OK. So they say opposites attract. In my life I have found that to be true only about half the time. Taking those percentages into consideration, that leads me to believe that I have a 50/50 chance of being attracted to someone that is not my opposite.
With the number crunching out of the way I have concluded that at least in my case opposites don't always attract. Is it because that statement is just plain ludicrous or is it because I am my own opposite, therefore I am attracted to different people at different times? I am leaning toward the latter.
I am assuming that people that are positive of their gender, even if in the wrong body, will have a distinct 'taste' in what gets their attention. Maybe its not truly their polar opposite but there probably lies a consistency in one or more qualities. For genderqueer and gender fluid people that probably does not ring as true.
I know for me, what I look at and what I end up with have always very different. However I think a lot of people can say that. But as I reflect on my past, I see a distinct pattern in my choices and my behaviors. Having multiple partners was something I did regularly. Not because someone wasn't perfect for me, they just weren't perfect for all of me. I needed one to satisfy my sexual deviance, one that submitted to my dominance, one that mothered me, one that looked like a girl, one that looked like a boy. I had em all and overlapped them constantly. At an early age, I just wasn't going to find anyone that could complete me.
Relationships were tough for me. I left a lot of them. When my head would switch, so would my desires. And my newest desires were not at all associated with the past one, thus I was unfulfilled and unhappy. I moved to greener pastures. Problem was, those pastures seemed to yellow too, and on I would go, again and again.
I don't think it was until I fully embraced and accepted that I was truly gender fluid, that I could be open enough to seek out the perfect match. My current relationship does complete me. Because we are flexible and versatile with each other. She is open to all of me. She has managed to find ways to satisfy them all. Both emotionally and sexually. It didn't just happen that way, we grew into the spaces we share. Communication, acceptance and honesty.
Are we the opposites that attract? Sometimes. But I prefer to say we simply compliment each other.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Network Relationships Back When
Those of you that are old enough to remember the original social networking may well remember how intense online relationships could become.
In 1993 I witnessed someone having a chat room converstaion for the first time. I was absolutely amazed at the technology. How someone in Ohio could be talking real time to someone in New Jersey was something I couldn't fathom. The very next day I spent over $3000 for a basic computer with internet capability. While waiting for it to be delivered, I had the phone company come in and install a phone jack just for the computer. When it arrived the setup was painful. Finding a local number to connect to (none if you didn't live near major city), creating profiles, installing disk after disc. However when you heard that familiar dialing you knew you were opening up a whole new world.
Without the World Wide Web yet, there wasn't a lot of opportunity to seek out information on your own. Each internet provider had their own information highway, most of which could be read in its entirety in a couple of minutes. So you sought out people, connections, chat rooms, boards and forums. It was here we all learned that other people that thought like us existed and we had access to them.
Chat rooms became a place to find like minded people, ask information and even live out fantasies. Eventually you found a group of people, an online family. Familiar screen names appearing in front of you again and again. You formed bonds with these people and many established relationships. True relationships. The goal seemed to be to eventually take these relationships and bring them into what was loving dubbed "the real". This was quite successful. I am a success story myself. Married to someone I met online in 1996. But for many, early social networking was devastating to many real relationships already established.
Internet 'cheating' was very prevalent. It seemed harmless. The rationale of "I don't really know this person, so its OK" was fairly typical. But it wasn't harmless. The boundaries were there, we chose to cross them. It was exciting, raw, naughty, and thrilling. The chase was fun and easy. Someone would always take the bait. It was a way to live out what you were missing at home. Or to try something new in what seemed a safe environment. As years went on, I saw many real time relationships fall apart over online relationships. People neglecting their spouses, kids, homes etc all for the thrill. Phone bills for connecting to the internet well into the hundreds of dollars, and internet provider bills (billed by the minute) well over that of the phone bill. Demise at its worst.
Today we have access to everything and anything via the internet. Social networking is the norm. Chat rooms are pretty much a thing of the past. Today we post our statuses and wait for the feel good. We are able to instantly find anyone we want at any time and move on pretty much undetected. Personally I find it very impersonal. Ironic when you have access to so many more people and more personal information.
