And this is my day circa 1984.
A guy just bought a bouquet of flowers, and gave me one.
All decked out in her summer dress
She lays alone in the scorching heat
Picks her guitar
The stars look as lonely as she feels
Her boy is gone
A month more she’ll be waiting
With thoughts of sex and other things
Her mind is saturated
Imagine you are at work. Imagine, while alone, you get a drunken booty call from one of your customers you only kind of know. You politely reject this slurred offer for a clandestine meeting under the dim bulbs of a seedy downtown hotel room. Now imagine it’s six months later. Life is quiet. You look up to see your stewed suitor entering with his new girlfriend. Looking at each other, you know his secret, he knows too. His girlfriend is super nice. She doesn’t know. He tries to makeup for past transgressions with overt displays of what he believes is machismo. It is really just him acting like an asshole. Imagine that this, what was hopefully a one time inconvenience, became a weekly, almost daily event. Try and imagine another six months of this. Try and have sympathy. He’s just a child.
I feel like a mouse in my hole. The workmen busily stream around me. I sit quietly out of the way, unnoticed. Every once I awhile I will peek from my whole to get a sense of the madness that is taking place. The chaos of the larger world. I watch them, look right at them. They don’t see me. To them I am small and insignificant. I do not contribute to their goal and am, therefore, invisible. An hour and a half. Just on more hour and a half and my larger mouse kingdom shall once again be presided over by this mouse queen hiding in her mouse queen hole.
I’m sorry I have small tits and tattoos. Is it my fault you seem to believe that all women are these tiny, delicate flowers? I can’t change my body, it’s what I’ve got to work with and I’m so fucking tired of people trying to make me feel like shit because I don’t fit the predetermined standard of femininity. Oh boo, I can’t pass a calf through my hips, there are a lot of women who can’t. Any time I stand beside I genetic female and we’re near a mirror, you know what I see? A scaled up version of a smaller prototype. I’m sorry I’m was born big. Maybe I cam figure out how to go back in time to tell my parents that past and future generations would prefer them not to mate due to continuity restrictions. I’m a year into transition and someone just asked me if I was “going through a change.” Hmmm, I walk, talk, and sound like a girl, what was your first hint? I’m getting so fucking tired of it. I’m tired of feeling stuck in a hopeless situation. At the mercy of people who I was smarter than when I was ten. If it was everywhere I would be more understanding. It would feel like something I could work on. It’s not everywhere. It’s at my job. That is the only place I get any sort of gender static. If I’m am a girl everywhere else I travel in the god forsaken misogynistic cis-gnedered world, then why is my work an exception? Is this just a case of penis swinging male domination? We all know they are eunuchs anyway. The bigger that mouth, the smaller the dick. What about the women? Could they actually be jealous? Do they think I’m prettier then they are? Or is it because I’m free? Because I didn’t ruin my life by have kids way too early with I guy I don’t even like? Could it be the heavy catholic population? It’s funny how much hate and anger comes out of teachings purported to harbour feelings of peace, love, and acceptance.
I think it all comes down to one thing. I’m a special case. I always have been. The exception to every rule, and I’ve never had to try. My whole life I’ve been “but not you.” It gets so tiresome talking friendly with people only to discover you are still an exception to some deeply held belief. If your beliefs having you being a shitty human being, why have them?
I’m tired of being congratulated for “what I’m doing.” What the hell do they think I’m doing? I’m doing the same thing as everyone else, I’m trying to live my damned life. Of course the exception there is I’m a target. It’s ok to marginalize and degrade me because I’m” pretending to be something I’m not,” and I should “just get over it and be a man.” I’m sorry I don’t wear my brain chemistry on the outside, but my brains beat your penis envy every day of the week.
This is the kind of stuff that has always bothered me. It’s not new, and it hasn’t really changed much in 28 years. I have a problem with this “you have to accept that you are different and therefore fair game” attitude I’ve been hearing all my life. Why should anyone have to go through life “understanding” that they are second class citizen?
I’m sick. I was diagnosed with gerd a couple months ago, and now my doctor thinks I might have an ulcer as well as anaemia. My stomach hurts all the time and I barely have the energy to get out of bed, and yet I’m out here taking abuse everyday. How much am I supposed to take and still keep smiling like nothing is wrong? Opposed to breeding and popular belief, I am not a robot. My whole life I’ve been told not to show my feelings, not to cry, and I didn’t for a long time. I’m pretty sure that has really fucked me up. I know it’s part of the reason for my stomach problems. My doctor said I need to lessen my stress level. This is how it’s going to get done. I’m working really hard on letting go of a lot of stuff, some of it will probably find it’s way here. I’ll be 28 on Friday. I figured I’d be dead by 22. I was almost dead at 26. I can’t follow societal preference anymore. It will end up killing me. This is it for now, my stomach really hurts. At least I’m a bit calmer now, but I’m still on edge. Things in this world really need to change. I hope maybe I can help that along, even just a little bit.
