So I have to move out my apartment due to breaking up with my ex. Which is great! it's great because though we get along and we will always be friends, we need different things from our partners that neither of us are going to get. I am packing all my junk, and realizing I have way too much. As I pack though I found tons of pictures of me from what I call the dark ages. The Dark ages were the period of time after high school but before college, a whole six years for me, in which I went back into the closet and suffered a period of self harm and also a mental break down. I survived through a period of sever depression that I didn't even realize I was going though until I was lying on my bed with a butcher knife. I realized how dark I'd gotten I vowed to never ever let it get that bad ever again.
I feel like if I don't share this part of my life than I'm not being straight with people when I say life gets better. This part of my life that led me to who I am today. This time of my life that made me realize that nothing matters if you can't find that happiness in yourself. That there is nothing selfish in transitioning, but its wicked selfish to kill yourself. I say that because of the potential each of us has that is wasted when cut short. I know the insanity of fear and the desperation that comes along with it. I also know that taking your own life in your hands can be the most powerful and freeing feeling in the world and there has never been any grater feeling in my life than that gift. It was a gift I earned by staying alive despite the pain along the way.
As I Sit in my bedroom packing all of my belongings, trying to breathe as this cold ravages me, I cannot help but be excited for the road ahead of me. I am terrified and yet so emboldened by the fear that I have this duplicitous euphoria. Today is May 27, 2016 and I am Benjamin Crowley twenty five nearly twenty six year old black transgender man living in the United States at time feels terrifying and electric at the same time.
Terrifying because as I grow older race, which had never been a problem for me and mine, is becoming an odd affront to society. Actions that others take for granted I never previously would have thought were racially motivated have become a stark raw truth to be being black in America. I feel nervous as I transition that people will interpret me differently because of the projection of my identity into a public spotlight. This however is at the back of my mind as I sort through my things.
At the fore front is the power held in the words, “I am enough.”
I am enough. Similar words blazed though my head four years ago nearly to this day as I worked a warehouse job slaving into the night earning more money than I knew what to do with. I had no kids no titles and no self-worth. I had let others dictate to me what my future held and in the stagnant space between their idolization of the hardworking young black woman whom earned her keep I found myself in a great state of melancholy.
What does it mean when you have everything you could materialistically want and are still unhappy?
I weighed 150 lbs. and had kinky over processed blond hair, a nice body and a sad smile. I hated myself. The person they all knew, who wore punk make up and listened to green day… she was a lie. She was only happy when it rained, hated bras and wore heels in a defiant streak of masochism. It wasn’t until she faced self-demolition did she realize that what everyone though she was wasn’t her at all.
In fact she wasn’t even a she. Never in her head did she see herself as a ‘She’. In her head her self-reference was always ‘I’ and when it ventured to the dangerous gendered lands of pronouns she, realized, had always been a he. So where was she now? Hiding in conformity because she was scared of losing everything she had. But she was already loosing…
This path she was one would never make her happy. So he cut off all his hair. Stopped wearing make-up and heels. Stopped bleaching his hair. Stopped starving himself to be pretty and started loving himself a bit more every day.
Started college. Manically picked out masculine clothes. Introduced himself as Ben. Learned self-love and proudly thinks, “I am enough.”
Thank you everyone again for you viewership.
This is another post semester entry.
This last semester has been so rough and yet so rewarding I cannot put into words how far I have come. Today is May 12,2016. Exactly one year ago I was lamenting about not having started T, and being at least two years from being able to afford surgery. Now here I am having been on T for nearly seven months and anticipating surgery in the next eight months. In the span of a year I have gone from being the victim of hard circumstances to being become an advocate for others around me. I am writing today to share positivity and support for everyone who privileges me with their viewership. Life gets better. Life will always get better.
