End of the Line

Hey Everyone!

For several reasons, I've decided that I'm not going to continue posting on this blog any more and I thought I would put up a post for some "closure" instead of leaving the blog hanging with anyone stumbling across it wondering if I will ever update it again. It is a slightly sad decision because I did enjoy writing and it was a helpful outlet. I'm not sure if my writing actually helped anyone in any way and I'm not sure about how many people really read my ramblings either. However, if anyone would like to ask any questions or contact me, you can do so via the email link on the "About Me" page to the right. Don't ask me why I'm closing the blog though, because I won't answer that question.

On a positive side, I'd like to thank everyone who has enjoyed reading my posts. If it made you laugh, smile in appreciation or even nod sagely with some insight, then it has had some worth opposed to just random bytes on a hard drive somewhere in the ether. I actually made it to 100 posts too! Yay! This will make it 101, which kind of reminds me of the first year university subjects. Filly 101, I'm just a beginner.. :) We are, after all, always learning and I believe that anybody who thinks that they know all the answers is being rather arrogant if not somewhat foolish.

I wish everyone the best and hope you all achieve your potential but never forget to savour the journey. For some reason, the song the Byrds just popped into my head. It's based on Ecclesiastes chapter 3 and is called "Turn, Turn, Turn" and I will leave you with the sentiment which I believe is quite apt and helpful to hold onto. 

"There is a time for everything.... a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance"

Filly's Frolic #25

I had dutifully changed the name on my car registration shortly after my legal name change but it was only recently that I realised that I had forgotten to change the name on my insurance. A rather crabby sounding lady answered my call to the insurance company but fortunately she transferred me to a rather nicer sounding lady after I told her what I needed to do. To be honest, I'd probably be rather crabby if my job was just to redirect phone calls to the right call centre. Some people criticise the recorded transferring system but, in my opinion, as long as there aren't too many options and too many levels of having to "press 1 for..", it actually works quite well and is much better than being greeted by a crabby lady on the phone. But I digress..

I informed the nice lady that I had to change the name on my insurance. She asked for the full details of the current holder before asking, "So, are you transferring it from his name into your name?"

I paused.

I hadn't expected that question and my mind went blank as I realised what she was assuming and I tried to figure out how to best answer it. 

"Um..", I stammered. "No no, it's still me. I've just had a change." 

That may not have been the best way to answer her question, but it was the only thing that came out of my mouth as my brain floundered, still trying to get back on it's feet. 

"Oh! Ok!", she replied sounding a little surprised. It didn't really fluster her however and my change of name was completed shortly after. After we hung up, I laughed a little as I thought about the fact that other people didn't always know my history and my voice on the phone doesn't appear to betray it either. Listening to recordings of my voice doesn't inspire me with confidence but I guess not many people do like listening to recordings of their own voice. It's not as if I have beautiful vocal qualities that would land me a gig as a singer in a band, but I guess it gets by. In the meantime, I'll just have to subject those around to my awful singing whenever a song comes on that I like and I'll just imagine that I do have a wonderfully musical voice.... imagine, just like half of the other people out there...

Rejection still hurts

I had plans to write some positive blogs, especially for the first one of the new year. However, I've come to realise that plans, just like good intentions, don't always come into being. Today's event has left me shaken even though it wasn't a total surprise.

It's been almost two years since I've seen my best friend from high school. When we last met, it was over twenty years of friendship that spanned many life changing events. If any of my friendships were to survive my transition, I would have thought that this would have been it. Sadly, this friendship was officially put to rest this morning. 

As many of you may know, the last two years of my life have been tumultuous. Through those ups and downs I had offered several invitations to my friend but there were always reasons why they couldn't be accepted. I'm not one to read too deeply into things because sometimes people are busy, sometimes people actually do have valid reasons why they can't accept your invitation and sometimes it is just unfortunate that your events and theirs continue to clash several times in a row. It is too easy to come to false conclusions (and I have had many false claims levelled against me) and I am not about to make allegations against a friend without knowing the facts. Today, however, I received the facts from him. It is too hard for him to move on and as our lives have moved in different directions our friendship has come to an end. 

I have mentioned, in previous posts, my thought processes regarding my transition and whether or not I should have told my friends or just left. Telling them is, I still believe, the right thing to do since I have acted with honesty and integrity. Whatever actions they all take is a testament to their character and not a weakness of mine. However, for all those in transition, be warned, it is a painful process and the pain continues far after all the physical aspects of transition are "complete".

