I am a storyteller

I had an epiphany in the shower today.  So much happens mentally in the shower.  In ten minute windows, I slowly change my life, one reflection at a time.

This morning I was feeling guilty. Guilty of not writing. Guilty of not producing the volume of articles I would like to.  Guilty of holding people up that relied on me for their web content. Guilty for thinking I was not being passionate about things I know I am passionate about.

As I washed my  hair I thought about my declining health, how it is effecting me mentally and thought perhaps I was just too tired right now to care so much.  However I know better.  No matter what the world throws at me, if I am on a mission, I will give 110% always. And I am still on a mission. The mission to write. 

I am a writer. But of what?  What do I write? Why do I write? These were the questions to myself.  I write articles. I write reviews. I write opinions. I blog. I write song lyrics, poetry and love letters.  Pretty much in that order now a days.  And that, my friends, is why I am in a rut.  I have put the very things I am most passionate about,  the topics, the subjects and the feelings, at the end of my writing priority list.  Somehow I have allowed what was once a passion in itself, writing, to become a job. One I do not get paid for.

When I began blogging and opening up my world to others, I was passionate about my feelings. I reached out and was met with open arms from many communities.  I took solace in them, and they in my words.  I was fueled by the stories, the feelings, and the injustices. I found common ground with people for the first time ever.  I learned so much, and shared even more.  I connected.  I found a place for my story and listened to theirs.  And then it hit me.

I am not a writer.  I am a storyteller.  I want to tell my story. I want to tell yours.  I want my story to effect you and yours to effect me.  I am passionately interested in sharing what brings us together and what keeps us apart.  My opinion matters and so does yours.  This is why I write. 

I am interested  in the news and what is happening in our communities.  I am thrilled to see sucessful LGBT artists portrayed in a positive lilght.  I am excited at the advances in legislation, albeit slow.  I am sickened by the injustices and the phsyical attacks on our communities.  I am just not a writer of it.

I am the writer that takes those physcial and mental scars created by the news events and shares it.  I am the writer that talks about the feelings you get when seeing couples marry after being together decades. I am the writer that opens the door to my story and encourgaes you to open yours. 

I do not feel guilty for stepping back from that which stopped feeling passionate. I am not just a writer. I am a storyteller. I have a renewed passion, a new mission and a new goal. 

Hey Kid - A letter to myself

A friend posted a short, yet brilliant, note to her child self today that made me think.  We all could benefit from writing to our young selves.

It seems the things that bother me most now, or have since childhood, might not have had as much power over me if I just had a chance to tell myself then what I know now. Obviously I got the wrong messages from those in my life.  What if I had received the right ones? Would I be at all different today? 

I think back to the young child being verbally and emotionally assaulted at the hands of her own mother.  During those years her mother's words were all she ever heard. I would have liked to say, "Hey kid.  Someday you will have your own children. Your kids will be awesome.  Everything she says to you today will make you a strong and determined mom.  You will know better than most, just how painful words and actions can be. And you will try your hardest to make sure no one ever makes your children feel like you do right now.  Her words are empty.  Your heart will be full. "

I think back to the kid that never quite fit in.  That was everyone's sidekick and no one's hero.  I would like to tell that kid "Hey kid.  You are not less than them.  When you are wishing you were someone else, someone was wishing they were you.  Believe it when people say they like you. Trust me, waiting until you are in your 40's to like yourself has severe disadvantages."

I think back to the kid that only wanted to love someone, even if everyone thought it was the wrong someone.  I would like to tell her "Hey kid.  Love who your heart tells you to. It doesn't matter what they look like, what their gender is, who they are related to, or where they come from.  Missing opportunities to love and feel good out of fear is just letting them win. "

I think back to the girl that was sure she was both a boy and a girl at the same time.  I would say to her "Hey kid.  You are whatever you feel in your heart you are.  And it doesn't matter if you stand or sit to pee. Most people will not understand you, but the important ones will. Don't ever be something you are not for them. "

And I think of the kid that sat planning her suicide, because no one took the time to tell her these things.  "Hey kid.  I love you. You might not know that for a long, long time.  So I am telling you now.  If you leave here, you will change the world forever.  There will people that never got the chance to feel the love they would have shared with you.  There will be incredible children that never got the opportunity to be here.  And most importantly, you will miss an awesome journey that ultimately takes you to a place where you finally "get" yourself.  And even though you think now, and will many times later in life, that no one would notice if you were gone.  They will. I need you to stay. "

I will never know how different life would have been if only I could have had this time with myself then.  I am not so sure I want to know.  What I do know is that it is never too late to help your young self heal.

