Susan's Place Transgender Resources

Can anybody else relate, or am I just waaaaaaaaay off the reservation here.

Since coming home my life has not exactly been ... stable. Now I'm one of those busy people - when I'm sad or frustrated or angry ... I clean. I suppose it's better than drinking huh?

So I was tidying my mom's bookcases and I got into old photo-albums ... and since then I've just been in a weird place. This happened a while ago already, but I just didn't know how to share it.

Anyway, I looked at old photos of me as a baby, as a toddler, and it was like looking at a stranger. Even more recent photos, like school and early university - they're another person, somebody else. My long term personal memory has always been very poor, to say the least, so the experiences and memories one would normally attach to pictures - not really there for me, except for recent stuff, like over the last few years. It really is like the moments those photos captured were of somebody else.

And it makes me SO sad and I feel so guilty. This little boy in the pictures - I'm killing him. What he is and was, I am slowly unmaking. And I don't get it - in my mind I know that past is my past, and that it IS a past. There is nobody there TO kill. It's just a memory. But in my heart it feels like I'm murdering, and I can't not do so, cause otherwise I die, and he does too anyway.

I don't know, explaining it it doesn't even sound right, but it's the best I can do. It's like, just, I don't know. I wish that little boy could have been normal, so he could've been happy. I wish I could separate myself from him, so he wouldn't have to die. I just wish things were different.

~Simone.

Within that little boy there is a little girl, you are only setting her free.

The person is still the same, you are only replacing the male persona with the female one.

I just felt deep guilt because of what I did to my parents, but as my Dad still says he has memories of an unhappy child replaced by memories of a happy woman.

Buffy

I experienced this the last time all of my siblings were together for the holidays. The scrap book was passed around, pictures of us as small children we hadn't seen in years. I was sitting next to my oldest sister as she turned the pages containing photos of her life she hadn't seen in decades. She just began to cry. And when I put my hand on hers in a gesture of comfort she threw it off in anger. Those old pictures can bring up some potent emotions.

Hi Simone,

I can relate to where you are coming from, but as I haven't started transition it's more like I just don't seem to recognise "me" in the mirror anymore..

..I'm still there, but I find I have to psychological "pinch" myself to make sure I'm real...

...but the photo's....

....I look at the photo's, and I can count the number of ones where I am smiling on one hand, but then there aren't that many as I was always the one hiding behind he camera....who was that unhappy kid?

I still find it difficult to come up with a real smile in "boy" mode....yet when I'm presenting female, it's difficult to stop.....

Chrissty

Quote from: Chrissty on November 17, 2008, 06:02:40 AM
but then there aren't that many as I was always the one hiding behind he camera....who was that unhappy kid?

This is why me and Annie Leibovitz are world class photographers.

(https://www.susans.org/proxy.php?request=http%3A%2F%2Fi173.photobucket.com%2Falbums%2Fw41%2Facerbicvoice%2F220px-Annieliebovitz.jpg&hash=d3a700627164a366de420e77c5e228c4dd967757)

In a way yes but for me it was self defense. The image of a girl was killing me, it was her or me and I wanted to live. I don't regret that death. It was what allowed me to be happy and live.

->-bleeped-<-boy

Quote from: lady amarant on November 17, 2008, 04:40:39 AM
Can anybody else relate, or am I just waaaaaaaaay off the reservation here.

Since coming home my life has not exactly been ... stable. Now I'm one of those busy people - when I'm sad or frustrated or angry ... I clean. I suppose it's better than drinking huh?

So I was tidying my mom's bookcases and I got into old photo-albums ... and since then I've just been in a weird place. This happened a while ago already, but I just didn't know how to share it.

Anyway, I looked at old photos of me as a baby, as a toddler, and it was like looking at a stranger. Even more recent photos, like school and early university - they're another person, somebody else. My long term personal memory has always been very poor, to say the least, so the experiences and memories one would normally attach to pictures - not really there for me, except for recent stuff, like over the last few years. It really is like the moments those photos captured were of somebody else.

