-
"Take a deep breath. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. My son is stubborn and I know he can get through this. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be sad, but don’t you dare let this stop you. Don’t you dare let anything hold you back. And I’m really sorry if I’ve ever been the one to hold you back. You give ‘em hell, kid."— My Dad.I don't know why that one is there. But I had put this on my tumblr so I guess that could be why. I just got off the phone with my Dad where I told him all of my lovely feelings from the post below. This is what he said. Yeah, big moment, because a month ago at Twin Cities Pride I called to talk to my parents and my Dad said I don't even want to hear from you. I have nothing to say to you. Just talk to your Mom.We've never really gone on father son bonding type trips. When I was a kid, he used to take me fishing. Once I hit puberty at 8, he stopped. Today he told me he's not going back to Antarctica. He's taking care of me. He lost his sister about a month ago. My cousin is dying, and I'm fighting for my life as well.He said you're more important and I need to get you better. And we can go on fishing trips like we used to, remember those, Blake? He used my name. He used my pronouns. I think being sick has given him a new perspective. And I want to take my son out for a beer. So you can't give up, ever. Don't you dare throw in the towel.It's funny because my Dad is no where near religious. But he's helping me to restore my faith just a little bit. It's been so shaken. But I think I'm starting to get my footing back.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Father Son Time.
Exit Wounds.
Tomorrow morning is another set of blood labs and another round of
hormones. I feel like I’m falling apart. I take naps in the day and
fall asleep for hours. Friends will text me in the middle of it and I
will text back later, sorry, passed out again. They say, it’s okay, you
probably just need sleep. I feel like I’ve let them down.
The surgery didn’t kill it all. It had already spread to my bloodstream. Hence the hormones and the lab tests. Hence me sleeping all the time. I’m exhausted. And yet at night, I still have a hard time closing my eyes. Once I’m out, I sleep like the dead. But in the middle of the day, I find myself passing out everywhere. I just can’t sleep at night like a normal person.
I’m getting depressed. I’m upset. I’m pissed at some god somewhere I can’t believe in because they let me go through all of this shit. Being trans* and being sick and having to give up being pregnant. It’s not something I even really wanted, but it doesn’t matter because it was taken away. I’m pissed at the loss. I’m pissed because there’s a part of me that I now get to miss out on. The other day I was in target with my Mom and I began to get sad. Maybe because we were in the baby section because one of her co-workers was going to have a kid. And I was maybe just upset because I don’t fit into societies script. She sees me start to get sad and I try to hide it, but she says, you can always adopt.
I just hate that I’ve had to go through all of this shit. I didn’t get a choice. I didn’t get to have things be easier. Truthfully, I know I’d be a great Dad. I used to nanny all of the time. It’s not even about having a kid biologically, it’s just that things were taken away from me and I’m pissed. I want justice. I look at my younger sister and I just want what she has.
She’s like the epitome of girl. She’s smart and she’s talented and she’s pretty. She has long hair and she buys into Womanhood. She has a boyfriend of two years, and he’s wonderful. She doesn’t have all these scars. I do. She can have the life you’re supposed to have, the one you realize you are supposed to have at an early age. I never could.
And sometimes, I get the urge to try to be like her. I told my Mom this today. She said why would you do that? Blake is awesome. Blake is who you are. Don’t be Trish. Don’t be your sister. Be you. Be Blake. I get the urge to grow out my hair again and be feminine and normal. But I’m not normal. And I hate that. I hate that this is what society calls for normalcy.
I don’t dare tell my Dad any of this. But I’m scared. I know he’s scared. I can hear it in his voice every time he calls me 20 times a day. I saw it when I drove back to Minnesota for the 4th of July. I saw it when I came home at midnight. I saw it when he tries to hide it. He’s scared.
I’m tired. I’m angry. I’m hurting. I cried myself to sleep the last 2 nights in a row. Maybe it’s the hormones. Maybe it’s just me. I’m freaking out about how the hell am I going to do my classes when I’m sick all the damn time? I’m still sick. Yeah, all the pain is gone because the tumor is gone, but I’m still sick. I’m still hurting. And I just feel so alone because I feel like no one understands how I feel. No one understands that I’m upset. I’m sitting here crying as I write this, and I freaking hate crying. And I hate complaining. I hate talking about it because I feel like I’m being a burden on everyone I live with and they already do so much for me.
I just want to hide away sometimes. I feel like I’m letting people down because I’m not strong and because I’m still fighting and I’m sitting here crying and I don’t know why the hell I’m so upset but I am. Sometimes, I just feel like letting the heaviness take me under, but that’s just really chicken shittish and so I don’t. I’m not a coward. I just want to be okay. But I know that I need to hang on, and as exhausting as it is, it’s what I’m trying to do.
The surgery didn’t kill it all. It had already spread to my bloodstream. Hence the hormones and the lab tests. Hence me sleeping all the time. I’m exhausted. And yet at night, I still have a hard time closing my eyes. Once I’m out, I sleep like the dead. But in the middle of the day, I find myself passing out everywhere. I just can’t sleep at night like a normal person.
