Has it been worth it?

Has it been worth it?

I tell ya boy and girls, I sit here at my 'puter scanning the interweb tubes and I sometimes wonder if getting my head pulled out of my lower recesses has been worth the stress.

Back when I used the little boys room, I was blissfully ignorant of the vitriol, hatred, and outright lies visited upon my newly acquired community. Oh I heard news reports and felt that Matthew Shepard's murder was a tragedy. When I was younger still I heard about the Stonewall riots and how the gays had an uprising. I thought it was probably appropriate since just about everyone was rioting about something back in those days.

But it never *touched* me!

I was a true blue male! And I liked girls and all, and had me quite a few! Yeah, I had a rather peculiar hobby, but it wasn't anything serious. Really!

While I agreed that people should be allowed to do whatever they liked regardless of their gender, I really thought it was none of my business really. I was just your average guy. I could never take *that* road! All I ever heard was that transsexuals became pole dancing, sex working, drug addicts just so they could be girls. And the gays and lesbians seemed to be so easy a target for laughter (I think just about every stand up comic had some sort of "fag" routine), or more darkly, being hunted, and killed with no real effort for justice.

No sir! I was NOT one of those! I had more important things to do! I had my whole career to think of! I was raising a family! I was a GUY! Maybe not quite so macho, but still I knew the whole "This is my rifle, this is my gun, this is for business, this is for FUN!" rhyme.

Times change.

Things change.

I changed.

There was a giant sucking sound so loud it measured on the richter scale when I pulled my head out of my, uhm you know, opened my eyes, and found out who I really was! I've documented quite a bit of it here so I'm not going to rehash that stuff in this post.

Now I'm a newly minted female find myself being a card carrying lesbian. I got the toaster oven sign up bonus to prove it! But I cannot marry the woman I love in the state in which I live. And were we to make the trek to one of the states that allow same sex marriage, it would not be recognized in my state. If we don't carry our power of attorney forms when we travel, we could be denied access to each other in case we are hospitalized. And the literally THOUSANDS of benefits that are accorded federally recognized married couples are denied us simply because our genitalia is similar not different. Our casual discrimination is accepted by the rest of the populace as no big deal.

I've become an advocate for the LGBT community at my office and I am a staunch supporter for the repeal of DOMA and DADT and fervently pray for the passage of ENDA.

Just a scant few years ago I would never have known what those particular acronyms meant!

And now when I read about the murders and the violence and the lack of justice I am incensed and outraged. I read about John McCain who I thought was a reasonable candidate for president especially when he showed distasted for calling Mr Obama an arab, stated emphatically, during the campaign, that if the Joint Chiefs called for the repeal of DADT then he would listen to them as president. Now he claims that the Joint Chiefs are out of line to even consider that since we have so much war going on (the same wars that were going on during Mr. Bush's reign of error). Or when extreme right wing bigots call for the murder of gays and lesbians as being in the name of God and Catholic bishops say that gays are worse than terrorists, I sometimes fail to see how humanity will progress.

Everyone in the community, EVERY SINGLE ONE, has had episodes of humiliation, discrimination, anger, or violence committed on them simply because of the differences we have. And in cold November we take time to remember the ADDITIONAL trans people who have been murdered since the last reading of the dead.

I was so g*d*m'd blissfully ignorant of all of this when I had the world as my urinal! I would have taken this blissful ignorance to my grave had I not changed.

I sometimes wonder if knowing is better than not knowing. Is having your eyes opened, and seeing, really seeing, what the fnck goes on in the world part of the blessing or part of the curse?

I am in a particular bitter and cynical mood of late. It may be due to a number of things. The recent loss of my brother surely has something to do with it. But also just the seemingly unending bitter and hateful rhetoric on the one side and the impassioned, though impotent action from our "friends" on the other just makes me feel hopeless and helpless.

I sometimes think that I would like to turn my back on the whole lot of it and just walk away. But I could never look in any mirror ever again.

I have not finished paying off my debt to Christine Jorgensen, and all the rest of the pioneers, activists and martyrs who have gone before me. I do not seek the notoriety that others have, and certainly others are more deserving.

But I will say that I will do this for one more day, and hopefully, tomorrow, I can say it again.

-Sandy

Suicide Redeaux

Suicide Redeaux

It's been a few months since my brother's untimely death by his own hand.

