Halloween 2008

I don't think I ever wrote about this night for my blog.  So, I wrote this for my book, Men of the Skull, and, well, here it is. 

**************************************************************

            It’s an ancient cliché that the smallest events, even a single word, can change a life. In this case, an off-hand suggestion over dinner.

 

Interlude 4: Forty-Two (Halloween 2008)

Friday, October 24^th, 2008 World Series tickets a hot commodity

The past year had been very hard— what with a newborn and all.  For my wife’s fortieth birthday, she wanted a weekend at Bethany Beach, Delaware, at the Addy Sea, a beautiful, haunted bed and breakfast.  We left our daughter—with her first birthday just days away—with my parents, who’d retired nearby.

That night, we went south a few miles to Ocean City, Maryland, for dinner at the Blue Ox.  With Halloween just days away, the subject turned to costumes.  We both loved Halloween and often did couples’ costumes.  But “we went as Lois and Clark last year,” I mentioned.  As in Lois Lane and Clark Kent. 

“Yes,” she said, “but this year, you’re Lois.”

At that moment, our meal arrived, and the server refilled our wine glasses, which ended the discussion for the moment.

Me as Lois?  I hadn’t dressed as a woman in twenty-five years.  I had shut down and sealed off that “freakish” side of my life.  Should I do it again?  Could I?  I was now much taller and heavier—testosterone poisoning does that, as does age.

 

What was I thinking?  Twenty-five years… no problem.  One night in a skirt and out.  No biggie.

After all, I was a MAN.

 

Friday, October 31st, 2008.  Parade for the Champs

Halloween

It had been a busy work week.  I asked a bookstore co-worker, Elizabeth, to help.  She showed me a memoir by a famous drag queen called I Am Not Myself These Days.  Brilliant book.  I figured she wouldn’t be weirded out by my request.  She wasn’t.

In fact, Elizabeth was very enthusiastic—too enthusiastic.  She helped me choose an outfit at a store specializing in plus sizes.  I found a wig and shoes online.  The memoir suggested using birdseed in cut pantyhose to fill the purple and black lace bra (it was on sale- 42 D).  An old friend who worked at a salon said she’d do my makeup.  Oh, and she invited us both to her Halloween party.  So, we had someplace to go—but we’d have to bring the baby.

 

No problem.

 

Everything was ready.  What could go wrong?

 

Halloween night.  I showered, shaved my legs, and after a quick nap dressed up in the girl stuff in the bathroom.  With me, I had the Superman T-shirt my wife would need.  She already wore glasses, as do I.  But that night I wore contacts.

On a whim, I brought my digital camera into the bathroom. I figured I’d take a picture of her reaction upon seeing me.  I came out of the bathroom armed with a camera in one hand and a Superman T-shirt in the other.  I adjusted the camera, my hand bouncing off the birdseed breast as I did.  She was in the kitchen, maybe thirty feet away.  She turned and saw me.

CLICK.

The look on her face was utter disgust- a stark contrast to her smiling jack o’lantern t-shirt.  I stumbled over in heels and tossed her the t-shirt.  “I’m ready.  Your turn.”

She looked confused, still disgusted.  She had forgotten all about her idea and thought we were staying home with our baby daughter.  So, I explained her idea back to her—and that our friend would do my makeup at the party.  She reluctantly agreed.

Fast forward: the party, me going into the bookstore where no one recognized me (except Elizabeth) which set me a bit at ease, a bunch of us later at a local sports bar where one of my female co-workers grabbed my fake boobs, curious how they felt.  Lots of people in the bar laughed. 

At the book store

Laughing while wearing a constricting bra and waist cincher was a new experience.  Also, I got some looks when I went to the men’s room.

Driving home, I realized that I had a wonderful time that night.

But something felt… different.  Strange.

I looked down at my sweater covered, birdseed breasts and realized what it was.

I felt at peace. 

The anger and depression I’d carried for decades was gone.  Missing.

I knew then that I had made a major mistake.  I was in big trouble.  The metaphorical wall I had built to contain my feminine self, the one that had held strong and firm for twenty-five years, had been breached.

 

I felt right.

 

God help me.

 

 

 

I still have that purple bra, and even wear it occasionally, despite it being a cup size too small.  Now it’s me, not birdseed, filling out the cups.  Funny how things change.

"Living the Dream"

 Yesterday, while preparing to leave for work, I was putting on my shoes and bantering with my roomie/bestie Linda as usual: a typical day.  She said "have a good day" and I replied "living the dream."

That's when my two remaining brain cells nudged me.

I was sitting on the couch while wearing a dress.  I was also wearing a bra which supported my own breasts, pantyhose (yes, I'm old), and pierced hoop earrings.  I was also fully made up and had styled my hair.  I was dressed as the woman I am.  

I thought for a moment about that.  For so many years, this WAS the dream- an impossible dream.  The idea of stepping out the door, never mind going to work, dressed this way, was so beyond possibility that I didn't dare even consider it.  

Yet I've been doing that very thing for almost eleven years.  

Yes, I've paid the very steep price (and will do so the rest of my life), but also yes- I guess I AM living the dream!

And so I went to work.

Be well.

February So Far

 I'm still here.  My existence is in itself an act of protest (or something like that.  Laverne Cox said it.)  I still haven't been sent to a camp somewhere.  Yet.  I'm still here, in spite of my Scottish cousin's repeated appeals.

Here we are on week 3 of the descent into fascism.  People far more informed than me have already written about all that's happening, especially to transgender people.  Here are some links:

Timothy Snyder (noted expert on fascism) on how the government is being dismantled.

Jessica Weingarten on calling out the Trump tax.

Heather Cox Richardson om Musk's government takeover.