And it makes me SO sad and I feel so guilty. This little boy in the pictures - I'm killing him. What he is and was, I am slowly unmaking. And I don't get it - in my mind I know that past is my past, and that it IS a past. There is nobody there TO kill. It's just a memory. But in my heart it feels like I'm murdering, and I can't not do so, cause otherwise I die, and he does too anyway.

I don't know, explaining it it doesn't even sound right, but it's the best I can do. It's like, just, I don't know. I wish that little boy could have been normal, so he could've been happy. I wish I could separate myself from him, so he wouldn't have to die. I just wish things were different.

~Simone.

*gives Simone a big hug*

It may look that way, but not doing anything would be far worse, that would be a fate worse than death. The zest for life, happiness, ambition, dreams of the future... honey, you aren't killing anyone, you're actually giving birth to the true reflection of the person in those pictures. :) The inner light, the spirit, the essence of that person is always there. It's you.

Just think of it like getting rid of your milk teeth... only you're getting rid of your milk body, and replacing it with your adult one. :)

You didn't kill any one ,you changed him to your true self.

Quote from: lady amarant on November 17, 2008, 04:40:39 AM
And it makes me SO sad and I feel so guilty. This little boy in the pictures - I'm killing him. What he is and was, I am slowly unmaking. And I don't get it - in my mind I know that past is my past, and that it IS a past. There is nobody there TO kill. It's just a memory. But in my heart it feels like I'm murdering, and I can't not do so, cause otherwise I die, and he does too anyway.

I think my telling moment came when I met an old friend of mine, intending to explain to him why I looked like I did now. And before I could say anything, he just assumed I was my own sister, and asked how [male name] was doing, say hi to [male name] for him, etc. It was surreal.

And it made me unbelievably sad to realize that "no one recognizes me anymore." I was a stranger in my own life. I'd killed my past, I'd killed the boy... he didn't exist anymore. Even people who knew him couldn't see him now. He was GONE.

I think a lot of go through this mourning process Simone. It's sorta like putting to rest a "coulda been" life, a path not taken. I STILL cry over it when I see old pics of me, even though I'm thrilled with my new life. All those promises I made to people... being a good "son," a good (male) friend, a good "husband..." all broken now.

~Kate~

My male side has partially peeled off like a scab. It felt really gnarly.

But other than that...

My mother has out of nowhere put an old picture of me in her wallet from like fourth grade. I've spotted it many times when getting money for me or her from it. Me smiling, bucktoothed and stupid... Naive, in a New York Rangers jersey.

And on the fridge, an even younger picture... Of me in those huge classes with a buzzcut I think. At my grandfathers lake house.

She's mourning my old self...


She'll insist on labeling things S_______ Patrick H________ when I've told her already I'm going by Kara, even though she likes the name. It really IS like we're two different people and I murdered him or took him away from her.

Some time in my mid teens, in a rage, I destroyed every picture that had me in it, except for a couple of baby pictures what were nice. Very little escaped my "cleansing".

Fast forward 40+ years and decades after transition my sister sent me a couple yearbooks, one from elementary school and one from high school. Although I could identify many of the kids, I could not identify myself - total blank! I had to read the captions to find out which one I was and even then I couldn't believe it. A couple of pictures from my teens en femme however I am quite recognizable even to friends today who know nothing of that other person.

I didn't kill anybody! Trying to pretend to be that other person nearly killed  ME!

Quote from: Northern Jane on November 17, 2008, 10:33:27 AM
Some time in my mid teens, in a rage, I destroyed every picture that had me in it, except for a couple of baby pictures what were nice. Very little escaped my "cleansing".

I was on the verge of doing that when I found those albums, but I stupidly had mentioned to my mom that I was looking at the albums, so she preempted things by making me promise not to. We compromised with her giving me one photo from each stage of my former life. When I'm ready I want to take those pictures out to a cemetery and destroy them.



Posted on: 17 November 2008, 14:12:46

---

Quote from: Kate on November 17, 2008, 09:22:29 AMAll those promises I made to people... being a good "son," a good (male) friend, a good "husband..." all broken now.

Wow. I think that really nails a big part of it. It's like I've betrayed all the people who have a connection to my former self.

Which is of course total BS, but I suppose rationality really just doesn't feature in these sorts of emotional messes.