What continues to astound me, is how people expect to resolve problems by staying away. As an ex-male I know that retreating into the man cave is a way of coping but it never actually resolves anything. With all relationships, contact (be it physical, verbal or virtual) is important. Distancing yourself from someone cannot somehow magically remove an issue so that your relationship will somehow become better again. An extended amount of time spent apart will only serve to spread the relationship further apart. 

So, chalk up another scar and call it experience. I sometimes wish I didn't have to experience so much and I wonder how much I can take before I am totally enveloped in scar tissue and there is no heart left.

Back in my day....

.... when I was a uni student studying engineering in 1992, my best friend from high school showed me his new HP48 scientific graphing calculator. These were the flagship models of the HP calculator line and they were ridiculously expensive. I can't remember the exact figures, but I think they were almost a thousand dollars expensive... However, he reasoned, they were the types of tools that engineers used and it made sense to learn how to use them  as a student. It made sense to me at the time and I mentioned it to my parents who bought me one for christmas and my birthday one year. Woohoo!


As it turns out, the university I went to was very theoretical and we learnt all things from first principles and so I didn't really need most of the functions of the calculator. I also discovered that I really sucked at a lot of the first principles of electronics engineering (although I did really well at the digital stuff and I liked the applied side) and I ended up focusing on software engineering which became my career for many years after I left uni. My friend also ended up in the IT industry and quickly found his way into (shock, horror)... management...  I don't know what ever happened to his calculator and I doubt he got value from it. I almost got into trouble in one exam because it was too advanced and they were almost going to confiscate it from me. It was a cryptography exam and some heavy duty number crunching was required and I fortunately managed to show them how to do a hard reset on the calculator to prove that I hadn't stored anything in there in an attempt to cheat.


Twenty years later and I'm doing statistics in psychology. I enjoyed statistics when I did it in engineering, mainly because I understood it and found it easy, especially compared to things like electromagnetic theory and quantum physics... I've just moved house and all my things are in boxes and I have no idea where my calculator is. My iPhone has a rather nice and satisfactory scientific calculator but it isn't allowed in exams. I thought I'd go have a look and see how much calculators go for nowadays, totally expecting them to be only available as oddities in specialist stores; much like a slide rule might be. I discover that something that cost me $70 in high school would now be worth about $15. Actually, my high school calculator wouldn't have been too bad if all the print on the buttons hadn't been worn off due to so much use.. Yes, I used it that much... I'm a nerd... 


Suddenly, I see advertised an HP48gII which was one of the successors to my calculator from uni. It was selling for a princely sum of $200 which is more than any other calculator on that site but lot less than what mine cost. I don't know what I expected really and this whole trip down memory lane suddenly made me feel so old.


I mean, back in my day, I used to go to the milk bar and buy chocolate drops for one cent each and I used to love the dixie cup ice creams for twenty cents!!!

Finding a place to fit in

Part of what makes us human is our tendency to interpret things and to search for answers and a reason. This inquisitiveness is a good thing but it also highlights our fallibility as we often tend to focus on over simplistic explanations for complex behaviours and problems. Indeed, Occam's Razor is often misquoted as saying something like "the simplest explanation is often the best". 

"I am thrifty with money because I was raised in a poor family."

"I enjoy spending money because now I have it where as I was raised and brought up in a poor family."

Our tendencies to focus on simple explanations and reasons often cause us to fixate on factors that jump out at us. Whilst these factors may actually be contributory, they probably aren't the single or even the single most significant cause for our behaviours. This can be seen when the same situations are used to explain different behaviours in different people. There must, therefore be other factors at play but it's a line of faulty reasoning that we fall into again and again. Perhaps we do this because it is simple and our minds really aren't that good at processing a lot of complex information without distilling it down.

Whatever the reason, it's possibly something to be aware of when transitioning. Growing up, I've always felt that I didn't fit in. It always seemed that I viewed things differently and that caused problems when dealing with others. I didn't understand nuances in schoolboy rough housing that made others upset at me and I still don't understand why their actions in certain games were considered okay whilst I was called a cheat if I did the same or less. This resulted in me, starting from very early on in primary school, spending most of recess and lunch times by myself counting the days till the next school holiday. 

In high school, my way of thinking resulted in teachers not liking my essays and creative writing and usually missing the subtle points I was making. English was one of my least favourite subjects during high school and I gravitated toward mathematics, physics and chemistry where problems could be solved with flair but (at high school level) there was only a single final answer. 