I miss my AOL chat room days. I miss the intensity. The 'looking' for people. Waiting for that name to pop up on your screen. The 'secret' instant message box you could use to flirt. Squirming in my chair from the racy conversations and longings. Going to bed sexually frustrated and excited and many hours later than I should have, only to get back online the minute I opened my eyes.
I miss that game. I miss that passion. I miss that excitement.
I don't miss those phone bills.
SM 101: A Realistic Introduction
In 1993 I witnessed someone having a chat room converstaion for the first time. I was absolutely amazed at the technology. How someone in Ohio could be talking real time to someone in New Jersey was something I couldn't fathom. The very next day I spent over $3000 for a basic computer with internet capability. While waiting for it to be delivered, I had the phone company come in and install a phone jack just for the computer. When it arrived the setup was painful. Finding a local number to connect to (none if you didn't live near major city), creating profiles, installing disk after disc. However when you heard that familiar dialing you knew you were opening up a whole new world.
Without the World Wide Web yet, there wasn't a lot of opportunity to seek out information on your own. Each internet provider had their own information highway, most of which could be read in its entirety in a couple of minutes. So you sought out people, connections, chat rooms, boards and forums. It was here we all learned that other people that thought like us existed and we had access to them.
Chat rooms became a place to find like minded people, ask information and even live out fantasies. Eventually you found a group of people, an online family. Familiar screen names appearing in front of you again and again. You formed bonds with these people and many established relationships. True relationships. The goal seemed to be to eventually take these relationships and bring them into what was loving dubbed "the real". This was quite successful. I am a success story myself. Married to someone I met online in 1996. But for many, early social networking was devastating to many real relationships already established.
Internet 'cheating' was very prevalent. It seemed harmless. The rationale of "I don't really know this person, so its OK" was fairly typical. But it wasn't harmless. The boundaries were there, we chose to cross them. It was exciting, raw, naughty, and thrilling. The chase was fun and easy. Someone would always take the bait. It was a way to live out what you were missing at home. Or to try something new in what seemed a safe environment. As years went on, I saw many real time relationships fall apart over online relationships. People neglecting their spouses, kids, homes etc all for the thrill. Phone bills for connecting to the internet well into the hundreds of dollars, and internet provider bills (billed by the minute) well over that of the phone bill. Demise at its worst.
Today we have access to everything and anything via the internet. Social networking is the norm. Chat rooms are pretty much a thing of the past. Today we post our statuses and wait for the feel good. We are able to instantly find anyone we want at any time and move on pretty much undetected. Personally I find it very impersonal. Ironic when you have access to so many more people and more personal information.
I miss my AOL chat room days. I miss the intensity. The 'looking' for people. Waiting for that name to pop up on your screen. The 'secret' instant message box you could use to flirt. Squirming in my chair from the racy conversations and longings. Going to bed sexually frustrated and excited and many hours later than I should have, only to get back online the minute I opened my eyes.
I miss that game. I miss that passion. I miss that excitement.
I don't miss those phone bills.
SM 101: A Realistic Introduction
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Your Truest Self
I read somewhere tonight someone's definition of their truest self. I wondered what I would write about today and found my inspiration in those words.
Being honest to yourself is not always easy to do. Most times its easier to lie to ourselves so often we believe what we are saying. Many times the lies are small and meaningless to anyone but ourselves. As a coping mechanism it works and has few ill effects. But what happens when we attempt to deceive ourselves for protection? Protection from our feelings, our vulnerabilities.
We go through life on autopilot most days. We shift our thinking, our behavior and our feelings with each transition. For the most part we don't even realize that we are constantly adapting to our surroundings. Sometimes, however, our environment becomes too tricky for autopilot and suddenly you are faced with having to consciously choose your path. This is where self awareness and honesty is more important than ever.
Our instinct as people, is to take the path of least resistance. So when your surroundings become questionable, our flight response takes over. When running away is not an option, we are forced to find a way to handle the situation. For many people, honesty is always the way to go. There is little thought to the decision, they just choose what they know is the truth. However for a lot of us, choosing the rational option is met with natural resistance. It becomes the path less traveled.
