Goodbye TRC

13 | January 21st, 2008 | Posted in Second Life, TRC

I’ve been a proud and active staff member of the Transgender Resource Centre in SecondLife almost since its inception, billed as an open meeting place for transgender individuals to meet, provide mutual support and find friendships. Or at least that’s the organisation I loved and devoted almost every minute of my time in SecondLife to.

Being a part of the community that formed around the TRC was wonderful. I have met so many people, some are now firm friends, one has moved half way round the world to be with me. Talking to people and knowing you have made a difference, meeting people from the next town to the other side of the globe with the same hopes and dreams made life a little less lonely. For a long time it has been a major part of my SecondLife and breaks my heart that I have to draw that chapter to a close.

The TRC has undergone a sort of transition of its own, from nervous first steps to its current incarnation. What started as an open welcoming friendly meeting place has slowly changed into a small clique, that in many ways has become as bigoted as the people we battle against in our real lives for simply being transgender. If you don’t fit the mold, we can’t help you, we will make you uncomfortable, we will make sure you never come back.

For me, the goal of the TRC was to support the transgendered and not judge people based upon there expression of self or upon the communities in which they found a home. It’s now that I feel alone in this position that the TRC is no longer an organisation I can be a part of.

The TRC has a cancer eating away at its very core, and they meet every sunday in private.

There are more people at admin meetings than the actual TRC. A culture of political whispering has emerged. Real life romantic entanglements past and present ensure that policy is determined by personal attitudes and loyalties. Topics of discussion involve excluding a named individual that for no fault of her own has a RL disability that some find annoying. When really we should be working harder to provide more support, we’re working ever harder to exclude.

Making sure the TRC has a shiny middle of the road image is more important than the very people we’re here to support.

The first thing anyone told me about SecondLife is that every aspect of the human experience is represented somewhere, and thats been proven to me over and over. A huge tangled melting pot of cultures within cultures, where every lifestyle both fantasy and real exist in an uneasy harmony.

A support centre for the transgendered needs to span cultures, philosophies and lifestyles.

I’m going to build one that does. Where the only rule will be tolerance. Where mutual support is the first and only goal.

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Shall I get out and push?

0 | January 14th, 2008 | Posted in Life, NHS

Had my usual appointment with my GP this morning. As part of local jiggery pokery the surgery has moved into a brand new custom building, all very pretty looking. Why they had to call it a “Health and Wellbeing Centre” is a bit beyond me, but who cares. Once thing thats not changed is the inability to make an appointment sooner than exactly a week in advance or the time spent sweltering in the waiting room.

I’ve had a couple of spots of blood come from my left nipple, little worrying when all you can find on the internet about that is cancer. No lumps or bumps that either of us could find but he’s referred me to a breast clinic anyway. Got a referral to the ear, nose and throat people for my snoring and sleep apnea. So far so good.

He is dropping my dose of anti-depressants (Citalopram) from 40mg to 20mg as I’m feeling generally better. It’s been almost 2 years that I’ve been on them and I don’t want to be on them any longer. Halving the dose seems a bit sharp to me, but we will see, I have lots of support.

Not so great news on the gender front, due to some technical screw up, the letter he dictated asking for an appointment with a gender specialist at charring cross hospital was eaten by his computer. He had no idea it hadn’t been sent. So thats another couple of months waiting for precisely nothing. It’s very disheartening especially with the 2 year anniversary of having ‘the talk’ and coming out to my doctor fast approaching.

*sigh*

Oh, and there is nothing wrong with my bottom!

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2008 Blues :’(

0 | January 4th, 2008 | Posted in Change, Life, Love, NHS, Smoking, Weakness, Work

I have no energy. I can’t concentrate. I’m on the verge of tears all the time, one wrong word and I’m going to burst. I’m screaming on the inside and no-one can hear me.

I’m physically disgusting, trapped in a body thats not mine and making no progress with the NHS to get anything done to correct it. I’m dependant on the anti-depressants they do provide and buying my own HRT over the internet. It’s a few months away from 2 years since I initially spoke to my GP about my gender, well over a year since I went properly full time (off my own bat), and I’m no closer than I was when I started (unless you measure progress in the amount of anti-depressants you’re being prescribed). I feel like a freak.

I’m stuck in a job I have no feeling for anymore, taken 2 pay cuts since I came out and the boss refuses to use female pronouns. Just because its better than nothing. At least he stopped pulling me aside for wearing a skirt and makeup every other day and telling me my appearance is making staff members (him) physically sick. What hope do I have of getting something better.

