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.

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."

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

Role of Psychiatry

"Gatekeepers", I've heard them called, often with a tinge of cynicism or a taste of animosity. If not, then they are often regarded as a mere formality to be tolerated until enough time has passed to receive a coveted letter. Held at arms length, enough is said to keep them happy and everything else is handled with friends, alone or even left unexplored. 


Neither scenario is, in my humble opinion, healthy for those of us who have to undergo this journey. This journey of transition is treacherous and difficult for those who choose to navigate its waters, yet gender dysphoria is really a self diagnosed condition. Nobody can tell you that you are transgendered without you already knowing it on some level, but what you need to know is that it has a name, that you fit the description and that you are not alone. 


I don't pretend to know the politics of psychiatry in the real world, but it seems to me that there is a definite opening for psychiatrists to play the role of an impartial guide. Equipping the journeyer with the knowledge of the possible paths that can be taken, they could also provide food for thought in not assuming that the journeyer knows about all different options or that the path that she is on is the path the she really wishes to be on. Challenging her, they may play devils advocate only to make her pause and reflect but never to impede and in doing so they are not gatekeepers, but mentors. They may provide guidance in highlighting the dangers and supply methods of weathering the inevitable storms and challenges, thus enabling the safety of the journeyer and impart tools that will be useful for the rest of her life. 


This then, is my nirvana where everyone has a confidant rather than a combatant or even a neutral custodian. A scenario where real help is provided rather than fulfilling a bureaucratic role.

In Consideration of Irony

"In prosperity our friends know us; in adversity we know our friends." 
- John Churton Collins

I'll be the first to admit that I am a chicken. I hate confrontation and I tend to take the path of least resistance despite any virtuous desire to do otherwise. It is no surprise then that when I was planning my transition, my mind began to wonder how I would handle telling everyone what was happening. As a chicken, my thoughts were that it would be easiest not to tell them and simply run away. Just thinking about telling everyone tied my stomach in knots as my heart thumped and fell down a never ending well. 


So, I began preparations for running away. I knew that it would cause a lot of grief and pain for my family and friends but I somehow felt that it would be better than grief, confusion, derision and rejection that I assumed would be brought on my them finding out the truth about me. I reasoned that they would at least remember me in a positive light as the person they always knew rather than in some sort of tarnished shadow. That I would have to travel my path alone and in a new city seemed to be a small priced to pay for the consideration of my friends. It wasn't too long before I reached the point where everything was ready and I had to decide whether to go or to stay. At that point, I realised that I was being rather disrespectful as I was assuming the worst and was not giving my friends the chance to make their own decisions. Hence, I decided to stay and my stomach double knotted itself as my heart thumped it's way off the planet.


Worst case was that I would be right and they would all leave. I prepared myself for that scenario as I began to make the rounds. As I have written in previous articles, I was astounded by the level of support and acceptance that I was offered. I was touched that nobody left and, as I told of my fears and my plans, everyone expressed their happiness that I had not left them and they would not leave me. This truly was a joyful time in my transition. 


It seems that all good things must come to an end. My joy was short lived as friends began to run away from me. Promises broken and meaningless smiles and show of support took over as friendships were pledged by no time given to fulfil them. Despite repeated attempts, contact dwindled until I was left with nobody. It has now been six months since I have seen any of them in person (in a positive friendly capacity) and more than a year and a half since I last saw some. Ironically, I was right although it took time for that to show but at least I respected them enough to allow them to make their own decision instead of foisting an assumed decision upon them. However, I sometimes still can't help but think that things would have been better had I taken the "easy way out". 


Unfortunately, going through events like these can't leave us unscathed. I had known some of these friends for a decade or even two and it had taken this long and a major event for friendships to really be tested and revealed. Despite my need for friendship and a kindred spirit to share my life with, I'm not sure that I can really extend myself to trust as much as I used to. Once bitten, twice shy as the saying goes and so, whilst I still remain courteous and friendly, I find myself doubting the "realness" of any future friendships. Unfortunately, that may become a self-fulfilling prophecy since friendships take effort to nurture and maintain and I wonder if I would have felt differently had I run away. Ignorance is bliss as another saying goes and if I were ignorant of the real state of my friendships, I might be all the more blissful for it.

Strange and Annoying - Afternoon Edition

I mentioned in my blog post this morning that a thought had slipped my mind whilst writing the article. Well, I just remembered it and this actually has to be a list topper in strange and annoying behaviour.


