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.

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