What I want for Xmas

You asked me what I want for Xmas,
     and here is my reply

I thought of things I'd like to have,
     but can't afford to buy

I love the smell of fancy leather,
     the look of brand new shoes

I pictured diamonds on my hand,
     and sailing on a cruise

Electronics always catch my eye,
     you know I have a few

But what I really want this year,
     I've already found in you

~EB 2011

Freeing Myself

Did you ever have one of those days when you think, I just want to be free to do what I want, when I want and how I want?  I am not talking about staying in bed late, taking the day off of work or jumping out of an  airplane.  I am talking about allowing yourself the freedom to do what comes naturally, or wants to come naturally.

We have become a society of constant editing.  Every move we make is based on someone else's potential reaction. 

I commute to work. Many times while driving I will shut the radio off and ask myself, "what do you want to do at this very moment?"  Not something on my bucket list, but honestly what I want to do at that very moment. The answers vary; scream, cry, make stupid faces, pick my nose etc. I am not really looking to answer my question, I am looking to allow myself that freedom when there is no reason to edit myself.

It's not as easy as you think.

Yesterday I looked a little deeper into why I feel so uncomfortable doing what feels like it should be natural.  Why I am afraid to sing at the top of my lungs, cry buckets of tears, or dance, even when alone.  The fear of criticism waiting in the wings is powerful.  The reality of it may have been over 30 years ago, but the wounds must still be fresh.  It sucks.

If I could do what I wanted, reacted how I wished I could, allowed myself to the freedom just to be, life would completely different for me.  My self editing has molded me into someone that now I am realizing is very different than who I should have been. 

I am making progress in my attempt to free myself, not from the holds of the past but from who I have allowed myself to be because of it. 

I am so much more. 

Beer Muscles

Recently I have been anazlying the cyber relationships I watch unfold and unfortunately fold here on Facebook.  I pass no judgments, just make what I like to call observations.  Those observations tend to lead me to opinions, but not judgement.

I think back to my own relationship that started online in a chat room over 15 years ago.  The online world gives people a false sense of security and what someone recently referred to as beer muscles.  Similar to the beer goggles one might wear after a few drinks at the bar, beer muscles enable you to feel more secure, confident and powerful than you typically would without them.  That being said, I have never felt that beer goggles or beer muscles resulted in thoughts and actions you otherwise would not take, I believe they make you a truer version of yourself by wiping out the inhibitions that we place on ourselves out of morality or even fear.

In that chat room 15 years ago I was very confident with my beer muscles.  I was able to let who I was out honestly (with a few embellishments) and openly within the context of what I wanted to be seen.  Being online enables you to click, delete, or escape when an uncomfortable situation arises. If life had such provisions, we all might be a little truer to ourselves. For me, online relationships were a great way for me to feel out my different sides with people that I grew to trust and "know" but didn't have to face if it went all wrong. 

The problem I am seeing is when online relationships morph into real time ones.  Suddenly the confident, flirty, sometimes arrogant person you fell for in IMs is only capable to showing you the meek, unsure, and wishy washy person they are in real time.  It is easy to feel short changed after investing time and energy into someone only to find out they not at all who you thought they were. And although we all are who we portray online to some degree, what we feel confident showing on the Internet may be the least of what we show real time.

My relationship moved to real time with the premise that the dynamics would be only what we shared online. There were no expectations other than that. Time and establishing other dynamics between us AFTER the Internet is what kept us together and let us grow to where we are 15 years later.  For many people, the meeting for the first time comes with expectations.  False ones.  The butterflies you get when you see that special someone pop online, the anxiety waiting for your Email to load hoping for a letter, the dozens of emoticons you send back and forth don't transfer well to real life.

It is very easy for someone to say they will take care of you.  It is simple to convey strength and love in text, even on the phone. But until you are faced with the reality of who you are and who you can comfortably be in front of someone, you cannot possibly know how it will work out.

Each day I see the lovey dovey status' of those courting from afar. I watch, eagerly rooting for the couple to actually be a couple someday. Unfortunately I see the misery that often comes when they realize they were courting someone completely different than who showed up on the doorstep.

I believe we all are what we show people, to a degree.  Even the unkempt man in his dirty underwear pretending to be a 13 year old girl online is who he portrays, somewhere, somehow, inside.  And maybe life experience and maturity enables some to be confident enough to show their true selves upon a meeting.  But for many I think the online romance far outweighs reality.

I am grateful for the online world enabling me to find someone who otherwise I would probably never have crossed paths with.  But I am just as grateful that I waited to show who I really was when the real time time was right.

The Zen Den

I was watching a film short on Oprah's new network the other day. A group of people erected (I will refrain from giggling as my prepubescent behavior dictates) what was essentially a room made from PVC and white sheets on the sidewalk of a bust city street.  Inside the "Zen Den" were a variety of items at different times during the day ranging from bubbles to an exercise bike to a drum set.  The film simply showed people entering the white sheeted confines and ultimately how they chose to spend their time in there with the props provided.  My first reaction was the only people they could entice into the den were the free spirited who typically have a way about them enabling moments of free expression anyway.  My prediction proved correct for the first handful of people that entered.  However, my thought process shifted direction when I saw the business suit enter.