In the last month, I have had the full cycle of Karma decimate me in some aspects and restore, sometimes build me up in others. I got side swiped by a tractor trailer in my smart car and lived. not only did I live, but I didn't have that much damage to me or the car. In that same day and after much fighting I was told in front of a board of deans and students that we would get a gender neutral bathroom. I broke up with my long time partner, again, but I was told my chest surgery will be at the end of this year. I have stepped into the role of unofficial student liaison to the LGBT community. Last week I was awarded a full scholarship to my college and I won three awards. One of which was recognition of my work towards equality on our campus and the community at large. It was in the name of and presented to me by my IDOL! The man whom inspired me to be the BEST I can be and have no regrets.
So, I know it has been awhile. I have so many positive things to share and also some negative ones. So the Fall semester hit me like a freight truck. I had forgotten the inevitable stress that went along with being on student government. Luckily, I survived. The highlights of the fall semester are that I, with the support of the student body and government, began a campaign to get a gender neutral bathroom on campus. In doing so I’ve had the privilege of representing our community at my school and alerting the faculty and staff of the issues that will and have arisen for many transgender students. We will see a gender neutral bathroom in the middle of campus. It has been approved, and is currently being planned. The second victory, is a personal one. I started Testosterone on November 19th, 2015. And the following week I got a tattoo to commemorate that event. I have certainly found out a lot about myself since doing so. I’ve found I am an introvert, I like Cars, I’ve begun painting, and I love physical activity. A few of my tastes have changed, and I like it. I no longer feel restless and anxious all the time. This Spring Semester is half over for me, and I find myself enjoying life more than ever before. Though I know I still have a lot of work ahead, I wanted all of you to know that I didn’t fall off the face of the earth. Since the school year has begun I have not quit in my goal to bring transgender, and non-binary gender identities into the spotlight in gender education. Hopefully I will get to post again soon.
So today was my first endo Appointment. It did not go as I'd hoped, but not for the reasons i thought. I knew that I would not start testosterone today. Let me be clear about that, right away. I was however hoping that I would find out when I get to start. I got lost on my way to the clinic because Yale New Haven Hospital is a Zoo! New Haven is a terrible smattering of crazy drivers and one way streets. Think of it like as tiny New York filled with even more assholes.
I was late even though I set out to be 20 minutes earl I was twenty minutes late. Got charged 6 bucks for parking at the hospital. Maybe I'm just a country bumpkin, but Charge me as I'm trying to get medical treatment, WTF?
By ten minutes in it was clear that I wouldn't be starting soon, there was discussion of who diagnosed me with gender identity disorder? Was I not being clear enough? How hard do i have to hate myself before people help with the problems I actually have. I'm sick of doctors appointments and of doctors. As she explained what my body would do on T, i got the slight inclination that she was nervous. I'm not blindly jumping into this, it's not that I'm claiming I knew everything she told me but i did know I'm not gonna be a supermodel. I have no misconceptions that I may end up looking like the hunchback of Notre Dame and that T may make my insulin resistance worse... I don't give a damn. Also if one more person informs me that I'm overweight I'm going to lose my shit! (Is there some secret to weight loss that will help me lose 60 lbs in a week or month?) I have been patient I waited three months just to speak to her! Just not a good day at all. I'm so disappointed.
Also i have the final draft of my spoken word poem I will post it soon.
So originally there were two pieces. they have somehow melded into one piece that I'm truly proud of. I'll link it for those who'd like to see. Thank you all for giving me the courage to do this. it took literally thirty takes for me to be mildly satisfied with the results. I shot this on my phone... so sorry if the quality is not that good.
So originally there were two pieces. they have somehow melded into one piece that I'm truly proud of. I'll link it for those who'd like to see. Thank you all for giving me the courage to do this. it took literally thirty takes for me to be mildly satisfied with the results. I shot this on my phone... so sorry if the quality is not that good.
This is me performing my poem. My Poem became a fusion of the previous two poems. I love it so much. I hope you all enjoy. I was so nervous it took so long just get a rough version of it down.