I'm still reeling from the event. And I am still furious at his selfish act. Though I have forgiven God (or that which passeth all understanding) for the most part.

There is an old joke:

A man's house is in danger of flooding and so he climbs on the roof to escape the flood. The waters rise and the man is flooded up to his waist.

A man in a rowboat comes by and tells the man to get in the boat and be taken to safety. The man on the roof replies "No, God will save me I do not need your help!"

So the rowboat leaves, and the waters climb higher. Later, a speedboat comes by and offers to take the man to safety, but again he refuses, saying "God will save me, I do not need your help!" And the speedboat leaves.

The waters rise even higher and the man is standing on tiptoe on the peak of his roof, his head is the only thing exposed. A helicopter comes by and tries to take the man to safety, but he still refuses, claiming the God will rescue him.

The waters rise even higher and the man is swept away in the flood.

He enters heaven and confronts God demanding to know why he did not save him from the flood.

God replies "I sent a rowboat, a speedboat, and a helicopter for you! What more did you want!??"

I was angry at God for not preventing my brothers attempt.

Upon reflection, I cannot say that he wasn't prevented. Suicide is something that only has to work once. But there can be many attempts. I do not know how many times my brother put the gun in his mouth. I do not know how many times he pulled the trigger. And I do not know how many times he was saved. But, regardless, my brother persisted, and finally succeeded.

I too have attempted suicide. I know first hand the dark demons that can drive a person to this act of ultimate despair. But, I was saved. I returned to life. I started on a path that gave me rebirth.

My anger stems from this. If I was saved, why not him? And the only answer I can say is that, perhaps he was, but like the man on the roof, he refused to see the gift he was given.

In the aftermath of this horrific tragedy, some things have happened that may be for the good. My next younger brother will be taking on the role of Great Uncle and provide my brothers son an adult male presence in his life that he never quite had before.

My brothers family is slowly picking up the pieces of their shattered lives and moving on. I wish them well and hope that I can help them in some way in the future. Though, right now, my presence is viewed as being a bit too alien for them to comprehend and accept. So be it. I will remain in touch but not be an active presence in their lives.

My siblings and I are bit closer now. Having lost one of our own we feel a bit more drawn together. Afraid of losing more than we already have. And perhaps that is for the good as well.

I am of two minds about the hereafter. I am very clinical, mostly, and I view life and self awareness as just "wires in a box". When we die, we just stop. The darkness and oblivion is all that awaits. But part of me feels a spiritual connection to something "out there". And feel, perhaps that Carl Sagan was wrong and maybe there is something afterwards, and we are a soul that has a body. I cannot tell and no one has ever returned to say any different (religion and bible stories aside).

My tears have dried, but I still feel the loss. He is gone and that is all.

-Sandy

My mammogram...

My mammogram...

I went to see my doctor for my annual check up a couple of weeks ago and at the end he said; "It's time your you mammo, little missy!"

Gawd that is the *last* time I talk with my doctor about the latest policy information about mammograms!

Anyway, I got up at the crack of dawn today to go to the womens imaging center to put my chest into the grape press.

Actually the last one I had wasn't that bad at all. It was a baseline mammo and they just took a couple of shots. And since I have implants they used a more gentle machine, so I didn't think that much of it.

Ah, not this time. This time they wanted a much more detailed look at my breast tissue, not my saline bags. I guess they don't think saline bags can get cancer... So the radiologist took the first couple of shots like the first ones I remember.

Then she says; "Now we have to get some detailed shots of your breast tissue, not your implants." Oh dear.

She positions me in the machine and then grabs my breast and pulls it and presses it into the plate!!! Then the machine clamps down, and to make sure I don't go anywhere, cranks it down a couple of more times. Then she says; "Hold your breath, don't move."

Like I'm going anywhere! And I'm already holding my breath from the pressure.

Then she says she wants one of the side of the breast. And proceeds to do much the same thing with the anterior quarter of my, now pressed breast flesh.

Then the other side.

All in all it was about twenty minutes of torture pictures. But it hardly felt like it was much more than a couple of hours, really!

The other piece of joy was after I was released from the clutches of the machine, I went to get dressed. I discovered that the adhesive they use to put on those cute little nipple markers is remarkably strong. I think everyone in the changing area heard me yelp.