After a few minutes I had seen a plethora of people doing what instinctively came to them when presented with the props and a certain level of anonymity.  The raw energy these people emitted could be felt on the screen. I witnessed the release the banging of drums allowed and the return of memories, most likely good and bad, the act of blowing bubbles created. An elderly lady entered and simply laid down for a nap.

For a while I was envious of them all. Each person that stepped out of their comfort zone by entering the unknown was able to find a place where all inhibitions could be let go of and raw reaction was appropriate.  It reminded me of just how much we hold each other back. Of how guarded we keep ourselves in hopes of self preservation.  We have learned that freedom of expression is many times met with judgement and that judgment many times feels bad.  By limiting our expression we lessen the blow.  Or do we?

I started wishing that every street corner had a zen den.  That my job had one, as well as my home.  I thought about how much more peaceful the world would be if we had an nonjudgmental outlet for what we were feeling in the moment.  How having no stimuli but your own self and what you are doing would allow honesty within your own soul for a few moments.  How we wouldn't do what we assumed those watching want us to.  How cause and effect would never be negative.

I am not sure what I would do in the zen den. But I would love the opportunity to let my feelings and my energy show me.

Now that I have found "me"

I have another facebook account. It is my vanilla, accountant, mother of two page.  "Friends" on that account consist of family, people I didn't care for in high school, co-workers and a very small handful of very important people in my life.  Very few of them are privy to who I am here; the writing, genderqueer, oftentimes unstable Echo Brooks.  Those that I have allowed to take the ride with me both here and there are the few that either know who I really am or would at least be OK with it.  I appreciate those that I haven't had to compartmentalize and hold at arms length.

This morning I posted a song lyric and some comments on my other account. An ex partner of mine made a comment about not realizing I had become so sarcastic.  At first I wondered why she even said that.  Of course I am sarcastic. Everyone knows that.  Don't they?  I stated that surely I had been witty and charming back then. To which she replied  "No you were sincere and heartfelt".

I was quite thrown by that comment.  At first I was concerned that people no longer saw me as genuine and caring.  That concern soon gave way to wondering when I changed.  Apparently I had.  I felt the need to explain myself.  Explain that if she really knew who I was today she would know my sarcasm is a defense mechanism. That my witty remarks keep me from having to be serious with people.  That the chivalrous charm I used to carry with me has been tainted and replaced with mocking charm.  I felt the need to say life has made me this way.  The need to protect myself made me this way.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized she knew me as a young adult just out of childhood.  She knew me before I learned me.  She knew me before the pain of life caught up to me.

I have come a long way since the 1980's.  I have grown and have evolved.   I am still sincere and heartfelt, just guarded.

Now that I have found "me", I need to go back and bring the rest of the pieces along for the ride.

One Man's Trash

Last weekend we finished the demolition of the old, and raising of the new, shed.  I opted to spare the new shed some of the old shed's contents and made several trips to the curb with handfuls of who knows what.

On one of my last trips I saw a woman walking up the alley.  She looked weathered and I suppose natural, for a lack of better words.  Her skin had seen a lot of sun, her shoulder length hair had no meaning other than to exist and do what hair does, and her clothes were dumpster at best.  She reminded me of what I would assume someone who has committed themselves to studying wildlife in Africa might be like.  Although disheveled and messy, she seemed clean enough to be healthy and exuded an air of calm and peace.

As she passed the enormous amount of bundled old shed wood and rubbish, she quietly said, "
Oh, old racquetball rackets. Mind if I take a look?".  I found it incredibly odd how she managed to see the very tip of the handles poking out of one garbage can and was able to recognize that not only were they old, they were racquetball rackets.

"Help yourself" I said a little bewildered.

In that moment I ran a gazillion thoughts through my head. She pulled the rackets out of the can, looked them over with what appeared to be the knowledge of a professional antique racquetball racket appraiser and said "I will take this one if you don't mind. You know, one man's trash is another man's treasure".

I happily obliged her request and nodded at her commonplace words of wisdom.  As I was turning around to head back through my gate into the backyard she stopped me and said "and I don't mean just garbage".

I turned and studied her face for further clues. "That applies to all things in life, including people. Remember that." Again I nodded and spun to go back into the yard.  "Nice art work" was the next thing she said. She was looking at the tattoos on my arm.

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't have to have a tattoo related conversation with someone.  I prepared myself for my standard answers.  When asked I explained that I did them myself she said "are you an artist"? To which I emphatically said "no", with a chuckle just to seal the deal.  She looked at me quizzically and said "you know, it is never too late to be what you should have been".

With that she walked away up the alley.  I watched her wondering who she was, why I had never seen her before, what she was doing behind my house and most of all how she knew those little bits of racket handle belonged to a vintage racquetball racket. 

