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Sometimes I forget when this all started, or if it ever had a start to begin with.

"To Thine Own Self Be True"

Shakespeare said that. In his act of Hamlet...Polonius in Hamlet said "This above all: to thine own self be true,And it must follow, as the night the day,Thou canst not then be false to any man.Farewell, my blessing season this in thee!"

The first bit always got to me. 'To Thine Own Self Be True" I didnt discover this quote until one night I were surfing the internet, my left arm numb and puffy from another bad day, and it just randomly popped out at me. I'd always been a fan of Shakespeare and Longfellow, and of course Mark Twain. But it were on that particular night, when I had attempted and failed to take too many medications. I'd simply had enough. I didnt want to deal with the pain and anguish of life unknown. To endure the suffering frustration of not knowing who I were, or what I were doing, or why I were so cruelly cursed the way I were. I kept thinking "If there even is a god, why would he play a joke so cruel as to put my mind in the wrong body, just to watch me suffer? And not only let others alienate me, but let me alienate myself."

I were no stranger to pain. I were a very clumsy child by birth. Constantly breaking bones or bruising my flesh by accident, so much in fact that the doctors pulled me aside at the age of thirteen and asked if my widowed mother were abusing me. She werent, of course. But I were always bruised.

At the age of seventeen or so, I began the foolish endeavor of burning. I'd heat up a butter knife with a candle, and burn myself. On my neck, my shoulders, my arms...none scarred though. I werent sure why I were doing it, I only knew that it made my emotional breakdowns better.

I knew there were something going on with me, and I couldnt figure out what. I were always sad, always annoyed, always angry. Nothing anyone could do or say would help, but increase it.

Unfortunatly, nothing my mother would say or do helped either. She seemed to make things so much more worse, and it wouldnt be until I got older did I realize she werent doing it to be mean. She just didnt understand what was happening to her daughter. I refused dresses, I despised shopping, and every part of me wanted to break down and start to scream when she demanded I keep my hair long.

I hated myself, and I couldnt even understand why. Looking in the mirror, staring at my reflection, and wishing I could make it disappear. All of it. I didnt know what I wanted different, but I just wanted it.

I didnt understand why the terms "miss, ma'am, girl, woman" offended me so much. They're just words, right? Just things people would say? It never occurred to me...

When people would say "because you're a girl" or "girls shouldnt do that", All I wanted to do was scream on top of my lungs and tell them to shove it down their throats. I were so violent...all the time.

I became severely depressed, and nothing could soothe me. Id always wanted to continue doing self harm, but I never worked up the nerve. I couldnt get myself to start. You see...I didnt want to die. I didnt want to take that chance, and have an accident. I just wanted to numb out the mental anguish.

Back this year, I had finally leapt that boardwalk and plunged into the darkness of regret. I had finally told my boyfriend that I were bisexual. That part was easy. He were actually glad for it.

But when I told him I were male, just not physically, my life turned upside down.

Our relationship strained, though neither of us would let go of it. We couldnt...not after four years together. I found something at my place of work, in the first aid box on the wall. At first it were innocent. I had a splinter, so I found something called a "Splinter-Out". Nothing that could cause serious, life threatening damage. I took out a splinter, and were amazed by how well it worked...

And I started my journey through the darkness.

It started with just a few. Two cuts, that's all. But then it became four. And five. As I sit here, I can count out the twenty-five little pink scars on my left and right arms. And those are the ones that remained, not including the ones that never stayed behind. It became a staple for my anxiety, to hold back my fits of emotional breakdowns. The physical pain numbed out the emotional turmoil. But when I realized that I couldnt 'just stop', it scared me. I turned to my boyfriend, and a few online friends.

So far, I'm on day 14 of no cutting. And it's not easy. Today has been horrible....

That's why I'm writing. To distract myself. To pass the time, and keep myself safe.

And mostly...to get it off my chest.

I'm in the process of getting a tattoo over my scars.

A nice victorian gothic scroll over my forearm. And the quote on top of it?

"To Thine Own Self Be True"


These past two days have both been wonderful, and difficult.

Prideful, and shameful.

It started out with a simple errand. My boyfriend had to work, so I went into town on my own, something I rarely get the opportunity to do. So I threw on my binder and a lose black sweater and my jeans, and wandered half an hour from home to do my errands. Grab some groceries, refill on meds, things of that nature. One thing that I needed to pick up, was an auto paint pen. For those of you who arent sure what that is, it's just the paint to fix scratches on your vehicle in the accessability of a marker. So I gathered the barcode and color code, and wandered in to find it.

I knew where I was going, because I rather enjoy being at the autopart store, and knew where things were. But out of no where I heard "How can I help you, sir?"

I paused, looking over my shoulder. Surely that werent for me....was it? It was.

I couldnt help but stare at the man and do all I could to resist smiling from ear to ear. He didnt say miss, or ma'am, or lady....he said sir. SIR. I wanted to hug him, I was so happy.