Imagine, if you can, that you've just managed to overcome a whole boat load of fear. Fear of ridicule, fear of not being accepted as a female, fear of being publicly outed and humiliated, fear of your own personal safety; the list goes on. Dealing with that fear, you have then faced your friends with a thumping heart and another truck load of fear and you've come out to them. 


"That's wonderful!", they exclaim which lets you breathe a sigh of relief. Suddenly they want to tell you about their trip to some tranny filled location where they were expert tranny spotters. Here you are, trying to accept your body (and maybe on a path to change what can be changed) and your friends are telling you all about how they can spot the deficiencies in male-to-female trans girls. Maybe it's the size of the hands, maybe it's the adam's apple or maybe it's just some indescribable facial feature. That's really supposed to make you feel good and happy about yourself? That's really a supportive thing for a friend to be doing??


Even stranger is when trans-girls do it as they walk long the street. "She was trans", they might say of a passer by as if trans-spotting is a new game. If you like to be out and proud, then at least it would congruent with your beliefs, but most trans-girls seek anonymity and would like to blend in and so it's rather strange when they don't extend the same courtesy to other trans girls.  


Even more annoying is that trans-spotters always assume that they are right. How do they know that they haven't falsely accused a genetic girl with masculine features to be a trans-girl? There should be a rule for people engaging in trans-spotting. If you declare that you've spotted someone, you have to ask them and if you are wrong that person is allowed to slap and kick you. If you are right, then that person should be allowed to slap you anyway if they so desire. Additionally, if a trans-girl passes you and you don't spot her, she should be allowed to slap and kick you whilst shouting "Nyah Nyah! In your face!"


Actually, even though there a couple of people I would like to have slapped, I hope that game doesn't catch on... 

Strange and Annoying

People treat you differently according to how they perceive you. I have no doubt about that now. Sometimes the way they treat you can be annoying when their perception of you suddenly changes and sometimes it can be totally bizarre as if suddenly all the things you like and are interested in have suddenly changed just because the way that person has perceived you has changed. I've listed some of behaviours that I've found particularly odd when I came out to friends and family.

1. Just because I'm transgender, why does that mean I must like going to drag shows? Being a male to female transsexual does not equal being or even liking drag shows. I don't have anything against or even mind watching drag shows, but I find the association annoying. The very first drag show I saw was when I came out to a friend and she decided that I should go to drag bingo.... huh...
   
2. Females sometimes complain about female stereotypes, but then you tell them you're transsexual and they want to teach you how to be a bitch. Then they complain that you're belittling women when you act like a bitch to them... Why are you complaining when you have taught me well?
   
3. Both genetic and trans-girls tend to fall into the trap of judging a persons transition by the way they dress. A genetic girl can run around all day in jeans and runners but if a trans-girl were to do the same, she'd be judged by both sides of the community as not "transitioning properly". I don't understand it and I find it strange that I can be questioned for not being in a skirt and heels by genetic girls dressed in sweat pants...
   (I'm sorry, but I'm starting to think that sometimes females can be their own worst enemy when it comes to propagating stereotypes...)

I'm sure there are more. One slipped my mind as I was writing this (how annoying), so I might have to make another post when they come back to mind. If you've noticed any of your own, feel free to leave a comment or email me! 

My Birdcage

Since I'm a fat giant in Thailand sizing, I ended up not buying any clothes while I was there. What I did buy however was this beautiful little necklace I found while wandering through one of the multi-story "mega-markets". When I first laid my eyes on it, I loved it but, in my current situation, I wasn't in the mood for spending money on things that may just end up as unused trinkets. Two floors down later, I had to go back up and get it. 


It's concept is simple, a bird sitting on it's perch in a cage. Although the design as such is pretty enough, what really caught me was that the door to the cage was open. A bird perched inside the cage had its choice of choosing to spread its wings and fly out or stay inside the cage (or maybe even return and come and go whenever it chose to do so). I loved it. I thought it was somewhat apt also.


If you want to go darker, you may notice that the cage also has no bottom. I guess the bird may also fall off it's perch and fall to it's doom without ever spreading it's wings.  For some reason, that just adds to my love of this piece...