At high school and university, as interpersonal relationships became more important and more complex, my strange views caused further friction with those that I was close to. Girlfriends couldn't understand how I could be friends with ex-girlfriends (assuming ex's wanted to be friends with me). How I could be friends with a girl who cheated on me?And nobody could understand how I could remain best friends with my friend she cheated on me with! Then there were the (to me) arbitrary boundaries that defined whether two people were friends, interested in each other or "really good friends"... I still don't understand these nuances and I still don't understand why people just can't show affection and love without it being interpreted as something more. My views and beliefs often resulted in me feeling left out because they would translate into poorly received actions or I would have to pay close attention to my actions and behave in a way that, well, wasn't really me.

I often pondered what it was about me. Many things crossed my mind such as my ethnicity, my geekiness, my physical make up or my confusion over my gender. That last one can be a problem for those transitioning as it is all too easy to believe that your problems will be fixed once transition is "over". Each milestone in transition carries a kind of holy grail with it which only leads to disappointment when we realise that we the same person we were before but we just look different or have the genitals we always wanted. Many things change but many things do not. 

I am glad that I transitioned but, it may surprise many to learn, I still feel like I don't belong. Core beliefs and values tend not to change when transitioning and my beliefs and values still tend to be way out field compared to many. That's not to say that I stick out like a sore thumb or mope in a corner in social situations; I've learnt to navigate those waters well enough. Rather, I feel more like a golf ball that nestles into a social circle only to realise that this hole isn't the cup in the green but a divot in a sand trap and that I'm about to be whacked out.

Sometimes I just want to find a place where I feel that I truly belong but then sometimes I feel like Groucho Marx when he said, "I don't care to belong to a club that accepts people like me as members."

Filly's Frolic #24

Six and half months after my operation, I decided that my breasts should probably have settled down by now and it was time to get fitted for a bra properly. I say properly because the last fitting I had was done purely by sight, feedback from me and trial and error. Requiring my feedback on whether or not it felt right seemed like a rather flawed method because I don't really think that I'm a good judge of well fitting bras. The first time I ever had a bra fitted, I'm pretty sure I ended up with a bra that was waaaay too big for me. I walked out of the store with a 14C and that was only 3 months after starting hormones. I have no idea what that lady was thinking. 

Once I had walked into Myers to ask for a bra fitting but they were too busy and told me to come back another day. There was one girl working the register with half a dozen people waiting, another lady doing some kind of stock take and sorting and and another lady wondering around between departments. So, they lost my sale... 

Today, I wandered into Bras n Things and I was immediately greeted and asked if I needed assistance. I asked if I could be measured up and was courteously directed to the fitting rooms where a nice lady measured me with a tape. A tape! Yay! Although she said that this would only be a starting point, at least she was starting from some sort of objective basis. 

"Your band size is a fourteen", she started off saying. "Now we'll measure your cup size." Yup, based on my own measurements and trial and error, I had come to the conclusion that I was a fourteen or sixteen. I was glad to hear I was right. She wrapped the tape around my breasts and she asked me to slowly spin around as she did so.

"You're cup size is a double D or an E". 

WHAT?!?!?!!

I almost fell over in shock. 

I hope it didn't show and I tried to gather myself and said, "Oh!" I was currently wearing a 16C which is also the equivalent to a 14D. That's a 38C or 36D for all you US sized people... Crap! When I had had my breast implants, I really only wanted to be about a 14C and had always felt I had come back with breasts a little too large. Now I was finding out that they were two to three cup sizes too large! Damn!

I followed her out and we picked out a couple of different styled bras to try on. This was the bugbear of women's clothing. Why, oh why, can't manufacturers make clothes of a certain size all the same size?? I remember going to buy clothes as a guy. I was a 34 pants and a 42 shirt. It didn't matter where I went or which brand I bought, it was a 34 pants and a 42 shirt. Yet, with girls clothing, my pants could be anywhere from 10 to 14 and my tops and dresses could be anywhere from 12 to 16!! And bras, something as basic as band size, could be either a 14 or 16. 

After some fluffing about trying on different sizes, it was determined that depending on the bra, I was either a 14E or a 16DD. The lady was very knowledgeable in fitting as she was able to explain exactly why a bra was the right size or not and was able to show me what to look for and how to adjust everything properly. Everything made sense and there wasn't any sort of subjective "Does that feel right to you?" type question. I ended up buying half a dozen new bras and spending way more money that I had anticipated but at least I now had something that I was confident was fitted correctly. 

 Unfortunately, it has brought back the thoughts of going back for breast revision surgery. However, it's not really urgent and it will have to fit in with my study schedule now which probably means that I won't make any decisions for at least size months and if I do go, it won't be for probably a year. But, we'll see....

Bad Dreams: Waiter worries...

