I Don't Want To Be A Woman

I read the following in a comment yesterday, and it got me thinking: "The point of all of this is to become female." It might have been just careless use of language, or it might truly be what some individuals think we are all about. So, thank you for playing the game, but (insert rude buzzer noise here) ...wrong!!

We are so amazingly unique. I will guarantee that not every MTF would say they are doing what they do in order to become female, because I definitely am not.

This is not about semantics where some would say, "of course, because you have always been female, so you are not becoming anything but yourself. As true as that might be, I wish to repeat: I really do not want to become anything.

I want to stop having painful and distracting symptoms that have plagued me all of my life; symptoms I never understood until I came here to read and share my own truths.

In all honesty, as much as I might have thought a woman is who lives inside, whatever ends up giving me the best chance to stop that inner conflict and dislocation and distraction is the path I will end up following. So, if finding gender congruence turns out to be the only way out of this mess, that is likely to be my Act III finale.

For some, becoming female might be the result, but it is not always the motivation.

Two Headed Driver

A long time before the use of seat belts in cars became mandatory (come to think about it, they didn't even put them in the cars when I was a kid) we used to see what we called "two headed drivers" from time to time.

There would be a man's head on the left, with left hand on the steering wheel and right arm around the girl of his dreams whose head would be on his shoulder. Young love's embrace hurtling down the road.

Seat belts and driver training have made the two-headed driver obsolete, except in my case.

Observe Halle, two-headed driver, heading down the expressway of life, never quite sure which of the two sides of her persona has a hand on the wheel, or even whose feet are on the pedals. It may not be dangerous for the rest of the world, but personally, I am used to feeling a lot more in control than the present situation allows and to be honest, it is scaring me a lot. There are just too many situations where being of two minds makes for dangerous travel down the road of life.

Still, I am doing the best I can, and if that means fighting over the controls for a while, it seems that is what I will do. Good form dictates that sooner or later it will be one driver and one passenger, or perhaps just a driver.

I remember wondering how those two-headed drivers of my youth managed to stay alive with only one hand on the wheel. Heck, I still wonder sometimes.

Like Banging Your Head

"Why do you bang your head on the wall like that?"
"It feels so good when I stop!"

There was a time not so terribly long ago when personal self-acceptance seemed an impossible dream. The feelings then, so confused, drove me to seek any kind of temporary relief from myself. Over time, it dawned on me that if I kept on that path, eventually I would end my life. I hated myself that much.

As I look around our world, so much of what we consume seems to be in the category of temporary relief in the form of escape from reality. Industries, and crime syndicates have sprung up to provide them. Seductively designed to give the user a rush, when seen through dispassionate eyes, these 'items' are sometimes expensive, often bizarre and always geared to give that temporary release, then send you back for more, while increasing feelings of shame. Like a drug, the 'hit' needs to be elevated to be effective the next time.

Such is the item referenced in a post on July 17th by Miz Know-it-All; a prosthetic that promises to give the wearer the temporary illusion of being a woman. The item comes complete with photographic evidence and glowing customer recommendations.

We all bring our own perspective, of course. Miz K feels speechless and ill. I feel sad; awful terrible sad, and left to wonder how much further down the road away from self-acceptance such a purchase eventually moves the user (or is it used?).

I will not judge those who find themselves so confused, so desperate for some relief from themselves that they would be driven to acquire that and other 'items' in order to escape. Judging them would be to condemn myself at an earlier age; a time when I might in quiet, self-loathing desperation, have tried that or something like it too.

Numbing ourselves is never a solution to a problem. Realizing what it is that we are doing and finding a way to stop the self-hatred is a necessary first step to regaining control of our life.

If you have made choices that you regret, join the human race. We all have them.

If you feel truly at peace with yourself and the world, you are not hurting yourself are you? If not, consider the folly of hitting your head on the wall, just to feel better when you stop.

Miz Know-it-All's post here.

Every Time We Say Goodbye

There are aspects of straddling the gender divide that are hard to label successfully, in my humble opinion. I read blogs of self-described crossdressers that sometimes sound eerily familiar to me from reading blogs of self-described transexuals. We may be 'mainly this or that' but it seems we each can learn something about ourselves by empathizing with the other, unless of course, we are in the enviable position of having definitively 'solved' our 'problem'.

On a personal note, it is pleasing to be able to declare that having a balance between two halves of my psyche is going well. To recap, each morning I acknowledge to myself that presenting as a male is a bad, but necessary compromise that a long life of denial has made necessary for me. Having done that, and accepting that my mind and heart is somewhere else, it is time to move on and get on with my day as best I can.

I do not, I cannot dress the way my heart dictates, not even a little. Tempting as it might seem,  I am not the sort who can do the androgyny look, apart from the obvious. Lots of women are about in golf shirts, shorts and sandals in my part of the world right now, and that tends to be my uniform. Hairy legs are a giveaway of course as is the cut and style. My issue is not with the clothes at any rate; it is about who I am, and how that is expressed.

If I was going to accessorize my golf shirt, shorts  and sandals as Halle, it would be part of taking full control of the situation (moving to the driver's seat, as it were) and leaving the man behind. To say it bluntly, I must be one or the other gender on the outside. If I cross that line, there will be no heading back, because the mental crisis of back and forth, man today, woman tomorrow, is not something I could survive for long.

It has been said before here that I envy those who carefully and convincingly present in both the male and female, and seemingly dance back and forth at will. The word 'seemingly' was used intentionally. Every now and then these cross dressing friends (some I correspond with, but have not yet met, sadly) will write a post that makes me wonder whether they also suffer from a psychic malaise that going back to male brings after giving the woman inside full control for a while.

For me who knows I cannot do it, and for you who take the risk of having your heart ripped out each time you need to put yourself away again, a song that has been playing in my mind for a long time, and needs to be put out there.

Cole Porter was not likely thinking about our situation, but his lyrics and the music tell that story of loss better than a thousand of my words ever can.