Recently I was invited to perform at a spoken word event for young black people in South Eastern CT. The title and theme of the event is : In My Skin. I was invited because though I am new to the Spoken word scene, I caught the eye of a fellow performer whom wanted to share my story. We'd performed two months ago at a school event and she enjoyed my piece as much as I enjoyed hers. The event is not for another month and I'm nervous about getting up in front of strangers to share either of the two pieces. the first is about being a mixed race kid raised in a white suburb and how that didn't matter to me until I learned how to be black. the second piece is about what it's like to be a gay black/white trans male and about the stereotypes I fall into..
I have a month to practice. The first piece aptly called "How to be Black." is radical if only for what it says.( My pride in being the best of both cultures, white and black.) The second named, 'In My Skin.' is about how being black doesn't really matter to other trans people, bu being trans matters to other black men. It's about catching the cold shoulder. It's about being gay and getting passed over for dates. it's not all negative. it's actually a little funny so far, and I wrote it just for the event. I'll share them when I'm done. Three more weeks until my Endo visit. August 18th can't get here soon enough.
On my last visit to my therapist she casually informed me that I will have her letter of recommendation. I nearly fell out of my chair when she told me. That was amazing news. I could've soared I was so excited. I think She laughed at my reaction. The news came lumped in with confirmation of something I was was seriously concerned about. My Doctor helped to confirm I'm insulin resistant. That condition, for those who are unfamiliar, is very close to having diabetes without having diabetes. I am no longer allowed to not care about what I consume. That coupled with my high blood pressure just backs up my newest of life choices: working out. Before Starting my transition, and being honest with myself, I would've cowered in the corner and cried, making no attempt to fix it. Being Insulin Resistant is actually a good thing, in that it is My body giving me physical signs that something is wrong and I need to change it. Being insulin Resistant is not permanent. it manifests itself as patches of very dark skin... very large patches. not a freckle or a mole. and it's not a consistent skin texture either. Supposedly with better diet and exercise the skin symptoms will go away. If they don't I wouldn't be horribly upset . The bad skin will serve as a reminder to do better by myself.
The truth is my body image is not Ideal to me. While I realize I shouldn't be so hard on my self, I also realize that my current body image is a result of severe depression and a terrible attitude towards life.. I'm not longer depressed and I can fix this. There's nothing holding me back but me, and there's no reason for me to be 5' 8" and weigh 240 lbs..I finished feeling sorry for myself 5 months ago, How strange it was to convert my anger to positivity. I would not know how to accurately recount what thoughts made me do so. My Anger is now a wall that prevents crap from filtering into my brain and making me anything less than my best. My best is getting out and walking instead of staring at myself in the mirror and wondering what went wrong. I walked two miles today, and while that may not seem like much it's a lot for a guy who gets winded walking up the 15 steps to his front door. (Yes there are 15. Yes I have counted them.)
What have I gained in my last week? A sense of serenity. My walk takes me about a half hour and it gives me that mush time to myself. I have time to organize my thoughts while listening to my favorite music. It's time without the distractions of work or family or video games or any of the other things that keep me from staying focused. This new attitude combined with the knowledge that I will be more like myself by next year than I have been in 25 years fills me with so much joy. Sheer Joy. Joy that is unrivaled by anything I have ever felt in my life.
This is my third month in a row being Happy, and genuinely content. To those who are transitioning and the road is hard, remember that the journey may not be easy, but you are making it. To take the first step in this journey, for some is an impossible feat. Know that in the completion of that first step you are brave. Know that when you find yourself, no one can truly take that from you.
And to the rest of you reading this, know that the choice to transition is a serious step. A step that can't be made lightly. Know that not doing so does not make you cowardly or weak. I speak only for myself when I speak of the changes transitioning has made in my life.
Thank you for reading,
This is me Last week.