~Simone,
     Model of Mental Wellness.

hey Simone,

i dunno what to say, except, hiya, how ah ya? i miss talking to you. it is normal to get depressed at times, especially for women, so just try and remain calm, ride it out, don't panic. patience is good, panickin' is bad.

-ellie

My 10 year old carries an old picture of who i used to be in his wallet. He cherish that picture and i let him have it. I dont feel anything when i look at it. I don't wish that my son can have that persona back either..No parental Guilt for transitioning i guess.


I cried and said my Good bye's to him.  It's just grief and that's normal  :)

Hugs,

Mine has pics of me from before, too. I felt mean when i even *thought* about taking them away. For awhile I asked her not to show them to other people but now i'm like "Pfft, yeah, that was me." Still looks like a familiar stranger tho

Quote from: Robin_p on November 17, 2008, 04:32:50 PM
My 10 year old carries an old picture of who i used to be in his wallet. He cherish that picture and i let him have it. I dont feel anything when i look at it. I don't wish that my son can have that persona back either..No parental Guilt for transitioning i guess.


I cried and said my Good bye's to him.  It's just grief and that's normal  :)

Hugs,

Quote from: lady amarant on November 17, 2008, 04:40:39 AM
Can anybody else relate, or am I just waaaaaaaaay off the reservation here.

Since coming home my life has not exactly been ... stable. Now I'm one of those busy people - when I'm sad or frustrated or angry ... I clean. I suppose it's better than drinking huh?

So I was tidying my mom's bookcases and I got into old photo-albums ... and since then I've just been in a weird place. This happened a while ago already, but I just didn't know how to share it.

Anyway, I looked at old photos of me as a baby, as a toddler, and it was like looking at a stranger. Even more recent photos, like school and early university - they're another person, somebody else. My long term personal memory has always been very poor, to say the least, so the experiences and memories one would normally attach to pictures - not really there for me, except for recent stuff, like over the last few years. It really is like the moments those photos captured were of somebody else.

And it makes me SO sad and I feel so guilty. This little boy in the pictures - I'm killing him. What he is and was, I am slowly unmaking. And I don't get it - in my mind I know that past is my past, and that it IS a past. There is nobody there TO kill. It's just a memory. But in my heart it feels like I'm murdering, and I can't not do so, cause otherwise I die, and he does too anyway.

I don't know, explaining it it doesn't even sound right, but it's the best I can do. It's like, just, I don't know. I wish that little boy could have been normal, so he could've been happy. I wish I could separate myself from him, so he wouldn't have to die. I just wish things were different.

~Simone.

Simone,

People like us we don't have an easy life and it's something we have to learn to contend with unfortunately. The joy we feel in embracing our true selves sometimes belies the fact that it comes with scars. Like people who have gone through terrible ordeals to become adults, wars or rapes, we gaze into the innocence of our childhood eyes and wonder why things didn't just turn out right. In our case, why that little boy didn't have a nice little boy life or why are we looking at a little boy when we we should be looking at a happy little girl.
It's not "murdering", it's doing the best we can with what we came to through the accidents of birth.

Hold on there sweetie, all the sweetness that little kid had is still there with you, it's pretty obvious :)

**megahugs**

Quote from: soldierjane on November 18, 2008, 12:36:18 PM
Hold on there sweetie, all the sweetness that little kid had is still there with you, it's pretty obvious :)

**megahugs**

You know what? You're such a sweetheart.

Hugs.




Posted on: 18 November 2008, 13:39:19

---

I think at least some of this sadness is what I'm picking up from my family, especially my mom. Though she accepts and supports my transition, she made me swear not to destroy any old photos, insisting they were hers, not mine. For my own part, I think I'm probably mourning missed opportunities to have sorted out my gender issues earlier. It's like, as a consequence of only getting on the path to transition in my late 20's, I have no history, no childhood of my own, which sucks. All of those memories are his.

