A new old friend

Tara was a friend of mine back when I was in high school; (not her real name, by the way). She and I were never especially close to each other back then, though we were probably as close as we could have been. I kept a certain amount of emotional distance between myself and everyone else in those days: this was partly intentional and partly it just sort of happened. I think it may have been similar for her. We were part of the same friend group so we hung out a lot at school, but I can count on one hand the number of times we spent time together outside of school. By the end of grade 12 we'd mostly drifted apart. Facebook didn't exist back then so we lost touch after graduating, and I moved away from my hometown a year later.

In the time since then I would think about her on occasion, about how interesting and different she'd been, and how I'd never really gotten to know her. Back in February, sort of on a whim, I found her on Facebook and sent a friend request. We literally hadn't seen or heard from each other since our class' graduation ceremony in 2005, but she accepted it and we started catching up. We've been communicating fairly regularly since then and we've become good friends: definitely better friends than we ever were back then. We stayed up till 4 in the morning (only 3 am in her timezone) recently talking about a girl she has a crush on, among other things. So yeah, she's a new old friend.

Perhaps part of what's made it so easy to connect this time around is the discovery of what we have in common, (and I don't mean our mutual interest in Japanese culture). The thing is, when I knew her in high school, Tara was living as a boy. She only started transitioning last year. Imagine that: we were once two closeted teenage trans girls, eating lunch together nearly every day, struggling with the same unspeakable thing, completely unable to reach out and help each other. That's denial for you.

This was me in grade 10. Holy Jesus.

This is now the second time that someone I know from a non-LGBTQ context has started transitioning. (The first time I wrote about here). It makes me think that when people say they don't know any trans people, they probably just aren't paying attention. Which, I suppose, is just fine.

Hair removal and happy thoughts

This morning I had my first ever session of electrolysis. And wow, is it ever great to finally feel like my transition is moving forward! Since getting home from it I've just been feeling really positive and optimitic about life in general. :)

The actual procedure wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. From what I'd read on the interwebs I was expecting a fair amount of pain. But of all the hairs we got done today, only two of them even hurt a little: the rest were nothing worse than an uncomfortable pinching feeling. So either I've got an unusually high pain tolerance or an unusually good electrologist, but either way I was pleasantly surprised.

Granted, she only worked on my cheek today. I suspect that the chin and especially the upper lip will be worse. It also probably helps that I'm not on HRT, as apparently estrogens tend to make your skin more sensitive.

I took this picture as soon as I got home. By then most of the redness had disappeared,
but you can still see a little discolouration in the middle of my cheek.

We scheduled my next appointment for one hour next Saturday. I don't really like the idea of doing electro every single week though. In the future I think I'll see about doing longer sessions less often, like maybe two hours once a fortnight.

They say that galvanic electrolysis permanently removes 99% of treated hairs on the the first treatment. That means that, statistically speaking, all 15 hairs we got to today are probably gone for good. It's not much, but that's the first permanent alteration I've made to my body for the sake of aligning it more closely with my gender identity. And for that I say: yay yay yay!!! :D

Two stories involving drugs

I have some pretty bad phone anxiety. And yes, I know it's irrational but hey— some people are afraid of bugs, some people are uncomfortable in crowds, and I get anxious talking to someone I can't see: that's just the way it is. So, a while ago, when I emailed the electrolysis clinic I wanted to go to, I wasn't too thrilled when they mentioned in their response that appointments could only be made by telephone.

Two weeks ago I finally worked up the courage to make the call. I already had the number in my contacts, so I could avoid having to dial it when the time came, (dragging out the process by dialling always makes my anxiety worse). It started ringing, my heart raced faster and faster, my breath came in short gasps, and then— voicemail. I panicked and ended the call. They did call back a few hours later, but by then I was hanging out at a friend's house and opted not to take it.

After that I was sort of kicking myself for having such an inconvenient hang-up (no pun intended). It seemed ridiculous that a goddamn phone call could be such a big obstacle between me and transitioning. So, a week later I tried again, but this time I enlisted some help of a chemical nature. That is to say, I did a shot of vodka beforehand; it made a big difference. While I probably still seemed a little awkward on the phone, for the most part I actually felt fairly calm. We set up a consultation for this coming Saturday.

In a very real sense I've been transitioning since I first allowed myself to question my gender identity, but this will be the first step towards physical transition, so I'm pretty excited about it. Excited and just a little bit scared.

