Wading Through These Gender Waters

     Originally, this blog was made so I could talk about my gender, how I feel about it, my experiences, and gender in general. I’m going to open it up so others can ask/submit things. I promise to post more. I’ve been neglectful of this blog for too long. 

     With that being said, I’ve become much more comfortable in my gender. Previously, while I was content being male, there were times I missed being female, to be honest. Few knew about that, but looking back, I didn’t miss being female, I missed how easy it was. Being trans* is difficult, but it’s worth it. I get to be who I really am, and I’m happier this way. I remember being so concerned as to how everyone else perceived me. When someone would see me as female I’d get so discouraged and there were times I felt like giving up. I felt like I would never be seen as a man, so there was no point in trying. Now, I don’t care as much. I know I’m a man, my significant other sees me as a man, my friends see me as male. That’s what matters. I don’t care if some random person at the store doesn’t. They don’t know me. They mean nothing to me. I’ve finally stopped beating myself up over it.

     My parents’ health is failing. My dad is currently in the hospital. He’s had three heart attacks in the last two months and possibly has lung cancer. His heart stopped, and they resuscitated him. I told my brother that if it happens again to just let him go. It wouldn’t be fair to him to keep bringing him back to suffer more. My dad and I have a fucked up past. He was emotionally, physically, and sexually abusive for pretty much my entire life. It’s not something I generally talk about. For the longest time, I held a grudge against him, and I hated everything about him. He isn’t my biological father, but he’s the only dad I’ve ever known. No matter what, I think I’ll always love him. I’ve been feeling guilty about that lately. I feel like it’s not okay for me to be broken up about it. I feel like I should be happy he’s dying, my abuser getting what he deserved kind of thing, but I’m not really sure how to feel. For the longest time, I questioned my gender because of the thing he did. Sometimes the thought “maybe I’m making myself believe I’m a boy because my history as a girl has been so bad.” I’ve struggled with feeling like I’ve forced myself into being a boy. I know deep down that isn’t true. I’ve never felt female even when I was a little kid, but me being who I am, I question everything. My dad knows I’m trans*, but has never once said a word about it.

     My mom has 8 lumps on her left breast. She’s at stage four breast cancer, and isn’t planning to seek treatment. She and I used to be really close. She was there when I first started cutting, there when I was using drugs. She sat with me in the hallway of the ER for to days straight with no sleep at all when I went into rehab. Sat there holding my hand when I’d overdose or cut too deep. I know she was disappointed in me and my actions, but she never gave up on me. At least not until I decided to move. I’m not sure what exactly happened, but some kind of flip switched, and she told me I’m no longer her kid, and that she was ashamed of me. She told me she’d never see me as her son, and that I’m not a boy. This isn’t the first time she’s told me I’m not a boy nor will I ever be one, but it is the first time she really gave up on me. That was the hardest art about it all. I feel like whenever I do something to make myself happy, I let everyone else down. I spend so much time and energy to make others happy, but very rarely make myself happy. My mom doesn’t talk about the fact that I’m trans* very often. We’re on slightly better terms now. She still refers to me as female, calls me “girly,” “missy,” “girl,” etc., and still refers to me as Trudy, but when she sends me stuff in the mail, she writes Reece, so I at least know she’s trying, even just a little. I know that my coming out wasn’t much of a shock; she talked to my brother about the possibility of me being trans* years ago, but I think when it turned out to be true, that she wasn’t mentally ready. I know it’s been hard for her, but she never takes into account how hard it’s been for me. 

     There is no structure at all to this post. Clearly, my thoughts are everywhere.

     I’ve been thinking about the attack that happened back in June quite a bit. It still gets to me a lot. Much more than I let on. I still find myself scared a lot. I don’t want to let it get to me, but not only did it shake me up a lot and make me afraid to be myself, but it brought back a lot of feelings from the abuse I had to deal with from my dad and exes. I have a lot of nightmares about it. It happened a while ago, and I just need to let it go, but I’m not really sure how.

      I’ll stop annoying you all with my rambling. Submit stories, pictures, etc., if you’d like, leave me asks about anything, whatever. Thanks for sticking with me through my absence! 

~Reece

    Since the attack, I’ve just been taking it easy. I can’t bind, so I’ve been extremely dysphoric. It’s hard to look down and see my chest. I took binding for granted. I still felt a little uncomfortable because I had a slight bulge, but I was definitely more comfortable than I am now. 