Personality and spirit

Some people like spontaneity, adventure and surprise whilst others prefer things to be more ordered, planned and prepared. Prepared... I used to be a boy scout and a cub scout before that. "Be Prepared" was the motto and an example of that was that we always used to tape a twenty cent piece inside our caps or hats in case we needed to make a phone call. (I'm giving away my age here.) Some of that must have taken hold since, when I was out of uniform, I was always conscious of carrying about some change so that I could always make that phone call. Most people hate carrying change, I used to make a point of it. It irked my sister that change was always jingling in my pocket. At a church camp one year, she laughed and rolled her eyes because everyone was doing a morning exercise class silently, except me. I was doing the jingly star jumps... 


Walking through the city one day, I needed to make that phone call. The first call I made reached an answering machine which cost me my thirty cents. Yes, inflation had taken it's toll by then. That wasn't a problem, because I was prepared and had another thirty cents; it takes more than two coins to jingle. My next call reached someone who wan't home, but someone else who could take a message was. This wasn't helping. Fortunately, the situation I was in resolved itself without my help and I was left with a sixty cent thought. How much change should I really carry in order to be prepared? Should cub scouts tape a roll of ten and twenty cent pieces in their caps, protruding to look antennae? How prepared was being prepared? If I phoned ten numbers that turned out to be uphelpful and was unable to dial an eleventh, was that being unprepared or was that just unlucky?


At the end of last year, I was operated in hospital for a Cerebral Cavernous Hemangioma that in fact caused a delay in the original scheduling of my SRS. Cerebral Cavernous malformations affect only 0.5% of the population worldwide and of those, 75% experience related medical symptoms^[1]. That makes me part of a unique 0.375% of the population and that's only for all related medical symptoms, not necessarily only the serious ones. When my doctor says that it's not usual for my condition to have occurred so quickly and so seriously, I think I'm becoming more unique. Something you never want your doctor to say while he's examining you is, "That's interesting..." and having yourself filmed so that he can show how interesting you are to his students which makes you feel even more special. I don't know the odds right now, so let's stick with the original 0.375% even though we all know I'm more special that. 


Of course, we all know that I'm transsexual and that makes me really special in more ways than one. Determining the incidence of transsexualism is difficult, but drawing upon a report by someone who is trying to show that it is more common that officially recognised^[2] (Oh! I want to be more special!!), I'll pick the figure of 1 in 500 or 0.2%.


Now, assuming that my hemangioma is unrelated to being a transsexual (any of you ts's out there also have one of these?), then I'm special to the tune of 0.375% x 0.2% = 0.00075% of the population. Oh, did I mention I also have a totally unrelated herniated disc in my lower back? Not really uncommon, but combine that with what we have here and I'm literally your one in a million unlucky guy. Throw in the acute appendicitis I had and you actually have a better chance of winning the lottery than having all the unrelated medical afflictions I've had and that's not even the end of my medical history. How the hell do you prepare for that??


But I didn't need to do the maths or even hear about my hemangioma to begin to believe that you can't plan for everything and in my uni days, I developed a taste for adventure, spontaneity and learning to accept surprises instead of trying to assert control. I loved nature and the wilderness and, if I hadn't been so lazy in not getting out as often as I would have liked, I would probably have been like Sean Penn's character in the film Into the Wild and I'd probably have died out there from some accidental event. Perhaps that's my subconscious defence for being lazy, it actually saved my life. Lol!


Unfortunately, year after year in the corporate world (albeit trying to stay in the technical side) groomed that out of me. Corporations don't like surprises, they like to plan and believe they can control. Several project plans, Gantt charts, risk analyses and matrices, career plans and goals later, I fell into the trap of thinking I could control everything that happened to me too. In a twist of irony, not long after thinking that all that planning was paying off, that I was the master of my destiny and that my career was going where I wanted, I found myself booted out of the industry, unwanted and unable to get a job. How someone in the IT industry with 10 years experience including time as a project leader can find themselves unable to find another job is a really long story, so I won't go into it now except to say that it left me devastated. Clinically, majorly depressed. Candidate for ECT depressed. I declined that treatment, by the way, even though my doctor strongly recommended it. Somehow, I didn't really want to undergo sessions of several hundred watts of electricity being pumped into my brain to induce seizures that were supposed to help depression even though they didn't know why...


