Decrying Gravity

[Another fairly explicit post, particularly towards the latter half, though not as bad as two weeks ago.  Rape and explicit sexual writing are both quite present.]

I've always felt that lesbian relationships were "pure" in a way sexuality is normally not.  It's not a reasoned or rational opinion; it's quite literally how they feel to me.  This is, at once, illuminating and problematic.

I've mentioned before that one of the forces that truly pushed me to finally commit to transitioning was seeing Naomi Watts character in Mulholland Drive.  The film starts with some light-ish romance that eventually goes awry, leaving Watts's character to masturbate in a gutwrenching and desperate scene as she tries to recall whatever it was she might have had.  And it haunted me.  It was almost impossible to tell whether I wanted to be her or fuck her more.  She felt so real.  So... resonant with how I truly felt.  I identified with her and wanted her so very badly.  And she simply wouldn't fade away.  The desire was too strong.  The longing was too entrenched.

Although I wish it was otherwise, this... holy affinity I feel for lesbian relationships extends primarily to "straight-looking" women; "femmes," I suppose you'd call them.  I certainly don't have anything against butch women, but, all told, I have a hard time understanding on a visceral level why a woman would want to mask her femininity (as defined by traditional norms).  I like movie/TV lesbians.  The (usually) fake ones that are meant to be titillating for straight men moreso than representative of lesbian identity.

That's not to say that there aren't femme/femme lesbian relationships (and, certainly, even such distinctions are problematic and ultimately trivial).  But I'm acutely aware that the women I'm attracted to and the relationship models I feel affinity for tend to mirror "straight-male fantasies."

What's perhaps odd, then, is that their allure only works in television or cinema.  Lesbian pornography does little for me.  I'm still primarily turned on by humiliation, terror, self-hatred, and those are usually (but not exclusively) caused by men in pornography.

By contrast, I find men, usually, tainted.  As if the very idea of a blowjob requires some element of degradation and compromise (whereas cunnilingus is practically a sacrament).  And again, this is felt not thought.  I smile at cute gay couples.  In certain pictures, where the male/male partnership, butch/butch, butch/femme, or the female/male partnerships seem to make both parties feel "loving" and happy, I "enjoy" their joy but I'm usually not aroused by it.

No, it's really only in TV/film where I have emotional investments in the characters that their relationships become poignantly felt.  For instance, in the series I'm watching tonight.  It's revealed that a character you thought was having an affair with the photographer is actually sleeping with his wife.  And I instantly fell for both of them.  They're not... artificially feminine, but they trended towards straight norms of beauty.  And it felt so pure!  It felt divine.  I envied them, so much, but even moreso I just felt... peaceful.  Like that was the ideal.  Two beautiful women gently kissing each other, playfully teasing, simmering with lust and love.  I want it so badly that I almost can't acknowledge it for fear that it will never manifest.  It seems right in a way that nothing else does.

And I don't understand it.  I don't like attaching such arbitrary corruption to "the male."  I fantasize about being fucked by a man and, honestly, I really do want to perform oral sex on one/some, but I can't help but feel a significant part of both would just be to reaffirm my femininity.  Imagining myself fucking/being fucked by a woman is about me, her, and love.  With a man, it's... sex.  It's carnal, it's me, small and girlish, him larger and with the capacity to hurt me he has so much strength.  He doesn't, and although I have rape fantasies, none of them are of *real* rape.  It's kind of sweet, in a way.  He says I'm beautiful.  Thinks I'm pretty.  I sit on his lap, I put my head on his chest as we lie in bed, he fondles my breasts because they're so goddamn wonderful and "other."

It's fun.  Cute.  Binary traditional.  Only after sexual reassignment surgery.  But it never seems realistic when I try to love him.  I want him to throw me on a bed, wrench my legs apart, and fuck me til I howl and he bursts inside me, withdrawing as his semen leaks from me.  I want him to stick his cock down my throat and use my head as a proxy, fucking me until I taste him, savor, and swallow.  But beyond fucking?  I'm sure he's nice and all, but he's not who I want to fall asleep beside every night.