I really, really enjoy being a woman and this is all part of this.

But, there is no real comparison between this and a prostate exam. Any guy that complains of having their doctor put his finger where the sun don't shine is going to get a really stern look from me!

My partner, Pat, got a real laugh out of my description of events. Since she's had these a lot more often than I have, she thinks I've got it easy. I'm glad I could bring a little sunshine into her life...

-Sandy(*ow*)

A note about suicide

A note about suicide

Last week, my youngest brother lay down on his bed, and put a .357 Magnum loaded with hollow point bullets in his mouth pointed upward at his soft palate, and ate what came out.

I cannot stop the mental image of the bullet exiting the muzzle in slow motion, penetrating the soft palate, splintering and pulverizing cartilage and bone, severing the optic nerve, impacting on his brain pan and opening holes to his cranium.

I can only imagine the carnage that it caused as the shards of the bullet tumbled and churned through his grey matter, forever erasing all that he was.

There cannot be an open casket wake.

But if it were possible, I don't know that I could handle the image of him in a casket. Face in sleeping repose, his mustache groomed and trimmed, hands clasped around a rosary, in his only good suit (he was a t-shirt kind of guy), with a crucifix affixed to the lid of the coffin.

I cannot imagine kneeling down in front of the coffin and saying a prayer for him to send him on his way. Or the funeral where the lid is closed for the last time and the casket pushed into the back of the hearse.

Soon the ashes of the shell that housed his spirit will be laid to rest upon the graves of my parents.

He left a wife, two young children, his sisters and brothers, and scores of friends and acquaintances.

Depression and alcoholism run very strong in our family. My father, all of my siblings, and myself have all wrestled with these demons. It is a very dark shroud to be under.

Examining the issues in his life, I can see how he could have lost all hope. A failing marriage, loss of self respect due to extended unemployment, unpaid bills, a home foreclosure, and a severe dependence on alcohol all fed the terribly bleak depression he must have felt.

Though, right now, I have feelings only for myself, not him. I alternate between feeling enraged, embarrassed, and devastated by his act of selfishness. I'm still trying to deal with having to refer to him forever in the past tense.

Each and every person I have spoken to about this have felt that if he had died by illness or accident the blow would have easier to bear. Now each of us carry a scar that may never heal. We will all forever wonder and worry that there was something more we could have done. Some clue that we missed. Some thing we could have done to stay his hand. And as a result we now have, perhaps, an incremental loss of faith. Questioning that great unknown, asking; why him? Why make orphans of his children and a widow of his wife? And receiving no answer, we turn our backs a little bit more on faith, and become a bit more cynical, and a bit less joyful in life because of this needless loss.

There is a lesson here.

Many of us on this list have also had to deal with the depression and loneliness that comes with what brings us together here.

Many of us have verbalized or thought very seriously about this final option. To give the finger one last time to an uncaring, and hateful world that views us as abominations. To take the easy way out. Take the permanent solution to a temporary problem.

Please, I beg you, stop. Reflect on your life. Even if you are an orphan with no relatives you will still decimate those who even only knew you briefly.

Please seek help or guidance from anyone who will listen. There are therapists and hotlines available 24/7. Please reach out to someone, anyone, you will find someone who will help.

You will hurt everyone who ever knew you. If you care about how people remember you, your memory will eventually and forever be reviled. And if there is some sort of corporeal existence following this one, how can you not eternally regret and despise the stupid thing you have done? Forgiveness from God is easy, forgiving yourself is not.

So fare well, my brother. I feel that I never knew you as well as I could have, but now I never will.

Goodbye.

-Sandy

An Open Letter to President Oboma:
I submitted the following to the White House website and Pam's House Blend.  I am not so naive as to expect any sort of response, but I had to say something!

Dear Mr. President

The loss of civil marriage in Maine is yet one more example of how vindictiveness and hatred are winning against the efforts to fight oppression.

For me to decry the loss is not the issue at hand.  I'm sure that others more well versed than I will disect the issue.  Though I'm sure, that had the Maine marriage equality resolution been upheld, the forces of hatred would still say it was a victory for them because the margins were so close.

