Getting Caught

Thinking back all the way to when I first put on a piece of feminine clothing until, well, today to some extent, my biggest fear concerning being trans has been getting "caught."  Discovery.

It's something feared by transgender women from crossdressers to transitioned, but mostly  those who are closeted. (Heidi Phox has a fun video about this.)

When I first started, I feared being caught by my parents or my brother.  I knew that if my parents caught me, the punishment would've been beyond severe.  Possibly being thrown out or worse.  And if my older brother (OB) caught me, he'd instantly tell them while greatly embellishing the story to the point where the only true part would be the skirt.  (In reality though, when my brother caught me, it meant a huge bribe to buy his silence, combined with the knowledge that he had something terrible on me.  But to his credit, he never told.)

So I usually dressed when they all were away.  Sometimes when mum was away and dad was on night shift, so asleep during the day.  It really depended upon how bad my dysphoria was on a given day.  

Sometimes I'd dress if they were out running errands, but then it would only be hose or something easily removed and hidden.  During those times, I kept my ears peeled for the squeak of the front door, or the sound of one of the vehicles in the driveway.  I sort of miss those days, fresh with discovery and fear.  My adrenaline ran very high and senses were on edge.  At those times, the clothes felt extra silky and soft.  

But then that sound- was that the door?  The frantic scramble to unzip, unhook, don't rip it!  Hide it hide it!  God help me if I had on makeup!  That usually meant shower time- that was my excuse for all the washing.  

Close calls.  Oh, so many close calls!  The sound of my mother's voice shouting my name up the stairs... I didn't hear her come in!  PANIC!  Strip!  Oh don't come up here!  As I mentioned, I was only caught once, and that was by OB.  

After Halloween 2008, I was hiding from the whole world, especially my Wife.  I knew that the consequences for being caught now- with a family and career- would be catastrophic.  I took every precaution and thought through every move.  Motels paid in cash.  Post office box in another town. Storage site several towns away.  I was so cautious, and wasn't caught.  I realized an important fact: that no one would recognize me because they weren't looking for me.  Even if they were looking for me, they wouldn't be looking for me dressed as a woman.  They may recognize that I'm a crossdresser, but not who I am.

Of course, the problem happened because this blog was found.  I was Thrown out.

Since then, I haven't cared who found out.  And then in March 2014, I came out to the world.  Since then it's been misgender, misgender, misgender.  But no more hiding.

I know no one reads this anymore, but I'll ask anyway: have you ever been caught crossdressing?  What happened?

My Fault

Everything is my fucking fault. I can't do anything right. I'm never smart enough, strong enough, fast enough... whatever.

Want proof?

Ask my wife. Who destroyed our marriage?  Me.  Who couldn't find a good enough job so we could move out of her mom's place?  Me.

Ask my parents. If something happened in that house, it was my fault.  Period.  Never my brother's- mine.  After all- he said so, right?  I was the root of everything wrong and evil.

Ask anyone who I've failed, which is pretty much everyone I know. If I haven't failed you yet, give it time, I guarantee I will. Ask any of my teachers or employers. Li Longo didn't get past the primary because I sucked as a campaign manager. When BN or GW didn't hit a target, it was because I fucked up.

I fucked up so much at GW that they moved me out of sales and put me under someone who did his best to make me quit.

I never do anything fucking right, so why do I fucking bother even trying.

I'm fifty fucking five years old.  I'll be near sixty IF I finish this program.  No one will hire me.  So why am I bothering?  Transwomen are dying out there, and here I am learning adult learning theory.  Theories don't stop bullets.

I used to think transpeople may just survive the 45 junta.  We did- barely.  The GOP kills far too efficiently.  Ask the Latinos in the camps... or their children who have been sold off, oh I'm sorry- "disappeared."

Now they'll just legislate us out of existence.  And what am I doing about it?  Reading about Gramsci and ubuntu and qualitative research.  Useless.  I'm fucking useless.  Always have been.  