I’m getting depressed. I’m upset. I’m pissed at some god somewhere I can’t believe in because they let me go through all of this shit. Being trans* and being sick and having to give up being pregnant. It’s not something I even really wanted, but it doesn’t matter because it was taken away. I’m pissed at the loss. I’m pissed because there’s a part of me that I now get to miss out on. The other day I was in target with my Mom and I began to get sad. Maybe because we were in the baby section because one of her co-workers was going to have a kid. And I was maybe just upset because I don’t fit into societies script. She sees me start to get sad and I try to hide it, but she says, you can always adopt.
I just hate that I’ve had to go through all of this shit. I didn’t get a choice. I didn’t get to have things be easier. Truthfully, I know I’d be a great Dad. I used to nanny all of the time. It’s not even about having a kid biologically, it’s just that things were taken away from me and I’m pissed. I want justice. I look at my younger sister and I just want what she has.
She’s like the epitome of girl. She’s smart and she’s talented and she’s pretty. She has long hair and she buys into Womanhood. She has a boyfriend of two years, and he’s wonderful. She doesn’t have all these scars. I do. She can have the life you’re supposed to have, the one you realize you are supposed to have at an early age. I never could.
And sometimes, I get the urge to try to be like her. I told my Mom this today. She said why would you do that? Blake is awesome. Blake is who you are. Don’t be Trish. Don’t be your sister. Be you. Be Blake. I get the urge to grow out my hair again and be feminine and normal. But I’m not normal. And I hate that. I hate that this is what society calls for normalcy.
I don’t dare tell my Dad any of this. But I’m scared. I know he’s scared. I can hear it in his voice every time he calls me 20 times a day. I saw it when I drove back to Minnesota for the 4th of July. I saw it when I came home at midnight. I saw it when he tries to hide it. He’s scared.
I’m tired. I’m angry. I’m hurting. I cried myself to sleep the last 2 nights in a row. Maybe it’s the hormones. Maybe it’s just me. I’m freaking out about how the hell am I going to do my classes when I’m sick all the damn time? I’m still sick. Yeah, all the pain is gone because the tumor is gone, but I’m still sick. I’m still hurting. And I just feel so alone because I feel like no one understands how I feel. No one understands that I’m upset. I’m sitting here crying as I write this, and I freaking hate crying. And I hate complaining. I hate talking about it because I feel like I’m being a burden on everyone I live with and they already do so much for me.
I just want to hide away sometimes. I feel like I’m letting people down because I’m not strong and because I’m still fighting and I’m sitting here crying and I don’t know why the hell I’m so upset but I am. Sometimes, I just feel like letting the heaviness take me under, but that’s just really chicken shittish and so I don’t. I’m not a coward. I just want to be okay. But I know that I need to hang on, and as exhausting as it is, it’s what I’m trying to do.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Shake It Out.
Regrets collect like old friends
Here to relive your darkest moments
I can see no way, I can see no way
And all of the ghouls come out to play
And every demon wants his pound of flesh
But I like to keep some things to myself
I like to keep my issues drawn
It's always darkest before the dawn
And I've been a fool and I've been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I'm always dragging that horse around
Our love is questioned, such a mournful sound
Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground
So I like to keep my issues drawn
But it's always darkest before the dawn
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa
And I am done with my graceless heart
So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart
'Cause I like to keep my issues drawn
It's always darkest before the dawn
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
And given half the chance would I take any of it back
It's a fine romance but it's left me so undone
It's always darkest before the dawn
Oh whoa, oh whoa...
And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't
So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road
And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope
It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat
'Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me
Looking for heaven, found the devil in me
Well what the hell I'm gonna let it happen to me, yeah
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa
-Shake It Out by Florence+The Machines.
I'm in North Carolina. I moved here for the rest of summer. A bunch of things went down. I had a hysterectomy on Friday. I know, you're not supposed to start transitioning with bottom surgery, but I guess I had to do things a little backwards. That's a joke. I had a 6cm tumor on my right ovary. They were able to save the left. I'm doing better now. I was discharged a day early, but moved to be with my parents.
My aunt passed away about 2 weeks ago. It's been really hard.
I'm going back to St. Cloud once school starts and digging myself out of the hole. A big thing has been letting go of people that cause nothing but drama. I'm excited to see where I will be a year from now. Hard to believe it was a year that I left.
Here's to letting go.
Here to relive your darkest moments
I can see no way, I can see no way
And all of the ghouls come out to play
And every demon wants his pound of flesh
But I like to keep some things to myself
I like to keep my issues drawn
It's always darkest before the dawn
And I've been a fool and I've been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I'm always dragging that horse around
Our love is questioned, such a mournful sound
Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground
So I like to keep my issues drawn
But it's always darkest before the dawn
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa
And I am done with my graceless heart
So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart
'Cause I like to keep my issues drawn
It's always darkest before the dawn
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
And given half the chance would I take any of it back
It's a fine romance but it's left me so undone
It's always darkest before the dawn
Oh whoa, oh whoa...
And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't
So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road
And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope
It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat
'Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me
Looking for heaven, found the devil in me
Well what the hell I'm gonna let it happen to me, yeah
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa
-Shake It Out by Florence+The Machines.