Agitated, I roused from my dream. It was only a dream, I kept telling myself, but that didn't help and sleep evaded me for the rest of night as I tossed and turned in my bed. 

"I'm going to have to move you to another table", said the waiter as we were halfway through our meals. 

"Oh? Why?", I asked with an eyebrow raised. I'm usually quite flexible and understanding with these sorts of things as long as there is a valid reason for the inconvenience.

"We've been asking the other customers how they feel about what has happened and some of them aren't happy", replied the waiter. About what has happened? It didn't seem to me like it was a really big deal. My friend, who was she in my dream? My girlfriend? Just a friend? My wife? My ex-wife? She was a blur but the relationship troubled me now that I was awake. My friend and I had wandered into this restaurant in search of dinner. I didn't know what the restaurant was called or where it was, but I knew it was rather posh and reservations were usually required to get a table. Of course, we didn't have one. It took some time for anyone to discover that though since the restaurant had a rather strange layout.

We had wandered in through the front entrance and we were greeted with roomful of occupied tables with not a waiter in sight. There was no lectern at the entrance, no sign and no maître d' to ask us if we had a booking and to show us to a table. We wondered past a few tables looking for someone to help us, scratching our heads and wondering where all the staff were. As we walked further inside seeking assistance, I could feel some of the customers looking at us wondering who these boorish people were.

Finally, we caught the attention of a waiter in the next room who was a little flustered when he found out we didn't have a reservation. He left us for a moment and then came back to tell us that he had found a table for us and led us into the next room. We followed him past the double doors and were startled by the impressive sight. Whilst the previous room was upper class, but plain, this was a ball room for aristocracy. Statues, paintings and antiques adorned the velvet curtained walls and marble pillars. Silverware glittered on the tables that were paired with gilded chairs. We were shown to our table and sat, marvelling at the sight.

Everything was proceeding delightfully until the waiter came to make this strange request.

"Where are you moving us to?", I asked.

"We may move you by that window", replied the waiter aloofly. "There is some glare coming through that window and we shall be using you to stop it."

My jaw dropped at the rudeness and I stared back dumbfounded for a minute or two as a smug smile crossed the waiter's lips. Were the other customers upset that we were sitting at this gorgeous table without a booking? Perhaps they were annoyed that people of our stature in society had been afforded such undeserving luxury.

"What exactly is the problem?", I managed to ask after a few moments.

"Some of our customers are upset that when these two ladies walked in, one of them was actually a man", replied the waiter bluntly.

I might have been dumbfounded before, but this time I was totally taken aback with shock.

"Excuse me?", I asked trembling.

"You heard me. The she is a he. You're a dude!" A sneer crossed the waiter's lips as he hissed that last word. I was shocked, hurt, embarrassed and angry. I didn't know how to respond, how to handle the situation. 

"What do you want from me?", I asked standing up and approaching the waiter. "Do you want me to drop my pants to prove to you that I'm not?"

"I'd like to see that", he replied with a sleazy smile mixed with contempt. I grabbed his sleeve and tugged him towards me.

"Come on then."

"You want to come and have a look too?" he laughed as he asked a fellow waiter.

"You know what?", I asked, turning around, after we were halfway to the toilets. "Screw this. I think I'm just going to sue you." 

A hushed silence fell over the room. Everyone had seen what had happened and I was sure I'd have a case. Judging by the reaction of the room, I wasn't the only one who thought that. 

I woke up agitated. Why had I dreamt that?? An uneasiness settled over me that prevented me from going back to sleep. I'd only had a few hours sleep. Today was going to be a long, rough day.

Filly's Frolic #23

Sometimes, things get in the way of me completing things in a timely manner after I start them. So it was with changing my name. Ending up in hospital and seeing a myriad of different doctors meant that I hadn't changed my name on anything related to healthcare. Doing a name change in the middle of that was bound to confuse somebody as I trekked between different departments and came back several times for follow up visits. 


As the saying goes, it's better late than never and so I was queuing up at a local government healthcare branch to claim some payments for medical services under my old name before proceeding with a change of name with them. I presented my receipts to the lady as well as my card. She began circling relevant information with a pencil in a way that they seemed to be trained to do it.


She paused before entering any information into her computer and asked, "Who are these claims for?"
"That's me", I replied chirpily. I knew of course, that several of the receipts had a dreaded "Mr" as the title before my former name and I was wondering how she was going to deal with this.
"Oh", she said a little surprised. "It's just that these have a male name and you look like... "
Her voice trailed off. 
Silence.
I wouldn't really say it was an awkward silence since I was somewhat amused although she might have felt a little awkward. I unfolded my change of name certificate and pushed it across the counter and broke the silence.
"I have to do a change of name today as well."
"I'll enter these in first and then we can do the change of name", she replied flicking herself back into work mode. Good recovery!