Erin Reed who keeps her eye on transgender issues.

Melissa Ryan on multiple topics.  At the bottom of this one is an interesting news item, which I reproduce here:

"Declassified CIA Guide to Sabotaging Fascism Is Suddenly Viral (404 Media)

I read this guide when it first went viral in 2017 (and probably linked to it at some point). Amused that it’s going viral again, I assume it's being passed around at least in part by civil servants determined to hold the line."  

People who know me know I have a passion for history- in particular the history of resistance against the Nazis in WWII.  The headline above is inaccurate- when this guide was published in January 1944, the CIA did not exist.  This book was published by the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), whose brief was "coordination for the gathering of intelligence" (from the above linked article.)Yes, it eventually became the CIA, but it wasn't at that time.  

Nit picking, I know.

Since the beginning of the semester, I've put an effort into my appearance at work.  I've pretty much gotten my makeup speed back by keeping it simple.  That said, this morning I was enraged by my getting cover-up into my hair.  A lot of it.  After a lot of other small things that had gone wrong, that was the one that put me over.  I wanted to tear the room apart, rip out my hair, wipe off all my makeup, and just disappear.  Those who knew me before my transition knew I had a violent, hair-trigger temper.  Transition really helped calm that storm, as has decades of therapy.  However, since November, I find my patience is getting ever thinner.  I want to isolate myself from everything ("turtle" as I call it.)  Of course, not being able to afford a therapist (finding one that takes my insurance is hard) hasn't helped either.  Nor has medical bills piling up by four figures almost daily (my insurance really sucks.)  

Work Sophie Selfie

I know: wah wah.  Cry me a river.

Still, I'm not in a camp somewhere.  I'm still employed.  I can still fight the fascist take-over (as we all should.)  I guess all of those are something.

Be well.

Helping a Dad

I mention occasionally that I work for the campus LGBTQ Center here at Penn State.  PSU is still between Maymester and the start of Summer semester, so there are few students here, but the Center is still open.  One event that happens is New Student Orientation (NSO) which happens all summer.  During this time, groups of new students attend a two-day orientation here, along with their parents.  The students stay together in a couple of dorms, while the parents stay wherever.  

One of the activities for NSO is the Organizational Fair, where the students and parents see tables staffed by various organizations (orgs) and can get information and swag.  Of course, the Center is there, and we have the most colorful table and swag.  Go figure- lots of rainbows.  Like my fellow staff, I take my turns working at the table.  I see a mix of just parents, kids and parents, and just kids.  Sometimes I get the evil eye from grown-ups who steer their kids far around our table (so they don't "catch the gay" I guess), or adults alone who glare.  That's part of the fun.  I give them my sweetest smile.  

Last August's issue of Town and Gown

Sometimes I see a student walk by with parents, looking at the table but not stopping.  By now, I can tell which ones will be back without their parents- the ones who are closeted.  Occasionally a parent stops alone, anxiously asking questions about the Center and about the environment of PSU for LGBTQ students.  Fortunately, PSU has come a long way from my undergrad days in the 80s in many things, and one of them is with LGBTQ.  Penn State is ranked #2 in the country by Campus Pride for LGBTQ acceptance and policies.  It's still not perfect, but it's far better than many places. 

Ok, that's a long introduction to an encounter I had yesterday.  I was not working the table, but I was working.  A parent came into the Center- maybe about my age- said he works for the University, and that his stepdaughter will be attending PSU this fall, and she is transgender.  Dad wanted to know about transgender healthcare, acceptance, policies... the whole schmear.  

I showed him the pamphlets about those very topics, and while there answered all of his questions.  Where can she get hormones?  Are there therapists with Gender diverse experience?  What about doctors?  Is there a place she can get hair removal done?  And of course: will she be "safe" here?

The answers are all in the pamphlets, but I answered them one by one.  Yes, the University has a transgender health team which includes therapists.  Yes, she can get hormones here (after a screening), and they are covered by student insurance.  Hair removal services are available in town.  As far as safety- this generation is far more accepting than ours (he and mine) ever were- being transgender just isn't that big of a deal to most kids... to a point.  She'll be as safe as any woman is here at PSU assuming she is smart: never go to parties alone.  Always keep your drink with you.  Never go upstairs at a fraternity house unless you really KNOW the people you're going with.  All the precautions that co-eds must take because some guys can be predatory.  Is there anti- trans prejudice here?  Yes.  But it's far far better than many places.  And the Center can help when it happens.  We also have a mentorship program here at the Center of which I am a part, to help guide them through the obstacles that transition and school throw at people.

So, I told him all of this.  Me- a transgender woman wearing a tank top and peasant skirt, a parent of a daughter, and a Penn State alumna, answered all of his questions again and again.  I walked him through the pamphlets.  

Last week

When I finished, you'd think I gave him front row seats to see his favorite band.  He was happy- no, Joyful- and so many of his fears were assuaged.  She will be coming to NSO later this summer, and she will stop by the Center.  I think the answers he sought were more for him than her.  Him- a concerned supportive parent.  A loving parent who wants the best for his child.  

The whole encounter lasted maybe twenty minutes, and when it ended, he went on his way, beaming.  I went back to the desk and told my (undergrad) coworkers about the encounter.  But I didn't tell them everything.

I didn't tell them how the encounter made me feel.  I really feel that I made a difference yesterday in the people's lives.  I felt like I DID something.  Usually I feel utterly worthless, and that I'm just a waste of oxygen... but not yesterday.  I did something.  I felt... good.  Worthwhile.  That's a rare feeling for me.