I'm in North Carolina. I moved here for the rest of summer. A bunch of things went down. I had a hysterectomy on Friday. I know, you're not supposed to start transitioning with bottom surgery, but I guess I had to do things a little backwards. That's a joke. I had a 6cm tumor on my right ovary. They were able to save the left. I'm doing better now. I was discharged a day early, but moved to be with my parents.
My aunt passed away about 2 weeks ago. It's been really hard.
I'm going back to St. Cloud once school starts and digging myself out of the hole. A big thing has been letting go of people that cause nothing but drama. I'm excited to see where I will be a year from now. Hard to believe it was a year that I left.
Here's to letting go.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Marilyn Monroe.
I can be selfish
Yeah, so impatient
Sometimes I feel like Marilyn Monroe
I’m insecure yeah I make mistakes
Sometimes I feel like I’m at the end of the road
I can get low I can get low
Don’t know which way is up
Yeah I can get high, I can get high
Like I could never come down
Call it a curse
Or just call me blessed
If you can’t handle my worst
You ain’t getting my best
Is this how Marilyn Monroe felt felt felt felt?
Must be how Marilyn Monroe felt felt felt felt
Its like all the good things
They fall apart like…
Like Marilyn Monroe
Truth is we mess up
Till we get it right
I don't want to end up losing my soul
I can get low, I can get low
Don’t know which way is up
Yea I can get high, I can get high
Like I could never come down
Call it a curse
Or just call me blessed
If you can’t handle my worst
You ain’t getting my best
Is this how Marilyn Monroe felt felt felt felt?
Must be how Marilyn Monroe felt felt felt felt
Take me or leave me
I’ll never be perfect
Believe me I’m worth it
So take me or leave me
(So take me or leave me)
So take me or leave me
(So take me or leave me)
Call it a curse or just call
Me blessed if you can't handle
My worst you ain't getting my best
Is this how Marilyn Monroe felt, felt
Felt, felt? Must be how Marilyn Monroe felt,
Felt, felt, felt
Is this how Marilyn Monroe
Felt, felt, felt, felt must be how
Marilyn Monroe felt, felt, felt, felt?
-Marilyn Monroe by Nicki Minaj.
Last night I came out to a lot of people about being Trans* and I was surprised that if people had negative comments, they didn't make them. But, that's not what I want to talk about right now. Yes, it is amazing that I've had support. I also haven't. But honestly, I'm at the point where I know who I am and who I'm not. I'm Blake. Get to know Blake, or there's the door. If you can't handle who I am, the real me, struggling to be a man when society calls for me to be a woman, then take me or leave me. I'm never gonna be perfect, but I'm still worth it and just take me or leave me. If you take me, take me exactly the way I am, flaws and all. If you leave me, then leave me. I just can't handle the in between stuff.
I'm me. I'm not gonna let anyone tell me who I am is wrong.
Yeah, so impatient
Sometimes I feel like Marilyn Monroe
I’m insecure yeah I make mistakes
Sometimes I feel like I’m at the end of the road
I can get low I can get low
Don’t know which way is up
Yeah I can get high, I can get high
Like I could never come down
Call it a curse
Or just call me blessed
If you can’t handle my worst
You ain’t getting my best
Is this how Marilyn Monroe felt felt felt felt?
Must be how Marilyn Monroe felt felt felt felt
Its like all the good things
They fall apart like…
Like Marilyn Monroe
Truth is we mess up
Till we get it right
I don't want to end up losing my soul
I can get low, I can get low
Don’t know which way is up
Yea I can get high, I can get high
Like I could never come down
Call it a curse
Or just call me blessed
If you can’t handle my worst
You ain’t getting my best
Is this how Marilyn Monroe felt felt felt felt?
Must be how Marilyn Monroe felt felt felt felt
Take me or leave me
I’ll never be perfect
Believe me I’m worth it
So take me or leave me
(So take me or leave me)
So take me or leave me
(So take me or leave me)
Call it a curse or just call
Me blessed if you can't handle
My worst you ain't getting my best
Is this how Marilyn Monroe felt, felt
Felt, felt? Must be how Marilyn Monroe felt,
Felt, felt, felt
Is this how Marilyn Monroe
Felt, felt, felt, felt must be how
Marilyn Monroe felt, felt, felt, felt?
-Marilyn Monroe by Nicki Minaj.
Last night I came out to a lot of people about being Trans* and I was surprised that if people had negative comments, they didn't make them. But, that's not what I want to talk about right now. Yes, it is amazing that I've had support. I also haven't. But honestly, I'm at the point where I know who I am and who I'm not. I'm Blake. Get to know Blake, or there's the door. If you can't handle who I am, the real me, struggling to be a man when society calls for me to be a woman, then take me or leave me. I'm never gonna be perfect, but I'm still worth it and just take me or leave me. If you take me, take me exactly the way I am, flaws and all. If you leave me, then leave me. I just can't handle the in between stuff.
I'm me. I'm not gonna let anyone tell me who I am is wrong.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
1 year... Plus Kitty Minaj.
On June 3, it was one year since my Grandma passed away. I remember blogging about it. I remember speaking at her funeral. I remember crying my eyes out and my Dad and my Granddad having to get me out of the room after she left. I remember saying goodbye and it was really tough.
