My escape was primarily crossdressing, and a lot of it. As mentioned in another thread, I lived in denial for most of my life when it came to being transsexual. I desired to be female, but denied the fact that I truly wanted to be one. I dressed, I liked the way I looked and I liked the way it made me feel. I sacrificed any and all social contact to spend time dressed up. I would skip school and wasn't too interested in working.
In my later teens and early twenties if I would go out I would got to bars, get stupidly drunk and sleep with some of the most hideous, disgusting females--I'm so lucky that the worst thing that ever happened to me was getting crabs. I recall waking up one morning beside some horrid looking creature--I found out later that she had herpes. Fortunately, for me, I never caught anything.
I also took stupid risks and just did stupid things like taking my car out onto a quiet, sometimes not so quiet highway and burying the speedometer. I would literally shake the next morning realizing what I had done.
I soon took a job as a bar DJ. The bars I worked in were lower class dives that were frequented primarily by bikers, strippers, skanky whores, drug dealers and various criminal element. I was introduced to cocaine and speed and began sleeping with a lot of strippers. I witnessed a lot of sh***y things in my life and I met a lot of sh***y people. I recall one evening having a conversation with a decent looking, almost distinguished looking guy over just general crap. He looked normal in every sense of the word, but something about him just scared the living crap out of me and I just couldn't put my finger on it--but it was genuinely evil. It was three months later when I found out that he was responsible for the killing of a woman and her child on Christmas eve over drugs--the guy that he was looking for got away. Another person whom I had frequent contact with was responsible for shooting a small time coke dealer in the back of the head.
There were also some pretty cool people I had met. One in particular was this wanna be biker--a striker--coke dealer and debt collector. A real character who reminded me of the late comedian Sam Kinison. One night we sat up in a hotel room with two strippers doing cocaine all night long. I have no idea how much we did, but it was literally line after line after line. Two days later I sat at a table in a club when someone told me I had a drop of blood around my nostril. When I wiped it away a torrent of blood gushed from my nose and everyone freaked out--myself included. It was shortly after that that I turned my back on that scene and began pursuing music.
I locked myself away and literally began playing for hours at a time learning as much as I could by listening to old blues. A short while later I went out to a local jam session and became somewhat of a regular jamming with local blues musicians. I did that for about seven years until the need to transition hit me hard.
After transitioning I educated myself and immersed myself into building a career and have been doing so for the past fifteen years. Dumped everybody and moved from one city to another. I live in Toronto now where nobody knows of me or my past. Given my past experiences do you really wonder why I have such a difficult time relating to and fitting in with seemingly 'normal' people. In many ways I feel like Henry Hill whose life was immortalized in the movie Wiseguy.
Now, after being fired from yet another job and as I await my surgery, I've buried myself into music once again. This time it is different, rather than playing blues, I'm now playing solo acoustic and singing. My style of music is old soul and R & B. I also immerse myself into working out 5 times a week.
After surgery I'm not too sure what I will do. Perhaps I'll lose myself in sex if all works right. I guess I have a lot of catching up to do.