Five weeks to go until I meet the endocrinologist. I look at the calendar once a day. I started journaling a month ago to help with my anxiety. It helps but I always want to share it with others, as if my life is just that damn interesting. Three weeks ago I began seeing a therapist. I knew that I was supposed to see one for transitioning stuff, but I feel like I’m just rambling for fifty five minutes. Beth assures me that is what I’m supposed to be doing. This last Friday, Friday Jun 26th, 2015. Bans on Gay marriage were deemed unconstitutional in the United States. It fills me with relief to know that when I find someone I can marry them, no matter what gender they are. I have a physician now as well. Her name is Stacy. She’s very nice and very compassionate. I feel like I have doctors I can trust and that luxury is not lost on me. Stacy made the referral for the endocrinologist. I have to go to Yale New Haven Hospital. They have a Transgender Clinic. I started working out. My attitude has changed. I’m no longer easily discourage or enraged. I bought a new phone. I’m in love with it. I’m excited for my next year of college. I’m beginning to plan my move in February. I know what I want, and that’s half the battle. Now to just start saving. I began writing up scripts for the Trans-a-Saurus Rex. I think that’s going to be my summer project. 52 of them on for each week. I know that other people don’t understand me, instead of being hurt or angered by it, I’m just disappointed. I’m not half a girl, I’m not technically female. I’m Male everywhere it counts, Or so I’m told. I think I’ll write one comic for every incident in the 2014-2015 year. That should be like 60-ish. Time to make art. I’m happy. I didn’t know that I could ever feel this way. Hope changes a Man.
Mohamed Gandhi said, “Be the Change you want to see in the world.” When he said that, I don’t think he knew the power he held in those words. Or perhaps he did. The first time I heard those words, was out of my own mouth as I read them from my laptop screen on a hazy summer Tuesday night. I had researched them in an attempt to pick myself up of the ground. I tried to mimic those words in every nuance of my life ever since, but it hasn’t helped. I want to sleep all the time. Not because I’m tired, but because nobody can ruin your day when you’re asleep. That might be because it’s actually night time, when I sleep. Or it could be because I’m by myself in my own mental fortress, but I digress. In my love of sleep I have realized two things. The first is that no matter how bad I hurt, Sleep always makes me feel better. It’s like a drug. There’s something to be said for that languid ache you feel when you’ve just woken up and you’re still too asleep to think. The second thing is, sleep can be a good excuse for just being a dick. Let’s face it folks not everyone’s personalities are ideal. I'll confess to that sin later.
A lack of sleep could be the reason you’re a douche. It’s a coping mechanism. You should still probably face the inevitable truth though, someone in our great big world thinks you’re a douche. My goal in life alternates between a true passion for striving for something great and trying to own the notion that I am never going to be the perfect person. I cry a lot. I cry when I’m sad. I cry when I’m mad. I cry when the world feels like it is trying to tackle me to the ground and beat the shit out of me. That last thing can be an everyday feeling if you let it. Don’t let it. The world is not a nice place, if you didn’t know that yet than I’m sorry to have spoiled it for you. But, as we just discussed you’re a douche. So when the world starts being a dick, start a pissing match but be professional. I was asked why I’m such a critic of Transgender Media Representation and the answer is simple. We’re like gays in the millennials. We’re trying to depict a sun shine perfect example of who we are and how we can be:" Normal" and "Sexy". To the general populous this Idea may be ideal, but I still think it sucks. It sucks because what we’re showing to the Trans population is that you should look like an Abercrombie and Fitch model or Laverne Cox. Those are some high standards. Not every woman, Trans or cis, can realistically aspire to be Laverne Cox. There can be only one.
We as a society of slightly developed Monkey people, really feel a compulsion to set standards. By set I mean inflict. We inflict our concepts of beauty on others like weapons. People get dumped or judged because they’re “Not Pretty”. What does the aesthetics of a person really do for a couple’s relationship in relation to providing for their family? Aesthetics does not ensure survival. Why focus on it? Again I will digress. My real point in all this is to start a strange kind of dialog about life, more specifically about Shame. I started writing these to put my life into a dialog I could share with other young transmen. So here is my confession I promised at the beginning. I’m not pretty. I’m not nice. I’m Trans. I’m the realist nobody likes. I would make a promise to post these in a more sequential order but I keep forgetting to actually upload them…Sorry. Sometimes I'm too busy thinking to remember how to human being. A positive post will follow this.