I didn't want to live without her. I still wish I could call her up. I can't. Recently, I visited my parents in North Carolina for a month. Did I post about that? I can't remember. It was hard. My parents hadn't had the time I've had to get used to me because they don't live with me and they don't see me every day. It's hard for them to use pronouns and my name.
Anyway, I was looking through family photos and it was weird because my Grandma and I looked so alike. We had the same facial expressions. While I was visiting, I decided to re-read Harry Potter. And something one of my favorite characters said really stuck out to me.
When that character died when I was in the 7th grade, it took me years to be able to keep reading.
I mean, the thing is, we don't really want to say goodbye. Death can be sad. It can be hard. I miss my Grandma every day. But he's right, you know? My Grandma is still with me. She's there every time I miss her and I have a feeling that she would still love me as Blake, had she met me.
In the year since I lost her, I've grown so much as a person. I've made mistakes. I lived my life as a borderline alcoholic for a while. I have to take next semester off from school. I have lost friends and pushed God to the sidelines. I came out as transgender. I've been assaulted. I've gained new friends. I've become more secure in myself.
And today, I got a kitty with one of my best friends, Cassi. She's also transgender and my roommate. We call him Kitty Minaj. You see, life happens whether you want it to or not. Things happen and people die and it sucks. Sometimes life is shit. Sometimes it's not. But it's always worth it. Sometimes it's new things like your cat playing with your shoe that remind you to hold on. Sometimes it comes in books I finally have the courage to finish. Sometimes you listen to a song and you're like, oh yeah, that's why I'm alive.
I know I've made some mistakes, but you know what? It's all a part of the process. And I'm gonna be okay.
I didn't want to live without her. I still wish I could call her up. I can't. Recently, I visited my parents in North Carolina for a month. Did I post about that? I can't remember. It was hard. My parents hadn't had the time I've had to get used to me because they don't live with me and they don't see me every day. It's hard for them to use pronouns and my name.
Anyway, I was looking through family photos and it was weird because my Grandma and I looked so alike. We had the same facial expressions. While I was visiting, I decided to re-read Harry Potter. And something one of my favorite characters said really stuck out to me.
When that character died when I was in the 7th grade, it took me years to be able to keep reading.
I mean, the thing is, we don't really want to say goodbye. Death can be sad. It can be hard. I miss my Grandma every day. But he's right, you know? My Grandma is still with me. She's there every time I miss her and I have a feeling that she would still love me as Blake, had she met me.
In the year since I lost her, I've grown so much as a person. I've made mistakes. I lived my life as a borderline alcoholic for a while. I have to take next semester off from school. I have lost friends and pushed God to the sidelines. I came out as transgender. I've been assaulted. I've gained new friends. I've become more secure in myself.
And today, I got a kitty with one of my best friends, Cassi. She's also transgender and my roommate. We call him Kitty Minaj. You see, life happens whether you want it to or not. Things happen and people die and it sucks. Sometimes life is shit. Sometimes it's not. But it's always worth it. Sometimes it's new things like your cat playing with your shoe that remind you to hold on. Sometimes it comes in books I finally have the courage to finish. Sometimes you listen to a song and you're like, oh yeah, that's why I'm alive.
I know I've made some mistakes, but you know what? It's all a part of the process. And I'm gonna be okay.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Big Moment.
I did something today that I guess my Mom thought made me like my
Dad, and she turns to me and says, “Are you sure your name is Blake, not
Steve?” Steve is my Dad’s name. I smile, and answer, “Mom, you just
realized what you’ve done? You’ve opened a wormhole.”
“What?”
“You called me Blake.”
“Well yeah, I called you Blake.
That’s what you want to be called, isn’t it? Blake Ryan?”
“Well, you don’t have to add the middle name, I’m not in trouble.” I smile.
“You feel like you are Blake right?” I nod. “That’s who you are. In the 3 weeks that you’ve been here, I’ve realized that Blake is here to stay, and Trish isn’t coming back. And that’s okay, I guess. I guess it’s something we need to live with because I just want you to be happy, you know. I don’t want you to feel like you aren’t welcome in your parents house. Or that when we go to see your Grandparents for Christmas this year, that you need to make up excuses on why you can’t come, or that when you do go that you have to pretend to be Trish for us. Blake’s a pretty cool kid. I’m not saying flaunt being a transgender, flaunt being Blake, because that’s kind of obnoxious, not that you are doing that, but just be Blake and they’ll come around. You’re still a part of our family.”
“So, does that mean you’re cool with it, with me being Blake?”
“Well, I’ve accepted it. It’s not what I would have chosen for you. Because there can be really cruel people out there and I can’t imagine physically transitioning is easy. But I love you, you’re my child. That doesn’t change even if your gender does. But I’m still the same on I’m not paying for a sex change if you decide to go that route. If you want something bad enough, you can work for it.”
So that, my friends, is my big moment.
I just want to let everyone know, that there are people that surprise you, every day. There are people out there who accept you no matter who you are. I know it can seem rare when you are hurting. Hell, a month ago, my parents told me I was no longer their child and you can see how they've come around. There are good things in the world, even when things seem so hard and cruel and you just want to give up. Please don't, please hold on.