Last night, I spoke to Wife on the phone and told her that story.  After, I told my roomie/bestie Linda.  She asked why I didn't tell her the story earlier in the evening (it was around 10).  I replied that it wasn't that big of a deal, and I didn't think she'd be interested.  She disagreed.  Linda said that these are the stories she WANTS to hear.  These are the stories I should post on facialbook or here in the blog.  Stories of something good.

So, there you have it, dear readers.  A happy story for a change.  Thank Linda.

Be well.

Traniversary Ten: a Decade in the Open

Ten years ago today, March 25, 2014, (well really around 11 PM the night before), I declared to the world that I am Sophie.  I began living my Truth.  I was 47 years old.  I'd previously told close friends either face to face or via a YouTube video I made.  

The results?  I lost 90% of my friends (many of whom vowed to support me then vanished); never received another job offer for Instructional design (my masters degree); my marriage (which was really tossed when I was thrown out months before); and, for a time, I was disowned by my family. Happily, that is no longer the case.  After I lost my bookstore job, I couldn't find another job at all, despite sending out ten resumes a day for years.  Literally.  Even Burger King wouldn't hire me, and I had experience working there!

Left Photo credit: Cassandra Storm

In any case that first day, I spent at the Keystone Conference.  There, among the most supportive group of people a transgender woman could find, I took my first steps as a full time female.  The following Monday (March 31) is when my journey really hit reality: my first day at work as Sophie. (I wrote about that HERE.)  That's when I began to experience the misgendering, the Hate, and the worst that rich customers could throw at me, including having a local church crusade against me.  They would come in and stand 20 feet in front of me as I was behind the registers, and just stare at me.  If chased away by me or management, they'd send someone else.  This usually happened on Sundays.

However, I had support.  My friends and coworkers threw me a party on my one year anniversary as Sophie (so that's nine years ago.)  I'd never felt as loved or appreciated before or since.  My transgender friends honored me by showing up and mingling with bookstore friends, as well as people who've known me much longer.  

I must admit that this last decade has been brutal.  I dwell on all I've lost, especially my separation from Wife and Daughter.  The Darkness has almost taken me more than once.  Here at PSU, I've spent weeks when I wasn't in class or work laying down and just staring at the ceiling, wondering why I should continue to live.  It's a question I continue to ask every single morning and when I lay in bed at night.  The answer is obvious.  As Lisa used to say "one bad day..."

Fast forward to now.  I've been back at Penn State for five years studying about why cisgender people hate TG people so much that they pass laws banning us from public, vow to "eradicate" us, call us groomers and pedophiles, drive us to suicide, and murder us.  (RIP Nex.)  My roomie/bestie is here with me.  I've made some friends and acquaintances, but for the most part I've been isolated from the transgender community.  There are no transgender events like there were back home like Angela's Laptop Lounge. That's why going to Keystone was such a joy this past weekend.  

So it's been ten years: a decade.  Yes, I have changed.  I've learned what Hell is like, that Hope Lies, and that things can ALWAYS be worse.  I also learned how much small gestures of kindness can mean the world to a person (like me.)  I have learned a lot about anti-transgender hate, to the point that I am now considered an expert in the field (PhD ABD does that.)  Reading about all this hate really puts things in perspective and does damage to my soul- how could it not?  In any case, I've made it to ten years.

So, how will I mark this occasion?  Well, money is tight, and rent is due soon.  And bills, so many bills.  That means I probably won't go out, or if I do, it will be only for a drink across the street (I live across from a restaurant.)  I'll probably toast the day with some Glenmorangie.  No party this year.  No feast of friends.  Alive she cried. 

Just another day.

Be well.

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.  

Collectables

I used to collect a great many things when I when I was first out of college (It's hard to collect anything when money is so tight.  That said, in college I collected hangovers), especially after I met Wife and I was able to get a relatively stable job in a game distribution company.   Go figure one of the things I collected were board games. I also collected miniatures, as well as Dungeons & Dragons books. One thing I saved my money to buy was a 1990 Captain America chess set, in pewter and brass.  I loved that, and couldn't wait until we had would have an actual house where it could be displayed.

Occasionally, I bought a comic book character statue.  Around that time, Wife and I collected video tapes of movies, because we didn't go out that much so at night we would drink wine and watch movies.  

This was a wonderful time.  I had friends with whom to game, money enough to pay the bills (as Wife made more than me, even at the beginning of her career.)  Our biggest expenses were my drinking and our weekly dinner date night.  

Unfortunately, my drinking was out of control and I spent a LOT. 

Wife is better with money than me. Things were looking up.  We were building a life Together.  Y'know, like normal people.  

At that point, I changed jobs.  When I took the job with Games Workshop, it also cut my income by a third.  I cut back expenses a bit, and started selling off a few things at conventions.  Eventually, we saved enough to buy a house.  I loved that house:  it was an end unit of townhomes, built with our input.  A dear friend who worked in construction built the deck for us.  Add to that, we shared a wall with an amazing couple (who are the best neighbors anyone could ever want) named Adam and Carol.  

We held many parties there, hosted some dinners, and eventually even got a dog.  And, finally, I was able to display my chess set.  Fortunately, it was not one of the things taken when the house was robbed.  My favorite times there were sitting on the couch with Wife after the day was done, drinking wine and listening to music.

Captain America Chess Set.  Pics swiped from an ebay auction.  Want it?  $524.00

Still, even with an occasional raise from GW, expenses were outpacing income.  Then, Wife was laid off.  

I began selling things I'd collected.  I began selling off comics.  Then the statues, one by one.  Board games that I didn't play for whatever reason.  Out of production miniatures.  Miniatures I'd painted.  Books.  Eventually, I sold some of the original art I'd collected.  I'd occasionally buy something on ebay just to turn it around to resell it, as I knew it was worth much more than I paid.  

