I had the wrong reasons to Transition.

[hurin19067]

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1I7Low6pq-sH72qEh3VzSOgYEfxwij3KlgYMw8uIwhac/edit

May have some adult language. ^^^^

Rebellion, self-hatred by proxy, and loathing all men because my father was, well, loathsome. I've been chatting in the forum as "maraTS" and actually made a new FB ID, a new tumblr blog, and a new yahoo email, etc to escape from the ID I created as a male.

I still identify somewhat as transgendered but I took the time to mellow out and evaluate myself more freely. I cultivated a new self under the pen-name "Michael Owen Reeve" and went to support groups as "Mick". At times I expressed my divergent views about stuff and was met with skeptical laughter.

I'm somewhat proud of who I am now. It's not perfectly who I am and I have a lead that I might have Klinefelter's syndrome. So even my chromosomes are trying to tell me something. I look in the mirror and have a sense "that's not what I really wanna look like" but finances are low at this point.

I'm not the kinda woman who values her looks much or clothes because I never had the chance to cultivate those pursuits growing up raised male. I ninja through life stealthly and don't make waves. I'm mentally ill and on social security disability. Being poor sucks.

I had studied General Communications in college but don't want to work with the straight media or video tape straight weddings. I remained asexual most of my life to avoid diseases and to not get any girls pregnant.

I'm an uncle but don't feel fulfilled by it. My mother has severe dementia now and she was the only family member I had any love for. I feel the need to divorce myself from this current existence in obscurity. I wish to capture my freedom.


should I warble??

[Tanya W]

I feel the need to divorce myself from this current existence in obscurity. I wish to capture my freedom.

I love this passage!

I understand there is much pain in these words, but such beauty too. Maybe this is part of the gift of this place, of community, of opening to one another - very often after lifetimes in 'obscurity' - the chance to realize our lives, hard as they might have been and hard as they might be, are capable of singing such beautiful songs.

I wish you the best.

[hurin19067]

I love this passage!

I understand there is much pain in these words, but such beauty too. Maybe this is part of the gift of this place, of community, of opening to one another - very often after lifetimes in 'obscurity' - the chance to realize our lives, hard as they might have been and hard as they might be, are capable of singing such beautiful songs.

I wish you the best.

Does that have to do with the Elvis stuff? I can only do it with karaoke unfortunately since I can never remember all the words.

It's easy to open up online, though. It's a world apart from the "real world." I can imagine myself as one of my characters from a MMORPG just as easily. And if I try a little harder to imagine, I can imagine...

Well, I can imagine...

The dwarf king Zandegoz sits atop a chair hewn from pearls. It is late, he is sipping wine from his helmet with the prodigious horns upon it. Having drunken himself into a stupor, he stirs from sleep, opening one eye with much effort.

"Who goes there?" he asks. His other eye opens and through the fog of his intoxication, he sees me looking at him as I stand invisibly in his throne room. None of the other drunken rebellers see me.

"Ah, it is you, friend-story teller!" he says quietly. He tosses his helm at me and it passes through my ethereal form, clashing against the wall behind me.

I say not a word.

The guards make feeble attempts to rise from the floor, but slip upon their own meed. If I had been an assassin, the King of the Dwarves would surely be dead this night.

Sensing my narration, Zandegoz nods his head. "Oh, I would be. But at least I would not be bored, sitting her waiting for you to put me back into your stories!" He's grumpy, as I can tell. "Grumpy!?!?! Grumpy!?!?! You nearly killed me off and decided to write me back in later, but later has not happened YET!"

The king's jester, an old man in motley, rises from his seat at the foot of the dais upon which the pearl chair is set. He is delirious from the effects of some kind of substance he has been abusing. "BUGS! SPIDERS! RAINBOWS! When will I stop seeing these delusions!"

With that, I bow to the jester & the King and leave them be...

The end for now.   

[Morgan Madison]

Thank you for sharing yourself in this way.  I haven't read your account yet, but I really look forward to it.