“What?”
“You called me Blake.”
“Well yeah, I called you Blake.
That’s what you want to be called, isn’t it? Blake Ryan?”
“Well, you don’t have to add the middle name, I’m not in trouble.” I smile.
“You feel like you are Blake right?” I nod. “That’s who you are. In the 3 weeks that you’ve been here, I’ve realized that Blake is here to stay, and Trish isn’t coming back. And that’s okay, I guess. I guess it’s something we need to live with because I just want you to be happy, you know. I don’t want you to feel like you aren’t welcome in your parents house. Or that when we go to see your Grandparents for Christmas this year, that you need to make up excuses on why you can’t come, or that when you do go that you have to pretend to be Trish for us. Blake’s a pretty cool kid. I’m not saying flaunt being a transgender, flaunt being Blake, because that’s kind of obnoxious, not that you are doing that, but just be Blake and they’ll come around. You’re still a part of our family.”
“So, does that mean you’re cool with it, with me being Blake?”
“Well, I’ve accepted it. It’s not what I would have chosen for you. Because there can be really cruel people out there and I can’t imagine physically transitioning is easy. But I love you, you’re my child. That doesn’t change even if your gender does. But I’m still the same on I’m not paying for a sex change if you decide to go that route. If you want something bad enough, you can work for it.”
So that, my friends, is my big moment.
I just want to let everyone know, that there are people that surprise you, every day. There are people out there who accept you no matter who you are. I know it can seem rare when you are hurting. Hell, a month ago, my parents told me I was no longer their child and you can see how they've come around. There are good things in the world, even when things seem so hard and cruel and you just want to give up. Please don't, please hold on.
Monday, May 21, 2012
What The Water Gave Me.
I haven't written in a while. My life has been kind of hectic. I know, I'm visiting my parents in North Carolina. But I've been honestly trying to wrap my head around things. People have been leaving. Or maybe I've been pushing people away. I guess a part of it is normal.
I arrived at my parents house on May 4th. The flight was disorienting. Flying from Minneapolis, trying to get through security, I was told that I wasn't me. They had to check my ID several times. I had the picture taken as Trish. She was almost 19 and living in California. She was with Kevin then. Well, no, she wasn't, because he was still in Minnesota and she had been forced to move. Her Dad took her to the DMV in between classes of her first semester of college. But she was dating Kevin. She texted him the news. It was raining that day. She was in the awkward stage of growing her hair out. She was wearing a pink aeropostale sweat shirt. She hadn't been eating much in months, and was purging almost every meal, and still it wasn't enough for her. She would look in the mirror and try not to cry. "I'm a girl. I'm a straight girl. That's what God wants. That's what you have to be. Be a girl damn it. Be more feminine." This was a year before her surgery to make her chest smaller. A few months later, she began pleading with surgeons to do the procedure she had wanted for years. She had asked for them to completely remove the offending breasts. Her Mom and doctors would tell her that isn't what she really wanted.
Truth be told, Trish wanted to be more masculine. She had spent the summer in between two places, stuck in limbo. The first three weeks after graduation, she was with Kevin. She was with her friends. She went white water rafting with her youth group in Wisconsin. She would play rugby. Fourth of July, Trish moved to California. She came back the last weekend of July for her mission trip. She left for California two weeks later, and then started college.
It just wasn't that she had moved. She just felt sick with her body. It didn't feel right. Maybe that is why she kept purging almost everything she ate. She wanted her body to be smaller, because she didn't like having a feminine body. Because she didn't feel like a girl. But she knew she had a part to play. She didn't think that changing her body to match her mind was an option then. She didn't know that until she was 21 and back in Minnesota. Her life could not be more different.
In the last few months of Trish, she had moved to St. Cloud, Minnesota. She still felt in limbo. She had made friends in California. She missed them. But she missed her old life in Minnetonka, Minnesota, she had clung so heavily to. She missed her old friends. She was still playing a part. She was unhappy. She had moved into an all girls dorm room, the same dorm had housed the PRIDE community. At the start of the year, Trish hadn't been ready to come out yet. She put on a smile and lived with 7 other girls she didn't particularly get along with. They would talk about her behind her back. She would go through the motions. She would go to class, and work at McDonald's, and put on a smile. She would wear make up. She would dress feminine. And it was too much to bear.
In the middle of September, she couldn't live a lie anymore. Sitting on her best friends dorm room couch, the same one from high school, the same one who was always there for her, she told him, I can't do this anymore. I can't pretend I'm straight. I'm not. I don't feel right. I can't live there anymore. I want to live in the PRIDE community. I want to be myself. I want to freaking live my life and not in denial. She hastily emailed the residential hall director she had come to know over the last month and came out as bi, and asked to move into the PRIDE community. The last week in her room with the girls was hell. She hardly spent any time there.
A week later, she received an email from her new CA, Lance, saying her request had been granted and she could move in 24 hours. That night, she told her suite mates that she was moving. They were pissed. How could you live with us when you're gay or whatever and not even tell us you are moving when you have known for a week? Trish went back into her room and began to pack.