It wasn't enough. 

One day, I sold the Captain America chess set to a comic book store.  I remember that day vividly.  I put the chess set, mint in factory box, on his counter.  He paid in cash, which I handed to Wife.  I was so sad.  I'd never even played a game with those pieces.  I felt like a complete failure.  We made the mortgage payment.  

I don't know why, but I thought of this image when writing this piece.  It's drawn in the art style of Wife.

Eventually, my job at GW was eliminated.  We sold the house we loved so much, and moved back to Pennsylvania.  I was deeply depressed.  Again, I started selling off things I'd collected.  No longer constrained by my employment with GW, I sold off most of my GW miniatures, including the armies I'd worked so hard to build and paint over the nine years I worked there.  I sold the last of the sellable statues in 2011.

Very Rare Game.  Sold January, 2011

Since that time, I've been selling to pay bills.  At first, it was to pay for things like the tuition for my masters degree.  Then our daughter was born.  Eventually, it was to buy feminine items and clothing, as my femme side re-emerged in 2008.  

Now, I still sell things, and occasionally buy.  Almost all of the high-end items are gone.  What few items are left aren't worth much to anyone really.  My once huge game collection fits on two ikea shelves.  Most of my books are in storage.  I tried selling some to a used book store, and they were very blunt about telling me that they weren't interested.  I've given many of my old books (mostly unread) for free to my friends who own Bramble Books in Spring City.  I figure it will help them make money.  (Their bookstore is thriving, btw.)  

In any case, a lot of the games I still have, I kept hoping that someday I'd actually have people with whom to play them.  I've had several of them for over thirty years, and a couple for forty.  At what point do I finally give up and either sell them or give them away?  (Before you ask, my roomie Linda isn't a gamer.  She builds amazing models from scratch.)

This morning, I'm exhausted.  I've worked on this piece for days, little by little.  Time to go to work.  I'm doing both jobs today.  Then work Friday, Saturday, Sunday...  

Maybe I'll just give it all away.  They'll make someone happy.  It's all wasted here.

Working on...

Disclosure:  An earlier draft of this piece was posted on TGForum a week ago.  


Some months ago, I was emailing back and forth with a new friend.  Nora Simone is a writer among many other things, and she wrote something that really made me think.  I reproduce it here with her kind permission. 

Sophie Lynne - At this point in my life, I am working on my obituary, not my resume. I want to be thought of, and remembered for having the right priorities, few regrets, and helping others. 


Wow.  

I thought about that.  For days.  Months.  

And I think I arrived at a revelation.  Yes, me.

Maybe my employment problems, and by that I mean my whole life. are because I've ALWAYS worked on my Obituary instead of my Resume.

Let's look at this, shall we, dear reader?  

As I've written many times, I've always felt a compulsion to help others.  I also have an massive death wish.  This doesn't look good on a resume.  

I've always wanted to help others, because I see their lives as having far more value than my own.  As I've written (too) many times, that's why I chose education as a path.  "I touch the future- I teach" Christa McAuliffe said.  

I've always figured that I'd be forgotten within days after death.  I still believe that.  But if I am remembered for anything, I would want to be remembered for trying to make the world a better place.  

I figured if I had a tombstone, it would read "She failed" because by definition, if the world isn't better (and right now it's FAR worse than when I came into it in 1966.) I think the best I could ask at this point is "She tried."  Then again, it won't be up to me, will it?  I won't be there to see it through.

At this point- nearly 54 years in- my resume sucks.  My masters degree was an impediment.  Working the same retail job for 14 years is fine... if one is a manager.  If not, there are questions about your competence (which I've had asked of me.)  

Still, in the end, what lasts longer- a resume or an obituary.  In many ways, an obit is the "last word" on a person, unless some historian starts digging around for dirt.  Kind of like an epitaph.

F. Scott Fitzgerald used a line from his book The Great Gatsby as his (and Zelda's as they're buried together) “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”  Al Capone has "My Jesus, Mercy."  And of course, Lester Moore has “Here lies Lester Moore. Four slugs from a 44, no Les, no more.”  Maybe an appropriate one (if I earned it) would be “Pertransit benefaciendo.”

Or, more accurately, "She hated life, and is happy it's finally over."  

In any case, I'm here studying for my PhD while the country disintegrates under a tyrant's rule.  Poor timing.  Maybe I should go where the trouble is and earn that epitaph.  

Be well.

Dreams of Old Revisited

On November 20, 2016, I posted a blog entry called Dreams of Old, which was about things I dreamed of eventually doing.  I thought it may be fun to revisit it, almost four years later.  Below is the original text.  I've added new comments in italics, and some small corrections to spelling.  Oh, and changed some pictures.

************************************************************************


Dreams.  I write about them a lot.  I talk about them.  Everyone has them supposedly.  I was speaking with a friend about childhood dreams.

I have stated many times that my dreams are Dead.  But are they?  (Yes.) What dreams have I had in this life?

So, I decided to make a list.  What are all the dreams for my life that I remember having?  And what happened to them?  I put these in order the best I could.


Firefighter:  One of my earliest dreams.  I lived across the street from the firehouse, and would see the volunteers sprint to it when the whistle blew.  I would then see the large firetrucks (Gray first, then Yellow) leave the firehouse, sirens blaring!  I wanted to help as well!

I'm on the left

Status:  I became an EMT in 1984, and went on to be a paramedic until the early 1990s.  So, I'd say I fulfilled that one.  (I did.  The cost was PTSD and feeling I've accomplished nothing since.)