When you know you have things to lose, tough emotions to feel or potentially devastating changes should you listen to rationale, it seems easier to lie to ourselves. Convince ourselves that we are OK with the path less traveled. That we embrace it. When in reality the journey may be scaring us to death.
I am not saying that you should always follow your emotions, because sometimes they are unjust, unfounded, hypersensitive and defy all logic. But we should be honest with ourselves. Allow ourselves to feel what we do, even if we don't share it, or ever act on it. Being honest to yourself and believing what you are saying is the only way you will ever be able to be honest to anyone else.
Being honest to yourself is not always easy to do. Most times its easier to lie to ourselves so often we believe what we are saying. Many times the lies are small and meaningless to anyone but ourselves. As a coping mechanism it works and has few ill effects. But what happens when we attempt to deceive ourselves for protection? Protection from our feelings, our vulnerabilities.
We go through life on autopilot most days. We shift our thinking, our behavior and our feelings with each transition. For the most part we don't even realize that we are constantly adapting to our surroundings. Sometimes, however, our environment becomes too tricky for autopilot and suddenly you are faced with having to consciously choose your path. This is where self awareness and honesty is more important than ever.
Our instinct as people, is to take the path of least resistance. So when your surroundings become questionable, our flight response takes over. When running away is not an option, we are forced to find a way to handle the situation. For many people, honesty is always the way to go. There is little thought to the decision, they just choose what they know is the truth. However for a lot of us, choosing the rational option is met with natural resistance. It becomes the path less traveled.
When you know you have things to lose, tough emotions to feel or potentially devastating changes should you listen to rationale, it seems easier to lie to ourselves. Convince ourselves that we are OK with the path less traveled. That we embrace it. When in reality the journey may be scaring us to death.
I am not saying that you should always follow your emotions, because sometimes they are unjust, unfounded, hypersensitive and defy all logic. But we should be honest with ourselves. Allow ourselves to feel what we do, even if we don't share it, or ever act on it. Being honest to yourself and believing what you are saying is the only way you will ever be able to be honest to anyone else.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
What makes you hot
While I was driving home yesterday I was thinking of a million and one things as usual. Commuting allows me an uninterrupted, unmolested forty minutes of me time.
I often have difficulty keeping the head space I am in for extended periods of time without stimulation of some kind keeping me there. Especially if I listen to music. Music is huge for me. It can take me from zero to sixty in a second flat. I associate most of my emotions with music, so its no surprise that when the tune changes, so do I. In any case, we already know I am a little unstable.
At one point I recall thinking, what makes people 'hot'. I wasn't looking for the typical answer. I am not interested in "big boobs", "Tattoos", or "My fetish of choice". I was seeking out the emotional answer not the physical answer.
As always, what inspires me to seek out answers from others also inspires me to question myself. So I attempted to answer. What makes me 'hot'. My first thought might have been boobs or tattoos or my plethora of fetishes, but then I thought how wrong it would be to answer my own question incorrectly. So I dug deeper.
The hot I am referring to is that moment in time that something catches you off guard and completely takes your breath away. A moment that is truly not sexual in content that makes you absolutely wet your drawers. Something that can completely 'put you in your place'. And by that I mean that you would be willing to drop most things just to keep living in that moment.
It was hard to come up with an answer. I kept going back to the physical. Then it dawned on me.....CLASS. Class is what makes me hot. How someone carries themselves has got to be the hugest turn on for me. The more confident and prominent they appear, the higher they tend to go up my class ladder. They don't need to be dominant in personality or status. I know a lot of submissives and even people identifying as slaves that carry an enormous amount of class around. Class is not cocky. Class is not arrogant. Class is an art that requires truly believing in who you are.
When someone walks into a room and you can feel the air about them, thats class. And thats what makes me hot.
I often have difficulty keeping the head space I am in for extended periods of time without stimulation of some kind keeping me there. Especially if I listen to music. Music is huge for me. It can take me from zero to sixty in a second flat. I associate most of my emotions with music, so its no surprise that when the tune changes, so do I. In any case, we already know I am a little unstable.