A friend in another forum pointed out that it's really puberty that does the killing, if there is any killing to be done, and he makes a good point. I mean, my early childhood was actually fairly easy. I grew up alone in the countryside with my mom, where I was allowed to just be myself and accepted for that, and then when I went to school, I was shielded from most of the bad stuff by my mom and dad's intervention (many was the time they fought with Mr. Van Vuuren over me not wanting to play rugby or refusing to get a haircut or being "sag". I didn't even grasp the difference between boys and girls till I was quite old. I just always assumed the difference was in the hair.

When puberty came around though, the folks couldn't protect me from my own body. It was around that time that I also started running into crises of faith, which prompted me into quite a morbid little cycle of shame. The religion went away, but the shame stayed.

Anyways, thanks everybody for the responses. They've given me quite a bit to think about.

~Simone.

I've always felt like it was the boy in me that sat in the corner, waiting for someone to notice him, while the girl ran about and was happy. This girl was not me, but at the time I did not notice it. But when I found that boy alone in the corner, I saw through the fake that was the girl. She had no heart, no soul. She didn't feel anything, she was just there to blind me from the truth. She's still there, but only to keep up the mask. She still is nothing, just a lifeless doll, now meant to fool everyone else. The boy stands behind her, ready to step up when the mask is no longer needed. That poor boy is me. I just wish I could get rid of the mask that binds my physical body to my anguish, and show everyone who I really am. Someday he will be able to come out of the shadows, and see the sun.

I'm not detached from myself when I was living as a male. I mean, that wasn't a different person. That was me, just younger.

I treasure all the parts of my life.  The little boy who had little girl thoughts, the teenage boy who dated girls, but was afterall, lesbian, the man who tried, and succeeded, until Beverly won.  I treasure who I am now.  All of those people were me.


Bev

Quote from: Miss Bev on November 25, 2008, 12:53:20 PM
I treasure all the parts of my life.  The little boy who had little girl thoughts, the teenage boy who dated girls, but was afterall, lesbian, the man who tried, and succeeded, until Beverly won.  I treasure who I am now.  All of those people were me.


Bev

*applause* [:hug:]

Quote from: lady amarant on November 17, 2008, 04:40:39 AM
I wish I could separate myself from him, so he wouldn't have to die. I just wish things were different.

~Simone.

It's cliche to us, but just think of it in terms of the butterfly scenario... you are evolving, not killing a part of yourself - that part of you will always be there.  I think society sometimes forces us to try and "separate" ourselves, when in fact we are inseparable... well, that's at least how I feel about myself - I am me regardless of how I am presenting, though I would prefer to present as female full-time.  I may be dressed in drab, but I'm still Keri..... ;)

Quote from: The_Unforgiven on November 23, 2008, 12:38:11 AM
I've always felt like it was the boy in me that sat in the corner, waiting for someone to notice him, while the girl ran about and was happy. This girl was not me, but at the time I did not notice it. But when I found that boy alone in the corner, I saw through the fake that was the girl. She had no heart, no soul. She didn't feel anything, she was just there to blind me from the truth. She's still there, but only to keep up the mask. She still is nothing, just a lifeless doll, now meant to fool everyone else. The boy stands behind her, ready to step up when the mask is no longer needed. That poor boy is me. I just wish I could get rid of the mask that binds my physical body to my anguish, and show everyone who I really am. Someday he will be able to come out of the shadows, and see the sun.

Reverse each "boy" and "girl" in that quote, and you've managed to capture a process of feelings that I myself have found myself thinking.

I'm not a boy. I thought I was at one time, I pretended to be, but then I noticed that I wasn't. It's all just been a facade. The real me has since come to her own and learned to live behind a mask, at least while she has to. She doesn't enjoy the mask, but will admit it's handy to keep around, at least for now. One day she'll be able to walk about without it, free to be herself instead of living in *his* prison. But at least she's there.

For the longest time I really didn't even notice her. I had myself convinced that, aside from a few abnormalities, I was the boy I paraded around as. At around puberty, the girl started to wake up. She moved around and disturbed the fake boy, and finally she managed to draw attention back to herself. She's the real me; the internal boy is a defense mechanism so that she could survive, and the external boy is the prison she was cursed with.

I hate pictures, I avoid getting my picture taken at all costs. I also avoid mirrors and looking directly into any reflective surfaces. I don't want to look at the mask right now; I'm weary of it and would like to walk freely as MYSELF.