Expecially since I've seen this man before plenty of times while with my boyfriend, but that was back when I dressed like a girl and had the unbearable waist-long hair. Now....I was sir.

Unfortunatly they didnt have the paint that I needed, so I left empty handed, but with a smile on my face. They didnt understand why I looked so happy after being turned down of products, but that was just fine with me.

My next stop was over to UnderArmor, to find a compression shirt. I was nervous, not sure what I was looking for at all, and wandered aimlessly in confusion. Eventually I decided to ask for help, and actually had to stop and think when they asked if I was looking for mens or womens clothing. I nearly gagged when I said womens...I wanted to say mens, but if it was a matter of how it would work, I guessed it was better to be honest. She wandered around to try and help me out, but came up empty handed. So she called upon the manager, Adam. Who, by the way, threw off all the hints that perhaps he were less than straight. Which was just fine with me.

He smiled and helped me out, but then he stopped and stared at me. His gaze told of nothing but concern and sympathy, before he got really close and lowered his voice to a whisper.

"Darling I love you just the way you are, and please do not be offended...but is this going under a binder?" he asked.

I wanted to hide. I wanted to shove him out of my way and run from that store like a lunatic. But instead I stood dumbfounded, ashamed, and nodded. He smiled though, touched my shoulder, and gave me a wink. "Perfect. Now I know what you need" he grinned.

He was so helpful! One look and he guessed my size, showed me what would work best for what I needed, and I left with two shirts (which were PERFECT by the way, this man was a GENIUS!) and another grin.

THOSE were my PRIDEFUL moments.....then came my shame.

The next night, my boyfriend and I decided to go watch Dracula in the theater, being that I am HUGE into the vampiric mythology and Dracula could practically be my uncle ;)

I grabbed his button up black shirt, because I love how it fits, and even took the time to throw some junk in my hair to keep it looking decent. Something I dont normally even bother with because I sort of like my messy look XD

I had no problems until we got to the theater, and I decided to use the restroom before the movie started. Something told me this werent going to go well for some reason, but I went anyway.

I went in the women's restroom, because that's what I'm used to, and I havent gotten to the point yet that said it's alright to go in the mens. Did my business, etc.

Everything was fine until I went to wash my hands, and was confronted by a middle aged mom with a toddler on her hip, a look of horror on her face.

"What the **** are you doing in here?!" was her screams in my face. I were confused at first, til I realized that just like the day before, perhaps I didnt look feminine.

"There are little girls in here! Get the **** out, you pedophile!" she yelled. Everyone were staring at me now, and I didnt know what to do. I tried to move past her to wash my hands, but she continued to yell at me the whole time I were at the sink. Calling me names, calling me a pervert, and even one of the little girls went to hide in one of the stalls because she thought a boy was in the girls room.

My face were so red with shame and embarrassment, that I wanted to curl up in a corner. I didnt even bother to dry my hands, I just fled the bathroom with my head down, hearing the door slam behind me and the excited screaming of the woman on the other side of it.

I hate the way I am. I always have. But this....this just made me feel so much worse.

I dont belong in the men's room..not yet. But....now I dont even belong in the women's bathroom either? I dont like germs...I'm slightly germaphobic. But now....**** public bathrooms. I'll hold it.

So in one way, it was a good experience, because it goes to show that I'm slowly molding into the man I want to be. But in another way, it's pushing me further into that void where I dont belong with them, I dont belong with the guys....I dont belong anywhere. I'm in limbo, and there's no where to go except forwards or back.

I really hope I'm not messing things up,


Second Try

By WarrenG,

Well, this is my second blog on here.

It's been a long while since I were on here, mostly due to password issues. XD

ANYWAY: the trip up to see my family went much better than I had expected, to be honest. My family had always been the judgemental type. You know the kind....all cops are pigs, governments out to get us, gays are weird, etc etc etc. So NATURALLY I were petrified to talk to my mother about my transgender issues. Of course I had already informed my older sister of what was going on, and she was totally cool with it. Really, she was. I almost died of shock.

BUT due to a court battle between my sister and her abusive Ex in order to keep her two ADORABLE daughters, all of her messages became public to....DUN DUN DUUUUUN. My mother.

So, of course, my mom found out. And my mom being...well, my mom....she has a loud mouth.

So after driving three hours north, getting lost and backtracking another hour, I finally arrived at my mom's new home up on the mountainside. And was pleasantly and anxiously surprised to find not just my mom and siblings and two nieces, but also my uncle I havent seen in six years, my grandfather I havent seen in five, and my aunt that I havent seen in probably ten years. All were sitting at the table waiting for me. Just me.

To get right to the point, they had all travelled to my moms house with knowing that I was coming for a visit, Just to tell me that it's okay. And they'll accept me how ever I am.