I am not an artist.  I do not desire to be an artist.  However her words resonated with me so much over the past week that I had to write them down. "One man's trash is another man's treasure" and "It is never too late to be what you should have been". 

I couldn't agree more.

High School

The last of my children started high school this year.  Thinking of high school always makes me cringe.  While some of the best moments of my life happened during those years, some of the worst did as well.  The best live as fond memories that I recall every now and then.  The worst I live with every single day, even 25 years later.
I think back to the bullying; the chants, the spray painted driveway, the eggs on my car.  All things that seemed to just go with the territory of being openly homosexual in the 1980s.  Time has moved us forward, unfortuanetly I cant seem to grasp that, at least not the feeling of it.
Until the other day when I listened first hand to some incredible high school kids talking on the subject of gender and sexuality, I had no idea that being gay no long carried the stigma it used to.  Even as much as I write and speak to people about LGBT issues, I never realized how accepted kids truly are of their peers.  And while we have a long way to go and a lot of bullies to put out of commission, I am seeing that we are winning the fight.
In a conversation with a coworker about this I actually got choked up as I tried to explain what life was like for me; family that disowned me and friends that took my membership card away.  I tried to say, "Do you have any idea how that feels? How it feels to be unworthy in so many people's eyes?". But I could not get it out, doing so would have made me cry.  I pride myself on fighting emotion and never allowing my past to creep up and make me feel weak, but it got the better of me.
When she told me a friend of her sons parents told the friend that he better not (insert any 'act gay' behavior here) in high school or the kids will beat him up, she said she was stunned, as was her son.  "They would never do that just because someone was gay" was their thought process.  And while I know that is not the truth I was amazed that the thought that someone would not get abused for their sexual orientation came before the thought that surely they would.  It's progress. Progress I wish I had experienced then.  I wish I could feel it now.
The emotions that surfaced that day were not sparked by self pity, but rather envy. Envy mixed with relief.  Relief for the kids that will be able to experience high school as a person instead of a label. I wonder how different my bullies from that day would feel if their own children were enduring the people they used to be.

Parking Lot Lesbians

We had what might have been the most stereotypical lesbian drama unfold in our work parking lot yesterday.

One of our facilities backs up to a field as well as a small highway.  An employee, while walking to her car noticed two women in the field chasing after a small dog seemingly topless (the girls, not the dog...well him too). After putting on her glasses for a better look my co-worker realized indeed the girls were shirtless. They grabbed up their little dog (a cat would have made the story perfect) and walked across the parking lot to where.....yes.......their U Haul was parked. While one put the dog in the car, the other took the liberty of stripping off her pants and waving them over her head while facing the highway traffic.  Free spirits? Methamphetamine?  You decide.

The police were notified mostly because there is a day care center on the premises.  While waiting for the police to address the situation, and all employees' eyes on the U Haul, the one girl climbed into the back of the U Haul and laid down. The other, straddled her crotch and began to do the deed. The audience not a deterrent, the girls proceeded to enjoy each other until the police arrived. They were cited for indecent exposure (although I believe none of the peering sets of eyes found anything indecent about it) and were being assessed for possible intoxication (ya think?).

Our COO arrived right after the police (he was off site). After stating "I thought you said two naked guys were in the parking lot", he decided the situation was under control and didn't need his attention.  Thank you for clearing up any question some workers still had about your orientation Sir.  No charges were pressed, the young carefree and most assuredly inebriated women were sent on their way to their new destination and I was left wondering if now everyone who witnessed that scene pictures me on the top or the bottom?

My Type

Someone asked me "so, what's your type?"  I answered that I don't have one. And that is the honest truth.  If they had asked me years ago, and I mean many years ago, I would have been able to describe my "type" to anyone.  In my teens it was blond women with big hair, beautiful eyes, a rocking body and an edge.  She was straight and dying to "try it out" with a woman.  I would step in, be their hero, show them a world they never imagined possible and become the person they speak of still today.  That was my type, not my reality. In my twenties it was pretty much the same woman, just a brunette.

In my thirties my life, love, priorities and self began to change. Somewhere on my journey to self discovery, my "type" became those that fed me what I hungered for, despite their looks.  I would like to say maturity lessened any sense of shallowness I  had, but I do not think that was it. I attribute my change in taste palette to be caused by my self-centeredness.   My needs far surpassed what I could get from the small, practically non existent pool of my "types" I could choose from.  I honestly wasn't really interested in happily ever after or handing out toasters to the incoming lesbians anymore. In my thirties I started to embrace who I was. I began to learn who I was, albeit very slowly.  I found ways to interact with people that had absolutely nothing to do with bed post notches.  Sex became an end result of a much larger picture or not at all.  It no longer took the front seat.