“You are just uncomfortable with your body.” She said as if her words could solve all my problems. As if my dysfunctions could be solved by her petty words of wisdom.
“You’re going be in that body for the rest of your life, lady. You have to learn to love it girl.” She says. As if my imagined self-loathing could be cured by a campy nineties feel good seminar created by femi-nazis to create militaristic men hating clones. Like a lobbyist levying her private greed as my public need she says, “Who would want to be a boy anyway?”
Her tone is condescending and cold, she’s a killer queen. She knows all without doubt. Men are miscreants. Boys are bothersome. Transgendered people got too confused playing dress up.
“But, I am not a girl.” I interject. My voice is small, meek, more of a grumble in gravelly whisper than an actual voice.
“Well, you certainly aren’t a boy.” Like she knows me better than I know myself. Like she’s the world’s foremost expert on Gender. As if she knows all future advances in medical science. As if she knows everything. Her words echo across my mind and against every grain in my body like sand paper on glass.
“How do you know?” I say louder. I’m confident now and angry.
“Oh I know.” With a haughty confidence. She is stubborn arrogance that knows no bounds. She is society, and I am just a confused silly little man.
I like to think my aggressively friendly/positive attitude (Mixed with an assortment of Sarcastic or Sardonic undertones.) is the result of my upbringing which sadly was not pre-formed by my biological parents until my personality had set and they found me to be unbearable. (Children unfortunately grow up to be people.)I was not truly raised by my parents but rather my grandparents and aunt. My parents disowned me a short time ago, and since I consider it to be a healthy exercise in humanity, I am better for it and no tears will be lost there.
As I uncover more about the world around me I find more and more Trans folk who share a situation or story with me and I find it kind of heartbreaking. I like this site because it seems to be a group of people kind of like me. We know we’re different from each other, but we’re also really similar as well. We find strength in that commonality. I find it kind of comforting. The positive part being said, people at my job are underhanded, nasty, and simple minded.
I know I can’t expect customers to get it, or even to care, but the people I work with should at least make a decent effort. Two of my co-workers flat out refuse to call me the right name, one of them stresses my pronouns in her speech as if to be sarcastic, and the rest keep calling me a girl. I am not a girl. If I were a girl, I wouldn’t feel this way. I try to be patient but being called, “She, Her, and that girl.”
It grates on my nerves. Then I get the sugar-coated-sickly-sweet, “Sorry Ben….”
I bring up the point frequently, “When I am Legally Ben, and legally a man, will you all still act like this is a child’s tantrum?” Then again, I frequently remind myself that I work at Wal-Mart. Maturity is not a requirement of working there. Not to say that I don’t like my job. I actually do like my job, I just could do without a few of my co-workers.
These seemingly continual incidents have brought on a new level to my on again off again depression. I know others mean no harm by using the pronouns, at least I like to think they don’t, but when you feel your happiness dissolving…. It only makes life a little harder.
I do not expect pity. I want none. Facing the world as the man I truly am is far better than forcing myself to be someone I’m not. I only want to explain why I’ve not posted for so long. I find it hard to do work when I’m not quite feeling myself. I’m sure everyone can share that sentiment at some point in their life.
Now back to the positive parts. I started school and my partner, who’s had my back the entire time, is being his supportive self. There’s no sarcasm there. He is, and I hope will always be my best friend. He’s pushing me to do well in school. He’s helping me to figure out how to cope with other people’s insensitivity in a manner that shines light on me, (taking the high road, always). He’s reminding me frequently who I am, and that I am important.
Support can mean a world of difference. Recently I had to leave my previous place of employment in order to find a new one that would allow me time for college. I ended up at my previous job simply because I could make it work to my advantage. I started work at Wal-Mart the beginning of last month, and while I will fore warn anyone that it is not the ideal place of employment for me, it is not as bad as they say.