     I’ve been afraid constantly. They were arrested, but they’re out now. They have their court dates, and they’re free. I’m afraid they’ll come after me again. I’ve never been one to live in fear. I’ve been able to take everything in stride and come out on the other side intact, but now, I’m struggling. It brought stuff back, and just the fact that senseless violence happens is scary. You never think something like that will happen to you, but when it does, it’s hard to know how to react. I’m not sure how to deal, where to put this in my mind. I try not to show how much it’s killing me, but it’s getting harder and harder to hide it. On top of the emotional shit  with it, the physical pain is pretty bad. I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t even hide that anymore. I had to start taking the Vicodin I was prescribed, and I hate having to take them. I’m finally clean, and even though I’ve been good about controlling my use so far, it still makes me nervous. I made a promise that I wouldn’t go back to that, and I intend to keep it. I don’t want to have to take any more doses. My compulsive thoughts about getting high have been worse since I had to start taking them, but the pain is getting worse. As long as I keep doing what I’m doing by just getting pills from my brother, and telling Ken when I take them, I’ll be fine. I can’t go back. I won’t. I can’t let this attack break me. 

 I was leaving work yesterday, when two guys that had been harassing me came out behind me. One of them grabbed me and held my arms behind my back, while the other one hit me. He punched me in the face a few times, which busted my lip and now I have bruising around my eye. He kneed me in the crotch and told me “Good thing you’re not a boy.” Over and over, he kept telling me I’m a freak, and called me a tranny, and told me if I was a man then I could take the beating. He kept telling me repeatedly that I’d never be a man, and that he’d show me just how much of a girl I am. I don’t really know what made them stop, but the guy holding me threw me on the ground. The one who was throwing the punches kicked me in the side a few times, then the other guy kicked me in the knee and side. I have three fractured ribs.

     I don’t even know what to think of this or how to feel. It fucked me up, but I don’t want to let it get to me. I don’t want to let it bother me, but the truth is, I’m a mess. I’ve spent a better part of the day crying, which let me tell you, is extremely painful with fractured ribs. I’m trying to put on a brave face, but it’s hard for me to get passed this. I can’t understand how someone could just beat a defenseless person. I don’t think it would even get to me so much if I had a chance to fight back, but I couldn’t. I felt so vulnerable and violated. I’ve never felt like such a low human being in my life. I hated that I let people make me feel like that.

    When they ran off, I laid on the ground for a little longer. Out of pain, yes, but I was afraid if they saw me get up, they might come back. I just broke down. I was afraid this would happen when I came out, but it was always worth the risk. Now I’m not so sure. If this is what I have to look forward to, the fear, the pain for just being who I am, is it worth it? Either way I’m hurting and I’m miserable. Which is the lesser of two evils in this situation? I mean, I’m happy I’m out and that I came be the man I know I am, but is it worth getting my ass kicked? Is it worth my family rejecting me? I mean, we talk, but barely, and they refuse to acknowledge me as Reece. Is it worth the pain it’s caused everyone else? Why should I be happy if it causes other people pain? I’ve done nothing to deserve happiness. Part of me feels like I deserved this beating. Don’t get me wrong, I’m completely against any kind of assault in any way, but I feel like I deserved it for hurting people I love. I have it in my head that I don’t deserve happiness, just pain. It’s taken me a long time to break that thought process, but sometimes it comes creeping back. I try to disregard it, but it’s hard since that’s how I felt for so long.

     I wish I could have done something, anything to defend myself. I wish I was stronger. I need to go to the gym again so I can gain more muscle. I need to do something. I refuse to be someone’s punching bag again. I was told by someone very special to me that it’s okay to not be okay, and while I know that to be true, if I let myself not be okay, then I feel like that’s letting them win. I’m trying so hard not to let this affect me, but I’m not sure how much longer I can keep a brave face.. Growing up, I was always told that crying or any kind of sad emotion was being weak, and I wasn’t allowed to be weak. I was always told that if I was going to cry, then they’d give me a reason to cry. I wasn’t exactly raised in the best manner, so it’s been hard to go against the way I was raised. I’m a mess. I know I shouldn’t hold all of this in.. 

      I wish people would see that I am a man. Maybe I’m not a biological man on the outside, but on the inside, I am. Just because I have a vagina, haven’t started T, and I haven’t had top surgery yet, doesn’t mean that I’m any less of a man, but I let other people make me feel like that’s true. I felt like I wasn’t a man at all, like I was nothing, when they were beating me. It’s just hard to get passed it. I don’t know what else to say about this. I’m going to start bawling again if I keep going, and that’s not good for my ribs, so I’ll just leave on this note.

~Reece

     There’s a very, very small group of FtMs here in Tucson who are members of a support group ran by the local LGBTQ+ center here. It’s called Dezert Boyz. I’ve been to one of the support groups, but I didn’t really connect with anyone, so I never went back. Daniel, one of the guys in the group, invited me to a party tonight with all the guys after Guys Night Out, a little get together at the center. I’m the youngest guy in the group, but the other guys aren’t much older. The oldest is 24. Daniel is closest to my age. He’s 18. I think it may be good for me to get out there with the other guys, but I’m nervous. I’ve never felt trans* enough, really. I’ve always felt like because I’m okay with having a vagina, and because I’m okay with my female past, that I somehow wasn’t trans* enough and that I would offend other FtMs. I don’t identify as 100% male. Gender is a spectrum. On that spectrum, I’d say I’m around 80% male, so I’ve struggled with being trans* enough. Personality wise, I’m kind of a femme, so I struggle with masculinity a lot, too. I never feel like I measure up in that department. Especially right now because it’s homicide week(my period). 