I’ve not seen my daughter since xmas eve and I’m afraid I’m going to loose her. I want to have her this weekend but I’ve got a really bad cold and possible chest infection. There is no way I will risk her getting it from me.

I’ve loved and lost someone because she couldn’t live with me being poly. I’m so sorry I hurt you, I never wanted to, never intended to. I can’t think of you and not well up. I still love you and always will. Please forgive me.

My whole life is shit and I’m powerless to do anything about it. Thoughts of suicide run through my head everyday. I WONT BOW TO THEM. NOT NOW. NOT EVER. I’m haunted by the memory of a friend who lost her battle and died at the start of 2007. I wont go the same way. I can’t. For Her.

Things can only get better. I have hope.

I’ve not had a cigarette in ages and don’t need one.

My babies are coming to live with me from the US real soon. I miss them so much and its only been 2 days. I love you both more than I can possibly express.

I will be ok. Just a rough spot.

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There once was a man..

0 | December 14th, 2007 | Posted in Poetry, Writing

There once was a man from Nantucket
Who’s wife had a rather large bucket.
And rather then loose it
she’d let him use it
And it leaked wherever he took it.

–by Trinity Dejavu

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No Blackmail

0 | December 13th, 2007 | Posted in Family, Life

My exwife (not yet divorced, just separated) moved out with her live in lover a little over 3 weeks ago and in that time I have seen my daughter twice. She has come over in the evening, slept the night and I have had most of the following day.

Its far from what I would like.

When they moved out, they took almost everything. I was left with the kitchen intact, a cheep dining room table thats seen better days, my own personal belongings including my bed and a garage full of rubbish that I am probably going to have to pay to have disposed of.

The one other thing they didn’t take with them is half of the credit card debt which at the time of writing is about £3000 ($6000 US).

All the credit cards are in my name as for years I was the only earner in the house and realistically the only one of us who could get a card or five. She always had total control of all the money in our relationship , paying bills, all the buying and all the spending (to the point that I have had wage checks written out payable to her).

Items, shopping, whatever was paid for on the credit card as she deemed necessary and she was in full control of how much was repaid and when.

(Its worth noting at this point that we have had credit card trouble before and my mother came to the rescue and paid the debts off in full a few years ago.)

Today she tried to force me to accept an offer to cover half of the outstanding credit card debt.

She offered to pay back a certain amount each month for the next 7 months that would cover half the debt and interest during the repayment period. Put another way, I would be lending her half of the debt and retaining full responsibility for it as it would still be in my name.

I wanted her to either get a card of her own or a loan or whatever (I don’t really care how she does it) and pay me half of the balance as it stands now. Effectively taking responsibility for half of the debt herself.

She refused to even contemplate that option and insisted that I accept her offer. I refused, asking her again to look at my suggestion. She then brought up the as yet unsettled issue of child maintenance, a totally separate issue that just happens to also involve money.

The implication was very very clear. Do it my way, or jeopardize your access to your daughter, and that in my book is blackmail.

I will not allow her to walk all over me, I do it now and it will happen again and again and again for ever. I want things to be fair, the debt to be handled fairly, my maintenance handled fairly and my access to my daughter handled fairly.

Is that to much to ask?

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Back!!

0 | December 10th, 2007 | Posted in Life

My PC gave up the ghost a little over a week ago, damn bios had a habit of resetting itself or going corrupt forcing me to blank it, My install of Kubuntu failed to upgrade and left me with nothing so I gave up - sick of the damn thing just not working. (Was a Shuttle SN95G5 - I hear the newer versions are ok).

I’ve taken the plunge and got myself a sweet new Rock laptop as a desktop replacement, its simply awesome, plays SL fast, lovely hig rez screen and lots of memory.

Now I can get my evening fix im sure to be a happer and more stable person, and less tempted to decorate (I can’t paint to save my life - what a mess).

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I’m Afraid

0 | November 19th, 2007 | Posted in Change, Family, Life, Love

I’ve finally received the news I’ve been looking forward to and dreading, the date my exwife, boyfriend and daughter will be moving out.

When I separated from my wife, we were still very very close, there was no future together as partners but we still loved each other very much. We stayed living in the same house (although sleeping apart) so we could both be with our daughter, Zoe.

Early this year my wifes new boyfriend moved over from Germany to be with her, he is a kind and genuine man who we both get on with, so, while upsetting for me, having him in the house with us wasn’t the end of the world.

Seeing my wife with her new lover wasn’t easy and I shed plenty of tears over it, but we both knew we had to get on with our own respective lives and we all decided initially to live together and see how things went. I got to stay with my daughter and frankly that was all I cared about.