I don't know if I was grinning more than usual, but I thought it was funny... 

They're baaaccck....

I had the strangest dream last night, or was it a nightmare? We were at some sort of school camp or excursion which, in hindsight, is never a good setting for a dream because anything that involves school always turns into a nightmare for me. I was relieving myself in the toilet that was, for some reason, directly connected to the main recreational room and the door was wide open. How I ended up in this position I do not know, but it certainly felt very weird now and the door was too far away for me to reach and close. Luckily, nobody seemed to be paying any attention and I could see and hear them merrily chatting and laughing in their own conversations.

After finishing my business, I began to clean myself up. Something felt odd. I stood up slightly and looked down and froze momentarily with shock. 

What the hell is that doing there?!?!?!

I sat back down quickly, hoping that nobody else had notice the male genitalia between my legs. That was supposed to be gone! I was sure the doctor had removed it. They don't grow back do they? Waves of confusion and troughs of anxious, depressed embarrassment crashed through my head. 

I quickly finished cleaning myself and tucking that thing between my legs, I swiftly pulled my pants up hoping that nobody would see anything. After washing my hands, I ran to my bed and dived underneath the covers. God! I had prayed so much in the past to turn me into a girl and you're turning me back into a boy?? Why?!

I cried in anguish, eventually falling to sleep.

I stirred and struggled to raise my weary head. Thank god it was just a dream.... 

Filly's Frolic #22

Drops of rain splattered my windscreen, slowly covering it with small round specks that sat in existence for a few moments before my wipers brushed them aside. Street lights lit up this almost deserted road on this otherwise dark night and most people were at home, which is where I was headed. Pulling up to a red light, I saw a small car stopped with a P plate in the rear window and the silhouette of two guys in the back seat. As I draw to a stop beside it, I see that it's full of four young men in their way home. I'm what might be called a shy driver and I tend not to look at people in other car's when I'm stopped at traffic lights in case they look back or yell out at me. It embarrasses me for some reason when they do and I never know how to react and just end up either looking away embarrassed or staring back with a blank stare like a deer stuck in their headlights.


So, I did what I always do and stared straight ahead and I hoped they would just ignore me. Shreds of that song by My Chemical Romance began to run through my head..
"They said all teenagers scare the living shit out of me
They could care less as long as someone'll bleed
So darken your clothes or strike a violent pose
Maybe they'll leave you alone but not me"
But not me... I could feel them, they were looking at me, I was sure but I kept looking straight ahead. I accelerated away as soon as the lights turned green. I'm never a slow poke at the lights and this was no exception as I accelerated away at a brisk but not overly aggressive pace. Although I pulled away from that car at first, I soon hit the speed limit and maintained a constant pace as they caught up. I expected them to zoom past but to my horror they matched my pace as they pulled up alongside me. I really hoped they weren't going to engage in abusive behaviour and I kept looking straight ahead.


Their car zoomed ahead half a length and then slowed down and fell back half a length. I heard it's engine rev as they did it again; they were obviously trying to get my attention. For some reason, I began to smile. I'm not sure why those previous fearful feelings began to melt away but they did and I smiled. Little dots of rain stuck to my side window stubbornly and I wondered if they could see me grinning in this dim light. Another intersection was ahead and the lights were red, I would have to stop with them beside me.


I rolled to a stop and I saw they they had moved another lane across and were going to turn right, so they would soon stop being a bother. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the boys in that car smiling and waving wildly at me. I turned and looked at them, smiling back a little shyly. The boy in the front passenger seat waved again and I raised my hand and gave a shy finger wave in return. It was enough for him and he gave a celebratory fist pump and I could see him saying "Yes!" as the lights turned green and they turned off to go wherever they were going. 


I think I made his night and strangely, he kinda made mine and I couldn't stop smiling as I drove the rest of the way home.

Yesterday

Yesterday was the anniversary of when my ex and I first started going out. Strangely, I didn't actually realise that until today and I don't know if that is a good or a bad thing. In some ways it was fortunate since by the end of last night I was already in bad shape and knowledge of another once happy day passing by would have compounded my already despondent mood.