To make a really long story just slightly long, it was during that time that I came to realise that control is an illusion. You can't control what happens to you, you can only really control how you react and behave. I still have a thing for Stephen Covey's 7 habits though, so I do believe you can influence what happens to you but you can't control it. It's an important distinction. Given that acceptance, I relearned to not fear surprise but to embrace it and my sense of adventure slowly returned. "It is what it is", said a friend of mine several times one day. Good words to live by.


Adventure is in my spirit and in everything I do, even in city life. I don't need to know the exact directions of where I'm going, much less know that I'm taking the most efficient route, before I being the journey. I do have a map in the car which I can look at if I get lost and, in the worst case, I could always ask for directions. Even if I get lost and spend double the time driving around, I don't really mind unless it makes me late for an appointment. I don't need to know what's in my food before I eat it, as long as it looks ok. I hate spiders, so I'd have trouble eating Cambodian deep fried spiders, but otherwise I think I'm doing all right. This proves useful in foreign countries or when trying new and foreign cuisines where you might not have even heard of half the ingredients or even be able to read the menu. However, I find it exciting. Maybe I'll discover a new favourite food that I hadn't know existed before and the variety and anticipation of what I'll get is invigorating. At worst, I'll not like it or throw up and have to buy something at another shop.


Some people like to seek guidance in certain situations which isn't a bad thing. It may help to prepare you, knowing that ordering the "Fong Jao" at yum cha will net you a small basket of braised chicken feet (my favourite, by the way). It's good to know that in some asian countries, you need to bargain for the prices at certain places to avoid paying twice what you could. It's even better to know how much a taxi fare might cost you in Thailand in case the meter in the taxi mysteriously fails and he wants to charge you double what it would normally cost. 


Ultimately though, knowledge and preparation are good things but even better is the ability to just enjoy the journey; even if it does take you to a different destination.


--
[1] http://ghr.nlm.nih.gov/condition/cerebral-cavernous-malformation and my doctor said the same thing too.
[2] http://ai.eecs.umich.edu/people/conway/TS/TSprevalence.html

Failing Friendships

My heart thumped in my chest and the lump in my throat accentuated it's dryness as sweat started to bead on my forehead. Anxiety ran through my body as I fidgeted with my fingers trying to figure out how to bring up the news. There was never a good time and there isn't a good way. 


That was my hellish reality for several months when I first began my transition and I was doing the rounds with all my friends to let them know what I was doing. Fears ran deep through me about how they would react, how would they see me and what would be the future of the friendship. As might be considered wise, I prepared myself for the possibilities. I steeled myself in case they threw a few superlatives as they were presented with a concept that they could not possibly understand and they decided that you were therefore a freak which the no longer wanted in the same room with them, let alone their lives. I prepared myself for the real possibility that I might end up totally alone with not a single friend in the world.


When you're expecting a slap in the face, any sign of compassion, understanding or acceptance is a surprise. It may be a welcome surprise, but it is a surprise nonetheless. Friends rally around me and pledge their support and understanding because, after all, they aren't going to throw away years of friendship. Tears are shed as I tell them of my fears and hugs are shared as we both say how glad you are that you didn't do "anything silly". Fears dissolve and, feeling rather foolish but ecstatic, I want to sing from the roof tops about how wonderful my friends are and how lucky I am to have them.


A journey of a thousand miles may begin with a step, but the first step is not necessarily the hardest. As my journey progresses and my legs weary and my spirit begins to sag, I turn to my friends. Unfortunately, they are busy with prior engagements or other friends which is fine. They are friends with lives after all and not my indebted servants who should come running at a whim. However, time and time again, they seem not to be able to be there and may begin posting cryptic messages on facebook that seem to mourn the passing of a friend. Some ask for a little time alone to come to terms with such big news and that seems fair enough. Their promises of contacting me later begin to bristle like thorns when "later" never arrives. Maybe I finally manage to meet one or two of them again, but the meetings are short, the warmth missing and the pledged emotional support strangely absent.


Not being one to jump to conclusions, some probing finally confirms your fears. Accusations of being selfish and running merrily along my life leaving others behind to pick up the pieces are let loose as I sit at the precipice of my own path. Looking around at the shattered pieces around me, attempting to summon up the strength each morning to try to shove another two ill shaped morsels together so that I can crawl forward in my own life, I wonder how such charges could be raised. Somehow, I'm apparently happy and am selfish for causing all this suffering and not being there for people who told me to leave them alone. Finally, the truth is revealed and as my "friends" turn their backs to march out of my life, they reach past my lowered defences and rip out my heart.