At one point I recall thinking, what makes people 'hot'. I wasn't looking for the typical answer. I am not interested in "big boobs", "Tattoos", or "My fetish of choice". I was seeking out the emotional answer not the physical answer.
As always, what inspires me to seek out answers from others also inspires me to question myself. So I attempted to answer. What makes me 'hot'. My first thought might have been boobs or tattoos or my plethora of fetishes, but then I thought how wrong it would be to answer my own question incorrectly. So I dug deeper.
The hot I am referring to is that moment in time that something catches you off guard and completely takes your breath away. A moment that is truly not sexual in content that makes you absolutely wet your drawers. Something that can completely 'put you in your place'. And by that I mean that you would be willing to drop most things just to keep living in that moment.
It was hard to come up with an answer. I kept going back to the physical. Then it dawned on me.....CLASS. Class is what makes me hot. How someone carries themselves has got to be the hugest turn on for me. The more confident and prominent they appear, the higher they tend to go up my class ladder. They don't need to be dominant in personality or status. I know a lot of submissives and even people identifying as slaves that carry an enormous amount of class around. Class is not cocky. Class is not arrogant. Class is an art that requires truly believing in who you are.
When someone walks into a room and you can feel the air about them, thats class. And thats what makes me hot.
Daddy
Sitting in the back corner. Always preferring the way the dark shadows cast down upon me. I recline the wooden chair back until it rests on the wall. My feet propped up on the cocktail table in front of me. Looking down at my boots I am quite appreciative of the shine they received. Bold, black, with a toe that shines like glass. My head wanders. What exactly causes me to eroticize my boots? I feel a sudden swell in my chest and just decide to enjoy the power they seem to give me.
I tip my hat down over my brow and dishevel my collar a bit. I don't want to give the appearance of having spent the amount of time I did on my outfit. I take a drag of my cigar and let it linger on my bottom lip. Letting the smoke spiral out of my mouth on its own accord, I look through it as it passes my eyes. There standing in the door, I see you.
Slowly bringing the cigar down and resting my hand on the chair arm, I tilt my head and allow my eyes to follow you to the other side of the room. I knew you would be here. Just the sight of you seems to create an energy in me that is unfathomable to most. My heart is racing. My eyes follow you with such intensity, I know you feel me. I want you to feel me.
I rock the chair casually back and forth by the simple movement of my boots. I wait. Each second feeling like a lifetime. I listen to the blood rush throughout my body. I can hear it. I can feel it. I am flush and warm. My eyes scan your body. Although I appreciate the dress you have chosen, I take no time in removing it from you in my mind. I glance to the floor next to me making sure, should you want it, a spot is available for you to sit. My eyes try to summon you to that spot. As if the amount of energy and power I am exuding might actually move you there.
I watch as you work the room. Flirting with your school girl charm. No real intent. Just being playful. My eyes don't miss a move. I enjoy this game. I smile on the inside, yet make sure my face retains its seriousness on the outside. My desire is burning deeper. I bring my cigar up to my mouth only to realize it has gone out due to its inactivity. Keeping my eyes on you, I let the chair rest back on the floor slowly. Reaching my arm out, I hope my cigar finds the ashtray as I am not removing you from my sight. I don't want to risk losing the connection, the exchange.
As I sit back into the chair you turn slowly my direction. Its as if the moment was choreographed. My eyes meet yours. I tip my hat your direction and carefully rest it above my brow ensuring you can see the intensity in my eyes. My head cocked slightly, I nod. You smile. As you slowly walk toward me, I follow your body movements with my eyes, careful not to miss one. Your light footsteps, carefully placed and with purpose. The way your hips and breasts sway. I want to see more. I am hungry for you. I position myself as high and proud as I can in my chair waiting for the perfect time to rise. Its all about timing. Its all about the mind game.
