A Brave Choice

"It's not a choice." It's an oft heard idea that is almost a mantra of transsexuals. "Nobody would choose to go through all this pain, lose all their friends and family, incur the huge financial expense whilst risking their job if they had a choice". I agree completely with the sentiment and indeed feel the same way. There is, however, something that irks me about that thought and makes it seem debilitating and enslaving.


I believe in constant self improvement. I'm not a perfect person and I never will be but I refuse to accept that I can't rise out of the mediocrity that defined me last week, last month or last year. I, therefore, have an interest in subjects relating to self improvement. My favourite book is 7 Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen Covey and I even did the one week workshop related to that book. I like this book because of it's ideology. It's all about changing yourself for benevolent means. It's not about techniques for manipulating others or about how to make more money or about airy fairy positive thinking so that good things will happen to you.


"They cannot take away our self respect if we don't give it to them" - Mahatma Gandhi


In the chapter covering the first habit (Be Proactive), Covey proposes that we always have a choice in what we do. He gives the example of a student who asks to be excused from class so that he can go on a tennis trip lest he be dropped from the team. Covey enlightens the student who realises that the choice is between being dropped from the team or missing out on learning what is being taught in class that day. The student still makes the same choice but now realises that it is a choice they made and that there are consequences associated with the choices they made.


Realising that I have a choice in how I act is very empowering to me. I'm not to be pushed around about by the circumstances of my life. Instead, I see the choices before me and it is by my choice that I am doing what I am doing. In the case of my transition, I have a choice. I could choose not to transition and continue trying to keep everything a secret. I might keep all my friends and family and it might be easier for me job wise but I might find life itself to be a difficult proposition. On the other hand, I chose to transition so that I could be true to myself and relieve myself of this burden that has been troubling me. There is now a light at the end of my tunnel, yet I have to live with the consequences of my actions. 


Sure, I don't like the consequences and I would definitely prefer everything to be a bed of roses but that's not the life I was offered. But I stood up and chose life (and pain) instead of choosing death or a tortured life that wouldn't have been life at all. I chose to be true to myself instead of living a lie. I choose to to express and be myself instead of hiding behind a social taboo. I acknowledge that I made the choice and that makes me feel empowered and liberated. 

Filly's Frolic #10

Oh, those darned titles. For the sake of this story, lets pretend my former name was Axe Why. Most of my medical prescriptions just have my name on them and, since my name change hasn't come through yet, it is my former name. Yet, there I was today with the two prescriptions where my name had been prefixed by the now inappropriate title "Mr". It was not the first time I had been faced with this situation of course and inclusion of the title was now just an annoyance rather than a cause for concern. The pharmacist, who was a student at Monash judging from her name badge, took my prescriptions and asked the customary questions in a professional manner to which I was usually accustomed. She handed me a pager and I wandered the pharmacy while my prescription was being filled.


Some time later, I was browsing yet another random aisle with no intention of buying anything in it. I was momentarily startled by the buzzing and vibrating in my hand and realised that my prescription was ready. Quickening my pace towards the prescription counter, I was expecting the pharmacist to ask the same routine questions regarding side effects, fluid intake, la la la la... As I approached the counter I realised I was to be served by a young male pharmacist. He looked at me as I approached the counter and handed in my pager.


"Are you picking up the prescription for Mr. Axe Why?", he asked me. I momentarily froze with confusion then I quickly nodded, a whisper of a "Yes" escaping my lips that began to curl with a mischievous smile as I realised the assumption he had just made. Pointing to my hormone prescription he continued,
"This prescription is for medications normally given to women. Do you know if the doctor intentionally prescribed these to Mr. Why?". Well, at least he was being conscientious about the health of his customers.
"Yes, I'm pretty sure that's correct", I replied, trying not to giggle or laugh. "Would I be able to have a tax receipt for all the medications I've bought here?", I added.
"Of course, just for Axe or for yourself as well?" he asked helpfully.
"Just Axe" I replied. I have no idea how I managed not to laugh at that point.


He disappeared to the back benches and returned a few minutes later with an envelope in his hand. 
"Because you are picking this up for Axe, I have to put it in an envelope", he said sounding very helpful. Handing me the envelope he added almost apologetically, "It's just privacy and all that". 