Astronaut:
Another early dream.  One of my earliest memories was watching the moon landing on TV.  And, like so many people, I would look at the night sky and wish that I could explore the stars.  Having been born nearly the same day as Star Trek helped that a lot!  When I was a child, NASA launched several moon missions, and I was glued to the TV for them.

Status:  When I was in third grade, I had to get glasses.  Back then, to be an astronaut, you had to have 20/20 uncorrected vision.  So my dreams of flight were dashed, leaving me with really ugly horn rimmed glasses.

A Day of Peace and Quiet:
Sounds unusual for a kid, right?  Well, I was an odd kid.  Whenever my brother got bored, he would come pick on me, causing a fight.  And I would get in trouble (sometimes he would too.)  I remember wishing for a day when I could just do whatever without being picked on or yelled at.  I could just sit and read or whatever.

Status:  When I started working at Burger King, my parents no longer required me to go on family vacations, as I was working.  My brother usually still went, because he liked fishing, etc.  So, I would have the house to myself, and I would take care of the family dog.  Just me.  It was then that I started "crossdressing."  I remember the hot summer days, walking Sabre by the river, reading, watching MTV (which my parents forbade), and going to work for a few hours.  It was heaven for my tortured teenage soul.  So yes, that one was fulfilled.

Becoming A Girl:
The dream of so many transgender people- to magically wake up in the body which you should've been born with.  I used to take long walks when I was a teen (see: Peace and Quiet, above) to sort out my head.  Hormones were rushing, causing changes I didn't want.  The girls were becoming women, and, due to delayed adolescence, I was still me.  It wasn't fair!  In any case, I didn't WANT the changes that were coming my way.  But, come they did, and there was nothing I could do about it.  All the wishes in the world weren't going to prevent it.

Status: Well, there was no magical solution.  Now I'm on HRT and living as a woman.  I'd say that this one, due to its nature and timing, didn't come true. (And never will.)

Yearbook pic: 1984.  See below.

Happiness:
So, this seems basic, especially if you look at Maslow.  I even put it in my yearbook- all I wanted to be was Happy.  It seems so easy, yet is so hard to achieve.  I have come to believe that Happiness is something you are born with.  You either are or you aren't.  Others say it's a choice.  I'll entertain that argument, but I don't believe it.

Maslow's Hierarchy Source:  https://www.simplypsychology.org/maslow.html

Status:  Unfulfilled now and forever

Go to College:
College.  Higher education.  Back when I was growing up, I was always told that College was the gateway to a better life.  That if I worked hard at school, and went to college, my future would be set.  And going to college was by no means assured.  But that is what I wanted.  Long story short, I worked hard and made it to college.  Then a Masters.  Then Unemployment.  Now, going for PhD.

Status:  This dream came true.


A Girlfriend:
I always figured that people could see right through me- that my "secret" was no secret at all.  In any case, I was a late bloomer, so I was undersized and looked like a little boy while my classmates were shaving daily.  So of course, the girls wanted them, not me.  Yet, I dreamed of finding someone who would see ME, not just a runt.  And of course, my dating someone would cure me of my insane need to be female.  Right?  It took a while, but in January of my senior year, I finally did start dating someone seriously.  We lasted two years before she cheated.  I mean, after all, I was off at college and all, so DUH, but I didn't see it that way at the time.  Then a college girlfriend.  Then another major relationship.  Then another- whom I married...  See below.

Status:  This dream came true.  Be careful what you wish for...



Go to a College that wasn't an Urban Hell:
So I went to Drexel University, located in a not great part of Philadelphia.  I figured that the BIG CITY would be the answer to my prayers, and I'd become a City person- cultured and urbane.  Nope.  I hated it.  I got mugged four times in two years.  A classmate was murdered.  Then that whole MOVE thing.  In fall 1985, I visited my childhood best friend, Dr. Dave, at Penn State.  And I was hooked.  Penn State was everything I'd ever dreamed college should be.  But, transferring?  That's a major change.  Would I have the courage?  As it turns out, I did.

Status:  This Dream came true.  One of the best decisions I ever made.  Absolutely true.  I still think this.


Graduate College:
So there I was at Penn State!  I met people, and partied... and did my damnedest to be the Man I was expected to be.  But- what did that mean?  And could I live up to what I felt I should accomplish?  Well, no.  I didn't adjust well at first.  And my drinking was out of control.  But I was determined- I WOULD graduate!  I WOULD make a great life for myself and make a difference!  And THEN I'd be Happy, right?  Wrong.

Status:  I graduated from Penn State in 1989.  Dream fulfilled.  For all the good it did me.


Find a Job:
Great- now I had a degree!  My teaching career came to a screeching halt.  Now what?  I searched and searched.  I found a couple temporary jobs, but nothing stable.  I went back to the restaurant business- waiting tables and bar tending.  I felt I'd be trapped there forever.  I wasn't, yet, when I have "work dreams," they're either about TGI Fridays or Games Workshop or a horrible amalgam of the two.

At Fridays, 1990

Status:  See below.

Find a girl who wouldn't cheat on me:
It seemed that every woman I could find to date me ended up cheating on me.  I guess I wasn't Manly enough.  Many women told me that they saw me as "one of the girls" or "didn't see me THAT way" and, of course, the dreaded "Let's just be friends."  I would meet Wife in April 1991.

Status:  Dream fulfilled.  I'm sure she regrets that...

Death:
So.  I couldn't find a real job.  I was drinking far too much.  I was lonely.  Depressed.  Couldn't get a date.  Then the woman who I thought was the answer to my prayers cheated on me.  It all became a whirling vortex, which, when added to complete bitter self- hatred, was lethal.  I wanted to die- badly.  I started driving without a seat belt, knowing full well that I could be killed.  I wrote about this time period HERE.

Status:  Failed.  Still alive.