Our daughter got on very well with the new man about the house too. A bit too well for my tastes, and when the games started involving pretend family units, with a child, mummy and a daddy it broke my heart. Hearing her call someone else, even in play, the name that was once reserved for me was just to much. I spoke to my exwife about it and was offered no help, to paraphrase “if that’s her way of dealing with what you’re doing, then I’m not going to stop her from saying it”.

To be fair, I had not to long before asked Zoe to call me “Trin” all the time, going out with her was becoming more and more difficult. I felt I was passing ok and not drawing attention to myself, until the little girl at my side said “Daddy”. Then the whole world in my immediate vicinity would seem to freeze in time, everyone looking round with looks of astonishment or disgust.

So maybe it was my own fault, maybe she needed to call someone Daddy, and if not me, then why not her mums new boyfriend. I tried talking to Zoe about it and while she understood what I was saying, seemed more interested in pleasing her new parent. Thankfully she stills calls him by name, and while the games are still played and still as painfull, its not transfered to general use.

Over the course of the year my daughter has slipped away from me, I find I can’t compete for her attention. When its just the two of us she is fine and we have a great time, when its not she will openly reject me. Her attitude towards me changes the instant her mum and lover enter the picture, happy and playful changes to embarrassed and hostile, almost like she has been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

I can’t blame her, she has been through a very rough time with my changes and our separation, and clinging to the closest thing she has to a normal family is understandable. I wouldn’t want to deny her the happiness she has found, I just wish it didn’t hurt so much when she pushes me away. To be rejected by your own child is a special kind of hurt that never looses it edge.

In 5 short days she will be out of daily life forever. All of us living together and seeing how it went could never last long term and now this chapter has finally come to a close.

I’m haunted by fear of loneliness, the life only a child can inject into a house gone, empty rooms that echo with the ghost of better times, left over toys with no one left to play with them.

She isn’t moving far, I will do my best to see her and have her over to stay as often as I can, but I have to wonder, will she want me to. What does the future hold for our relationship.

She has just caught me sobbing as I finish this post, I don’t want her to remember me like this.

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Dreaming of SRS

0 | November 16th, 2007 | Posted in Change, Childhood, Life

I found out pretty early in my teenage years there was such a thing as a ’sex change’ operation, and while I wished it could happen to me, I felt isolated and alone and couldn’t approach anyone. I knew my few friends and family would react badly and feared rejection, I put a lid on it, buried it deep, and tried to get on with my life in the role I had been born into.

Years later it would crop up and I would find myself in tears, reading stories in the tabloid press and wishing, or just stumbling across information on the internet . I would just shut it all out, that road lead to the top of my parents stairs, gazing down the steep flight and wishing I had the courage to end it. So I would bury it deep again and keep myself busy.

The internet did a little to break my shell, I was able to explore the draw I felt to BDSM through reading erotic fiction, pictures were ok, but written words carried so much more. I felt an empathy with the submissives depicted in the scenes (typically female) and wished I could be them. But often, the fantasy and sexual release through masturbation would all to quickly fade leaving me with an empty feeling. Something wasn’t right, and it was me.

Masturbation was the lesser of two evils, the alternate being a sexual frustration strong enough to drive all other thoughts from my mind and make it impossible to concentrate on anything. Somedays the need for release was so strong it felt like I was going out of my mind. I would masturbate as often as 6 times a day and by the end orgasm was accompanied by intense internal cramping. My body was ablaze with testosterone, and I felt powerless to do anything, days would pass feeling like my head was going to explode and I needed to scream.

I had a string of girlfriends before settled down with my partner for 11 years and having a wonderful daughter together. When she was born I wished it had been me that had given birth, what should have been the happiest day of my life was clouded by feelings of jealousy towards my partner.

Genital Sex (normal intercourse) has always been a mixed bag. To be very honest I’m not very good at it, always tended to climax far too quickly, or if by random chance I didn’t then I’d either get tired very quickly or would loose my erection.

Actual ejaculation wasn’t something I enjoyed, was always followed by an apology and left a bitter emotional aftertaste. I just felt bad for letting it happen (as if there was something I could do to stop it!) and this feeling only increased as the years went by.

For me, sex has always been about closeness, passion and giving. A deep loving relationship with lots of cuddles, kisses and sexy play is vastly more important to me than rubbing bits.

And that’s the motivation for this post. Up until a couple of days ago, I hadn’t had genital sex for 18 months, partly by circumstance and partly by choice. I don’t really know what happened or why - (maybe the last tiny bit of the old me left in my body was not willing to let go without a fight?) It was unexpected, unnecessary and totally unexplainable (for both of us) and We wont be doing it again (until I’m post-op).

