"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.

Phone Screening

Phone interview for instructional design position, Wednesday at 3:45. 

Them: "I notice you haven't held an instructional design position in over four years. Can you explain the reason for this?"

Me: *honest as usual* *in a pleasant tone* I am transgender. I transitioned a little more than four years ago. That's when the phone calls and emails offering contracts came to a sudden stop."

Them: *pause of maybe 5 seconds* "Oh. Ummm... *pause*  Next question..."

I somehow don't see me getting to the next level on this one.


Story of my life since my transition.


Still unemployed.

The Truth about... the Class Trip

In May 1984, I was a senior in High School.  I was working almost every night at Burger King, and volunteering with the Rescue Squad and Ambulance.  I'd been accepted to Drexel University, and finally had a girlfriend (in my book I called her Julianne.)

The whole year, I'd been making payments on the class trip.  Like the class the year before, we were going to Walt Disney World in Florida.  I used Burger King money (as I wasn't spending it on girl clothes anymore.)

The day finally arrived!  We boarded busses in front of the high school.  I remember listening to The Doors Greatest Hits on my walkman as we went.

We arrived at the hotel in Florida around noon.  There were palm trees!  I'd never seen those before!  It was a whole different world.  My assigned roommate was a guy named Mike.  I barely knew him, even though I worked with his brother, Scott, at BK.  Scott was one of the "cool kids-" a talented baseball player who the ladies adored.  Good guy, too.

The hotel was two L shaped buildings, forming a square around an inner courtyard.  That courtyard had a swimming pool.  Spring Ford had the two lower floors of one building (out of three stories), and, across the courtyard, St. Thomas Aquinas High School, New Brunswick, NJ had the entire other building.

The rules were typical: no alcohol or drugs, stay with the group, etc.  There was one atypical one.  Guys were on the first floor, and girls were on the second floor.  Girls obviously could be on the Ground floor, but guys couldn't be on the second floor.  Wouldn't want any hanky panky goin' on, would we?

The problems with these rules were numerous.  For one, there were many couples on this trip.  The girl would simply stay in her boyfriend's room, while the "roommate" would bunk in someone else's room using a pull out bed, which were available for free upon request.  So much for "no sex."  I know of several couples who made use of this loophole.  One of the guys who graduated the year before us was living in the Orlando area, and he supplied copious amounts of beer, weed, and whatever to his friends (essentially the "cool guys.")  Then there were a small group of classmates who drove down themselves to stay with the aforementioned alumnus, and stayed at his place.  They appeared at the hotel parties.  If I knew these things, then I have to assume all of us knew, because I was pretty out of touch.  (I knew because my co-workers at Burger King told me.)

We checked in, then we went to the brand new Wet N Wild- a water park.  We all had a blast!  I got a wicked sunburn on my chest, as I fell asleep during an inner tube ride that went in a large circle.  Ouch!

That night, there was a cookout and party by the pool in the center courtyard of the hotel.  I was recovering from a leg cramp while swimming, and was getting a soda and bumped into a cute black haired girl named Beverly.  Beverly was from the NJ school.  We chatted, and she was very nice.  We talked the entire picnic.  I told her I had a girlfriend, and she told me about her boyfriend back home.

The next day, my class went to the newly opened Epcot Center.  I hung around with my friends Bob and Scitman, and we had a blast.  That night, the class went to a restaurant for dinner and dancing.  I even danced a little (which was very rare.)  I was having a wonderful time!

Epcot Map, 1984

We went back to the hotel, where there was to be a pool party.  Actually, the party had already started by the time we arrived, and the Jersey folks were having a blast!  Beverly saw me and asked if I was going to go swimming again.  I said I was, and she said she was as well, but she had to go up to her room to give her roommate her keys.  She was staying on the third floor on the other side of the hotel.  Would I like to head up with her, and meet her roomie?  Sure, why not?

On our way up the stairs on their side of the hotel, we encountered one of my classmates, I'll call him Mal.  He was coming down from the third floor as we were going up.  I thought nothing of it at the time.