Find a Real job:
In April 1991, I was still working at Fridays.  I met Wife.  I was miserable in the food service business.  I wanted More.  I felt I could do more.  This was during the first Bush recession and jobs were scarce.  That July, we went to a gaming convention in Baltimore, where I met people who worked for Chessex Game Distributors.  After a couple more months, they hired me.  I worked there for three years, before quitting (before I was fired) and going to Games Workshop.

Status:  Fulfilled for a time.

Me at work: Games Workshop. 1999.

Buy a house:
Ok, so I had this steady job in Baltimore.  And I hated apartment living.  Wife kept saying how she wanted a House.  And she got me wanting one as well.  It seemed like an eternity, but yes, we did finally buy a house in Owings Mills, MD, that we owned for five years before we left Maryland.

Status:  Dream came true.  I loved that house.

Figure out why I am so miserable:
I had a job.  I had a wonderful wife.  I had a dog.  A circle of friends.  So why was I so angry and full of self-hatred?  There HAD to be a reason.  So I thought about it.  The last time I felt the closest to Happy was in college, so the root must be there.  My brilliant solution- write a book about my college experience and research the HELL out of it.  And I did.  It took seven years, but I did it!  But the answers weren't in those pages.  I finished the book in early 2008.  I didn't know that my Answers would be coming soon...

Status: I finally did figure this out, so I'd have to say fulfilled.


Restore my marriage:
When I moved back to Pennsylvania, my marriage was on VERY shaky ground.  Without going into detail, I was deeply depressed to the point I could barely function.  Wife lost her patience with this.  I remember crying into my pillow often, just wishing I could have my happy marriage back.  (I'm tearing up even thinking about that.)  Yes, still tearing up about it.

Status:  We worked through the trouble.  Then my female side re-emerged, destroying everything.

Find a Real Job:
So there I was, back in Pennsylvania.  After a couple months, I found a job as holiday staff at a chain bookstore.  It didn't pay much, but it was income.  However, it wasn't enough for Wife and I to get a house and move out of MIL's place.  After the holidays, the bookstore kept me on.  Thirteen years later, I'm still there.  I lasted 14 years and 3 months to the day before being fired, along with every other Head Cashier in the chain.  I've kept looking for better, full time work, and occasionally found work (like at Vanguard) but I stayed with the bookstore just in case.  Smart move.  The other jobs always petered out.

Status:  See below.

Get my Masters Degree:
One of the goals I had when moving back to Pennsylvania was to earn my Masters degree in Education.  I did my due diligence, and decided to enroll at Penn State Great Valley campus.  I needed loans.  I got them.  It took years (due to financial considerations) but I finally received my Masters degree in 2007.

Status:  Fulfilled.


Get a Real Real Job:
I had my Masters degree, so it was time to really make a living, right?  WRONG!  I graduated during the Bush II depression.  There were no jobs to be had in my field, and those that WERE available, I'd "priced myself out of the marketplace" simply by having the degree.  I put out ten resumes a day, every day, for seven years (that's 25,560 resumes- including 10 for Leap day the one year.)  Not a bite.  In all that time, one or two calls.  One interview.  I stopped doing that when I transitioned, figuring I'd start again after my name change.  I started again, and got exactly 3 interviews.  No call backs.  One of the interviewers didn't bother to hide their anti-trans bias.

Status:  Unfulfilled, probably forever.

Determine Who I am really:
As I've written MANY times, my feminine self reawakened on Halloween 2008.  That led to a lot of soul searching and Pain.  I knew that Sophie was part of my life permanently.  I dreamed of figuring out my Truth, and how to live with it.  I prayed for it.  I NEEDED it.  My Myspace blogs are chock full of my trying to figure this out.

Status:  Fulfilled.  I figured out who I am: Sophie.

Start HRT:
Having determined who I truly was, the time came to start integrating my feminine side into my life.  I dreamed of being more feminine- of the day I didn't need pads in my bra or to wear a wig. Wife and I talked, and we decided I should start HRT, if only to keep me from going completely crazy.  What neither of us expected was how my body would react to the hormones, or the inevitability of her mother finding out my secret.

Status:  Fulfilled

Transition to Full Time alongside Lisa:
In August of 2013, I attended an amazing party.  Soon after, my dearest friend Lisa Empanada and made a promise to each other- that we would Transition to our True selves together, supporting each other every step of the way: "Transition Sisters."

Lisa and I at Southern Comfort- our last night.

Not long after that, I was thrown out of the house.  And, a couple weeks later, Lisa broke all her promises by killing herself.  I have written a TON on how this affected me, and the community.  I still hurt.

Status:  Failed.  Will never come true.

Death:
Lisa's death sent me into a nose dive towards suicide.  My whole life disintegrated.  Within three weeks, I'd lost my home, my marriage, and my best friend.  I seriously have NO idea how I survived September 2013.  But I did.  I STILL don't know how I survived it.  Even after years of reflection.

And so I made a plan, and December 2013, I was headed toward Penn State to execute the plan: suicide behind the Nittany Lion shrine.  Obviously, it didn't happen.

Nor did my extensively plotted plan to end my life on my fiftieth birthday last September.

The Darkness is still with me.  I fight it EVERY DAY.   Lisa once said she was "one bad day away from ending it."  I understand that completely.  Every night, I lay in bed and contemplate ending it all.  And usually, I smile.  Yet every morning, I awaken, and, somehow, find the strength to get out of bed and face another day.  In this fight, I have amazing allies, like my roomie and bestie, Linda Lewis.  I will fight this battle all the days of my life.

Status:  Hasn't come true.  Will someday.  As it will for everyone.