After finishing some reading last night for a university unit that I'm doing over summer, which interestingly included two pages on gender identity, memories began to flood back about my house. Due to the fallout from our financial settlement, my house is currently on the market and I am no longer living there. Yet, memories still remain. Every room in that house has a story to tell of happiness and sadness, promises made and dreams and potential unfulfilled. Tears streamed down my face and I sobbed quietly into my pillow, dark spots spreading across it's surface just like my grief spreading through my body. 

Curling up underneath my blanket, I hugged myself to sleep.

These times of despair are happening less frequently now and, for that, I am thankful. For now, though, they still do remain.

Blast From the Past 2

After shredding all my old mobile phone bills that traced my history across three different phone numbers and just as many carriers that included moves from personal plans to business plans, I turned my attention to the next folder of paper. It was my stack of electricity bills. Electricity bills don't normally garner much interest but this included my first ever electricity bill, dated 24 July 2001, from when I bought my first house. My first bill was for $127.69 and I had used an average of 5.8kw per day or cost $1.19. I had signed up to Pulse, which was run by United Energy. A year later the industry was deregulated so that retailers and wholesalers were separated and Pulse turned into AGL. 


Looking at the name on the bill, I remembered that they kept spelling my name wrong during that first year despite numerous phone calls to correct them. 


This sort of history probably isn't really interesting to anyone except for the people involved; me. It was fun to stroll down another of memory's lanes before these documents hit the shredder.

Blast From the Past

There was I time when I was fastidious with record keeping. I've dropped off in recent times although not for lack of want. With that fastidiousness comes a mountain of records that piles up over the years. Being overly sentimental, I've come to attach emotions to them too. Not to the piles of paper, but to what they represent; times in my life that were historically significant to me.


At times, I've valued myself a bit too highly and have wondered if these records would be one day worth some money. However, since I'm not famous or of historical significance on even a local scale, I have come to realise that these records probably aren't even worth the paper they are printed on. Their only worth is to me and since I don't have the resources to carry around a mountain of paper it's time for them to go into the shredder. 


Curiosity overcame me as I fingered through statements from my first mobile phone contract back in 1998. It was with Hutchinson telecom and later became Orange late in 1999. They are now trading under the '3' brand but I left them long before that. I was on a $40 plan that had an access cost of $20 and had $20 of "included" calls which was more like $20 worth of call that had to be made and it appears that I exceeded it by a considerable margin on several accounts. Looking at the top of each statement, I remembered that my phone number was different back then and I racked my brain to try and remember how I got the number I have now. My question was answered not long after as I saw in one of the statements several phone calls I had made to what is now my present number. 


It was to Gosford and was made at a time when my Mum had gone up to stay with my sister for a while. My number was originally my Mum's number and at some point she had given it to me and had gotten herself a new phone number. 


Also on that statement was another number I instantly recognised. It was to my ex's number since we were going out at that point in time. Hutchinson was using the Optus network then and Optus had the 20-minute 'yes' time after 8pm and so after dinner at around 8:30pm we would often take a turn at calling each other for 20-minutes so that we could have a 40-minute conversation for free. That was on top of numerous SMS's and short two-minute calls during the day to say "Hi" and "I love you" of course... 


I have trouble getting rid of these sorts of things even though I don't look at them a lot of the time. Perhaps it's a fear of losing those memories of those parts of my life. Now that I've written about it, I feel a little more comforted that the memory will not be lost even if these records are now being destroyed.

Moving House

Since my day in court, I've been spending every day packing up my house and getting it ready for it's inevitable sale. It has been a difficult couple of weeks although I've been managing to cope a little better as each day passes, although I'm not sure how I will be when it finally is sold. My first day back to pack, I could feel sadness as I approached the front door with trepidation. Unlocking the door slowly, I turned off the alarm and quietly whispered, "Hello house." It was too much and that was all I could manage before I broke down in tears. I sat on the couch, sobbing for several minutes trying to pull myself together. This was a scenario that was to occur frequently over the next two weeks.

Memories and feelings still ran deep even though my house no longer felt like a home. At one point it felt cold, but now it felt tortured. It's heart hadn't disappeared, it was just broken, torn, shattered, severed. My heart. Dreams and potential had now faded into wistful memories that would now forever go unfulfilled and I cried for them and for me.

I began to sort through my possessions and to put them into boxes for moving or discarding. It is amazing how much can be gathered over the course of a decade. So many things had strong emotions attached that made my heart fall when I laid eyes upon them again and I would find myself back on that couch, sobbing for several minutes. It was a long process and progress was slow during that first week. 

As days wore on, sobbing became less frequent and more progress was made. With deadlines looming, sorting has given way to purely shifting with promises of discarding unnecessary items postponed to a later time. Even though I have been packing for a long time now, there is still some way to go yet and I'm sure plenty of tears will still be shed. 