I am now in my forties. What I learned in my thirties was vital to my life today, even if it took me a decade to figure out how to use that knowledge properly. Today I don't have a type, I have an understanding.  My understanding comes in a package that is neither blond nor brunette, without big hair, with extra pounds and no sharp edges. My understanding frustrates me endlessly some days but is still understanding.  My understanding has allowed me room to grow into who I wished I had been all along. My understanding does not fit a "type". And for her I am thankful.

I used to be a gentleman

We all change over the course of our lives. Situations, relationships and environment shift who we are.  There are times when you wake up and wonder, where the heck "you" went. And times when you thank the powers that be for getting you to the other side.  Either way, change is inevitable and certainly shaped by situation and maturity. I don't like change. It upsets my OCD.  However I love personal growth.  I have grown more in the past couple of years than I think I have my entire life combined. And while I love getting to know myself honestly, I am having difficulties looking back on the changes that have taken place previously that I am not so happy about.

Once upon a time I truly cherished and loved my women. I was a gentleman in everything I did. I gave 110% to whoever I was with, oftentimes obsessively so.  I expected nothing in return other than for them to acknowledge the fact that they knew they were treated well. Their happiness was my happiness. Somewhere that stopped working for me.  Someone found a way to take everything I was and everything I offered and make a mockery of it.  That someone, who I care nothing about today, managed to effect who I am and how I continue to live my life. Sadly every relationship since has suffered.  I doubt those I was with felt short changed because that is the only way they knew me. However I know the potential I had as a partner, and the amount of "me" they never got.

The change I experienced and have carried with me was because of my environment, not because I wanted to change.  Now that I am "finding myself", I think I need to be open to the idea of reversing negative change and allowing my personal growth to include the pieces of me taken at someone else's hands.

Boxer Briefs and a Bra

I haven't spent nearly as much time writing my thoughts as I have been thinking them.  With so much happening these past couple of months I must admit I run out of time in the day before I run out of things I need to accomplish.  Sometimes taking the time to write feels selfish when there are so many more important things to be doing.  Today, however, it is rainy and dark and nothing else seems like a better idea then sharing my thoughts.

As many of you know I recently had breast reduction surgery.  The purpose of the surgery was to alleviate some of the disgust I had for my body as well as get rid of a lot of what kept me from feeling like me.  I refer to it as chest surgery rather than breast reduction surgery because I feel more connected to me having a chest than I do breasts.  Actually I think I have a chest with breasts, or something like that.  The chest/breast confusion just mirrors the rest of the confusion I face within my gender.

The decision I made to have the surgery was never in question, the decision as to how much to remove was, and still is.  A lot of people dont understand the blurred gender I live within.  For most people gender is one or the other, even if they feel they are the 'wrong' one.  I never fit the matronly female body I carried, but I certainly would not fit a male body either.  So taking too much off would put me in just as much of an uncomfortable position as keeping what I had.  My quest was to make the breasts small enough to wear male clothes yet large enough to wear female clothes.  Most days I wear a little of both.  Although I wish the outcome was a little smaller than they ended up (or are at this point in the recovery), I am happy with my choice.

Since I write a lot on gender identity, it is no wonder I have a large transgender following.  I am a huge advocate for the transgender community and understand a lot of what they feel.  However, I am not transgender.  During the past couple of months as I have shared my boob journey, I have found myself feeling like I need to explain why I only took some off and not them all. I have felt the same misunderstanding about being genderqueer from the trans community as I have the gender conforming community. For once in a very long time I am experiencing the tiny place where those whittled out of the larger communities reside.

I am not a butch lesbian, I am genderqueer. I am not a transman that hasn't transitioned, I am genderqueer.  I am not a man or a woman, I am both and neither.  I wear boxer briefs and a bra.

The "B" in LGBT

In the month or so that I have been absent from here, a lot has been swirling in my head. I have started multiple posts but haven't actually finished a complete thought in any of them.  Since my surgery I have been focusing on healing and have found that even thinking is exhausting.  As the days pass by I feel a little better and/or different. I am back to doing some writing and even conducted an interview last night.  The conversation I held with this man has hopefully sparked enough thought to get my first back-in-action post out.

I was contacted by a promoter to take a look at a web series based on the "controversial subject of the blurring of gender known as “bisexuality”. And while I uncomfortably read that statement linking gender and sexuality, I decided to watch the series, look into the man behind the movie and have an open mind when reviewing it. The series was about a woman who identified as a lesbian but found herself interested in pursuing a relationship with a man.  The story takes you through the trials and tribulations of both main characters when dealing with their peers etc.  The series itself was engaging enough, but the man behind it was who got me thinking.

During our interview, the writer spoke about his life as a bisexual man.  I was quite candid about my feelings on the bisexual label and how they have morphed throughout my own maturity and self identity.  And while I am not bisexual, nor do I know many people that honestly identity as bisexual (outside of the fashion trend), I found it interesting that he faces the same challenges as many of us in the LGBT community, or most specifically the smaller subcultures of the community. He considers himself queer, as do I.  Queer itself is a broad label.  For me, queer allows me to be something other.  Other than what? It doesn't matter. Just other.  It made sense then that he identified similarly.