I place my hands on the chair arms preparing to push myself to my feet. You stop and let your eyes drop to the floor. I remain seated. Your last step, to the side of me. Perfectly orchestrated, you find your spot on the floor beside me. I smile enormously proud inside. You lay your head upon my thigh and look up at me. your hand rests on my boot. My eyes meet yours with a look only you know. A familiar grin appears on your face as you utter the words "Hi Daddy".
I tip my hat down over my brow and dishevel my collar a bit. I don't want to give the appearance of having spent the amount of time I did on my outfit. I take a drag of my cigar and let it linger on my bottom lip. Letting the smoke spiral out of my mouth on its own accord, I look through it as it passes my eyes. There standing in the door, I see you.
Slowly bringing the cigar down and resting my hand on the chair arm, I tilt my head and allow my eyes to follow you to the other side of the room. I knew you would be here. Just the sight of you seems to create an energy in me that is unfathomable to most. My heart is racing. My eyes follow you with such intensity, I know you feel me. I want you to feel me.
I rock the chair casually back and forth by the simple movement of my boots. I wait. Each second feeling like a lifetime. I listen to the blood rush throughout my body. I can hear it. I can feel it. I am flush and warm. My eyes scan your body. Although I appreciate the dress you have chosen, I take no time in removing it from you in my mind. I glance to the floor next to me making sure, should you want it, a spot is available for you to sit. My eyes try to summon you to that spot. As if the amount of energy and power I am exuding might actually move you there.
I watch as you work the room. Flirting with your school girl charm. No real intent. Just being playful. My eyes don't miss a move. I enjoy this game. I smile on the inside, yet make sure my face retains its seriousness on the outside. My desire is burning deeper. I bring my cigar up to my mouth only to realize it has gone out due to its inactivity. Keeping my eyes on you, I let the chair rest back on the floor slowly. Reaching my arm out, I hope my cigar finds the ashtray as I am not removing you from my sight. I don't want to risk losing the connection, the exchange.
As I sit back into the chair you turn slowly my direction. Its as if the moment was choreographed. My eyes meet yours. I tip my hat your direction and carefully rest it above my brow ensuring you can see the intensity in my eyes. My head cocked slightly, I nod. You smile. As you slowly walk toward me, I follow your body movements with my eyes, careful not to miss one. Your light footsteps, carefully placed and with purpose. The way your hips and breasts sway. I want to see more. I am hungry for you. I position myself as high and proud as I can in my chair waiting for the perfect time to rise. Its all about timing. Its all about the mind game.
I place my hands on the chair arms preparing to push myself to my feet. You stop and let your eyes drop to the floor. I remain seated. Your last step, to the side of me. Perfectly orchestrated, you find your spot on the floor beside me. I smile enormously proud inside. You lay your head upon my thigh and look up at me. your hand rests on my boot. My eyes meet yours with a look only you know. A familiar grin appears on your face as you utter the words "Hi Daddy".
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Hunger
I hunger for the exchange.
Primal and raw.
I want to dance.
Dance with the one that knows me so well.
I want you to feel my breath on the back of your neck.
The sting on your flesh.
I want to hear your cries.
Feel your energy.
Feed me.
Primal and raw.
I want to dance.
Dance with the one that knows me so well.
I want you to feel my breath on the back of your neck.
The sting on your flesh.
I want to hear your cries.
Feel your energy.
Feed me.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Parents Matter
I have been a part of a lot of our communities for a very long time. I have been out as a lesbian since early on in high school. I graduated in 1986. You do the math. I always felt that my family, neighbors, town, state, country, just wasn't ready for me. For people like me. It made sense that my mother would go into denial and blame herself and that my dad would just ignore it all as if it didn't exist. That worked for them, and honestly, that worked for me too. My siblings didn't seem to care either way and are still fine with my relationships. Since I have been with my wife now for 13 years, my parents have been forced to live with it. They have been separated and then divorced for thirty years. They didn't have the advantage of collaborating their efforts to keep me hidden from view.