To whomever invented distillation, thanks for the courage!

On the subject of mind-altering substances, I tried psilocybin mushrooms for the first time last Saturday. Prior to that the only recreational drugs I'd ever done were caffeine, nicotine and alcohol. Like, I've never even smoked weed, so this was a pretty new experience for me. Me and a couple of good friends took a small dose each, put Heart's Dreamboat Annie on the record player, and just had a really groovy time. It was a very positive, horizon-broadening experience, and definitely something I'd consider trying again at some point.

Nails

I like to keep my nails painted. It started out as just for fun but it's become an impotant part of my appearance. Sometimes my pretty nails are the only thing there to tell the world I'm something other than a gender-typical cis male. This is the usually case at work, where I wear grubby old clothes and forgo makeup.

I waited until the start of my second week at this job to wear nail polish. I went with pale blue. Of course people noticed and there were a couple of weird looks at first, but no one said anything unkind and we just got on with what needed to be done, which is basically what I expected to happen.

Now, recall from my previous post that I'm working at the same company as my mom. Last Sunday (so, the weekend after my second week of work) I got a phone call from her. After a rambling, apologetic preamble she asked me if I could stop wearing nail polish at the job, for her sake. She said that people were joking about it and that it hurt her heart to hear their comments.

I told simply her that, no, I would not stop painting my nails, that people making comments had nothing to do with me and that I wasn't the problem there. I also pointed out that just because people make jokes doesn't mean those jokes are mean-spirited.

It slipped my mind at the time, but I also should have told her that referring to me as a "lady" (which apparently is what some of them were doing) isn't even remotely an insult— that's just a somewhat accurate description of my gender identity. That's fine by me.

Anyways, she told me that obviously it was my descision but she just thought she'd ask. We said "good-bye" and "love you" and ended the call.

Then about half an hour later I got a text from her. It read:

Hi i need to apologize. Dad just explained why it was soo inapropriate for me to ask u not to be yourself. I truly am sorry. Dad was really upset with me but he was right. I should have thought first before i called u.

I texted her back saying I accepted the apology and telling her not to worry about it.

It means so much to me to know that my dad gets this stuff, and that he's willing to defend me. You see, he used to say a lot of weird homophobic stuff when I was growing up, but he's changed a lot between then and now. It's a change that's been especially apparent since I came out. And clearly my mom learned something important that day, too.

People grow and people change, and thank goodness for that. :)

I got a job!

After four months of unemployment, I finally found a job! Er, well, to be honest, I didn't really find it, it sort of fell into my lap. The company that my mother works for had an opening I was qualified for, and she just so happens to be the HR manager, so I got it that way. I'm a little uncomfortable with how nepotistic that seems, but a job's a job, right?

I've been there a week now. On the one hand, I'm stoked that with money coming in I can now start electrolysis without having to worry about my finances. Yay yay yay!! On the other hand, it turns out that I already slightly hate the job, so that's not as cool. It's powder coating metal products, which is okay, it's just that it's yet another industrial labour job and I was really hoping my next one would be something different. That and the hours are longer than what I want to be working.

The other thing that's weird about it is that every single woman who works for that company works in an office. All of the actual labourers are men— (well, except me of course, but I'm kind of in disguise). And like, I get that there's some heavy lifting and the whole testosterone and upper body strength thing, but I've worked alongside women at jobs that were a lot more physically demanding than this one. And it's a big company too, so it's not just the effect of a small sample size. All that makes me pretty sure that male privilege was a factor in me getting the job, which would be uncomfortable enough if I were actually male, but it feels even weirder as a trans woman. Not to mention that it sucks being the only girl, since I generally relate more easily with women than men.

Rosie the Riveter could do my job no problem.

Part of me wants to keep handing out resumés in the hopes of finding something that suits me better. But I'd feel bad quitting right away when it was my mom who hired me, especially since the company's already spent money getting me certified for various safety things. Another part of me, (the defiant part), wants to stick it out through the course of my transition, just to prove that yes, a girl can do this job. And another part of me, (my guilt complex), feels like I ought to be more grateful for the work when so many people in this world have a hard time finding employment.

So yeah, I guess my feelings on it are somewhat complicated, but for the time being I will probably be powder coating metal.

A dream

Last night, before going to sleep, I lay in bed watching Youtube videos. Somehow I ended up on that speech Debi Jackson gave about supporting her trans daughter that went viral last year. Hearing it again made just as choked up and tearful as it had then. What followed was an unquiet sleep.