I wish to address a much larger issue.  And one that is very personal to me.  The very first time I heard you speak, you electrified me.  You ignited in me a sense of hopefullness that I had never felt about politics in all my years.  For the first time I felt a call to action, and campaigned vigorously for you in my home town.  I knew that it would be different.  I campaigned for you because of your goals and ideals, not your race, not your sexual orientation, not your gender, not your family background. 

As a member of the LGBT community, I felt a hopefullness from you for social acceptance and social change that other candidates did not seem to exhibit.  Your stance on marriage equality was honest and forthright and your stance on the subject of being afforded the same benefits as other married couple as your main goal was one that I could accept and work for.

But since your inaguration, your visible actions and the actions of the Democratic National Committee, which you head, have been woefully absent.  Your claim of being able to use the Bully Pulpit for issues of national importance has been virtually non-existant on our behalf.  You have made statements of rhetoric indicating your goal of repealing such oppressive, discriminating laws such as DADT, DOMA and support for ENDA.  But what have your DONE?  I do thank you for your signature into law of the Matthew Shepard and James Byrd, Jr. Hate Crimes Prevention Act, but by what effort on your part did you partake to ensure that this bill would pass through congress?  Indeed, it had to be an ammendmant to the National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2010 to ensure it's passage.  I heard no statement from you or your office stating your official support other than stating that if it came to your desk you would sign it.  Neither did I hear any rumors of back room negotiations to persuade members of congress for it's passage.

As you are aware, you could, through your powers as Chief Executive, order a suspension of the enforcement of Don't Ask, Don't Tell for a period of time until a review of it's effectiveness has been shown or it is repealed.  But you have not.  And still, every single day we lose valuable military personnel not because they aren't patriotic enough, not becuase they are in any other way inferior, but because they are gay.

Is it correct that a minority must secure a majority of votes to repeal discrimintory laws?  Or should these laws be overturned simply because it is the right thing to do?

What if the law legalizing inter-racial marriage in California in 1948 had been put up for a popular vote?  What would happen if a new law banning inter-racial marriage was introduced today?  What if the Civil Rights Act of 1964 had been left to a national refferendum?  Certainly these are minority issues, and perhaps should have been accepted by the majority of voters before given complete acceptance.  Of course this is rediculous.  But such is the state of LGBT rights today.  In order for me to marry my partner, and enjoy all the same rights, benefits and responsibilities as other married couples, must I secure the permission from a majority of over three hundred million Americans?

I certainly do understand that your administration has been plagued by so many other issues, many of them as a direct result of the mismangement from the prevous administration.  However, while you claim to be a president that can "multi-task", you and your administration don't seem to have time for our community.  You leave us to struggle while you remain supportive, yet silent.

While you claim to be one who builds bridges, the bridge between our community and your administration is still under construction.

I implore you to take a more active role on the literally life and death issues facing the LGBT community today, lest the forces of oppression succeed in silencing our voices.

As I have mentioned, I campaigned for you during your election, unfortunately, I have to say that you have lost one campaign worker for your next election.  And, if your conspicuous absence on behalf of the LGBT community continues, one vote as well.

Respectfully,

Sandra (real name in letter)

Sandy is (back) onstage!

Sandy is (back) onstage!

After too many years away from the beloved stage, I have returned.

The production of the Fred Carmichael script "Any Number Can Die" closed and a great time was had by all.

I played Celia Lathrop, the witch with a capital "B". I was told that I took so easily to the part that it seemed like it was second nature.

Anyway, here I am (on the couch) surrounded by my compatriots.

This is the first production where I died onstage. Well at least on purpose...


My family came to the show and my best girlfriends, the two Julies saw it as well. I was so very happy to see them all!

I hope to be in other productions soon.

-Sandy

I am so Damned Fragile!

I am so Damned Fragile!


Boys and girls, I will tell you that inside this tough post-op woman shell is a very frightened little girl.

There are only two tiny (alright, huge) chinks in my tough hide.

One is my facial hair.  I will refuse to go out if I am showing any stubble.  I absolutely despise having to shave everyday.  More distressing, even though I have had my face cleared repeatedly, I not only still have hairs come up but now some of them are actually coming up BLACK!!!!  Needless to say I am very frustrated.  Granted I have not spent the number of hours in the chair that some of our other ladies have, but GD it!  I really was hoping not to look like a grizzled old prospector by now!!!!