Early Autumn Raw Whining

I've always taken a writing book everywhere I go, but lately I've started writing in it while in class, as we're supposed to keep a journal to reflect on readings and discussions. The following was written yesterday, and has the class related stuff removed- but that's the only editing I've done, aside for clarity and removing names..  Raw Sophie thoughts as they happened.  Not that anyone is reading.  Last month, I had 747 hits.  I used to do over a thousand a day.  Is it that no one is reading blogs anymore, or that I've scared everyone off.  Or bored them.  

I'm good at fake smiles.  Sept. 2021.  Like my sun poisoning?

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Sweaty as fuck, as it's so humid.  Drug dr. says Cymbalta may be the cause.  I'm very sick of it.  I sweated through a dress this morning, so I'm on my second dress of the day.  

Mum is still alive.  I spoke to her the other day, and could barely understand her.  I thought of going down [to see her] on Sunday for her birthday, but decided not to, as I don't want to see her like this- not again.  Spoke to Wife and daughter about it today as well.

Drug dr. asked me if I'd felt suicidal lately.  I answered yes, but didn't say when: this morning.  I woke up at 6 am and thought that today the world would be better off w/o me.  Everyone would forget me very quickly.  I got out of bed and pushed myself to the shower that I desperately needed.  I hadn't showered in days.  And I needed a shave.  I just didn't- too lazy.  I didn't care.  I still don't, but as I have class today, I wanted to present well, not offend people with my stench, and in a desperate attempt to feel feminine.  I'm convinced that unless I get bottom surgery I'll never feel feminine or complete.  As I'll never afford it, I'll never feel complete.  I lost all hope of that long ago.  Hope lies.  I've known that for years.  Just keep moving forward, step by step.  I would rage against the dying of the light if the light hadn't died long ago.  After all, I'm a mistake that was broken again and again- loss after loss, defeat after defeat, more regular than a heartbeat.  I was born as a warning to others- that life can make mistakes.  If I were so fucking smart, then why do I lose so goddamn always?...

True Colors Photoshoot, 2010.

…Just thinking- even if I had bottom surgery, what would really change?  It's not like I'd ever use the parts, even if I wanted to.  I'm too fat and ugly and old for anyone to ever want me.  What kind of lover would I be as a woman?  Yes, I have big tits, but that isn't everything.  What kind of wife would I be?  Would I wear the white dress, etc?  Could I?  Me as a bride, outside of a photoshoot.  Never a consideration.  That pre-supposes losing Wife, meeting someone else, and caring enough about them to spend the rest of my life with them.  I can't see that happening.  I can't see wanting it to happen.  I'm already married, and will remain so until Wife jettisons me.  Would I even survive that? I doubt that very much.  Just being separated makes me crave death every day.  All those years ago, the marriage councilor said I'm "Needy, clingy, and possessive."  Spot on.  I forget which therapist said that's because I crave the love I didn't get as a child, or the acceptance I never found.  Am I capable of receiving love anymore?  Was I ever, really?  I know love has ALWAYS meant pain to me- every fucking time.

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In other news, a couple of weeks ago, I attended a tailgate.  I wrote about that HERE.  I came away with a mild case of sun poisoning that knocked me down for a week.  It's now at the peeling stage.  I should make an appointment with the dermatologist, but no money means no medicine.  

School is brutal, but at this level it's supposed to be.  The academic term for it is "rigor,"  which is defined as "hard as fuck."  One of my classes is Sociology of Gender, and I really enjoy that class.  I've learned a lot from looking at the issues from a different lens, so to speak.  

It's October in Happy Valley.  Still summer out there, despite the leaves changing.  The world is changing too.  What kind of planet will my generation leave behind?  A cinder?  

In any case, that's all I have today.  I wanted to post something for what readers I have left.  To those who have hung on, thank you.  Seriously.  You help.

Be well.