I was in what might have been my parents' house, except the layout was unfamiliar. In what seemed to be a living room, my dad sat on a couch watching TV. The room flickered with that television glow. My mom and I stood off to one side. In this dream world I was out to my mom but hadn't told my dad yet. As he flipped through channels, suddenly there appeared on the screen some kind of crossdresser or drag queen. In disgust, he hurled some disparaging remark at the image, the way I remember him doing when I was a child. But this time, I flipped out.

"Fuck you!" I screamed, "why the fuck would you say that?!" And I didn't stop there: a long torrent of curses followed. When I finally finished he looked at me, totally baffled, and asked: "What— what's this all about?"
"Because," I said, quietly and with a great deal of effort, "I'm... trans."

His face changed suddenly to one understanding. He got up and walked towards me, and as he did, both he and the room grew huge while I seemed to stay the same size. By the time he reached me he was so tall that he had to get down on his knees so we could be face to face. And then I realized I was a small child. A girl, in fact.
"I'm sorry," he said, and he drew me towards himself in a big hug. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know."
"It's okay, dad" I said. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

And then I woke up.

It took me a few seconds to realize: No, wait. I'm already out to my dad. And he doesn't say homophobic stuff like that anymore. Of course it was only a dream: neither me yelling at my father nor the two of us hugging are things I can imagine happening in real life. But jeez, it seems like I have issues.

Good people

I'm not sure how ended up having such good people in my life, but I'm so glad I do.

Last Sunday I logged in Facebook to find that I had a PM from a cousin of mine. She's someone I'm quite fond of, though it's been a couple years since the last time we saw each other. She wrote:

Cousin I hope you know that we love you and support you. I don't have a clue how you're doing or the specifics of your life but I've got a very rough idea of it by what you've posted on fb. And I just wanted you to know that you're loved and supported no matter what.

I was, first of all, quite touched. It seemed like a good time to come out so I wrote back:

[name], thank-you so much for this. I never doubted that you'd be supportive, but it really means a lot to hear it. :)
Uh, so yeah, I'm transgender. Like, I'm a girl inside. :) It's been that way as long as I can remember but I was in pretty serious denial about it up until about two years ago. Since then I've been trying to figure out who I am and what exactly I should do about it. I'm not on hormones or anything yet but that may be in my future. Oh, and I go by Ashley within the trans community.
Feel free to ask if you have any questions.
And lastly, we need to hang out some time. It's been way too long. :)

In the week since then we've been messaging back and forth, talking about gender and coming out and all sorts of stuff. At one point she wrote:

I'm perfectly comfortable calling you Ashley. If you feel like a girl and want to live as a girl then you're a girl to me. [...] I'm glad you can start being yourself now, I imagine that's quite freeing.

I was smiling pretty big after reading that, you can be sure. Coming out to someone who's so unreservedly supportive is just one of the best things ever. :)

Another thing happened on Monday. My dysphoria was just awful that day and I spent it feeling really terrible. Around 9:00 in the evening hunger got the best of me and I had to leave my room, where I'd been hiding to avoid the people I live with, and venture down to the kitchen. Sure enough, one of my roommates was there. He asked me how my day was.
"Well... not good, actually." I replied.
"Ohh, why's that?"
I evaded this question, which he correctly interpreted as meaning I didn't want to talk about it. Instead he got out some good quality European chocolate he'd been keeping in the fridge, saying: "what's the point of having chocolate in the house if you don't eat it when you're sad?" And the two of us ate chocolate together. A gesture like that can really make something hard like dysphoria a little easier to bear.

And then on Friday it was my birthday: I turned 27. The day before, to mark the occasion, my parents took me out for sushi, which is one of my favourite things ever. And then Friday evening I spent with a group of friends playing a ridiculous drinking game, which was a lot of fun. (The game's called "Loopin' Louie," and if you believe the box it comes in it's for children aged 4-9. The version we played involved shots of Jägermeiſter though, which ups the recommended age considerably).

I think 27 is going to be a good year for me. I'm already planning on starting electrolysis as soon as I land a job, and I'll probably be looking into hormones some time after that. And although those things are scary, I've been reminded now several times this week that I have good people in my life— people I can count on for support, whether it's stated outright or just takes the form of commiserative chocolate (or, uh... getting hammered on my birthday). And that makes me feel optimistic about what's ahead. :)