I literally cried with relief. I was driving up there expecting my mom to throw me out on the lawn in horror. I dont think me and my mom have ever been closer, actually. It was so much more comfortable to walk around at night in a tshirt and my boxers without worrying about them judging me for it. True they were a little awkwarded out by it, but they got used to it.

The visit ended a few days later with plans for me to kidnap my youngest sister who is suffering a lot of the same issues I did at her age, a syndrom we all know as 'black sheep'. My family is into horses, outdoors, simple things. My sister, like me, loves Black Veil Brides, rock music, punk hairstyles, dark clothes, etc. So naturally, I'm proud to have another 'black sheep' in the family and I plan to have her down at my place for a few days of 'outcast hangout'. Should be a blast.


I was super excited and my boyfriend agreed to let me buy a binder. I got it from Manshape, and its not so much of a binder I guess, but a compression tank? Not sure what it was called. I cried when I put it on, soooooo relieved to see a difference. But, naturally, after a while I just wanted to see even less. I've been working out for half hour before I go to work every day, focusing on shoulder and chest exercises. I've gone from 226 pounds down to 213! So excited. I was angry that my binder didnt seem to do jackshiz until I realized that it was because, DUH, I'm losing weight. So it's not as tight. This saturday I plan to buy a compression shirt from UNDERARMOR to try and help with it until I can buy another binder. A better one, hopefully.


I went back to see my doctor for a check up on my new meds and whatnot. We talked about the gender thing, and she has said she found me a doctor, but his waiting list is a little long, so she's getting ahold of one more local. Impatient, I've been looking on my own as well. The area I live in is sort of vague on doctors who cover that sort of thing, going between two to five hours away from where I live, which I financially cannot afford. BUT, my silver lining: There is a therapist office in the town that I work, where I know my insurance should be accepted, because I were told there are at least 6 of my coworkers who go to that office for other issues. So, here's hoping I can get in.

I've started a box called my 'boy box' where I have been saving some of my paychecks here and there, and its funds to go towards either binders, surgery, or therapy. Whatever is needed for my transformation, that money is for that purpose only. And it's racking up, much to my delight ^_^

All in all, things have gotten a bit better. My relationship with my boyfriend is still a bit strained, though the tension is lessening a bit and is more focused on my own peace of mind with the situation and things that I want to do that either he doesnt, or I cant. It's a working progress.

More update later, now that I'm done babbling and spilling my beans.

Now if I could only stop accidently writing 'Ren' as my name at work instead of my legal name, I can keep this secret a tad bit longer at work!



By WarrenG,

So this is my first time with this...First time even blogging, actually. At the current moment I am several hours overdue to go to bed before a trip back north to see my mother, and perhaps this is why I have finally convinced myself to perhaps seek some guidance and support from others 'like me'. I say that as if I'm damaged cans at a grocery store..that's rather shameful I suppose.

So, a little about myself I guess? I'm 22 years old, I love horseback riding and enjoy writing in my own books, IMVU, and cooking. Oh yeah, and I'm transgendered? I think. I'm not entirely sure what you would consider it yet.

I were born genetically female, but always knew I werent. I remember the first vivid time when I realized it was what I wanted and needed, I were probably 6 or 7. That was the first time I realized that there was something strange going on, and wondered 'what if I magically just POOF turned into a boy?'. I got excited to that notion. Till I were informed that it were impossible.

I went several years denying myself the possibility until I discovered that yes, it IS possible to change myself to suit how I saw myself. I were so excited, but my family were not the sort of people I felt comfortable talking to about it. So I kept it bottled up, sending subtle and ignored hints. Soon after I decided to do something about it, I met my boyfriend, now of four years. I did not tell him about my intentions or thoughts, hoping that perhaps actual dating would cause these feelings to go away. Like a phase, perhaps. But they didnt. They got worse, and I finally broke down and told him.

He's accepting, and is trying to understand and help me. But I see the look in his eyes....

I'm now drowning in antidepressants and meds for my anxiety disorder, yet still have found myself miserable. I avoid mirrors, cringe when people call me by my born gender, and curl up in a corner when I realize that I have no way of fixing it yet. I cannot start a transition on the outside because not only do I have no idea where to start, but who do I turn to? I finally told my doctor, and she has been kind about it, and has tried to look for someone to help me out. But, I have to wait. She said it could be until the end of the year before I even hear anything.....this is agonizing. Is it possible to absolutely despise your appearance so badly that you imagine changing it yourself even if it could be life threatening?

I've had several days where I've wanted to find a sharp enough knife, and "take care" of my "problem" areas. But, for natural and sane reasons, this has never gone farther than rather gross mental images.

I'm at a loss. I dont know where to turn. I have one transgendered friend, but she is across the country, and though i greatly value her opinions and support, its slightly different. I seek help from a fellow FTM, and she's MTF. So sometimes I fear that what she knows is going to be the opposite of what I actually need.

Anyway, I'm rambling now. Guess thats what happens when you decide to blog at 2o'clock in the morning :P