The other is my voice.  I am very *very* very sensitive about my vocal presentation.  And when I get sirred on the phone it is like a knife to my heart.

There was one occasion in the ladies room where one of the other woman thought I was a man in the stall because of my voice.  I was devastated.

Something happened yesterday that almost sent me back to therapy (and it still might, I'm still thinking about it).

A number of months ago I signed up for the fitness center at the office.  Two or three times a week I'll go there and work out over lunch.  It makes me feel better and helps tone up my body.  There was an initial trepidation I had about going into the ladies locker room for the first time, but now it is just what I do.  I'm not uncomfortable with it at all.  It's where I belong.

Following my workout yesterday, I stripped down wrapped my towel around me and headed for the showers.  there are six shower stalls each with their own curtain.  I picked a stall, closed the curtain and turned on the water.  It's natural to joke and talk in the locker room.  And as I was getting under the shower, one of the other women remarked how tired she was.  I responded that it was only Monday and there was quite a bit of week left.

There was a pause and then she squeaked "OH MY GOD IS THAT A MAN IN THERE!!!??"

My knees almost gave out.

I poked my head around the curtain, mustering up courage and pasting some sort of smile on my face, I said "No, I get that a lot".  And I let just enough of me show to prove that I was a woman.

Embarrassed, she apologized and babbled on about the time she was on vacation and took the wrong turn at a resort and walked into the guys locker, and saw way too much of the male anatomy.  She said something about a twenty-one gun salute, which in retrospect was a cute remark.

I smiled and we went back to showering.  Well I assume she did.  I spent the next ten minutes weeping as quietly as I could.  I turned the water on as cold as it would go and just stood under it trying not to openly sob.  (God, this hurts to type, I'm weeping again).

I was too terrified to leave the stall, having the irrational fear that I would somehow be called out again.  I would be called a charlatan, a fake, *a man*.

I got dressed as quickly as I could and didn't utter another word.  I left with my hair barely dry and no makeup on my face.

I spent the rest of the afternoon staring at the screen, and trying to fight back the tears.  I'm the only woman in our team and only one of four women on the floor, so a weeping female is not really kept in high regard by my team mates.  And I really couldn't commiserate with the other woman because they were busy with their own duties, and really, how could *they* commiserate?   Please don't tell me that women get sirred on the phone too.  I know that and that is (was) one of the things I used to tell myself to keep my courage up.  Yes, it happens, but when it happens to a GG it is just frustrating.  To me it is debilitating.

I spent the rest of the afternoon giving serious thought and some fair research into the most dangerous, stupid, silly-assed thing a transwoman could do.

Feminizing laryngoplasty surgery.

I know women who have taken this surgery and had some very poor results.  I know of one who can barely speak above a whisper.  If I had the surgery, there would be a good chance I would never be able to sing again.  I may never be able to go on stage again because my voice could be so profoundly affected.  I could lose the ability to speak altogether.  And on top of it all, I'm not all that impressed with the results I have heard.

But if I could only croak, at least it would be a feminine croak.

If a person meets me in person, I am not questioned at all about my gender.  And when I am on stage, no one, not the director, not the stage manager, and not the audience question my feminine presentation.  It's only when a person only hears my voice and can't see my body or face that they question me.

There is a little rational spark still left that really thinks this is a bad idea.  But I've picked up the phone about a half dozen times already today to call and ask for information and a consultation.

It's not like I don't try.  I've taken training, but maybe not enough, apparently.  But, dammit, I've kept my larynx elevated so long I don't remember *how* to speak in my old voice.  If I'm awakened out of a sound sleep I still speak in my higher register.  Hell, I even *SNEEZE* in a higher tone.  There are a number of people (bless them) that have repeatedly told me that they hear nothing but a woman when I speak to them on the phone.

I feel like I've taken a hit below the water line.  Inside, I have collapsed.  I'm trying to build my self esteem up, but I am so low right now.  Pat, my darling husband, has absolutely forbidden me  from taking this any farther.  But I am so crushed right now.

I came here to tell my story so at least I can get it off my chest.  I need to release this pain.  You, my brothers and sisters, are who I can turn to with a warm shoulder and tissue.  And that, is what I need right now.

There may not be another few chapters of "Sandy's Transition".  But right now, for two cents, I'd make that consultation call...

-Sandy