I’d left Wal-Mart previously because I want a job I felt safe transitioning at, and I wanted more money. (Doesn’t everyone?) More money meant more problems and I never felt safe in the warehouse. Which says a lot about where I used to work. I’m not intimidated by the consequences of other people’s closed minds, but I am intimidated by violence.
I went back to Wal-Mart eager to start moving forward in my life. I came out to everyone in orientation. They could like me or not like me. I was a bit taken back to learn I couldn’t wear the Name “BEN” But instead had to wear some derivative of my legal name, which currently does not match my identity. At first I was a bit outraged, but instead of losing my cool I spoke to a manager I trusted.
“Surely” I thought, “I can’t be the only transgender person in the entire company.” So I explained to him the best way I knew that I couldn’t afford to change my name just yet. Between the pay cut and college, let’s face it folks, I’m barely eking by. I’ve no regrets! I explained to him the difficulty of trying to present myself as a man when being forced to wear a name badge with a female’s name.
He was kind and courteous, though I could tell he wasn’t quite sure how to handle my complaint. He told me he would find out for me, and he did. A week later I got called back to the office, I’d been bugging him all day about it. He and the Personnel manager had researched the policy for helping out a transgender associate. I was kind of shocked that there is a policy for that. Hidden deep in books, but it’s there. My manager explained to me that not only could I have my name badge, but I could ask for the proper pronouns, and not fear discrimination. His conviction as he told me this and asked me what name I was to be called and what pronouns I preferred filled me full of hope. Finally I get my own personal victory.
Sometimes Support can make the difference between night and day.
Glad Introductions are over. Let’s talk about Genital Fixation.
I’m a student. The awkwardness never ends there. Every few months I have to introduce myself to new people. I used to love that kind of life event. Now I forever despise it. Mostly I’m sure because it means coming out to new people, and while I don’t regret for a moment coming out I sometimes find doing so over and over a rather tiresome event. I frequently refer to my life as the picture perfect awkwardness that comes from a society that assumes it knows everything. I think that being honest about who I really am is awkward for other people. I feel sorry for them. I also feel sorry for the lack of education on Trans-matters. I look to the news for some kind of…help on this. Nothing positive there.
There seems to be a rather…unexplainable Genital fixation that no one addresses. What about how we feel? I feel good today, my binder isn't itchy yet, and my bobs* are still in place. I feel free. Why, Ben? Why do you feel free? I feel free because I know no matter what happens today I’m not lying to the new people about who I am. Well I feel free for like two minutes. Then the questions come. I was raised to always tell the truth. Always. I feel like if they ask, I've got to answer. Some people say the best thing to do is tell them to Google their questions. I tried googling it myself. Some information out there is flat out wrong. Some information is out dated. I don’t think telling people to Google it is at all a good idea. The internet is not always a friendly place. Still I don’t like to be asked,
“So how big is it gonna be?” ( It meaning my Penis….)
“Is it gonna be the right color?” So before it gets to that I answer the first genital related question with,
“It’s like expecting a baby. I’ve no Idea how it’s going to turn out, or how expensive it will be, but it will be worth it. So no I can’t tell you anything about that, and even if I could don’t ask.”
It came as a shock to me the amount of things people don’t realize about someone else’s lifestyle. My mom assumed that since I’m now a man I don’t care what I look like as long as I look like a man. She’s wrong. She thought because I’m a man I’d want to go out and ride dirt bikes instead of decorate cakes. She’s wrong. The oversaturation of a clearly dictated gender binary sometimes overwhelms me. I think the hardest thing for people to understand is that we aren’t trying to be different people. We were always these people, we’re just getting better at expressing it now. So it was with utter lack of grace that my internet campaign was started…. Rome was not built in a day, I know, but maybe by the time my nieces and nephews are my age they won’t have to pity other people’s awkward genital focused attitudes.