That, I was not prepared for.

Thailand Day T+17

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"What the hell?", you're probably thinking. Did a lizard run over Filly's keyboard while she was away or has she finally lost her last marble? 


Well, actually, the answer to that is a little involved. Since when have any of my blogs been concise? I've been blogging for a while now and occasionally I'll get a nice comment from someone that I'm a decent writer. While I might not necessarily agree, it's still good to know that my creations are appreciated by others even though my intentions aren't necessarily virtuous. Indeed, they are probably downright selfish.


A main thread connecting my blogs is that they tend to describe how I feel about something. Whether it is a moment in time or a more general philosophical outlook, my posts are about my feelings and I haven't, as yet, written anything technical about, for example, how I have managed various technical aspects of my transition such as my voice or look. Posts along those lines have actually been thought of, but not yet acted upon because I find them harder to write. It's not because of the knowledge or the content in the material but merely because any of my decent writings have been a result of a catharsis. When I'm deep in the bowels of anguish, it's comforting to open the floodgates and let my fingers do the talking without my brain getting in the way. Technical writing, however is hardly cathartic and, when my brains get in the way, I have difficulty writing and my English essay grades in school reflected that. 


In case you're drifting off due to my rambling, this is where I get to the point. (Don't you hate it when authors herald the arrival of the point instead of just stating the point?) Sometimes, the purging of my thoughts through my fingers doesn't work. Not for lack or desire or effort, sometimes it's as though the waters of thought are muddied and mixed with the rocks of a superabundance of emotion that clog the drainage paths for cleansing. My usual prose is replaced by an internal pressure accompanied by a frustration for the lack of progress, which is then replaced by numbed empathy and imagination as the rocks scour my insides. Those first few lines are usually all I can mange at this point and I guess tonight was one of those occasions. 

The Lefty Likeness

Imagine if you were born left handed but because of something that happened in your foetal development or the environment or the way you moved about after you were born, your right hand became stronger than your left and was more dexterous. As you grew older, you were encouraged to use your right hand and may have been actively discouraged to use your left. Had you been born left handed, they might say, then it would be all right, but anyone who is right handed and wants to be left handed is an crazy, immoral and sinister being. All your protests were met with evidence that your right hand was so much better than your left and so you must be right handed, but you knew that it was only because that was the way you had been brought up. Years of practice at doing things with your right hand meant that you could do things with it really well and years of hiding your left handedness meant that it really had become a less skilful hand even though you always felt more comfortable using that hand.


At some point, you decide enough is enough and you're going to use your left hand after all. Maybe you were lucky and using your left hand again came naturally to you. You were able to immediately go out in society and use your left hand with ease with nobody ever suspecting what you went through. Lady luck isn't a floozy and doesn't shine on everyone, so maybe you only used your left hand on tasks at home and continued to present yourself as a right hander in public. Maybe that's as far as you went but maybe you found out that you weren't the only one that was going through the same problem and decided to join a group of people that met at a private location every month. At each meeting, everyone would openly be left handed and greet each other with left handshakes and write lots of letters left handed. Members might give each tips on how to do things better with their left hand and point out how you might be trying to doing something incorrectly. Some of the members even went out to the local Leftorium each week and drool over the one of only three ever left-handed cars whilst purchasing a replacement left handed can opener. You feel so comfortable there because no-one is judgemental and even righties are allowed in without prejudice. After every outing you feel so sad to have to go home and pretend to be a right hander to your neighbours.


Maybe at some point you decide to take it further. You are going to live your life as the left handed person that you are.... Except for work because that is too important to jeopardise. You wouldn't want to put anyone in a difficult situation if you were unable to use your left hand like you'd been using your right. So every week you go to work as a right hander and then come home and live as a left hander and every weekend is a party, leftie style! Then one day you decide that you need to be completely open and you decide you need to fully transition to a leftie. People who knew you before are a little surprised as they had no idea and they bombard you with questions about why. Since you left it so late to transition, all those years of exclusively using your right hand have set it and you really aren't good at using your left at all even though you are so much more comfortable with it. Some people notice your clumsiness and think you're just a clumsy leftie doing your thing. Others stare and laugh behind your back whilst others ask if you were ever a rightie and ask you all sorts of questions about why and how. You try to answer these questions to the best of your ability and they nod and say "ok" but you know they really don't understand how you feel.