Up until last night I would have said that I have very little in common with someone who is bisexual.  It always seemed like they had their cake and ate it too; when the world came crashing down they could opt to jump on the "normal" bandwagon.  However I learned last night that the bisexual community does indeed belong to the bigger LGBT community and that they fit into society more sometimes only because that is what society has determined, not what they have.  The bisexual community is very much like the smaller gender queer and transgender communities in the fact that they seem to always be battling the very community they are fighting the same fight as. It makes me sad when I step back and look at the intolerance, when in fact we are all victims of the same intolerance on the grander scale.

I admit I have never reached out to the bisexual community.  But I also admit I never gave anyone in that community the opportunity to show me just how much we are the same.  We all want to know we belong, to be a part of something bigger, something stronger, something that will fight for who we are.  He too is an "other". And even if I don't understand it, I am tolerant and accepting of it and believe the "B" in LGBT does belong.

Chest Surgery / Breast Reduction

Call it what you will. For my surgeon it is a radical breast reduction. For me, a genderqueer, it is chest surgery. Join me in my photo/media journey through the process.

Chest Surgery Diary (click here)

I plan to update the media diary during the entire mental and physical recovery.

I hope you will join me.

~Echo

Love Thyself.....some day

As I was power walking today I let my Ipod play classical music. Typically I allow my music to set my thoughts and tone, but today I wanted as little influence as possible. I wanted to try to see things from a different perspective; to allow my thoughts to come naturally with the moment. I tried to appreciate the nature I was experiencing where I typically just drive. I took note of a blue jay and even a couple of people riding the trail on horses. And while I smiled at the simplicity of it all, I found myself preoccupied with my typical thoughts. The thoughts that tell me, no matter how far I walk, no matter what I change, it just isn't good enough.

Call me crazy, but unless I am happy with myself, how can I believe anyone else would be happy with me? All my life I had heard, in order for someone to love you, you have to love yourself. Well I don't. And I cant seem to find a way to. Which must mean no one else can either. Subconsciously this haunts me in everything I do and say. I have found ways over the years to put those thoughts to the back of my head, yet they yell so loudly I cant ignore them, ever.

Recently I have started to walk every day. Each step I take I hope will bring me closer to liking myself and ultimately bringing me one step closer to believing I am loved. I try, as I always do, to rationalize the stupidity that is my head, and understand that the old proverb "love yourself so others can love you" really isn't what we are talking about here, but it doesn't seem to matter. The fact is, I just cant understand how someone could love what I loathe so many things about. Every compliment falls short if its intentions. Each "I love you" I question for sincerity.

I am planning some major physical changes in the very near future. Surgical changes. I would be a liar if I said it was anything other than 1% physical need and 99% mental. Some people might not believe a physical risk for an emotional outcome is worth it. I say they are very wrong. The anticipation of this procedure has me redefining who I am already. The thought alone has created an anticipated growth in confidence and self love. I am already feeling the desire to do and experience things I would never have allowed myself to before.

Feeling good inside will enable me to be a better person to others. I no longer want to spend every minute of the day preoccupied with what makes me feel bad. I want to spend time on the things that make me feel good. Until then I will keep walking. Hoping it too takes me closer to where I need to be. Closer to the day where "love thee as you would love thyself" happens. To the day the words "I love you" no longer need to be questioned, just believed.

Freeing Myself

Its been a little over a year since I began this blog and ultimately a journey like none other. To most my ride has gone undetected. The effects of writing what I typically only allow to swirl in my head has been enlightening, sometimes frightening, but mostly freeing. I wish I had known that 30, 20, even 10 years ago I could have felt this way, had I just opened the door.

This blog has opened the door to an involvement in the LGBT community that I had honestly never even considered. I had no intentions of using these pages to solicit writing opportunities. However, when the opportunities found me I wondered why I hadn't considered how fulling supporting the community through writing could be.

My ultimate goal is to finish my memoir. The thought excites and scares the hell out of me. Someone said recently "....yet you seem so normal", when I was speaking of some experiences I have had. I wonder what she would have said if I had shared anything from my book. Normal? No. Not in the dictionary sense of the word. But to me? Yes. I am normal for what I am supposed to be. I am simply a product of my environment and my experiences, as we all are.

Blogging, writing for LGBT publications, and working on my book this past year has allowed me to learn who I am. It has given me the strength to allow others to learn me too. I have felt decades of emotions wash through me in a small amount of time. It has been an overwhelming, stressful, exhausting experience. Yet it has been one of the most healing things I have ever done.

I will finish my book. I will hopefully send it out to the world. I will share my story for what it is worth. I will not fear the reaction as somehow I know we all can relate. Perhaps not to the tragedies, but to the feelings.