Or if it isn’t about my genitals it’s about my bobs1. I’m a trans-man. I don’t ever want to talk about boobs. I don’t care if you’re jealous of mine…Take them! Take them, PLEASE! It grates against every fiber of my being to talk with people whom think I’m just uncomfortable with my body. I’m not a fan of plastic surgery. I’m not vain. Okay… maybe just a little. I like to look nice, doesn't everyone? To me looking nice is not about the perfection of your body and how your clothes fit. But rather the way you feel inside your body and how you feel about yourself. My bobs are too big. I’m on no supermodel in any sense of the words, but they feel wrong. Convexly the nakedness downstairs also presents a confidence issue. When people tell me I’m a pretty girl, I want to kick bite and scream. “I’m a Man!” There is more to a woman than being pretty and more to being a man than having a penis, but I digress. Instead of biting I simply state my disagreement. It's difficult to resist the urge to not be quite as polite. Frequently I must remind myself that I'm not alone. Frequently I tell myself attitudes will change, and will myself to be nice. First impressions are important especially when you may be someone's first impression of a group they know very little about. I tell myself for every Cisgender person I educate, I save the next Transgender person the irritation. Maybe just maybe someday I'll just be some guy who used to look like a girl.
Next topic: Support. (Not so much of a rant.)
Bobs is what this transman calls his large saggy man boobs. It’s boobs minus an "o", because they’re on a man.
I'd like to introduce myself. Hi I'm Benjamin. I'm a T-guy who lives in Connecticut. Before I go any further let me answer some quick questions I always get. No I'm not rich. No I know being a Trans guy doesn't make me the world's foremost expert on anything and yes I'm aware being a T-Man doesn't make me special. Yes I'm aware that occasionally I capitalize random words for no reason.
This blog may come off as rant sometimes.
Sometimes my mind moves too fast for my fingers to keep up.
Sometimes my fingers move too quickly for my keyboard. For all these things, I apologize. That's all I apologize for.
Moving on to more important things than me.
With the emergence of Laverne Cox there is a wave of concern about Trans-gender rights that has really brought to light the misconceptions that others have about us. Starting with our genitals and ending with our hearts. People generally get confused about how to address me. It's simple. My pronouns are: HE, His, And Himself. I am not afraid to correct people. I am not afraid to ignore those who use my birth name. I am not afraid to answer any questions they have about my gender status, because I consider myself to be an ambassador between our community and the Cisgender folks. I am an open book, mostly, but I still dread answering the first two/three questions when I come out to new people. You know the first round of questions that people usually tactlessly allow to careen out of their mouths. Coming out and staying out is a continual process for me, Like most people. I find the first question to pop into everyone's mind is usually one of two questions.
1. So you're going to get a Sex change?
2. Does that mean you want to date me? (Usually from females. OR so if you're guy does that mean your boyfriend is gay?)
No matter how many times I'm asked the first question, I'm never quite prepared to respond. I'm not quite sure why it seems perfectly plausible to ask me about my genitals. It always leaves me explaining to people why it's rude. Which is a completely different bit of awkwardness entirely. I hope this isn't common ground for everyone who is transgendered, but I fear it is.
After my lengthy explanation, or defense in some cases, of my gender status I am generally besieged by my other least favorite question/s. My gender status has nothing to do with whom I date. I'm not quite sure why it matters. I'm also not quite sure why younger females automatically assume I'm into them. I think that it has less to do with me and more to do with our society's stereo type of Butch lesbians/ Transmen. We are not the same. Not by long shot. I suppose that Trans-Ladies suffer the same deal with being lumped in with Drag Queens. Not that any of the aforementioned people are to be viewed in any sort of negative light. Just a comparison. I personally date a man. When I state this People generally ask, "Well then doesn't that make your boyfriend gay?"
My partner as I call him, doesn't really care what's in my pants. We as a species are all too concerned with fornication. I've been told I'm just trying to be a gay guy. That I'm confused, and I've endured plenty of inappropriate jokes about who's doing whom in the butt. After all the unpleasantness I can safely say that I am confident in my Identity and He is still confident in his, and while we may not know how to define ourselves for other to understand, it doesn't really matter what other people think. Now does it? We're two boys who're in love.