What came after was guilt, disgust, regret, a feeling of being dirty. It was like the man I pretended to be for all those years had come back and taken over. It was horrible, I felt like a fake as I walked to town the next morning, like everyone was staring and seeing the shell I used to hide behind, eyes filled with contempt seemed to meet mine over and over. How I made it to work without breaking down is beyond me.

In a way it confirms to me that I’m on the right path and the SRS (Sexual Reassignment Surgery) is the right decision for me. Especially as I’ve started to discover I can reach orgasm with without, its weak now, but getting stronger :)

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The Wonder Years

0 | November 15th, 2007 | Posted in Change, Childhood, Life

I’ve wished I was born a girl since puberty (at which point everything just seemed to go the wrong way). I remember the excitement of ‘Sex Education’ in high school and learning about periods, breasts and babies. It simply didn’t click during the first few lessons that I was a boy and non of those wonderful things would happen to me.

I remember walking between classes and it hitting me like a sledge hammer - I wont have periods, I have the wrong bits. I broke my heart in the toilets and was late for my next class, sobbed most of that night wishing I had never been born and it’s stuck with me ever since.

It’s not like I hadn’t known I was a boy, I suppose I just expected things to work out in the end. Maybe it would drop off, maybe I would wake up one morning in the right body, I knew you “changed” during puberty. Maybe I took the meaning of the word change to far. All I know is that my physical gender wasn’t an issue till I found out it wasn’t what I knew at heart.

My teenage years were a living hell. I found the company of few girls better than many of my male friends, I grew my hair long, my waistline curved in where a womans does and my breasts did bud for a short time. I looked and felt different and was almost always alone or excluded.

I used to get beaten up for my appearance, a couple of the rougher groups of lads would make my life hell at every opportunity, and a couple of boys made sure I left the encounter stained with my own blood and in a mess.

In the end I was scared to leave the house, going to the village centre was out of the question and when I ever did go out, I adjusted my routes to be sure I wouldn’t bump into them - it didn’t always work. The resulting depression would see me standing at the top of the stairs willing myself to dive down them in the hope I would break my neck and die. Fear of failure stopped me.

It only ended when the worst bully was pratting around on a bridge over the railway lines, slipped and fell on the power lines, then fell again to the track. He lived, electrocuted, frazzled, badly burnt and broken, but alive. Safe to say I’ve been a firm believer in Karma ever since.

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Family Matters

1 | November 9th, 2007 | Posted in Change, Family, Life, Love

When my old life and the lies that held it in place finally crumbled a year and a half ago. I was terrified of telling my family, parents, wife, siblings, because I was afraid they wouldn’t understand and would reject me.

My parents didn’t understand or accept. They still don’t. I doubt they ever will.

I talked and talked and talked with my Mum, sent her easy to understand information on gender dysphoria, gave a book (that she didn’t read). She formed the conclusion that I was choosing to do this because I was depressed, not that this was the cause of my depression, that I was just gay, that I was throwing everything including my daughter away.

“.. I wish you could have waited till your daughter was grown up, thats what most people do …. I don’t understand why you have to push it in everyones face, the gay couple next door don’t ..”

It didn’t matter what I said. The only thing that changed was she made every effort to call me by my old name and HIM and still does. We stopped calling each other, stopped visiting and for the first time in my life they didn’t come round on my birthday (I only found out they weren’t coming when I called them).

Since the initial coming out, contact with them has dwindled to the point of nothing.

I can understand just how hard this is for them to accept.

I want to reach out but feel I can’t, its been over a year since I started living full time and legally changed my name, hearing my old name, the constant male references and having to say “I’m not gay!” just feels like a bat that i’m being hit with over and over again. The constant reminders of the old me simply push me back to the place I found myself at the start and wondering - would have been simpler if I had actually killed myself. I can’t help thinking they would visit more often if I had.

In the very near future my wife, her boyfriend and my daughter will be moving out to a new home and a new life, and I will be left alone in the house. My worst fears that needing to be the real me have been realized. When it comes to family, I really have lost everything.

I know I will see my exwife and daughter again, and see them as often as I can. But it wont be the same. The empty silent house, the little inconsequential constant contact with my daughter will be gone. I know it has to happen and in some ways i’m looking forward to starting out on my own.

I’m terrified. I want my mum. I miss her so much.

(I’m sorry if this post is a bit all over the place, i’m crying so hard I have to keep stopping because I can’t see the screen.)

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