In one year I have managed to undo decades of damage. Thank you for allowing me to do so.

Gender Dysphoric Body Dysmorphic

Summer time undoubtedly brings on anxiety for many people. The thought of having to suddenly reveal the body you have comfortably hidden under winter clothes can be devastating for some. Those of us with Body Dysmorphic Disorder will find ourselves begging for just one more week of sweatshirt weather. The more clothes and accessories you can wear, the easier it is to cover up the presumed inconsistencies and flaws.

Everyone has a part of them they aren't happy with. Body dysmorphic disorder goes beyond the typical criticizing we all do in front of the mirror. BDD dominates the life of the sufferer. BDD is a preoccupation with perceived defects of the body. For me, the preoccupations control my daily life. They come first, everything else revolves around them. Coupled with fluctuations in gender perception, my day can be quite confusing and always uncomfortable.

I, unlike most BDD suffers, avoid mirrors. I do not know who I see in the mirror. I do not understand why anyone would want to know what I see in the mirror. When I picture myself in my head it is not what I see in my reflection, both in looks and body shape and size. I like who I am inside yet extremely dislike what the majority of the world sees.

My heart breaks for those that live in a completely wrong body. My gender may not fit all of the time, but it does fit some of the time. I cannot imagine the pain and misery of never relating to the body you travel in. And while not all people with gender identity issues have BDD, I would have to think that it runs rampant in that community.

According to the professionals, BDD sufferers can spend upwards of 8 hours of their day comparing the unattractiveness of their body with the body parts of others. I spend a considerable amount of my day doing this. Each day I hope to find someone that looks like me. Someone that I can say "Hey they have the same defects and they are comfortable with themselves." Unfortunately that day has never come. Each day I look at every single person I pass or see. And each day I see that no one looks as bad as I do. No one has the defects I do. Each day I know every one of them is saying "I am glad I don't look like that" about me.

I am a highly intelligent person. I have spent numerous years in a therapeutic environment for many "disorders". I can rationalize the nonsense of BDD very easily, yet I cannot escape it. Just as I cannot make myself fit my gender completely, I cannot make myself be OK with the things I obsess about regarding my body.

I am gender dysphoric and body dysmorphic and I am hoping summer never gets here.

I Won't Care if They're Gay

I don't know if they named me
But papers call me Liam
I'm not sure who I look like
I never got to see them

I've been to many houses
But none have stayed my home
Just when I'm feeling settled
I find myself alone

I want a bed
I want a dog
I want somewhere to stay

I want a home
And family
That loves me every day

I had straight parents from the start
Yet both just walked away
If new ones love me endlessly
I won't care if they're gay

Next time the laws come up for vote
Remember how I feel
The loneliness inside my heart
Is something very real

~EB 2011

I have you all to thank

"I love the you no one gets to see but me." A line from a movie the other night that my wife repeated to me several times that evening as well as emailing it to me the next morning. Each time she said it I answered in my head or aloud "that's about 90% of me." I have never been someone else to most people, I just have never allowed most people to know who I am completely, or at all. Most of my life has been spent staying in the role that people can relate to easiest and without much question. The most controversial thing I am to most is a lesbian. Some days that is hard enough for the majority to handle.

Since I began this blog less than a year ago, I have allowed you all to travel my journey of self discovery and acceptance of who I am along with me. I have gone back and reread some of my entries realizing I am still finding things in those words about myself that surprise me. Sometimes it feels like I am reading a stranger's writing. I find myself captivated by the words and feeling a bit uneasy that I displayed them for the world to see. I get to know me each time I write and again when I read it. Its a never ending process that I would typically never allow people to join me in.

Since I use anonymity in my blog and my columns, I suppose I get a false sense of security. Somehow I assumed a fictitious name would keep people from knowing me. Until now I didn't realize the name had little to do with it. I am still putting myself out there. I am still taking this very real journey. I am still discovering who I am, all names aside. And I am still allowing anyone interested to take the ride with me. For the first time in my life I feel free of a lot of things. Free of a lot of anger, resentment, self loathing and misunderstanding. I feel free of shame and the need to hide. I am finally free of the pounding desire to share who I am with people and not just little tiny pieces to fit into most social circles appropriately.

My wife will always be the only one that knows me, the complete me. Her repeated statement "I love the you no one gets to see but me" holds steadfast. However I am finding there are so many people that do relate, that do see me for most of who I am and haven't run screaming from the complexities. I am no longer 90% inside myself. And I have you all to thank.

Repeating the Cycle

I have spent a lot of time in thought while working on my memoir. This morning I was remembering how emotionally absent my mother was and how mentally abusive her actions and words were. I recalled a time in my life that I made excuses for her behavior. I read reference books explaining the cycle of abuse and self help books that reminded me she too came from somewhere not so pleasant. I spent years putting myself in her shoes, as a child and as a mother. I tried to believe that what she did was because she knew no different. And I continued to believe that, and excuse her behavior, for my entire life. Until now.