My mother is the type of woman that no matter what her children do, she feels it is a direct reflection of her. Growing up was stressful. It was hard to always be perfect in order to make sure mom looked perfect. The house was spotless, we were spotless, nothing was ever out of place or dirty or done without proper etiquette. She left us when I was ten. Up and left us with my father who had about as much parenting skills as, well, the recliner he lived in when we wasn't working. I didn't mind. Although I had to pick up mom's slack, I was able to do whatever the hell I wanted. And I did. (those stories for another time).
Distance did not make my mother more tolerant of me, and when the word lesbian was whispered amongst the family, it caused us to literally stop speaking (well her to me) for many years. She assured me that when the 'phase' I was in was over, things would return to normal.
Unfortunately for her, I am still in the phase. I guess she never believed it could last over twenty five years and counting. Time has passed, and my mother does talk to me. She pretends to accept me. She is civil to my wife. She claims her wedding invitation was lost in the mail back in 1998. All this really didn't and doesn't bother me.
I may not be bothered, but I assure you I am extremely envious of all the people I have met with accepting and encouraging parents. The ones whose parents hung out at the gay friendly BBQ you had in the backyard. When I was young these parents seemed super cool. Now that I am older, these parents are not just super cool, they are what may have saved their children from a lifetime of psychological issues just because of who they are. If you are fortunate enough to have one of these parents, give yourself a pat on the back and then go give your mom a hug.
My mother is the type of woman that no matter what her children do, she feels it is a direct reflection of her. Growing up was stressful. It was hard to always be perfect in order to make sure mom looked perfect. The house was spotless, we were spotless, nothing was ever out of place or dirty or done without proper etiquette. She left us when I was ten. Up and left us with my father who had about as much parenting skills as, well, the recliner he lived in when we wasn't working. I didn't mind. Although I had to pick up mom's slack, I was able to do whatever the hell I wanted. And I did. (those stories for another time).
Distance did not make my mother more tolerant of me, and when the word lesbian was whispered amongst the family, it caused us to literally stop speaking (well her to me) for many years. She assured me that when the 'phase' I was in was over, things would return to normal.
Unfortunately for her, I am still in the phase. I guess she never believed it could last over twenty five years and counting. Time has passed, and my mother does talk to me. She pretends to accept me. She is civil to my wife. She claims her wedding invitation was lost in the mail back in 1998. All this really didn't and doesn't bother me.
I may not be bothered, but I assure you I am extremely envious of all the people I have met with accepting and encouraging parents. The ones whose parents hung out at the gay friendly BBQ you had in the backyard. When I was young these parents seemed super cool. Now that I am older, these parents are not just super cool, they are what may have saved their children from a lifetime of psychological issues just because of who they are. If you are fortunate enough to have one of these parents, give yourself a pat on the back and then go give your mom a hug.
In The Middle
As I look at the list of friends I am fortunate enough to have added to my new Facebook account, I am noticing many refer to themselves as Femme or Butch. I don't particularly like labels, and maybe that is because I wear too many, or non truly fit me. I don't know for sure. But I am finding myself increasingly envious of those that seem to have found peace within their 'label'. I question why I just cant fit the proverbial mold somehow. Don't get me wrong, I love being multifaceted. I wear a lot of hats. From sadist to accountant to mom. I embrace all the sides of me. Yet when someone asks what I identify as, my first response is 'everything' or 'nothing you are familiar with'. Its a struggle for me. I cant seem to fully embrace my 'label' as I don't have one in that sense. And I am not androgynous enough to let people know I am gender queer, or even queer for that matter. I am considering wearing a ever changing flashing LED sign on my chest letting people know what part of me they are tapping into.
I think a lot of my issues stem from self image. My breasts are too large to be able to comfortably dress as I feel. I want to look like a boi that looks like a girl that looks like a girl that looks like a boi. That's who I am, thats how I feel. I want to throw on a wife beater a pair of jeans my boots and a hat. That's the right outfit. Unfortunately my body is wrong. So I wear the boots, I wear the jeans......it stops there. I think, even at 40 something years old, I need to seriously have the reduction surgery and stop dabbling in the process. I would like to live out these next years of my life finally looking like I feel. I still wont fit those labels, but at least I will fit myself.