A couple weeks ago a friend and I were journeying off to Toronto to drop off another friend who’d been staying down. I decided instead of having the same cd on repeat for two hours that I would put on the radio. While we were stuck in traffic at one point I clued into the song playing around me. I’d been kind of zoning out for most of the trip thus far, the season hasn’t really changed yet, so neither has the play list. A steady stream of AC/DC, Monster Truck, Led Zepplin, and a bunch of throw away bands that they use as filler between their standbys. This song, however, was in neither category. It rocked, the guitars were awesome, it was anthemic, and most of all, it was a female vocalist. So I perked up, listened close, and hoped I could get a song title or band name, or something. Nothing. A week or so later, still listening to the radio on my drive to and from work I found it again. This time I got to hear the whole thing, start to finish. Sadly, being after midnight, the band and title still alluded me, but I put my music detective to work and found it myself. It was Freak Like Me by Halestorm. I’m sure it’s probably an old news song by most standards, but it blew me away. When reading about the band I got a vague sense that I had heard of them at some point in passing, but didn’t actually know them. On Thursday I was able to go pick up the album The Strange Case Of… and I’ve been listening to it ever since. To me Lzzy Hale is a fantastic writer. The songs are all tack sharp, well honed. The mix of style on the record is really refreshing too.
What is really getting me on this thing is, Lzzy is only one year older than me. The subject matter she writes on, some of it, really hits home to me. I know there are millions of people out there who say the same thing about a million other bands. This is really no different. Except for me, it showed me there is room for my seemingly eccentric ideas. There might be people out there who would want to hear what I have to say. I might be putting up a new youtube video* soon that’ll probably have more elaboration on my thought processes in music.
As far as this album goes, I am really digging on Freak Like Me, In Your Room, and You Call Me a Bitch Like It’s a Bad Thing. That last one is my everyday; “You call me a freak, like that means something”, yup. All in all I’d say check it out, even just once. I’m gonna leave it there for now. Night.
I’m sorry that my tits aren’t big enough for you. That I’m too tall for your liking, or that my hands and feet are too big for your comfort. What makes you think I was trying to impress you? Trying to gain your acceptance, anyway? Are you that egomaniacal? Do you honestly believe that your perception and your rhetoric or beyond question? You attitude seems to dictate this. The deadness is your eyes is proportionate to that cheese eating elongated smile you wear upon your mug. Lights are on, barely. Nobody’s home, definitely. You won’t bring me down with your slack-jawed back talk. It just showcases the necessity to distance myself from the less than mental state in which you reside, and sadly call home. Someday, maybe, someone will use your head for a lantern. I think it’d be a perfect fit.
It’s Easter. Yay. I’m sitting at work watching the empty road outside my window. I think there is an irony in the fact that today is apparently Trans Visibility Day. Holidays are the time when I most wish I was invisible. I’ve never really known most of my family. Siblings included. So holidays, as I got older, became these really awkward affairs exchanging presents and breaking bread with a table full of strangers. It got even worse after my mom, and grandma passed. They were my anchors at these things. They were the family members that knew something about me. The ones I didn’t feel completely alienated around. After they were gone I was left with a group of strangers. Things were made even better when an executive decision was made. It was decided that since my mom was no longer going to be in attendance that her spot could now be filled by the pseudo-patriarch of this motley band of family simulates. My “father” left my mom before I was born, denied I was his, and now wanted to pretend that we were buddies. The first time I met him I was 14. He lied to my face. I started ducking out on “family” functions shortly after that revelation.
I tried, I really did, the unfortunate part it I was the only one. Even after I told them all what was going on in relation to my transition I still tried. For awhile. After three months I quit. There’s no real loss when you stop chasing strangers. Not a lot of hurt letting go of ghosts. I had four people in my actual family. I have one now. My step dad is the only person left. Once he’s gone I’ll be an orphan. I’m ok with that. It’s just an extension of the rest of my life.
When I was little I would watch the old ABC lineup on Friday nights and wonder what it would be like to be part of those families. At school I would hear kids talk about their families doing things together. A couple times I even got included in other families functions. It was so awkward, I didn’t know how to proceed. I ended up as always, drifting around the periphery like a ghost. I think that is actually a really good way to describe my existence. Ghostly.
These days I think it’s great seeing people with their families. Doing all those things that families do, but it is a life I don’t think I could ever comprehend for myself. It’s hard to imagine a corporeal existence when you’ve spent so much time floating through walls. Boo.
At the Drive-In
Late night Drive-in
Ghosts of years past returning
Relaying thoughts stuck in time
Replaying scenes of long forgotten schlock
The sounds of silence ring out
Over an empty lot
A place once filled with hot teens
Excited fumbling in the back of
Mom and Dads buick
Nobody watched the flick
A lust struck scene from Rocky Horror
The generation before
An the generation before
Nothing really changes
Just the style of the car
A million ghosts
All with a story to tell
There’s nothing left for them
Just another season in a
Barren frozen hell