Note This is 3rd of 10 private posts which I have decided to make public in the hope someone somewhere may find help and comfort from them. I am not a medical practitioner. Always seek professional advice before doing anything that will impact your health or mental wellbeing.
Written on 21 January 2018
This is my 52nd year on the planet, and a bit like Doctor Who, I feel I’ve had more than one incarnation in those 5 decades. Luckily, I am blessed not to look my age. But the truth is I am getting old and my past at times seems like it belonged to a different person. A person, who at times, I feel great sympathy for and at other times flat out despise.
Despite on the surface projecting a typical male-centric look and lifestyle, the truth of who I am on the inside has bubbled up numerous times over my life.
Often the feminine me has been operating unobserved and unchecked all the way back to my preschool life, not that my poor old head can recall much from back then.
I have always been attracted to feminine energy and find it hard to relate to my ‘male peers’. I have been able to cover my obsession for all things feminine as just being a typical man who admires the female form, but I was never lusting after the models in the magazines – I wanted to be them. I fully understand that some boys and men are more in-touch with their feminine side, which is a good thing as it helps keep the world just a little less male-centric.
I know the toxicity of the testosterone running through my veins. I know the anger and hate it can project. The testosterone fuelled compulsions were often an anathema to me. Not only did this hormone sculpture my body all wrong for me anyway, but it created a schism in my brain which at times would lead me to the point of ‘madness’.
But I am getting ahead of myself. Few people that knew me or even know me now, would guess I was transgender. But that is simply because they didn’t know my whole secret life. They could not see inside my brain, they could not see or did not choose to see the pain in my eyes.
A lifelong battle hiding the ‘real’ me. The never ending, lonely internal battle all trans people have fought for centuries. This is nothing new, despite what social media may have you believe. Okay maybe the terms ‘ Trans and gender dysphoria’ are relatively new, but whatever you want to call what I am, good or bad, it has been happening ever since people decided to name and stereotype the genders.
I guess, many could say I am just jumping on the ‘band wagon’ of transgender ‘popularity’ .. Oh yes! the abuse and potential mind shattering public embarrassment, where do I sign up? I am so excited…. NOT!
No actually I have known from as early as 5 yrs old I wanted to be a girl. I never heard of transgender or dysphoria in 1971 and neither had many other people. For me, the most accurate description for my predicament is like being mentally geared up to go on a space walk, only to find out at a certain point, you’ve been given an incorrectly calibrated suit for the job. You can’t do the walk as you will die. Your purpose stops. Not because you don’t possess the information required or general skill set, just because someone at mission control screwed up. So everyday you watch all the other astronauts doing their things you know how to do, but you simply never , ever get to float in the wonder of who you really are.
1976 was a big year for me. Not only did I make it to the age of ten, much to anger of the playground bullies, but I went to see the film ‘At the Earth’s core’ with dad. The film was fun for a kid of the 70’s but …wow ‘Dia’ played by Caroline Munro was amazing. While the character was probably just eye candy for the men, for me the character not the actress awoke me to a new concept for me:- a strong feminine woman. The picture of ‘Dia’ from the cinema film review magazine took pride of place on my wall. Everyone believed this was my first ‘crush’ but in truth this was my first role model. I wanted to be a strong, sexy, independent warrior woman and for a day-dreaming school boy that never really thought about limitations, this seemed completely normal and do-able. Poor little soul, how you would be so disappointed for the next 40 years.
In 1992, my soon to be wife went home to America for six months. During that time, I finally decided to explore my feminine side to the full, even with my ‘spacesuits’ notable flaws. I brought feminine clothes and make-up, so I could best adjust the errors mission control had left me with.
It felt great to finally just be the me I wanted to be.
Please note: This wasn’t about fetishising clothes. It was about using clothes to correct my body. I looked into my ‘unique’ problem, never sharing it with anyone and discovered that I wasn’t alone. Other people, both male and female, had also been given the wrong suit, but then I discovered you could change the suit (ok let’s drop those analogies now)
You could change your body? My mind was blown. I could finally complete my mission by getting the right body. This changed everything. I finally had hope. I had no idea how much it would all cost or the risks, I just knew I wanted to do it. I remember phoning my fiancée and telling her I wanted to become a full fem and I was going to have to surgery … surprisingly she was supportive. If I had only been brave enough, I would have lived as the real me for over 26 years now.
Everyday during that summer was bliss for me. As soon as I finished work, on went the real me clothes and I read more and more about men becoming women … Then I awoke to the realisation what this really meant … not for me, but everyone I knew.
I thought, I could be brave enough to take the step to being the feminine me, but I wasn’t brave enough for everyone else it would affect. My family was as conservative as they come. My dad couldn’t even grasp homosexuality let alone Trans femininity. It would have shattered them. And I thought it would have meant the end for my soon to be wife and I. I now know I believed wrongly … Expand this out over friends and family and the burden becomes bigger and bigger. Everyone else’s happiness out weighed my own. I was too weak to be who I wanted to be. I failed myself and in doing so, I subjected myself to 26 years of misery, searching for something to fill my void which wasn’t a void at all. I was searching for something to sufficiently anaesthetise the real me.
My summer of joy was over and my life faded back to grey. I became fatter and very manly, which seems to be a typical Transgender response for those afraid of being who they really are
So this is not a phase, it is a whole life of regret. A life of hidden pain being finally lanced today. I am opening my heart back up for business and turning my souls’ lights back on. I am trans, I may not be proud, but I am happy to finally be taking the steps out of this mental quagmire. Which without my admission will never be discovered by any doctor no matter how many sessions I attend.
This is the bravest thing I have ever admitted to anyone beyond me and while this is just a private journal, it’s a step. It feels a bit like both sowing the seeds for my libration as well as my destruction. Either way this must be done, I need specific help now and I need it soon.
…..Coming Next week the gender Clinic