 And maybe that'll change.  Maybe I'll find the right guy, as I've found a very small handful of young women, and I'd love him.  But I worry I'd just be loving my femininity, using him as a foil instead of loving him as a person.

Again, I don't like it!  I don't know how much is me, how much relies upon my visceral notions of what gender is, how much is a reaction to my hatred of myself and my body, whether that is merely a backlash against authority structures coded as male and summarily rejected.  I don't know.  I don't know that it matters.

I want to be a thin, pretty (by straight norms) lesbian.  Not just a woman.  A lesbian.  I suppose there are worse things to want to be when you grow up, no?

I've briefly mentioned before that I read threads of comments about transsexual people to center myself, if I find myself growing too complacent or feeling safe.  That action's problematic, in and of itself, but it's not really what I'm thinking about now.  What I am wondering about is what, exactly, I'll say when someone challenges my identity.  Thus far, such challenges have been relegated to when I've come out to family members who have cast it as a "youthful indiscretion" and tried to talk me out of it or otherwise stressed that I am too young to be making/taking this seriously.  As is this case in pretty much every "argument" about myself[or maybe "discussion" would be more apt], I've a plethora of reasons and well-thought out rebuttals that, at the very least, leave me having answered every concern (even if it can never be to their satisfaction).  In short, I know why I'm transitioning.  I've exhausted my alternatives.  And what every argument boils down to is whether someone knows me better than I know myself.

A person thinking they understood another person better than that person knows themself is an almost surprisingly common attitude.  Certainly the scores of people who think even homosexuality is "a choice" are guilty of such thoughts when so many homosexual people tell them otherwise.  But it can be as innocuous as presuming someone's motives to thinking you know what another person wants.  It's the logic behind "no means yes" and "I'm doing this for your own good."  And although I'll grant that it may be occasionally accurate, I think in the long run it's bound to do more harm than good.

I'm guilty of this, too, but predominantly just with my father (and I'm getting better about the few others).  His paranoia and depression seem so clear to me, stemming from various traumatic events in his past, and he fits one of the profiles I've seen developing of abusers: mainly by making your victims believe that they are the ones who are hurting you and never stop accusing them, even when they call you on it.   That's how, I think, my father can believe that I'm transitioning because I hate him so much.

He's done it his whole life.  When I was six and told him "I love you" and he said "No you don't" with no way for me to convince him.  When my parents were divorcing and he called me a "traitor."  When I've been one of if not the only person who has never stopped talking to him or visiting him no matter how afraid I've been, I still hate him.  I can't not believe that he hates himself and could never believe anyone cares about him regardless of what they did and remain sane in the face of everything he says.

But otherwise?  Like so much else, I've tried to learn from his example, remember how what it felt like when he did it to me, and not to do the same to others.  For some people, it's quite hard to do.  But if transsexuality has taught me anything, it's that no one knows you like you do yourself.  And, ultimately, no one deserves an explanation for things you do with yourself (that don't hurt others).  Whether that will be enough... I have no idea.

I'm tired.  In the "earned" kind of way.  Drove 8 hours at night to place to stay, got there at 1a [thanks again LB].  Went to Rally.  Stood for a few hours.  Couldn't hear or see much.  Left.  Left LB's at 6p.  Drove or was at exit from 6p-5a.  And it's starting to catch up with me.

Transitioning has made me paranoid.  Paranoid in the way that illustrates how nice it is to be white, male, TAB, cis, neurotypical, straight etc.  Paranoid in the "They kill transsexuals when they're not laughing at them or talking behind their backs, true story" kind of way.  Paranoid in the "even around my well-intentioned and mostly supportive friends/family, it only takes one slip for me to be outed and irrevocably changed for the people around me."   "He's" are contagious.

I was driving through Pennsylvanian backroads [like, bright-lights on, OMGWHEREAMI roads], and I thought: if I break down, I'm more vulnerable in this situation as a female.  I'm more vulnerable because a police officer just has to see the "M" on my ID for things to get tense.  I'm more vulnerable because I'm not normative.  And it's a feeling that really is difficult to understand [or understand the lack of fear] unless you transition between the two.