These were the days...

This was my favourite song for a long time and although I have a new favourite song, this still ranks high in my list. It's also a good tear jerker for me.

My Day in Court

I just returned home from a full day in the city where I was at family court to settle financial matters ahead of an impending divorce. It was an arduously long day but after seven hours, an agreement was finally signed. Was it fair? Am I happy with it? Can I live with it?

I can't say that I am happy and I don't know if it was fair. All I can say is that it was the best that could be done under the circumstances. It's not particular fair that I've had to struggle with this gender identity burden. Neither is it particularly fair that when I finally managed to wrap my head around it and brought the truth to my soul mate, she decided that she was no longer my soul mate. How do you put a financial figure on that?

It's not that I'm against being fair or even against the concept whether in theory or practice. However, I do believe in acting with integrity. Proposing a solution in private and then presenting a legal offer demanding so much more is not acting with integrity. Friends who said they would be there and then couldn't fit me into their busy schedules and then later blame me for not reaching out to them; that is not acting with integrity. 

Ironically, she could have had anything she wanted if she had just asked me instead of pursuing it through the legal route. She knew that and I made it abundantly clear to her on several occasions. We would both have had more since we would have also avoided the legal fees. I can't begin to imagine how the love that she once had for me has soured into a tonic most foul that she has had to take this route. Yet, for all that has happened, I still love her and I think that is what hurts the most.

What we don't know

I have an exam tomorrow for which I'm trying to study for, yet I find myself writing because of an interesting concept that is part of my study. It's called the global workspace model and, nothing to do with 'global' buzzwords such as 'global economy', it says that consciousness is a result of which parts of your brain are active. That is, your brain's output is experienced as concious awareness. In other words, you aren't conscious of what your brain doesn't do!

If that sounds like I'm talking in circles, consider that there is a condition called blindsight in which the visual system is working but the brain is not concious of visual awareness. Vision in your brain is processed mainly by the occipital lobe at the back of your brain so damage to this area may render your brain unable to process part or all of the visual information being received. Typically, people with blindsight only lose vision in part of their visual field. Interestingly though, they often don't realise that they've lost it. If you damage your eye, your brain knows that it is missing information, so you know you've lost part of your vision. If your brain is damaged, it doesn't know that it is missing information and so you don't know that you're missing something! 

Similarly, there's another condition called hemineglect in which damage is done to the right hand side of your parietal lobe. Your parietal lobe is responsible for spatial awareness and the right hand side of your brain controls and receives information from the left hand side of your body. People with this condition don't notice anything on their right hand side. They  might shave or only put on makeup on the right hand side of their face and if they draw a picture, they will mainly only draw the right half. A patient with hemineglect has said, about the name of the condition, "How can you neglect something that's not there?"

I find this interesting because it shows how it is possible for us to be unaware of things that may be obvious to others. We don't know what we don't know. I've always been flabbergasted by people who claim they know everything or have all the answers. You may know things from your point of view but you cannot claim to know how other people feel or how they "should" therefore react. Conciousness is such a subjective experience and nobody can say for certain that they experience a situation in the same way as somebody else. We use labels to describe but they are learnt in a social context. We learn that grass is green but we do not know that what you see and experience as "green" is exactly the same as what I see and experience as "green". We only know to recognise and label this same experience as green. Maybe that's why some people have terrible colour co-ordination?! 

I think this gels with me because it fits in with my philosophy of dealing with others. There's more to people that just what you can see and because we don't know what is happening under the surface, we shouldn't be too quick to judge. Everyone has their foibles and there may be good reason for them. That's not to say that you have to be friends with everyone or have to super considerate of all the possibilities. You still have to live your own life and be true to yourself. Spend time with the people you get along with and you don't have to spend time with people you don't like but judge not lest ye be judged... 

Attaching Emotions

I'm reaching a point where I'm almost functional during an average day. Worries about life are no longer totally overwhelming and I don't live in pervasive fear or anxiety and I'm not constantly in tears or a state of despair. Almost.. 

Unfortunately, I find myself still traumatised by emotions that are attached to what were once happy memories. Places, things and events trigger memories in my mind that then release a flood of sadness that washes over me as quickly as a tsunami. Observers might think I were bipolar if they observed my mood swings but that would neglect what is actually happening in my thought processes.