Over the months, she began to understand that the way she felt was okay. It was okay to feel like her body was wrong. It was okay to feel like she should be masculine. It was okay to take hormones. It was okay to cut her hair. It was okay to pick out a new name. It was okay to realize that Trish just didn't fit her, because she shouldn't have been Trish.
In February, Trish walked into a hair salon with her best friend, Jeff, told the hair stylist, a gay boy named Patrick, that I'm transgender, please shave my head. It was February 22nd. She had come out as Trans* 3 days before. A few weeks later, my first binder shirt came in the mail. It's amazing how much a binder shirt and shaving your head can be such a confidence boost. Because for the first time, I was completely honest with who I am. Who I am not, and who I want to become.
Trish is gone now. Well, not completely, because you can't spend 21 years of your life as someone and then expect her to go *poof* gone. Trish is there every time I try to buy alcohol. Every time I go to the bar I perform in drag at. Every time I have to buy something and they ask for my I.D. Every time I fly some where. Trish shows up. They look at the person standing there awkwardly and double check for Trish every single time. They make me show multiple ID's and then ask if I could please change my picture to a more recent one.
I feel in limbo every time I have to walk into the women's bathroom because my I.D states I'm female. After landing in North Carolina, I decided to go to the bathroom. Wearing a men's polo, a binder shirt underneath, baggy jeans, my old roommates old shoes he gave me, and a Give Blood Play Rugby ball cap, I walk into the women's bathroom because I don't want any trouble if I walk into the men's room. A worker screams at me and tells me I'm in the wrong bathroom.
After the bathroom fiasco, I walk out to the area where I am to be picked up by parents. I haven't seen them since the awkward conversation we had in Perkins in March, where they met Blake for the first time, and my Dad cried and told me not to jump off a bridge. I am waiting when a couple comes up to me and said, sir, may we please borrow your cell phone so we can call our son? I smile, because I am ecstatic whenever people use my proper gender pronouns (pgp's, he's and him's) and hand him my phone. He hangs up, says thank you sir, and hands me two dollars. This is the south, and people are nice. They call you sir or mam. I go back to reading my copy of Rachel Maddow's book Drift when my Dad calls. He tells me that he's running late. I just keep reading and wait for them to see me, the panic growing. A week before, they told me they weren't going to acknowledge me as Blake. I was Trish, and I had to accept that.
It happens every time I am in public, and they use my pgps. I smile, my Dad tries not to be visibly upset and just goes along with it. It happens every time I take a shower. Every time I have to take off my clothes and step into the shower, I try not to stare at my very feminine body and I think, this isn't me. This is Trish. Trish, just go away now. You aren't me. I try not to stare at this chest on my body. I don't look in the mirror when I get dressed. It happens when my Mom took me to the mall for some new clothes and some things for my new house to live in with a few other people. She does well with buying me men's clothes, without question. This is a trip I didn't dare take my Dad on. She began to get uncomfortable when I picked up some boxers. We came to the swimming section. She told me she didn't think there was any way I could pull of being Blake in a pool. Just get a women's suit. I said there was no way in hell I would. I'm not a woman. My Mom thought I was being difficult, but helped me to pick out some men's swim trunks. She even joked with me, saying, if Blake goes swimming this summer, make sure he doesn't go topless, that's illegal.
It happens when my Dad gets uncomfortable at my visual leg hair. I haven't shaved since I was Trish. There is always a reminder that I am stuck in limbo with almost everyone. My parents just want me to go back to being Trish. I can't. Unpacking in my room, I am reminded that when I lived with them, I was a straight girl. Going through the clothes in my room, I realize I don't wear almost anything I owned anymore. Going through family photos, I look at pictures she is in. She feels like a different person, although we share the same body. But even my body is not the same any more. Nothing is the same as when I left 9 months ago.
Nothing is the same because every day I am changing. I am becoming more confident in who I am as Blake. I am becoming more accepting of who I am. My name is Blake, I'm 21 years old, and I am a Female to Male transgender. I haven't started hormones. But I have an appointment with a gender therapist when I get home. I am excited. I am hopeful. I know hormones aren't a magical pill. I know if I have a sex reassignment surgery, it's not a magical answer, either. There is no magical answer. There will always be the people who don't understand. The drunk guy waving a gun at me calling me a fucking tranny. There will always be people in the world who don't understand. I don't always understand it, either. But I live it, every day. Still, I'm mostly happy. I wouldn't ask Blake to go back to being Trish, even if it makes things easier, or safer. Having a gun pointed at me when Blake was 2 weeks old, I realized, Blake can't go back into the closet. I'm not asking to be shot. I'm not holding a sign up saying I'm a tranny, shoot me. I am just trying to live an honest life.
To me, water has always been a sanctuary for me. I was a diver. I swam for 10 years before diving for 3. I have always been a water addict. I was afraid that it would be hard for me to do those things. I realize now, why for the longest time, Trish would stand there in her bathing suit, looking in the mirror trying not to burst into tears. In high school, she had a ritual. She would be the last one to leave the showers after practice. She would turn on the water as hot as it would go, and she would sit down, putting her head down on her knees, and she would feel her body float away. A few times, her team mates asked her why she did that. She had a good reason. Her skin breaks out in a rash from too much chlorine. But the warm water relaxed her, and sometimes, after everyone had left, she would break down and cry. She would then float away and feel her body letting go. It held her back. She hated it.