You battle on through the perceived shame before realising, one day, that there is nothing to be guilty about. You are and always have been a valuable person who deserves the same love and respect as any other person. You lost friends because they didn't like going out to dinner with you because you'd always bump elbows and you had to stop playing guitar in that band because they didn't think you were anything like jimi hendrix and you kept jabbing the bassist with your guitar because you weren't use to the new space arrangements. But, that was their loss, not yours. New friends and new opportunities can always be found and friends who lose you over such a matter are shallow and not true friends. After all, life is for living and you need to live the rest of your life with integrity. Live it with respect for yourself and with total harmony for your beliefs and feelings. Friends, enemies and insults may come and go, but it will forever always be only your life.

The McEwans Cycle

A young boy hopped excitedly next to his father. It was another trip to McEwans, a hardware store in a suburban shopping centre. His father needed to buy some washers to fix some leaky taps and this was one more opportunity for the boy to just look at all the different tools and parts and various things that could be bought. Walking wide eyed through the same aisles that he had walked though several times before in past visits, the boy drew his fingers slowly along the assorted tools and gadgets. He wondered what it would be like to use a coping saw and what he could use it for. Looking at the set of needle files, he imagined how it might be useful for his hobbies and wondered if one day he would be able to afford it.


I looked at that set of files many times after and I never did end up buying them.


As the years went on, I visited the store less and less as the standard of the shop began to deteriorate. Stock that was being carried made a mockery, in my opinion, of the term tools and hardware. The centre was renovated and the store went from being a major section of the area to being a shop in a, albeit large, tucked away corner and the quality of the store declined even further. I missed going to that store to imagine about the things I might buy in the future, and then, one day, the store closed down.


The tucked away corner store became the home of many bargain basement shops that came and went. Some of those were ladies fashion stores that I was too afraid to ever step into because what would everyone think if they ever saw me in there? Time went by and I began to ignore the presence of any store in that tucked away corner.


A revelation later, I was shopping in the same shopping centre at the beginning of the year. I had transitioned to full time but my wardrobe was sadly lacking. More clothes were definitely required and I would need them now if I was to make it past the end of the week. In the distance, I saw the old tucked away corner and I wondered what was in there now. It was probably some bargain basement shop with nothing worth looking at, but I had nothing to lose so I wandered in.


Dozens of racks covered the floor and clothes hang from every racks and wall space available. I was the only one in there, which was unsurprising given the tucked away corner location. Suddenly I saw a t-shirt with a familiar panda and I made my way towards it; it was the WWF logo and this was an authorised piece of merchandise. I had to have it! Draping it over my arm, I began to look at the other clothes and was surprised at all the bargains around me. My fashion sense had only just been born and I was still unsure how  would match some of these pieces together, but I still made it out of the store with several items of clothing.


I visited the store several times and it I thought it seemed amusing that this piece of ground that was once a destination of desire as a young boy was now a destination of desire as a lady. 


Shopping at another centre I stopped as a new shop caught my eye. It had the same name as my secret tucked away corner shop. Surely it wasn't part of a chain? I wondered in and saw the same panda t-shirt as well as other familiar items. The atmosphere of the shop was definitely more trendy and the prices were also higher to match. 


Not long after, I decided to go back to my secret shop and grab whatever bargains I could while it was still there. I was too late. Not only was the shop closed but the whole hidden corner had been boarded up with a sign indicating that that area of the complex was being renovated. My shop would be opening in another location within the centre shortly, but I knew it wouldn't be quite like that corner store. 


I smiled at the coincidence that the place that I loved to visit as a child closed and became the store that I loved to visit as an adult. Perhaps this shopping centre had more lying in wait for me yet.

Filly's Frolic #13

I stumbled through my front door, collapsing on the floor and gasping for air. Bathed in sweat, I lay with my arms outstretched and began stretching my tired legs. I had just completed my run for the morning. Now that it was no longer freezing or pouring with rain every morning, I had decided to get my regular morning runs happening again. The weather this morning did not disappoint and whilst it was not exactly sunny or warm, it was at least tolerable if not pleasant for a coolish spring morning. If I was to get my tummy in check and lose the kilos I had mysteriously put on during the week, I could not afford to be too fussy about the weather I exercised in.