I think that everyone of us who has transitioned has thought about our lives before. We all end them or we just extend our lives. For me, it was extension of my life. I was born wrong and I corrected the mistake. I can not change the past but I can embrace it as I have learned about my me through my past. I am who I am now and will, over the future, change who I am. We all transition, some more than others. Mistakes will be made along with successes.
Life is fun and exciting, not knowing what is around the next corner.

Hey Simone, I can understand completely your thoughts about how you feel like a murderer. I feel like somehow or another I'm betraying my friends and family on some level; however I do think that if my friends and family look at me now and then they would see a major difference. I haven't started HRT or went Full-Time yet, but I am much happier now that everyone knows than I was before. Although I wish I didn't have to move out to go Full-time. In truth though, if you saw the way I was in "Male mode" and how I am when I am real, I was a completely different person. My "male-self" was the very embodiment of a man, and yet I was playing the hardest role in life to play, but now I am a lot more happier and I think everyone I know could agree.

I look at the old photos and see some with smiles and some not but that is not what that boy/girl was feeling at the time. I smiled because someone said smile and I was an acommidating child. Mostly what I see though is the eyes and they shout girl. I just cannot look at an old picture without seeling the female that is there. Hugs

Wendy

Huh. Funny this thread should come up.
Was cleaning out an old desk today at one of the sites I support and I found an ID card with my old face on it.
Felt kind a guilty that I had rid the world of an (apparently) fairly normal, well adjusted, smiling guy that was loved by his parents and respected by his male colleagues - and that I'd replaced him with a...a...->-bleeped-<- who is despised by her parents and joked about behind her back at work.

Sometimes I think my old self deserved a better fate.
Like being eaten after trying to jump a Harley over an Olympic swimming pool full of sharks or something.

Quote from: Vexing on December 11, 2008, 09:32:23 PMSometimes I think my old self deserved a better fate.
Like being eaten after trying to jump a Harley over an Olympic swimming pool full of sharks or something.

*chokegigglesnortsputter*

You're bad.

~Simone.

Honey, you are not the murderer of that boy. He was fated to die from natural causes. On the contrary, you're more like his redeemer-- you came along at the right time just as he was dying, and stepped into his life to reanimate his body so it could live a new life.

Sort of like a Barrow-Wight. ;)

Quote from: Vexing on December 11, 2008, 09:32:23 PMSometimes I think my old self deserved a better fate.
Like being eaten after trying to jump a Harley over an Olympic swimming pool full of sharks or something.

[/quote]


lol... awesome.

Re the original question ... see my signature.

And yes. There are many ways that I feel criminal, and I'm trying to get over them.

I think these feelings come partly from a sense that our identities don't really belong to us, but are posessed controlled by others. That's a violation. We should feel no more guilty for destroying our former identity to create a new one than we feel for cracking eggs to make a cake.

Quote from: Alyssa M. on December 15, 2008, 05:37:46 PM
We should feel no more guilty for destroying our former identity to create a new one than we feel for cracking eggs to make a cake.

A vegan would feel pretty guilty about that  :-\

Ummm ... sometimes I feel like a murderer when I rip the still-bloody flesh of one of God's blessed creatures with my knife and devour it with my terrible gnashing teeth.

Miser, miser! modo niger et ustus fortiter! Nunc in scutella iaceo, et volitare nequeo; dentes frendentes video!!!

~Alyssa :icon_chick:

Sometimes I Feel Like a Murderer?

Well the thought had crossed my mind during my early transitioning, before I came out full time. Anyway here is a repeat performance of my story for any of who may not have read my story before.

I guess that would be 10 years ago now, well, it was a few years before I started my full time. I came home and kicked my shoes off and sat on the couch to relax and begin my daily meditations.

I found myself floating in a thick grey fog, then a short time later I felt my feet touching some type of surface. I thought I had heard something in the distance and stopped stalk still to listen more intently for the sound I thought I had heard. I could hear what sounded  like the soft sobbing of a child, the sound was much closer then I had first thought.