Transition:
With my life in ruins, I pushed ahead with my plan to transition- to live my Truth.  On March 25, 2014, I started living as my True Self: a Woman.  In the years that have followed, I've chipped away at the necessities of name change, gender markers, etc.  It's still a work in process.

Status: Came True.  At great cost.  Was it worth the cost?  In my case: no.

GCS/FFS:
Now I start going into what would be considered "current" dreams.  If I had them.  Which I don't.  In any case, I live my Truth every day.  I would LOVE to finish the process, and be a Complete Woman.  As for FFS, I'd love to see a feminine face gazing back from me from the mirror instead of a Neanderthal.  However, as each costs more money than I make in a decade, neither will be happening.  So, I don't even dream of them anymore.  Why keep hurting myself?  (See: "Death" above)

Status:  Yeah right.

June 2020.  Still the same mug- just older.

Doctorate:
I have always had the smallest flicker of a dream that I would someday be a PhD.  My dear friend Dr. Dave has two of them!  However, getting my Masters degree saddled me with a ton of student loan debt that won't be paid off in my lifetime.  Also, if just getting a Masters priced me out of the marketplace, a Doctorate would kill all possibility of work.

Then there's the question of topic.  Education?  I'd rather get one in American Studies, or History, or Gender Studies.  But then I'd need to go back and get masters in these topics first, which, again, I can't afford.  Also, I can't take the time off work to pursue these degrees.  So I don't even dare dream of this either.  Why keep hurting myself?  (See: "Death" above)

Status:  Yeah right.  This one is now in process.  I've completed my first year of work toward a PhD in Lifelong Learning and Adult Education.  It's been a rough ride, especially with the pandemic, but... it's not over yet.  I do one day at a time.  That's all.


So, there it is- a tour through the ashes of my desires.  Yes, some Dreams came True, usually through a combination of hard work and dumb luck.  Some of these dreams left deep scars that will never heal.  That's the danger of dreaming- even daring to do so can cause intense pain.

But sometimes...



"Is a Dream a Lie if it don't come true
Or is it something worse..."
Bruce Springsteen The River

******************************************************************

2020 Coda:  In re-reading this, it's amazing what has changed (no longer employed; now at PSU) and how much hasn't (Depression, failure.)  Each day, I do what needs to be done, and try to help others.  Since the original post, times have become FAR more dangerous for people like me- as was expected.  Transgender people are now denied healthcare, shelter, military service, and basic recognition of our existence.  There's supposed to be an election in a few months, but I doubt it will happen.  And even if it does, the results will be falsified to keep 45 in power. 

Dreams?  I don't have them.  The GOP have outlawed dreams for people like me.  But they didn't have to do that- I stopping dreaming... and hoping... long ago.

Just existing.  Day by day.

February Blues

Been a while since I've written.

I knew this PhD thing would be hard- really hard.  I didn't expect it to be as hard as this.  I did well enough last semester (did I already mention that in a previous entry?). I got a 3.97.  In my one class, my final paper pulled me out of a certain C, which in grad school is failure.

This semester, I again have three classes: Issues in Adult Education; Social Theory and Lifelong Learning; and Collective Action and Social Movements.  That last one is a sociology class, and is taught by Dr. McCarthy, who is a huge name in that field.  He attended his first protest in 1959, and has been there-done that.  He joined the PSU faculty in 2000, so he was unaware of the protests here of the 80s.

Floor of the HUB.  Took this last week

His class has the most reading involved- as much as the other two classes combined.  Also, it's Sociology, which I hadn't taken a class in since undergrad... in the 80s.  All but one other person in the class are sociology majors.  All but one of those are PhD students.  That exception is an undergrad senior, who is going to graduate with her bachelors and masters this year (and is also taking PhD courses.)  In any case, the whole sociology thing isn't my forte.  So, there's a bit of a learning curve.

Things have been up and down.  Some days I break down sobbing.  Some days all is well.

Today is sunny and cold.  Classes are done for the week, but I still have a lot to do.  I have a skype meeting with my GA boss in a few minutes.  After that, I'll take an hour or two to relax before getting back to work.

I hope it's worth it in the end.

Be well

Therapy Talk

Today I saw my therapist since the first time since May. 

She sees me gratis, as I can't afford therapy, so I go when she can fit me into her schedule.  As those few who read my last entry know, I've had a very rough few days.  The Darkness had me and wasn't letting me go.

I was fifteen minutes late to the appointment- I'd forgotten it was moved from noon to 2 PM.  I entered my therapist's office, out of breath.  After a moment, we started talking. 

I told her EXACTLY how I was feeling- and how I felt Sunday/Monday.  I gave her the details, which I haven't even told my Wife or my bestie and roomie, Linda.  I will not discuss them here either, except to say that within minutes, I was crying again.

She pointed out that every time the Darkness has me, and I survive, that something I am glad I lived to see happens.  While I don't agree totally with what she says, it's happened enough to make her point.

Also, The 3rd was Lisa Empanada's birthday, and the 5th anniversary of one of the most amazing and moving days of my life.  This morning's facialbook memory thing brought up a post she made, and sent me into tears again.

So, we talked, my therapist and I.  We discussed the thought loop in my mind that has played since I was a child ("You're worthless, useless, ugly, disgusting, and unwanted" among other adjectives.)  She says I have to counter that.  As it's been playing in my head for my whole conscious life (in addition to 'greatest hits' of things others have told me) it's burned into my soul. 

Then of course there's the wound inflicted by my Wife nearly five years ago.  And the torn out part of my soul from when Lisa died, again, nearly five years ago.  Maybe these events are making "the internal recording skip."  Constant repeat. 