Nothing happened.  Nothing happened at the gas stations.  Nothing happened in the women's rooms.  Nothing happened at Subway.  Nothing happened at the Rally.  Nothing happened at the toll booths.  Nothing happened today on the train.  Nothing happened at the vegetarian event.  Nothing happened walking around Harvard.  Nothing happened at the restaurant.  Nothing happened.

Can it really be this easy?  Do I pass?  Are people just polite?  My biggest problems, so far, have mainly been with people who have known me having a difficult time with pronouns/my name.  Sometimes they slip up and it's clear they've been trying.  Sometimes it just doesn't seem important to them to change unless I ask.  My sister's particularly egregious about the latter.  Perhaps it'll come.  It's unfortunate, but it'll take time too.  But if that's the worst thing I'm dealing with...  I presented as female across the country, in hordes of people, in rural conservative areas, in the middle of the night.  I'm sure prejudice will come up with jobs and if I'm outed in more interpersonal relationships.  But honestly?  I did not expect this.

I have been so afraid, for so long.  And to have everything just... work out?  Hell, I had a full beard a bit over five months ago!  I only came up with my name in August!  I went outside at UTK mid-September!  I came out on facebook two weeks ago!  It's all so fast.  And relatively... painless.

And it feels right.  When I feel like Juliet, when I see female, when others see female, when I *am* female, it feels so so good.  Relieving, like a giant weight is gone.  I might get SRS surgery.  But, honestly?  I can feel female without.  It's in my face.  And sometimes it's there.  And sometimes it's not.  And I'm growing into it.  But when I do feel it?  I feel wonderful.  Alive.  Excited just to be.

I'm actually making it.  I don't know how well.  And I am still afraid.  Nothing happens, and I'm afraid. It comes with knowing that I am the butt of so many jokes, that I am a deceiver less than human, that I am bringing all of the wrath and isolation upon myself.  It comes with knowing that Trans Remembrance day is coming, and all it takes is the wrong person at the wrong moment and I'm on there, too.  It comes with knowing that I am a freak, even if people are polite about it to my face.  It comes with knowing people talk and stare.  Nothing happens.  But it is so real a possibility that it could.  That it does, and I don't even know it.

But I'm making it.  I am.  And, for one of the first times in my life, my hopes are being made real.  So much promise.  And the promises, at least for now, are coming true.

Goddamn it.  It's been a few weeks since I've been on the trans-forum.  For awhile I'd check it as a proxy for doing anything tangible, particularly when I had my beard.  It was encouraging and helped, but oh the envy.  Things have been progressing recently [and Indians are taking up an increasing portion of my time.  MY LIFE IS BEING OUTSOURCED!?!? True story?], so I haven't felt compelled.

But tonight I did.  And goddamn it.  I swear, it's voodoo.  There are before and after pictures that make me want to scream.  Pretty standard looking guys transitioning into beautiful women.  I mean it.  You doubt, if you haven't seen for yourself, but you not only cannot tell they were even male, if you're attracted to women it's ever-so-much a moot point.  If you know what I mean.  And you might, I don't really know.  I'M TRYING TO SAY THEY'RE REALLY PRETTY, OK?

Anyway.  It bothers me.  Yes, there are some who are... not.  And I have a lot to be thankful for, in so many regards.  But I see so many of the others, so gorgeous, as if by magic, and I want some of their magic.  I want to know where I can find it, what I have to do to implement it, how I can effectively replicate this magnificent transformation.  Because, honestly, I feel like all I do is change clothes and use a smidge of makeup.  I shave, too, and sometimes it's enough to make my stomach not feel repulsively infested for a day.  But they... they're beautiful.  And I so, so want to be beautiful.