I think a lot of my issues stem from self image. My breasts are too large to be able to comfortably dress as I feel. I want to look like a boi that looks like a girl that looks like a girl that looks like a boi. That's who I am, thats how I feel. I want to throw on a wife beater a pair of jeans my boots and a hat. That's the right outfit. Unfortunately my body is wrong. So I wear the boots, I wear the jeans......it stops there. I think, even at 40 something years old, I need to seriously have the reduction surgery and stop dabbling in the process. I would like to live out these next years of my life finally looking like I feel. I still wont fit those labels, but at least I will fit myself.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
So What's in a Name?
So my question today is one that is probably very familiar to anyone interested in reading this material. What exactly do you feel comfortable being called? I for one have always hated my name. Not Echo.....as that is not my birth name. Maybe because my given name is very obviously female. However it is not so much my actual birth name that bothers me as much as the gender references that can make me feel uncomfortable at times. Its no secret I am female in body. I do carry myself with a lot of masculinity, but I am very obviously female. And so, people treat me as such. And that's OK. They don't know the turmoil I deal with inside, and I don't expect them to. I have always been OK with being perceived by the general public as the female body I happen to cruise around in.
What I have trouble with is when certain dynamics between myself and others bring forth parts of my personality that just don't 'fit' female. If someone that naturally brings forth my more masculine traits refers to me as a girl the hair on my neck stands up, I feel sweaty and flushed, and almost embarrassed. I will always look away, or try to escape the moment somehow. I can rationalize it all by telling myself there is no way this person could have known what persona they are interacting with. That they see me as most people do, a tomboyish woman. Yet even with rationalization, I cant seem to get past those uncomfortable,even creepy, feelings being 'labeled' wrong in the moment creates inside me.
My wife is wonderful. She is very well versed in my signals and where I am in that moment. She has learned to pretty much leave out pronouns unless its necessary to use them. She knows by my clothing, my behavior and my speech who I am and what I definitely don't want to be referred to as.
So, if like me, you find yourself needing to vomit when someone says encouraging phrases such as 'good girl' to you, what do you do? How do you handle it.
What I have trouble with is when certain dynamics between myself and others bring forth parts of my personality that just don't 'fit' female. If someone that naturally brings forth my more masculine traits refers to me as a girl the hair on my neck stands up, I feel sweaty and flushed, and almost embarrassed. I will always look away, or try to escape the moment somehow. I can rationalize it all by telling myself there is no way this person could have known what persona they are interacting with. That they see me as most people do, a tomboyish woman. Yet even with rationalization, I cant seem to get past those uncomfortable,even creepy, feelings being 'labeled' wrong in the moment creates inside me.
My wife is wonderful. She is very well versed in my signals and where I am in that moment. She has learned to pretty much leave out pronouns unless its necessary to use them. She knows by my clothing, my behavior and my speech who I am and what I definitely don't want to be referred to as.
So, if like me, you find yourself needing to vomit when someone says encouraging phrases such as 'good girl' to you, what do you do? How do you handle it.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
What does Borderline Personality Have to do with it?
I have been diagnosed with just about every psychological disorder you can readily come up with at one point or another. I am not nuts. Maybe not completely stable, but not nuts. I am highly functioning, have a wife and kids and have always held down a full time job. After years of sitting in the chair, across from a doctor I was determined to dislike, recalling my life again and again, I have accumulated a variety of diagnoses. It took me over 20 years and probably as many doctors to realize that all of my symptoms were related, not an accumulation of several disorders. I have what is known as borderline personality disorder. The diagnosis actually came as a relief. It enabled me to throw out a lot of less desirable labels such as scizoaffective, bipolar and psychotic. Borderline personality disorder is not the same as the old multiple personality disorder we are familiar with. I am not Sybil.
I do not want to discuss the definition of BPD, but rather the effects it has and the yearning question of whether or not BPD has anything to do with my gender identity issues. In order to qualify for the prestigious label of borderline, you must exhibit five of about a dozen traits. I think I must be a poster child as I suffer most of them. However, most people can say they identify with many. Gender identity, self image, disassociation and multiple personality are a few of my fond criteria. As I stated above I am not Sybil. I am very well aware of the many sides of me. I do not 'become' someone else and all others are forgotten during that time. I choose to bring out certain personalities when they fit. I'm sure it was a defense mechanism early in my life, but now I see it as an advantage enabling me to fit into any situation comfortably.