We arrived at Beverly's room.  The door was propped open, as there was a gentle breeze blowing, and, well, her roomie didn't have keys.  Beverly introduced me to her roomie, who was laying on the bed reading a book.  (I forget her name.)  She then went to the restroom.  I turned and looked out the door.  Walking past the door, I saw my 11th grade Chemistry teacher, I'll call her Mrs. B.  She was an elderly woman, heavyset with dyed black hair and thick glasses.

For a moment, I thought "Oh shit!" then I remembered- I was on the other side of the hotel!  So I immediately calmed down.  Beverly came out of the bathroom, and we headed downstairs to the party.

I took off my shirt and was heading for my room to get a towel when I was roughly grabbed by two teachers, and almost carried to a room.  There, I was left alone with the principal.  His posture was stiff, and his hands were behind his back.  The rhythm of his speech reminded me of Ed Sullivan, to match his posture.

"Now... I have heard...a ROOM-er... that YOU were on the third floor... of the hotel."

I hate lies, so I said I had been on the third floor of the other side.  I told him exactly what had happened.

He told me that the "student council" was "deliberating [my] fate" as we spoke.  Now remember, there were people swapping rooms, going out drinking, etc, but I was the one in trouble!  It didn't take long- the Student Council decided that my Horrendous Crime was worth my being sent home from the class trip.  The principal called my parents, and explained that I was being sent home, and that he'd call again with flight times.  I would have to pay the school for my ticket home AND for a chaperone!

I was permitted to go back to my hotel room with an escort of the same two teachers who grabbed me earlier.  I was not allowed to speak to anyone.  Everyone was staring.  Some hooted and hollered.  I packed my things, and was escorted back to the principal's room.  He ordered a cot brought to the room, and there I spent the night.

The principal snored.

Early the next morning, I was awakened and herded toward a van.  The chaperone was waiting.  He taught business, and had a waxed curling moustache.  He didn't want to come to Florida in the first place, and was glad to go home early.

I didn't speak on the way to the airport, waiting for the plane, boarding... but the teacher was chatting away, happy as can be.  About halfway back to Philadelphia, he took the hint and stopped trying to speak to me.  I just looked out the window, and seethed.  I also wrote in a book I had with me.  I'll come back to that.

How did Mrs. B know to look for me up there?  We were there for less than five minutes, and we told no one where we were going.  In fact there was only one person who knew: Mal.  he must've told the teachers where I was going.  Did I mention nobody liked that guy?

After we landed, my dad met me at baggage claim.  He exchanged curt pleasantries with the teacher, and led me to his truck.  He didn't say a word to me then, or for the entire ride home.  When we arrived home. we pulled up into the driveway and started walking toward the back door.  He pointed at the lawn mower sitting in the backyard.  He didn't speak to me for a week.

I thought that would be the end of it.  It was Friday, and I was home early.  The class were going to Disney World that day.  Sometime during that day, probably first thing after arriving, they were assembled for a class picture.  Obviously, as I was miles away (probably in flight) I am not in the picture.

After I finished cutting the grass and putting away the mower, I decided to go down to Burger King and pick up my check.  It was payday after all.  I walked into BK, and when the staff saw me, they gave me an ovation.  They had heard what happened.  People who were in Florida started spreading the word via phone probably as it happened.

The BK staff heard that I was caught naked having sex.  And that I had her arms tied to the bedposts with leather straps.  I told them what had actually happened.  Some of them believed me.  Others didn't.

At 4 PM, I called "Julianne" at home.  The first words out of her mouth were "You'd better have a great explanation for this."  She'd heard at HER school as well!  She said she'd heard that we were caught having sex, I was tied to the bed, and the girl was wearing a leather dominatrix outfit complete with whip.  I told Julianne the truth.  She believed me, but our relationship was doomed.  When we broke up, the class trip was one of the things she brought up.

Monday morning, I went to school.  With me, I brought a blank check from my bank account.  I stopped in the office, and was told the amount.  It all but emptied my account- the money I was saving for college.

I ended up being late for homeroom.  The homeroom teacher gave me two demerits for being late, despite my telling her where I was, and showing my hall pass.  I had NEVER, in all my school career, received a single demerit before this.  And that wasn't the only one.  By the time final exams rolled around, I had NINE demerits (ten meant suspension) for various offenses, none of which were demerit worthy.  (Like "taking too long going to the restroom.")

