Still a Façade

On a bright day not that long past I wrote and believed:

I am NOT my body

If that is so, and I know it is, how is it that contrary feelings persist? I am fundamentally mismatched and wrong and cannot banish that thought. 

A wonderful lady who I have worked with several times over the past three years, let's call her M, saw me from across the room at a social occasion recently, walked over to me and asked:

"Are you feeling OK? You look really stressed out."

We have done some pretty high pressure stuff together and M knows me very well. Hmm, let's put that correctly. She knows the public version really well and by the nature of what we have done she has had glimpses of a deeper hidden person. Let's be clear though, M is not privy to the secret.

I came very close to bringing her into that small inner circle in that moment. M has a way of asking important questions, and in those times seems to be looking into your soul. That moment felt so much like a connection to Me, the real me, not to him; that person the world sees and thinks they know. The circumstances were not right ~not enough time ~ too many others close by. The moment was lost, for now. I could have made lots of excuses for what she had noticed, after all, there is a lot to be worried about these days. The struggles of those living in parts of the Middle East came to mind as one that weighs heavily, but I wanted to be honest with her. I like M a lot. I couldn't lie to her, so I told her there is a personal issue that is stressing me out and perhaps we should talk about it, but at another, better time. 

I wanted to say, "M, the thing that is stressing me out so much is the fact that I am bound by a promise to not tell you or anyone else who I am and all that I truly feel." 

This fleeting connection with M's caring soul touched me and crystallized feelings that have been at the edge of my life for so long, and have nagged at me saying do something to end the conflict between who you seem to be and who you are.

Before I can share with her, or anyone else in my life, I should be able to convert images and feelings into words. I will flesh myself out as I would a fictional character. I see myself, relaxed and smiling and in control. Slightly insecure checking myself out in a mirror before striding forward into the world. I feel a tug on the ears, a glint of dangling gold around my neck and wrist, colour on my toes and fingertips catching my eye to remind me who I am, and a wardrobe proclaiming to all, 'this is my look' today. The smell of my favourite scent wafts out to announce my presence while reminding me of a friend who suggested it and bought the first bottle I owned. 

So this is a person others could know if I permitted it. In place of that reality, this same heart and soul is living in a limited, controlled way. Life is muted, with high points corresponding to connection with friends online and brief guest appearances in the real world by what I say, or how I act, but never, never how I look or how I feel. Some might and have counselled, "get dressed up and head out." and to them I say, I will do that just as soon as I can promise myself to never ever go back. Going back would tear my heart out.

It is difficult to admit to all of this so far into what has been an increasingly satisfying journey away from ego-centric matters. As much as it hurts to admit, it seems we sometimes have to accept that matters of the body and the ego must be dealt with. I would like to think that the growth and self-acceptance I have felt over this past four years will somehow make a difference in how I handle myself today.

The spiro has worked for so long. Yet here I am tortured by a vision of who I'd choose to be. I wonder if further intervention to eliminate the effects of androgen would help. Perhaps, and I suppose that is worth trying too. 

Fully aware of the turmoil I'm feeling these days and the lengths I am going to, a good friend remarked in an email recently:

"To outsiders it all seems so absurd, they have NO points of reference, how can big changes (that) make such small differences to the way you live be so important? Then again look how hard they fight to keep us in our place, what do they fear?"

It's All in Your Head

The inability to forget is infinitely more devastating than the inability to remember  (Mark Twain)

Something that always amazes me is how ideas come together when I deeply desire understanding, and then pay attention to what happens next. On Thursday Jules posted on the topic of avoiding. It got me thinking about how doing something small and positive has always worked better for me than fussing over a big seemingly impossible problem. This was the beginning of some synchronicity. 

As my previous post will attest, I've been feeling agitated and down for the past few days. Thursday morning was a low spot, but overall it hasn't been very good for many days. Yesterday morning, I chatted online with a wonderful girlfriend, and felt a lot better, but realized that after a while my mood was headed downhill yet again. As I wrote to her later, it dawned on me that when she and I were online together, it was as if I was transitioned already. I was me and this body I dislike was not an issue at all. I needed to believe in my power to be the same person all the time so that no matter what people see when they look at me, that person inside can be me.

Then, more synchronicity:

As frequent visitors here will recall, golf is an important part of my recreational life. Yesterday afternoon, after the revelation I mentioned above  I was wandering around the public library in town, just putting in time while waiting for my sweetie, and happened to see a book I've meant to read. "Golf is Not a Game of Perfect" by Dr. Bob Rotella. I signed it out but didn't open it until this morning, when I read:

"NOT MANY PEOPLE think that their state of mind is a matter of choice. But I believe it is. Unfortunately, major branches of psychology and psychiatry during this century have helped promote the notion that we are all in some sense victims—victims of insensitive parents, victims of poverty, victims of abuse, victims of implacable genes. Our state of mind, therefore, is someone else’s responsibility. This kind of psychology is very appealing to many academics. It gives them endless opportunities to pretend they know what makes an individual miserable and unsuccessful. It appeals as well to a lot of unhappy people. It gives them an excuse for their misery. It permits them to evade the responsibility for their own lives."

followed by

"people by and large become what they think about themselves"

That really hit home. 

I have only just started reading this book, but as you can tell, Dr Rotella has my attention. If it helps me improve my golf game, that will be a bonus. 

Life on the Edge

Just a short note today because what happened yesterday needs to be acknowledged so I can move on and remember it only as a lesson.

As the morning wore on, I was becoming more and more agitated. I know the signs, even if it has been a while since having to live with them day after day.
On the edge of a phone call for an emergency counselling session with the good Dr. T (my therapist), it suddenly dawned on me "I forgot to take my pills this morning!"

It is hard to believe that a few hours without chemical intervention could possibly make such a difference. By dinner time I was back in control of feelings that never completely go away. Today, all is as it should be.

It is wonderful to connect with a higher self, but as we all know, we have to acknowledge and connect with the self that deals with the body and its requirements as well. Both must be honoured.

OK, time to get on with the day! Hope yours is a good one too!