So my question today is, am I gender queer because I am, or am I gender queer because I am certifiable? Did my identity issues coupled with my past bring on this psychological disorder or did the psychological disorder coupled with my past bring on my identity issues?
I do not want to discuss the definition of BPD, but rather the effects it has and the yearning question of whether or not BPD has anything to do with my gender identity issues. In order to qualify for the prestigious label of borderline, you must exhibit five of about a dozen traits. I think I must be a poster child as I suffer most of them. However, most people can say they identify with many. Gender identity, self image, disassociation and multiple personality are a few of my fond criteria. As I stated above I am not Sybil. I am very well aware of the many sides of me. I do not 'become' someone else and all others are forgotten during that time. I choose to bring out certain personalities when they fit. I'm sure it was a defense mechanism early in my life, but now I see it as an advantage enabling me to fit into any situation comfortably.
So my question today is, am I gender queer because I am, or am I gender queer because I am certifiable? Did my identity issues coupled with my past bring on this psychological disorder or did the psychological disorder coupled with my past bring on my identity issues?
Friday, April 23, 2010
Gender Queer
So let's start with this.
I know many transgendered people that will tell a very similar story. How they were born into the wrong body, the wrong sex. That the vehicle their souls travel in was a poor representation for who they were and what they felt inside. I get that. I totally get that. Even though most of the general population doesn't understand, it isn't really a difficult concept to 'get'. Mind you, I am speaking about the concept, not the deeply rooted turmoil and emotions one goes through while they are suffering with gender identity issues. So the concept is fairly simply. You are born into the wrong body. Whether or not others choose to accept those that feel that way, it is still possible to wrap your head around the idea.
Now. What if you are born into a body that only partially fits. Gender queer. A term that took me most of my life to even realize what it meant. I thought for certain I belonged to a very small minority, and surely it didn't have a name. As a matter of fact, until I watched a show on biological women that identified as gender queer, I didn't even realize that the term applied to that. And I certainly didn't realize I was one of apparently many. I am not sure what I thought gender queer stood for, despite the fact that I have been part of the LGBT community for decades.
Now with my latest (and most comforting) label pinned to my chest, I am seeking answers. Was I too born into the wrong body? If I was, what body should I have? I am not completely female, yet I am not male either. I feel like both and yet neither. Or did something in my life's experiences cause me to feel this way? Was it childhood trauma?
I am not sure what answering these questions will change. But I am looking forward to learning about myself....again.
I know many transgendered people that will tell a very similar story. How they were born into the wrong body, the wrong sex. That the vehicle their souls travel in was a poor representation for who they were and what they felt inside. I get that. I totally get that. Even though most of the general population doesn't understand, it isn't really a difficult concept to 'get'. Mind you, I am speaking about the concept, not the deeply rooted turmoil and emotions one goes through while they are suffering with gender identity issues. So the concept is fairly simply. You are born into the wrong body. Whether or not others choose to accept those that feel that way, it is still possible to wrap your head around the idea.
Now. What if you are born into a body that only partially fits. Gender queer. A term that took me most of my life to even realize what it meant. I thought for certain I belonged to a very small minority, and surely it didn't have a name. As a matter of fact, until I watched a show on biological women that identified as gender queer, I didn't even realize that the term applied to that. And I certainly didn't realize I was one of apparently many. I am not sure what I thought gender queer stood for, despite the fact that I have been part of the LGBT community for decades.
Now with my latest (and most comforting) label pinned to my chest, I am seeking answers. Was I too born into the wrong body? If I was, what body should I have? I am not completely female, yet I am not male either. I feel like both and yet neither. Or did something in my life's experiences cause me to feel this way? Was it childhood trauma?
I am not sure what answering these questions will change. But I am looking forward to learning about myself....again.
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