Suddenly, everyone was talking about me.  Everyone wanted the story.  I told them exactly what happened.  Most didn't believe me.  They heard all kinds of kinky stories.  I won't list them here, but some of them were quite outrageous and/or disgusting.  Whenever I saw Mal in the halls, he avoided me.  Good thing, too.  After all, if I were going to get demerits, I may as well earn them by knocking his teeth in.  This is when I was in peak condition, and I was still studying in the dojo.  It would've been over quickly.

High School Graduation

I won an award at graduation from the "Ladies Club of Royersford": Outstanding Writer of the Year.  It was supposed to have a $500 cash award attached, I was told.  It was reduced to $50.  They almost didn't give it to me.  When I walked up to receive my diploma, people laughed.  I heard chants of "Flor-i-da!"  The superintendent handed me my diploma, and, as rehearsed, I smiled and turned to my right for the "official picture."  I then turned to the superintendent and said "F*ck you."  Yes, I know, really mature.  I was an angry 17 year old.

I kept in touch with Beverly for a while.  We wrote to each other, and occasionally spoke on the phone.  She attended Rutgers.  I visited her there once during late 1985.  I was supposed to stay the weekend, but I ended up leaving the same night I arrived.  I last heard from her in 1987, when she wrote me telling me she was getting married.  I hope her life has been amazing.

At the five year reunion, what did most people ask/say to me?  "Remember Florida?" or some other comment to that idea.

Ten year reunion:  "Remember the class trip? *laughs*" Mal attended that reunion.  He became a police officer, and had a Hitler moustache to "protest" something or other.  I asked him why he "ratted me out."  He didn't answer- just turned and avoided me for the rest of the day.  I haven't seen nor heard of him since.

Twenty five year reunion: "Dude were you really caught f*cking that girl?"

At the Thirty year reunion, despite my showing up as a Woman, wearing a cleavage-baring dress, what did I hear?  "Class trip!"  Seriously!  They were seeing me as a female for the first time, and THAT'S all they could think to discuss?

And that's not all- for years after, my name was brought up at school assemblies as a threat- break the rules and you'll be sent home.  How do I know?  The younger siblings of friends told me.  I have had several SF grads, when introduced to me (in my old life) say "Aren't you the one they sent home from the class trip?"  I also heard that maybe ten years later, a large group was sent home for drug violations, ending class trips for a while.

So there it is- the Truth.  Unvarnished.  How do I remember this so clearly?  Aside from the fact that it's burned into my memory, I wrote the details in my journal I kept.  I wrote the details of the previous night in my journal on the plane ride home.

How did this make me feel?  As I've written before, in August 1983, I stopped crossdressing; resolving to be the Man I was expected to be.  I was angry at the world.  Miserable.  Depressed.  All my life, I'd been punished for things others had done, usually my brother.  This time, my "peers" decided to make an example of me, for a really minor thing.  As I wrote above, classmates were screwing, drinking, getting high, going out on the town- and EVERYONE knew it... but I'm the one who bore everyone's sins.  (No, I don't have a Christ complex.)  If I were one of the "popular" kids, would I have been sent home?  Of course not.  But I was a nobody, and a perfect target.

I hate lies.  I hate Hypocrisy even more (especially when I am guilty of it.)  And that's what I saw that day.   Everyone else gets a pass but me.

I was Bitter as Hell for years.  I would spit if the name "Spring Ford" were mentioned.  At the reunions, I avoided the honorable members of the student council, especially when I was drinking, lest I give them a strongly worded piece of my mind.  Or worse.  Why did I go to the reunions?  Because I wanted to see how many of my classmates had screwed up their lives.  And I wasn't disappointed in that regard.  At all.  Not that I've done much better.

Time heals all wounds is the cliche (which I don't believe by the way.)  However, in this case, I let the bitterness go.  I let it Die with Lance when I transitioned.  Do I still hold all the same opinions?  Yes.  Absolutely.  Do I care?  Not anymore.  I have far worse issues to concern myself with now.

For what it's worth, one of the members did eventually apologize to me, saying they thought what happened was wrong.  Over thirty years later.

I accepted the apology.

Be Well.