I followed the sobbing until I saw the small hunched-over form of a young child. The child stopped whimpering momentarily, maybe sensing my presence, then resumed her whimpering again. Her shoulders shaking at each whimper. It was a little girl. She wore a blue dress with white frilly sleeves and hem and had two blue ribbons in her hair. To my judgment the little girl was not much over six years old. She looked up at me with tear-smeared sad eyes. I reached out to embrace her in my arms but as soon as I touched her it was like an electrical shock, I was sent flying backwards through the thick fog once more where I found myself drifting in that same grey void I had arrived in.

A short time latter the fog thinned and was whisked away as though by a strong wind, I was once again able to see my surroundings. My surroundings were not immediately familiar to me until a short time later I found myself back to the days of early childhood. I then began to move like a movie on fast forward, where I seen myself feeling and experiencing every emotional scene from earliest childhood to the present time,  which at the time was the year 2000.

I was overwhelmed by all these feelings I had experienced as I sat there doing the only thing that made sense at the time: releasing it through the most profound soul depth cry I had ever had before in my life.

The next vision I had was not long after the first one.

Possibly a year later, just prior to my going full time, I again was sitting on the couch meditating,  and once again found myself floating in the grey fog. When the fog cleared and I looked about to get my bearings on my surroundings. From the fog emerged another dark form. The form wore some type of cloak and stood on a large triangularly shaped stone slab holding a broad sword point down on the stone slab. I thought that odd, no warrior would treat their sword thusly   

I approached the dark form, and suddenly it jumped off the stone slab, raising the sword over its head. I was quite aware of the possibility that the intent of this entity whom by now appeared to be quite familiar to me but could not quite place. It never entered my mind that this person may have the intent to impale me with the sword. For some reason I did not fear him, I just stood my ground staring him in the eyes, the eyes as they had been coined, the windows to the soul.

Unmoved and unafraid I watched intently this warrior's every movements and actions action as he took another couple of steps forward. I could see his face clearly now and as the full realization and recognition suddenly sunk in, sending tiny tendrils of goose flesh all over me. A slight breeze arose, ruffling my long hair and ruffling the hem of my long skirts. I continued standing transfixed before this warrior whom I knew to be part of me in a previous life.. 

This man lowered the sword, holding it in both hands before him, he then knelt down on his right knee and placed the broad sword on the ground before him, then stood up straight as a soldier and proclaimed that he would fight no more. I was expecting some type of military salute or something but he only stood very straight and still for a couple of seconds studying me. Then turned and walked back toward the stone slab, took his cloak off and draped the stone slab with it, then climbed up and laid on his cloak and within a few second he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Cindy emerged a short time later. And yes, that was the first time in my life that I had actually seen myself in any type of manifestation in a dream, and it was the last time. Cindy was on her own, but then Cindy truly loves her life. It has been a truly wonderful journey, experience and discovery of who I truly am. Maybe someday I will write my story in it's entirety.       

Cindy

I've never had that kind of a vision, but I have seen myself vividly at times in lives that suddenly and viscerally seem as though they ought to have been mine -- twice, in particular, at holidays while visiting with families much like mine --a  smart nerdy dad, strong independent mom, three beautiful confident girls .... that middle girl, whose very life convicts me of her murder in my own family.

It suddenly strikes me as a new reason that Wilfred Owen's "Strange Meeting" affects me so much:

QuoteIt seemed that out of battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which titanic wars had groined.

Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then ,as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands, as if to bless.

...

'Strange friend,' I said, 'here is no cause to mourn.'
'None,' said that other, 'save the undone years,
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world,
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something had been left,
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold

...

I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark: for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.

Quote from: Vexing on December 15, 2008, 05:45:08 PM

Quote from: Alyssa M. on December 15, 2008, 05:37:46 PM
We should feel no more guilty for destroying our former identity to create a new one than we feel for cracking eggs to make a cake.

A vegan would feel pretty guilty about that  :-\

LOLOLOL!

Good point! :P

~Simone.

As I have said to friends, in the past .  The same person is still here, just a different package.  Granted that the mind is now more feminine-functioning.  And some of the things that 'he' liked to do, I could care less for now.  But did I kill him?  No he just moved on and let me become the person I was meant to be.

Janet