I am making progress, though.  I'm 2/3 through with LHRT [lazer-hair-removal therapy, and it's delightful not feeling compelled to shave anything but my upper lip unless I'm otherwise inclined [although the upper-lip is ghastly].  I've been on hormones for ~four months, although I've only been on my "full" dosage since early July.  I'm not great at noticing differences, except that my arm hair is growing back clear, and I now have breasts.  They're undoubtedly A-cup, but they're also really breasts [I never had manboobs, for better or worse, so it's a novel experience].  My hair is smoother, thanks to prolonged and consistent conditioner use.  And it's entirely possible that various body hairs are regrowing blonde ["invisible"] without my knowledge, although that doesn't stop me from staring at them with so much ire.  My voice is higher as a baseline, although I think I can still improve it.

And I'm progressing socially, too.  I've told just about everyone, aside from the grandparents/my mom's conservative family.  I'm pretty consistently Juliet at home.  And, hell, I went to campus on Monday and no one explicitly confronted me, even as I nervously strolled through the Commons.  I am progressing.

But I can't help but feel stagnant, too.  Part of this, I think, relates to never having felt "like a woman trapped in a man's body."  Certainly, I can pretty safely say I've almost always wished I was born a girl.  But I didn't feel as if I was a girl.  I felt I was a boy.  One who hated himself and wished so desperately that he was not, but a boy nonetheless.  So now, as I transition, I can't help but feel I'm still... kind of a boy.  "Juliet" still sounds strange, especially when people introduce me/I introduce myself.  I think of it in the same way I think of receiving compliments about my insecurities: it hurts, and I want to immediately counter by saying "Oh, no, no, I was Dylan.  But now I'm Juliet.  I don't deserve to be seen as a woman, if you were tempted to do that, which you probably weren't, because I'm pretty clearly a boy in women's clothing, right?"  I have a hard time requesting it, if people don't ask about it.  As if I don't deserve to be called Juliet if they don't think I do.  It's as if I want to have a giant asterisk hover next to my body that, when pushed, says: "THIS BODY IS UNDER CONSTRUCTION FROM MALE TO FEMALE.  PLEASE IGNORE/TOLERATE THE AFFRONTING INCONGRUITY YOU SEE BEFORE YOU AND ACT AS IF NOTHING IS WRONG EVEN THOUGH IT CLEARLY IS."  Yes.  Caps and all.

Am I Juliet yet?  Well, kind of.  In the right lightning.  With the right mood.  In the right frame of mind.  I am not Dylan unless compelled, certainly; I won't sign my name as Dylan unless I have to, I won't refer to myself as Dylan unless I have no choice.  But Juliet?  It's almost of a form of self-hate to say I'm not quite her yet.  At least, not all the time.  And I don't just mean when I'm presenting as Dylan for my grandfather, and going back to Juliet when I'm at home.  I mean, even dressed as Juliet, I can look in the mirror and sometimes see a rather cute woman looking at me and sometimes see a disconcerting mess of a person, a male with cavernous hollows under my eyes and cheeks, egregious and conspicuous facial hair, a hair style that is "eccentric," and cartoonish features.  Hell, I can look at pictures from the GSSE prom and see the same thing.  For instance:

I can see arguments for both sides.  Makeup helps a bit [I rather love mascara], and I guess I could brush my hair, too.  But that's how I look with clothes changed, and it doesn't improve [too much] otherwise.  Everyone reading this knew me as Dylan before Juliet.  So that somewhat colors what you see.  It affects what I see, too.  But what does everyone else see?

Gah.  It makes me think of Mulan, a transnarrative by another name [although a good case can be made for The Little Mermaid, too].  Indeed, it's entirely fitting that Mulan is painted and fit into the trappings of gender performativity to begin with, and as the song progresses she exposes its artifice as she wipes it all away.  [It's disheartening and ironic, though, that the initial image is of a woman with a "beard" made for comical effect.  Oh, look, a woman who is not entirely feminine, even masculine.  Let us laugh.  Oh, wait, isn't that exactly contrary to the film's message?  Disney, Disney, Disney...]



"Look at me
I will never pass for a perfect bride
or a perfect daughter..,
Can it be 
I'm not meant to play this part? 
Now I see 
that if I were truly 
to be myself 
I would break my family's heart. 

Who is that girl I see 
staring straight 
back at me? 
Why is my reflection someone 
I don't know? 
Somehow I cannot hide 
who I am 
though I've tried..