Standing in my parents shower, I turn the heat on as hot as it goes. I sit down and put my knees up to my chest. I lay my head down and feel my body letting go. I feel the weight of the words people have thrown at me. Homo. Dyke. Tranny. Lez. They don't sting. They are just words. I've taken most of them back. I lay there and feel the water wash away my anger at people for not using my name and pgp's. I feel the weight of being in limbo for so many years, just wanting acceptance, just wanting her body to not deflect, as she felt it had. I let go of the idea that God calls me to be a straight female. God just wants me to be happy and to love like He has loved me. I think God is sick of people throwing ridiculous ideas, as if my gender identity or sexual orientation means He could love me any less. I feel the nasty feelings of confusion and doubt melt away.
I am Blake, and that is what the water gave me.
I arrived at my parents house on May 4th. The flight was disorienting. Flying from Minneapolis, trying to get through security, I was told that I wasn't me. They had to check my ID several times. I had the picture taken as Trish. She was almost 19 and living in California. She was with Kevin then. Well, no, she wasn't, because he was still in Minnesota and she had been forced to move. Her Dad took her to the DMV in between classes of her first semester of college. But she was dating Kevin. She texted him the news. It was raining that day. She was in the awkward stage of growing her hair out. She was wearing a pink aeropostale sweat shirt. She hadn't been eating much in months, and was purging almost every meal, and still it wasn't enough for her. She would look in the mirror and try not to cry. "I'm a girl. I'm a straight girl. That's what God wants. That's what you have to be. Be a girl damn it. Be more feminine." This was a year before her surgery to make her chest smaller. A few months later, she began pleading with surgeons to do the procedure she had wanted for years. She had asked for them to completely remove the offending breasts. Her Mom and doctors would tell her that isn't what she really wanted.
Truth be told, Trish wanted to be more masculine. She had spent the summer in between two places, stuck in limbo. The first three weeks after graduation, she was with Kevin. She was with her friends. She went white water rafting with her youth group in Wisconsin. She would play rugby. Fourth of July, Trish moved to California. She came back the last weekend of July for her mission trip. She left for California two weeks later, and then started college.
It just wasn't that she had moved. She just felt sick with her body. It didn't feel right. Maybe that is why she kept purging almost everything she ate. She wanted her body to be smaller, because she didn't like having a feminine body. Because she didn't feel like a girl. But she knew she had a part to play. She didn't think that changing her body to match her mind was an option then. She didn't know that until she was 21 and back in Minnesota. Her life could not be more different.
In the last few months of Trish, she had moved to St. Cloud, Minnesota. She still felt in limbo. She had made friends in California. She missed them. But she missed her old life in Minnetonka, Minnesota, she had clung so heavily to. She missed her old friends. She was still playing a part. She was unhappy. She had moved into an all girls dorm room, the same dorm had housed the PRIDE community. At the start of the year, Trish hadn't been ready to come out yet. She put on a smile and lived with 7 other girls she didn't particularly get along with. They would talk about her behind her back. She would go through the motions. She would go to class, and work at McDonald's, and put on a smile. She would wear make up. She would dress feminine. And it was too much to bear.
In the middle of September, she couldn't live a lie anymore. Sitting on her best friends dorm room couch, the same one from high school, the same one who was always there for her, she told him, I can't do this anymore. I can't pretend I'm straight. I'm not. I don't feel right. I can't live there anymore. I want to live in the PRIDE community. I want to be myself. I want to freaking live my life and not in denial. She hastily emailed the residential hall director she had come to know over the last month and came out as bi, and asked to move into the PRIDE community. The last week in her room with the girls was hell. She hardly spent any time there.
A week later, she received an email from her new CA, Lance, saying her request had been granted and she could move in 24 hours. That night, she told her suite mates that she was moving. They were pissed. How could you live with us when you're gay or whatever and not even tell us you are moving when you have known for a week? Trish went back into her room and began to pack.
Over the months, she began to understand that the way she felt was okay. It was okay to feel like her body was wrong. It was okay to feel like she should be masculine. It was okay to take hormones. It was okay to cut her hair. It was okay to pick out a new name. It was okay to realize that Trish just didn't fit her, because she shouldn't have been Trish.
In February, Trish walked into a hair salon with her best friend, Jeff, told the hair stylist, a gay boy named Patrick, that I'm transgender, please shave my head. It was February 22nd. She had come out as Trans* 3 days before. A few weeks later, my first binder shirt came in the mail. It's amazing how much a binder shirt and shaving your head can be such a confidence boost. Because for the first time, I was completely honest with who I am. Who I am not, and who I want to become.
Trish is gone now. Well, not completely, because you can't spend 21 years of your life as someone and then expect her to go *poof* gone. Trish is there every time I try to buy alcohol. Every time I go to the bar I perform in drag at. Every time I have to buy something and they ask for my I.D. Every time I fly some where. Trish shows up. They look at the person standing there awkwardly and double check for Trish every single time. They make me show multiple ID's and then ask if I could please change my picture to a more recent one.