As an example, there are now a number of movies that I can no longer watch. Antz was a wonderful animation that I enjoyed but it was also the first film that my ex and I went to see together. Avatar (the James Cameron film) is another that I enjoyed but that reminds me of the final times during which my ex and I were still in contact. As of writing, it was the last movie that we watched together. Remembering these movies is distressing due to the associated emotions and, even at this very moment, it requires a pause as I am brought to tears by these thoughts.

I did not choose to associate negative emotions with these memories and I have yet to figure out how to detach them. This places me in precarious position as I can find myself quickly crashing down when what might seem to be a small or innocent detail is brought to my attention. Judging by how my mind has dealt with other events, these associations will not go away but I can only hope that their effects will lessen over time.

Replay (Part 1)

Years ago, when I was a more avid gamer, I never really enjoyed replaying involved single player games. My main issue was that at the point when a game is completed, I was usually in a pretty powerful position. If playing first person shooters, I'd had the good weapons and you might have lots of ammo (probably not after the final boss though... ha). If playing resource management games, I'd had a big stockpile of resources to build whatever I wanted and I had a great income stream for various things. In many strategy games there was often a point where victory was inevitable and realising it was just a matter of continuing along a rather mechanical process. 

Replaying games meant starting from scratch again. It was frustrating to have to be frugal with resources after being accustomed to being able to do what I needed to when I needed to. Additionally, I knew how the game worked and I knew success was possible with just an investment in time. Overcoming the same challenges again seemed less fulfilling the second time around unless I intentionally made it difficult for myself somehow. This usually led to a decrease in motivation and interest. Often I would just end up hacking save files to see if there were items or combinations of things I could use that weren't possible in the normal game. 

For a while, I have been feeling the same way about my life. In many ways, my life is restarting and I've felt the same sort of frustrations and de-motivation as when replaying a game. My career is at a total restart along with my income stream and, in likelihood after divorce proceedings, my current assets and resources. Similarly, I have not seen many of my old friends for a long time and it feels like a game where I have to build up a whole new set of allies.

Of course, like in playing games, all that is possible to rebuild. It only takes time and effort and I already know it is possible and how. However, like my analogy, any feeling of fulfilment is not as great the second time around whilst challenges still take a similar amount of time and effort. That is, the reward to effort ratio seems to decrease and be less enticing. For a long time therefore, I felt very unmotivated and disinterested and, along the same lines, my mind did wonder along the analogous route of "hacking" to obtain things that weren't "normally" possible...

Now that I'm actively involved in replaying my life, however, I'm finding the motivation and interest starting to pick up. Is this where the analogy breaks down or is it just a continuation? I'll leave you hanging until I write part 2 of this piece.. :)

Life and Death - a review

Browsing through facebook, I came across a link to an article about why suicide isn't just a men's issue. After I had finished reading, my mind thought back to one girl who claimed that the risk of transsexual suicide post-op was no greater than that of the general population. One of the skills being drummed into me in my current studies is that of critical thinking, which I like because I am inquisitive by nature and do prefer claims to be backed up by evidence if I'm to believe them. So, I decided to check her claim and do some research of my own.

I dived into my university library's database and began to do a search. Sadly, the first thing I noticed was the lack of research on the topic and the only journal article I could find was from a study performed in Sweden. Dhene, Lichtenstein, Boman, Johansson,  Långström, et al. found that post-op transsexuals were 19.1 times more likely to die from suicide. Although there are limitations to the statistics in this study, that is a sobering outcome that clearly refutes the previously mentioned claim. 

Reading through the article, the authors suggest consideration of improved care for transsexuals after their sex reassignment operation. This was something that my psychologist was surprised about when I told her that after care here was non-existent. Where I am, there is one channel to go through if you wish to have surgery here. Many girls decide to have their surgeries overseas in which case the same channel can be used in order to obtain that psychiatric approval letter or there are other avenues that can be followed. Unless I am mistaken (and please tell me if I am), none of them provide any form of follow up after surgery.

Having already written about how emotionally difficult SRS can be, it does seem strange that so much time is spent ensuring the patients well being prior to surgery but that none is allocated to ensuring their mental health after. I wonder if that also contributes to the stigma associated with the psychiatric process. If the process is supposed to be for the good of the patient, then it shouldn't wipe it's hands clean once the patient has been approved for surgery. Such actions tend to be interpreted as being indicative of a system that is only looking after itself. For the benefit of the ts community and for the safety of all those who transition in the future, something needs to change.

References

Dhejne C, Lichtenstein P, Boman M, Johansson ALV, Långström N, et al. 2011 Long-Term Follow-Up of Transsexual Persons Undergoing Sex Reassignment Surgery: Cohort Study in Sweden. PLoS ONE 6(2): e16885. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0016885