounce. LOL.
It's me. Makes no sense. But it's me. K. Ray is beyond supportive, though she thinks I should just buy stock in strap-ons especially since it's safer, non-invasive and when I want to be a girl I can still fully be a girl.
And that's true as well.
So what do I do? I have identified what would make me happy, why I have felt like a stranger in my body for years, why I was unhappy for so long.
Can I continue to live as I have? Is simply identifying the problem enough or can I actually allow myself to undergo this expensive genital reassignment surgery that will give me not only a fully functioning cock that gets erect but testicles as well? Especially when that's what I want?
More importantly can I live with the fact that this surgery may just make me single for the rest of my life?
I really will be considered a "freak" to some people. I may have to live my life alone with the body I want, as the person I feel like I am on the inside, but with no one to share it with.
I cried in the car on the way home. My soul is crying out for this, for something that represents who I really am, but my heart trembles at the thought that I won't or can't find anyone to love me the way I really am.
I mean I've spent this long being a woman...I can keep pretending that that's all I am right?
I know what you're thinking "Vee! Pay attention!" I am! But this doctor is really making me want to blog about him. I've never had a doctor try to talk me OUT of any type of surgery, but this one keeps talking about how beautiful I am as a young woman and why would I want to lose that to become a man.
Idiot.
He obviously didn't listen to me. So my friend K. Ray is arguing with him: "She has gorgeous tits! She doesn't want to lose them idiot! She just wants a cock! Preferably a nice, big, thick, long one that can get erect and she can fuck a man's ass!"
I love K. She really shocked the doctor then. Now he's wondering why I want to fuck a man.
Idiot.
Is this what I want? To let some doctor who doesn't agree with what I want for my life, how I feel inside, who I really am, operate on me? My family, who is going through enough hell with my brother won't understand what I need to do and I haven't told them. This is my big secret. It's been my secret for the last 27 years.
I'm sick of being who people think I should be. And this poor doctor is horrified that I WANT to be half woman and half man instead of just choosing. Atleast he hasn't called me a freak yet, although I have to wonder if he's thinking it. If he thinks it about all his patients.
I tell him that I want to fuck a man...or men *shrug* because I am both a straight woman and a gay man. Both sides of me like cock and a man's tight ass. So sue me.
I think he realizes I am serious. Or maybe he's noticed my Army Veterans card in my wallet when I go to pull out my I.D. but whatever it is he's smiling now and I am still listening with half an ear. I have my brochures, I am laying on this bed in a hospital gown with my girly bits exposed, let's get this over with.
******30 Minutes Later******
My consultation is over. It's possible. Not common. But possible. The amount I will have to pay is breathtaking. It's a partial Gender reassignment, I don't want a hysterectomy, I just want a cock...and maybe a prostate, but they don't do that yet. It's still expensive. I could buy a chest full of strap-on dildos and still have enough to move anywhere in the US that I wanted, but it wouldn't be the same. I want to feel myself get erect. I want to be able to whip out my hard cock and fuck some hot guy's ass, while my tits bounce. LOL.
It's me. Makes no sense. But it's me. K. Ray is beyond supportive, though she thinks I should just buy stock in strap-ons especially since it's safer, non-invasive and when I want to be a girl I can still fully be a girl.
And that's true as well.
So what do I do? I have identified what would make me happy, why I have felt like a stranger in my body for years, why I was unhappy for so long.
Can I continue to live as I have? Is simply identifying the problem enough or can I actually allow myself to undergo this expensive genital reassignment surgery that will give me not only a fully functioning cock that gets erect but testicles as well? Especially when that's what I want?
More importantly can I live with the fact that this surgery may just make me single for the rest of my life?
I really will be considered a "freak" to some people. I may have to live my life alone with the body I want, as the person I feel like I am on the inside, but with no one to share it with.
I cried in the car on the way home. My soul is crying out for this, for something that represents who I really am, but my heart trembles at the thought that I won't or can't find anyone to love me the way I really am.
I mean I've spent this long being a woman...I can keep pretending that that's all I am right?
Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.8
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Truth in a Joke-I am Static, I am Bi-Gender, I am Me
So I talked very briefly to my brother this morning and he asked me if I still loved him after everything yesterday. (DUH!) I told him that nothing he did or said would ever make me stop loving him. I helped to raise him. We've had our fights (knock-out, drag down fights-he only won once-hehehe), we've kept each other's secrets ("Vee, why do you have a plastic toy in your drawer that looks like a penis?"), and we've always stood up for each other ("Listen up bitch, you hurt my brother again, I will kick your ass from here to Sunday."). So of course I'm not going to let a little thing like him struggling with depression over the fact that he's being kept from his son and a woman he loved has been using him for his money this whole time, stop me from loving my baby brother. Even if he killed someone, I'd be UBER disappointed but I'd still love him. I asked him if he'd still love me if I got a penile implant. He laughed and said he'd wondered what was taking me so long to "grow a pair." We both laughed but you know what? I wonder if he was really being honest with me.
I know that in their own way my family loves me and that my friends support me, but if I rock their comfortable worlds and become "abnormal" or "transgendered" or "bi-gender"? I was talking to my new friend Kate about it and I confessed that I've always struggled with this. Feeling both male and female. Some days just wishing I had a dick and a cute guy to fuck in the ass and then other days feeling so feminine and wanting to be fucked myself. Plus I love my tits you know? But, I come from a Christian family and that stuff isn't even considered. As I get older and care less and less about the opinions of others, I think more about what would make me happy.
I love being a woman, but there is a part of me, a rather loud, dominant and obnoxious part of me that yearns to be a man. So while my family teases me about being a "big, biker dude" on the inside, I'm not sure that they'd be so supportive if I took steps to actually make myself more comfortable with who I am on the inside. I wouldn't even know where to begin. What steps to take, who to talk to.
What friends can I depend on to still stick around if I did this? How do I do this? Can I do this? I know for the first time in my life I feel this weight lifting slowly off of me, because I've admitted it to myself and to others. Kate teased about therapy and the truth that came shooting out of my mouth was shocking even to me:
There are times when I love being a woman, love being me, but most of the time, I wish I were a man. I'm not sure what to do with that and honestly going to therapy over the whole thing means (to me) that there's something wrong with feeling this way. I don't think that there is. I was born this way. There weren't circumstances that made me this way, no one's telling me to be this way, if anything society is telling me that I have to choose one or the other. Why? If I was born feeling "static" feeling both like a man and a woman, neither of them really conflicting with the other, both complementing the other half and both of them attracted to the same gender, what's the problem?
I know that in their own way my family loves me and that my friends support me, but if I rock their comfortable worlds and become "abnormal" or "transgendered" or "bi-gender"? I was talking to my new friend Kate about it and I confessed that I've always struggled with this. Feeling both male and female. Some days just wishing I had a dick and a cute guy to fuck in the ass and then other days feeling so feminine and wanting to be fucked myself. Plus I love my tits you know? But, I come from a Christian family and that stuff isn't even considered. As I get older and care less and less about the opinions of others, I think more about what would make me happy.
I love being a woman, but there is a part of me, a rather loud, dominant and obnoxious part of me that yearns to be a man. So while my family teases me about being a "big, biker dude" on the inside, I'm not sure that they'd be so supportive if I took steps to actually make myself more comfortable with who I am on the inside. I wouldn't even know where to begin. What steps to take, who to talk to.
What friends can I depend on to still stick around if I did this? How do I do this? Can I do this? I know for the first time in my life I feel this weight lifting slowly off of me, because I've admitted it to myself and to others. Kate teased about therapy and the truth that came shooting out of my mouth was shocking even to me:
There are times when I love being a woman, love being me, but most of the time, I wish I were a man. I'm not sure what to do with that and honestly going to therapy over the whole thing means (to me) that there's something wrong with feeling this way. I don't think that there is. I was born this way. There weren't circumstances that made me this way, no one's telling me to be this way, if anything society is telling me that I have to choose one or the other. Why? If I was born feeling "static" feeling both like a man and a woman, neither of them really conflicting with the other, both complementing the other half and both of them attracted to the same gender, what's the problem?
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