After I stretched and cooled down, I staggered into the shower to get ready for the day as I had to get ready for my blow wave appointment at my friend's salon. It was training time again and I was lucky enough to be the training model for one of the girls. She gets a model to train on and I get a free blow wave; I'm not going to argue with that. Her goal today was to complete the blow wave in an allocated appointment time. Understandably, it can be hard enough learning the correct techniques let alone doing them quickly, but the salon obviously can't allow hair dressers to take as much time as they want. 


She was definitely improving though. Between giggles, she mentioned that her arms weren't getting sore from holding the brushes and dryer all afternoon. Additionally, I had become accustomed to feeling the hot hair from the dryer turn into a searing heat against my scalp. A jerk away, possibly combined with a slight yelp, would signal to her that she had burned me with the dryer. Today, it didn't happen once! She was definitely getting better. The result was wonderful as usual but she still needed to work on her speed. No matter, I can always come back and model again another day!


What was more important was that I now had a fabulous hairstyle that I needed to show off somewhere. The weather had deteriorated to a miserable and wet day so it had to be indoors. I therefore headed to the self-proclaimed fashion capital that is Chadstone Shopping Centre. I was sure I would fit right in with my lovely blow wave, my new skinny ripped jeans, black heels, a white t-shirt with a black rose print and my wonderful bluish black jacket. 


I meandered through the centre, keeping my eye out for any bargains, and as I moved from shop to shop I noticed the two young men walking towards me. They were involved in a conversation but apparently I had distracted one of them. He had shiftily started staring at me, unbeknown to his friend who was still chatting away. I looked at him playfully and smiled. As they passed I realised he couldn't see me smile since the part of my body that he was staring at doesn't smile. I rolled my eyes and sighed whilst continuing my shopping without missing a step.


Several shops later, an older asian lady sneered and looked disapprovingly at my jeans. I sneered back. I thought of my parents who would probably not approve of me spending money on jeans that were torn. It was ok, I don't take fashion advice from them either... 


It wasn't long before I came across my shopping centre fear - the kiosk sales people. In an ever so familiar scenario, one of them held his hand out in front of me with a free sachet of skin cream as he greeted me and asked me to take it. I knew I would be doomed but I couldn't say no and I walked straight into his trap. He proceeded to ask me about what skin care products I use, then asked where I was from.
"What you have done, it must be hard", he said suddenly in his broken english with an eastern european accent.
I was stunned. Was he really saying what I thought he was saying? I felt a lump rising in my throat as heart began to sink in a newly formed hole. I cocked my head to the side and looked at him blankly. 
"Huh?", was all I could manage.
"You have done something. Yes?", he replied gesturing his arms up and down towards my body. His voice was a little unsure now ad he was probably second guessing his original assessment. 


I had been waiting for something like this to happen. Waiting for someone to acknowledge that they knew that I had transitioned instead of just hiding behind a silent stare. Acknowledge me in an affirming way and letting me communicate with them. "How did you know? What were the giveaways?", I would ask. I would be able to speak to someone with an unbiased opinion and find out how people in the public really see me. We would talk and the support of a stranger would be golden.


But I had been taken off guard. Confusion ran through my mind and I could not pull my thoughts together. I felt as if all my old fears were suddenly rising up again and all I wanted to do was just make them all go away. Time seemed to stretch on for eternity as I started at him and he looked back, increasingly apprehensively, waiting for an answer to his question. I began to shake my head and as I mouthed "No" I felt the twinge of regret running down my spine that was soon disintegrated by the cold stigma of cowardice. I had denied myself.


"Oh", said the salesman reservedly, then, recovering in lightning speed, he added "Can I show you this exfoliating cream?"
"No, I don't need any more of that right now", I lied as a backed away. At the very least, I had found an exit and I was taking it. He didn't try to keep me there and I managed to get away without buying anything.


As I walked back to my car, I reviewed what had just happened. Someone had extended sympathy towards me and I had rejected it. Embroiled in fear, my character had shown through and I was not happy with what I saw. I was a liar and I felt like a traitor, letting myself down and the trans-community down. I kicked myself mentally. Was I ashamed of who I am? Why did I let what other people think affect my thoughts and feelings so much? This was not the person I wanted to be. The questions and thoughts swirled through my head and, as I started my car and began to drive home, I knew they would not be easily answered.

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.