I feel in limbo every time I have to walk into the women's bathroom because my I.D states I'm female. After landing in North Carolina, I decided to go to the bathroom. Wearing a men's polo, a binder shirt underneath, baggy jeans, my old roommates old shoes he gave me, and a Give Blood Play Rugby ball cap, I walk into the women's bathroom because I don't want any trouble if I walk into the men's room. A worker screams at me and tells me I'm in the wrong bathroom.
After the bathroom fiasco, I walk out to the area where I am to be picked up by parents. I haven't seen them since the awkward conversation we had in Perkins in March, where they met Blake for the first time, and my Dad cried and told me not to jump off a bridge. I am waiting when a couple comes up to me and said, sir, may we please borrow your cell phone so we can call our son? I smile, because I am ecstatic whenever people use my proper gender pronouns (pgp's, he's and him's) and hand him my phone. He hangs up, says thank you sir, and hands me two dollars. This is the south, and people are nice. They call you sir or mam. I go back to reading my copy of Rachel Maddow's book Drift when my Dad calls. He tells me that he's running late. I just keep reading and wait for them to see me, the panic growing. A week before, they told me they weren't going to acknowledge me as Blake. I was Trish, and I had to accept that.
It happens every time I am in public, and they use my pgps. I smile, my Dad tries not to be visibly upset and just goes along with it. It happens every time I take a shower. Every time I have to take off my clothes and step into the shower, I try not to stare at my very feminine body and I think, this isn't me. This is Trish. Trish, just go away now. You aren't me. I try not to stare at this chest on my body. I don't look in the mirror when I get dressed. It happens when my Mom took me to the mall for some new clothes and some things for my new house to live in with a few other people. She does well with buying me men's clothes, without question. This is a trip I didn't dare take my Dad on. She began to get uncomfortable when I picked up some boxers. We came to the swimming section. She told me she didn't think there was any way I could pull of being Blake in a pool. Just get a women's suit. I said there was no way in hell I would. I'm not a woman. My Mom thought I was being difficult, but helped me to pick out some men's swim trunks. She even joked with me, saying, if Blake goes swimming this summer, make sure he doesn't go topless, that's illegal.
It happens when my Dad gets uncomfortable at my visual leg hair. I haven't shaved since I was Trish. There is always a reminder that I am stuck in limbo with almost everyone. My parents just want me to go back to being Trish. I can't. Unpacking in my room, I am reminded that when I lived with them, I was a straight girl. Going through the clothes in my room, I realize I don't wear almost anything I owned anymore. Going through family photos, I look at pictures she is in. She feels like a different person, although we share the same body. But even my body is not the same any more. Nothing is the same as when I left 9 months ago.
Nothing is the same because every day I am changing. I am becoming more confident in who I am as Blake. I am becoming more accepting of who I am. My name is Blake, I'm 21 years old, and I am a Female to Male transgender. I haven't started hormones. But I have an appointment with a gender therapist when I get home. I am excited. I am hopeful. I know hormones aren't a magical pill. I know if I have a sex reassignment surgery, it's not a magical answer, either. There is no magical answer. There will always be the people who don't understand. The drunk guy waving a gun at me calling me a fucking tranny. There will always be people in the world who don't understand. I don't always understand it, either. But I live it, every day. Still, I'm mostly happy. I wouldn't ask Blake to go back to being Trish, even if it makes things easier, or safer. Having a gun pointed at me when Blake was 2 weeks old, I realized, Blake can't go back into the closet. I'm not asking to be shot. I'm not holding a sign up saying I'm a tranny, shoot me. I am just trying to live an honest life.
To me, water has always been a sanctuary for me. I was a diver. I swam for 10 years before diving for 3. I have always been a water addict. I was afraid that it would be hard for me to do those things. I realize now, why for the longest time, Trish would stand there in her bathing suit, looking in the mirror trying not to burst into tears. In high school, she had a ritual. She would be the last one to leave the showers after practice. She would turn on the water as hot as it would go, and she would sit down, putting her head down on her knees, and she would feel her body float away. A few times, her team mates asked her why she did that. She had a good reason. Her skin breaks out in a rash from too much chlorine. But the warm water relaxed her, and sometimes, after everyone had left, she would break down and cry. She would then float away and feel her body letting go. It held her back. She hated it.
Standing in my parents shower, I turn the heat on as hot as it goes. I sit down and put my knees up to my chest. I lay my head down and feel my body letting go. I feel the weight of the words people have thrown at me. Homo. Dyke. Tranny. Lez. They don't sting. They are just words. I've taken most of them back. I lay there and feel the water wash away my anger at people for not using my name and pgp's. I feel the weight of being in limbo for so many years, just wanting acceptance, just wanting her body to not deflect, as she felt it had. I let go of the idea that God calls me to be a straight female. God just wants me to be happy and to love like He has loved me. I think God is sick of people throwing ridiculous ideas, as if my gender identity or sexual orientation means He could love me any less. I feel the nasty feelings of confusion and doubt melt away.
I am Blake, and that is what the water gave me.
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