Didn't get that job? You're worthless, useless, ugly, disgusting, and unwanted.  Misgendered?  You're worthless, useless, ugly, disgusting, and unwanted.  Wake up in the morning?  You're worthless, useless, ugly, disgusting, and unwanted.  Insomnia?  The volume goes to 11.  YOU'RE USELESS, UGLY, DISGUSTING, AND UNWANTED, but with the coda of why do you even fucking bother living?

This past weekend, a few of my fraternity brothers- my fraternity BROTHERS- called me "it", "he/she,"  and "tranny" during the debate for the trans-inclusive amendment to the fraternity constitution.  You're worthless, useless, ugly, disgusting, and unwanted.  These are people I'd never met before last week.  I wanted to rip their heads off.  But I remained calm.  But, the damage was done- just like when my brothers at PSU would tell me "you're a transfer, and don't f*cking belong here."  "You're not a real Skull."  You're worthless, useless, ugly, disgusting, and unwanted.

I spent 45 minutes with my therapist, focusing on exactly how I felt, and what triggered it.  (I already wrote about that last entry.)  Fact is, Lisa died at 52.  I'm currently 51- and next month will be 52 (funny how that works.)  (Jerry Garcia died at 53- and today is the anniversary of his death.)   I think about that a lot- how Lisa, despite everything she endured, made it 52 years, 1 month, and 2 weeks.  I wonder if I can beat that.  You're worthless, useless, ugly, disgusting, and unwanted.

No, I'm not asking for sympathy.  This blog is about how I'm feeling; what I'm thinking; and trying to make sense of it all.  So.  I don't get satisfaction from writing any more.  But I didn't want to end the blog on a total downer (if I never posted again that is.)

I was late to my appointment.  I was hurrying from the parking lot to the door when a splash of color caught me attention.  A flower- maybe six inches in diameter.  Large, beautiful, and proud.  I stopped to look at it, then took a picture.

Because sometimes, I need beauty in my life.  And it was worth the minute I stopped. 

Maybe I'm not too far gone.

Had to Pull Over: Thoughts on Coming Home in early August

This is going to be kinda random and jumpy.  If anyone actually reads this.  Which they won't.

I'm back from New Orleans.  I had to pull over twice on the road home from the airport because I was sobbing so hard that I couldn't see.

I'm home.  Flat broke.  I had to beg my wife for money to borrow for my share of the rent.  I'm useless, worthless, and  have no future

The Darkness has me.  I feel useless, and the fact that I can't find a job makes me worthless.  I spent more money than I had helping people I will never meet, and who will never know what I did.  And, the trip being over, I have NOTHING to look forward to.

Nothing.

The New Orleans trip was the last thing I had planned.  Now, nothing.  September will be here soon- and I HATE September.  It's the month I lost my marriage (technically that was August 31 I think, but I'm not quibbling.)  It's the month I lost Lisa.  It's the month I was born, and I hate it most of all for that.

Me.  Now.  Typing this.

I don't tell people my feelings anymore.  I tell people this, they get angry and tell me it's my fault because I don't think positively.  One fact I've had burned into my soul: I can never tell people the Truth about how I feel.  Oh and it's my fault because I travelled, and put money into an account for my daughter.

I just want the depression to end.  I cannot remember a day without it- literally.

And if I say that, people threaten to have me hauled off to a hospital.  I have sworn I will never, ever go back to one of those.

Insomnia when I desperately want this day to end.

I don't think I'll be writing about the New Orleans trip. I think I'm done with writing.  No one is reading what I write, and it doesn't make me content anymore. Doesn't help.  Last thing Im posted still hasn't broken 100 views.  I used pull that in an hour.  No one gives a shit any more.  Why should I?  I still have my little writing books that I keep filling.  I suppose I should put them all in one box.  Then throw that box away.  Then those thoughts will be gone, unheard.  As they should be.

I volunteer to help others and lose lots of money in the process.  I'm done with volunteering. You want me to help- pay me.  This weekend, I debated a bunch of entitled kids who have been taught to hate and mock anything different.  But, I managed, with help, to get passed a trans-positive motion for my fraternity.  And the people who will benefit?  They'll never know about the 18 months of work several people put in on it, or the debate, or the insults I endured.  They wouldn't care if they did know.  I was invited to New Orleans by the fraternity.  I thought more costs would be covered.  And maybe I'll be reimbursed for some of the outlay.  Eventually.

I shouldn't care about that.  One person of facialbook wrote me: "Most people don't volunteer to help others expecting something in return. They do it from their heart and soul."  Well, so did I. Past tense. All its gotten me is a zero bank balance, PTSD, and wounds that can never heal.  

I did this for a fraternity which, when I was an undergrad, 95% of the brothers didn't want me around.  Many actively hated me.  But, I'd sworn an oath, and my word is all I have.

I used to believe that all the sadness and pain I endure would be balanced out by happiness and good in my life.  That there HAD to be balance.  When I was a teen, that kept me alive.  I now know that thought was absolutely wrong.  There is NO balance.  And if there is, my suffering is balanced by the happiness and ease of someone else's life.

I often think of myself as an old toy, neglected and forgotten when the child outgrows it.  I use that metaphor often in my journals.  An object which has no function but to bring happiness, fun, laughter and joy, sitting silent and still.  Do they long for the child to return and play with them?  (Kinda Toy Story, I know, but I think about it.)  I wrote about this on my old guy blog once.  

When I'm gone, my wife will probably put my dead name on my urn instead of my legal name.  An echo.  A memory.  And if it brings her comfort so be it.  I've hurt her enough.

Melatonin is finally kicking in.  Maybe I can fall asleep.  Maybe when I wake up tomorrow, the Darkness won't have me by the throat.  But I'll still be unemployed.  And worthless.