When will my reflection show 
who I am inside? 
When will my reflection show 
who I am inside."


You can read it twice in different ways, struggling with decided to transition and then struggling while trying to transition.  It depends on which "part."  If that part's male?  Definitely, not meant to play it.  But what if it's female?  Will I ever pass for a daughter, much less one fitting conventional norms?  What if I'm not meant to play female, either?  Hell, who is that person staring back at me?  When will that image be who I feel expresses the me I feel inside?  And how do I recognize hir once ze's there?  Or is it from the inside out, me  coming to terms with how I look and owning whatever femininity I have?

I don't know.  It's all still new.  Juliet, as a named identity, is not even a month old.  But god, I see the magical transformations of those gorgeous transwomen.  And I'm left staring at my reflection, wondering if I'll ever see something so beautiful myself.

Governor's School, my favorite time of the year, is starting.  I'm moved in, and the students show up Sunday.  It means I'm largely dead to the outside world for ~five weeks (except for rare daytime hours), but it's such fun to work with smart students who'll play games with me.  Of course, the games are just a pretext for social engagement, which I just... like.  I'll try to savor it.

***

Speaking of sociability, I'm becoming a bit of a bitch.  I'm opening up more, but it's almost flamboyant, and I'm not sure what to think of that.  It's kind of fun, to be extroverted.  But I'm not... sensitive and nice like I should be.  It's kind of like I need to be more controlled to be a better person.  It's worth exploring, certainly.

***

Finally, my counselor had some friends moving who were getting rid of a lot of clothes, and she kindly sent them to me in lieu of Goodwill.  It's nice to have things to play with.  And, really, I rather like a lot of the fits and textures.  If I was better shaved (I do a poor job with my face, much less the rest of my body), I think I'd be pretty cute.  Except for the arms and hands (and probably feet).  I've never noticed how truly large they were until tonight.  Wearing this top and minimizing my body space coyly in the mirror, my hands are... huge.  Boney, veiny, fundamentally large.  Honestly, if that's my worst issue, I'm cool.  My arms are still too hairy, but I'm holding out hope that the spiro (anti-testosterone drug) will largely address that.  And even if not, it's not an amount that is necessarily impossible for ggs (genetic girls) to have.  One of my students actually shaved her arm hair.

I feel fortunate to be growing boobs.  But they're practically that.  It's funny; so many men have larger "breasts" than I do just because they have more fat on their abdomens.  I'm almost starting at a disadvantage because I can't fill in a lot of the clothing I have.  I need a padded bra.  Again, something fixable.

Like I said, I feel fortune those are my main concerns.  I feel fortunate to live in a country that can get me relatively easy access to hormones, to live in a place that has many supportive people, to be able to go forth through my life in ways that will be less than ideal but better, still, than they would have been even a decade ago.  I think of Iran, where homosexuality is illegal, so instead they prompt many people to get SRS [sexual reassignment surgery] in order to make these men's desires more natural (transmen, of course, don't exist).  I think of Uganda wanting to ban homosexuality.  I think of so many places and times that were harder.  And yes, I'll have difficulties.  But I'm fortunate.  In so many ways other than this, but even here, I'm fortunate.  And I think it's important to remember that (while I'm in the mind too).

I hope you're taking care.  I wish I could provide pictures, but that'll probably just have to wait until I'm better made up anyway...

For someone who's been a skeptic since ze knew how to doubt, I like symbols a bit too much.  I used to disdain symbolism in high school when I considered it little more than seeing what you want to in anything.  And, really, that criticism has a lot of validity (not that that's necessarily a bad thing).  But I also think there's something... powerful about an image, a myth, a concept loaded with historical, cultural, and personal weight.  Perhaps this fits with my gradual integration into the "physical world."  As I get away from living firmly in my mind, I'm finding all kinds of things mean more and matter more than they did before.  Whereas I used to just glance at a picture and move on to the next in rapid succession, I'm growing into comfort with analyzing images.  I'm nowhere near where I could be, especially compared to narratives, but it's intriguing nonetheless.