     Anyway, there’s only five people in the group, and they moved away(except Daniel), but came back for Pride week, which is why there’s the get together. They still kept in contact, and they’d meet back up every few months. They never officially ended the group. They do video chats at the support groups.

      I have a hard time feeling comfortable around transguy and cismen. I don’t feel like I fit in well because, well let’s face it, I’m not all that manly. I’m like the gay guy best friend girls want to have, and the one guys steer clear from. I don’t really have any guys friends. I don’t feel like I measure up, whether it’s being trans* enough around transmen, or the fact that I’m not a bio male around cismen, but I think this could be fun. I don’t know. It’s nerve wracking. What do you guys think?

     It’s only 8:30 here, and my dysphoria has already punched me in the face. I woke up and took a shower because I have errands to run today, and being in the shower was not a pleasant experience. I hate showering. It’s hard to have to look down and see my chest. I can’t seem to find anything about my body that I don’t completely hate. I need to make some changes before this dysphoria kills me. 

     I put the mirror back up in my bathroom because my brother got mad that I took it down. It’s hard to look in the mirror. I hate what I see looking back at me. All I see are feminine eyes, feminine jaw structure, girlish lips, shoulders that aren’t very broad, and a chest that isn’t flat. It’s hard to see that. It makes me feel like I may never look like the man I know I am. 

     I need my period to end. I’ve only had it a day, and I’m already ridiculously depressed and dysphoric. I’ll feel better again when it’s over. This is how it tends to go. Anyway, I’ll check back in when I’m done with my errands.

~Reece

    So today I’ve been getting a lot of anonymous messages on my other blog telling me that I’m a girl, that I’ll never be a man, etc. I got my period last night, and that’s the only time I despise having a vagina. Beyond that, I just have a lot of chest dysphoria. I used to have a lot of bottom dysphoria, but when I started doing research on bottom surgery, I realized it wasn’t something I would be satisfied with, so I did a lot of soul searching, and I became okay with what I have down there. The only people that will see what’s in my pants is the person I sleep with, and clearly if I’m sleeping with them, it won’t matter. I’m lucky enough to have found an amazing person who supports me and loves me unconditionally. 

     I’ve been feeling really dysphoric lately. I try to play it off like it’s not big deal, but it’s getting bad and I need to do something to get it under control. Now that my period has started, it’s even worse. I despise my body. It’s hard to deal with. I’ve thought about taking a knife and cutting off my chest on several occasions today. I need a new binder. I’ve been wearing four to get a flat chest, but it’s killing my back, and it’s impossible to breathe. I wish I could just get my top surgery now. I know once I get that, and I won’t see a chest that isn’t flat when I look down, I’ll be so much happier. It kills me to look down and see the chest I have. If I could wear my binders all the time, I would. I always get the most dysphoric when putting on my binders, because I hate the fact that I have something to bind, and when I take them off, because my flat chest is gone at that point.

      I’ve come a long way since coming out, but it doesn’t feel like it’s been for much. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so happy that I came out, and I’ve never been happier or more confident, but with coming out means attempting to pass, which I can’t seem to do well. At least not here. I get ma’am a lot, I get called she or her often. I cringe every time. Again, I play it off like it’s nothing, and it sounds stupid, but I die a little inside whenever I get referred to as female. I still get called by my female name, and it’s just something I’ve gotten used to. It bothers me sometimes, but I’ve accepted the fact that I will never be Reece to my family. My friends do their best, but they slip up. That doesn’t hurt anywhere near as bad as when my family doesn’t even attempt to call me by my male name. 

     I’m not ashamed of my female past, I just don’t identify with it. I never have. I can recall several occasions where I would cry because I wasn’t treated like my brothers. I hated being treated as female. I hated the dresses I was forced to wear, I hated having to play with dolls. I hated everything about being female. It just wasn’t me. It never will be. I don’t plan on going stealth. I’m not ashamed to be trans*. I won’t introduce myself as Reece the transguy, but if it’s asked, I’ll be honest. No, I will never be a biological male. I’m okay with that. I will always be a trans* guy. I’ll always be transitioning. I’ll be on testosterone the rest of my life. That’s never bothered me. I’m proud of my trans* identity. If I had the option of being born a cismale or a transguy, I’d still be a transguy. This journey has taught me so much about myself. I know how to treat female bodied people with respect because I know what it’s like. It’s made me a stronger person. I’ve learned to embrace who I am, no matter how hard being who I am is. I look forward to the journey ahead of me.