I thanked him graciously and immediately turned and headed straight for the cash registers, another moment there and my impish grin would have turned into laugh. Thank you Mr Pharmacist, you made my day and made Mr. Why very happy.

Filly's Frolic #9

"Just three", I said, smiling at the sales assistant and slightly lifting the garments hanging from my right hand. 
"Certainly", she replied with a smile and turned to fetch a fuchsia coloured plastic tag with three little holes in it which she promptly handed to me. I made my way to the first available change room, hanging the clothes on a hook and utilising one of the little holes in the plastic tag to hang that up also. 


Never having been to the change rooms in this particular store before, I was puzzled for a moment to notice that the mirror was angled away from the partition on one side. I glanced across the spacious change room at the three mirrors on the other side and suddenly realised what a marvellous service they had provided. These three mirrors would let me see the front and sides of myself at the same time and I would be able to see the back of myself in the reflection of the other mirror! No more would I have to turn and dance about and twist my head like a possessed woman from the exorcist in order to see how I looked from all angles. I wondered how many other women had also celebrated with glee at this discovery.


Suddenly my joy turned to horror as I looked at my reflection from the back and immediately had a Hermione Granger moment when she saw the back of herself in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. 


"Is that really what my hair looks like from the back??!!" 


It was nothing like how I imagined. I turned to different angles and kept looking hoping that maybe at some angle my hair would transform into the impossibly sleek and styled hair of my hopelessly deluded imagination. No matter how I turned, my fantasy was not to be fulfilled. My gaze turned to how I looked from the back generally, wondering if the figure I cut gave the right gender cues. 
I was brought back to reality when I realised time was passing and that I had yet to try on the clothes I had brought in. I consoled myself with the thought that I shared the same problems as Hermione.


As I left the change room, the thoughts still mulled in my mind. It's easy to imagine how things are  until we actually see them with our own eyes. This might be a dose of reality which we can then accept and move forward from (like my hair), or it may be something which we can work on and change. So, if you ever see me hunching and rounding my shoulders, please remind me to straighten up? 

Barriers - Depression

"Just snap out of it"
"Smile and think positive"
So many time have I heard these words often spoken with will meant intentions, but anyone who believes this is good advice does not understand depression and has not suffered from its crippling effects.


In my view, depression is such an insidious illness because it creeps up on us so stealthily. I thought I was able to handle problems and situations that I was being confronted with. They were similar problems that I had faced before and had successfully overcome. Suddenly a wave of setbacks knocks me down. Normally this would be only temporary and in the past I would have dragged myself back up and kept on going. This time, the termites of other problems in my life erode the platform of my self-confidence that falls away as I grasp to hold onto sanity. I look to the lifeguards I trust to help rescue me but it seems my trust was misplaced as they look at me and decide to leave their posts and head to the pub instead. My fingers claw at the railing as I try to pull myself up. So many times have I been here and dragged myself back up, battered and bruised but victorious. Today, maybe it was the alignment of the stars and the moon, maybe it was because everything had aligned so perfectly, I could not hold on and I plunged into the deep dark depths of depression.


Telling someone with depression to snap out of it is like telling someone who is drowning at the bottom of a 100m ocean to take a breath of air. Actually, since depression is an illness, it's like telling a paraplegic to just get up and walk. It's not realistic advice and it isn't considerate. Recovery from depression is a hard process that requires effort from the sufferer and, unfortunately for the friends and family, if someone is not willing to be helped, it is difficult for others to help.


In the darkest, deepest depths of depression, it is difficult to do anything. Everything seems so worthless and pointless, even the thought of moving an inch after realising, with great disappointment, that I had woken up again in the morning. (Ironically, I spent many teenage years praying to wake up as a female and after that I spent many years praying that I didn't wake up at all.) When I was able to pull myself out of bed, the mind still refused to work. Where I once was able to spend hours or entire days absorbed in work or hobbies, now I couldn't focus on anything for more than a few minutes. I still retained my ability to act though, so I could pretend I was concentrating or listening to someone while a drifted in and out and tried to piece together what I missed before I drifted out again. My memory became non existent to the point where I would look at the calendar to find out the date and then when I looked back at the form I was filling in, I would have forgotten the date already. My eyes would dart back from the calendar to the form before I threw the pen down in disgust and went back to bed. Depression is insidious because it is situations like this that my self confidence was eroded even further and I would slide deeper into its clutches. 


to be continued...