I know my mother was raised with a very strict mother herself. I know that perfection was the only option. I know she was told again and again that what she did and how she acted was a direct reflection on her mother. I know that she could never have reached the bar that would have been set too high. I know this, and I lived in the same moments a generation later. I feel for her. I feel sorry for what she endured. I feel sorry for the person it made her and the way she loathed herself to the point of mistreating others for comfort. I know she was a child once, a sad one. I know her story like a book, because it is written in my own.

Looking back on my traumatic childhood; the pain my own mother caused and the pain she refused to acknowledge that others put me through, I can easily see what shaped many of the obstacles I still struggle to overcome. But the thing I see clearest is that I too grew up in the same environment yet with much worse additions than she did. I too felt the wrath of a obsessive compulsive manic. I felt it so much I became it as well. However the books forgot to mention that just because it typically trickles down and repeats itself, it doesn't have to, and it didn't.

Instead of repeating the cycle, I became the mother I never had; the mother I wished I did. Though exhausting mentally and physically, I overcame the challenge of giving into behaviors my childhood created because I knew they were wrong. I put myself second, always, even when I was screaming for someone to put me first. I have spent my entire life trying to understand why such a strong willed person such as my mother was too weak to do the right thing. I no longer make excuses for her. I no longer feel sorry for where she came from. What I feel sorry for is that she couldn't find a way to sacrifice a bit of herself to make sure I never had to feel like her. I know she couldn't have liked how it felt.

I am not a perfect mom or a perfect partner. But I am not a casualty or a victim. Everyday I struggle to make it to the next day with everyone I am responsible for feeling OK. And although my closet still holds its skeletons, repeating the cycle will never be one of them.

I am learning

I was thinking about how many opportunities we miss in life due to fear and expectation. I was brought up to put others first. I know it was probably not the most sound advice, but not much of what was instilled in me was. I had a mother who constantly reminded me that I should never seek out happiness. That if I was deserving, it should come to me. If things that I felt I needed didn't miraculously appear, I was not worthy of them. And that putting myself first was selfish. She always told me that if I had to ask for something emotionally I would never get it honestly. I believed that saying I needed something, asking for help, or admitting I was hurt would only make people pacify me, that I was getting those things falsely; there was nothing genuine in receiving what you had to ask for. She made me believe that if people cared for me and loved me they would know what I needed. And if they didn't know, I was unworthy of having it.

As an adult I can rationalize the absurdity in those teachings. I can tell myself I am worthy, and that no one else can possibly know what I need. I am able to understand the concept that asking for something emotionally does not make you weak. I even understand that people need to put themselves first in order to be able to be there for others. I get it. I just don't know how to do any of it.

For a lot of different reasons, some of us consistently put the needs of others before ourselves. I do it because I was taught that my needs didn't matter. For others it may be entirely different. Whatever the reason, when you put other people before your own well being, mentally or physically, you run the risk of losing who you truly are. You pass up opportunities that may have shaped you and your life into something completely different than it is now. If you put off doing something you need to do for yourself because someone else depends on who you are the way you are, ultimately you have cheated yourself.

I am slowly teaching myself this lesson. I am attempting to do what I need to mentally for me, and not worry so much about how it effects others. I am trying to undo forty years of thinking that what I need doesn't matter and that if I deserved to feel good I already would. I want to feel worthy and a priority, if to no one else, then to myself. I am learning.

"How come they dont have a gay boy's section?"

I was walking through the clothing section of a major retailer last night with my 13 year old daughter. We were looking for socks that were long enough to go up over her knees. She likes to wear them for protection when sliding in softball. We started at the ladies section, then traveled to the boy's section. After realizing boys don't typically wear knee socks,and heading to the girls section, my kid said to me "how come they don't have a gay boy's section?" To which I replied, "why would they?" I suggested that if a boy wanted to wear something girly he could always go to the girls section and vice versa. She seemed unimpressed with my thought process and I was glad. While I agreed with her a million percent that additional choices in this world are needed, I am a firm believer in our children making their own assessments about the world, not just taking on their parent's.

"I think they need to have another section for those people that don't like just girls or boy's clothes, but something more in between".

I smiled proudly to myself, nodded my head and said "I would shop there for sure."

Gut Instincts

Yesterday my life may have ultimately been saved by my gut. Long story short, I allowed an eighteen wheeler to move in front of me rather than make him wait until I passed him. As soon as I did, I felt completely panicked and knew I 'had' to change lanes. I was so panic stricken that I actually cut another car off in order to get out from behind the truck. The very second I crossed into the new lane, the truck's tire and part of his wheel flew off and was sent flying 70 miles an hour directly behind him where I had been just one second before. I cannot explain how I knew to leave that lane at that moment, but this was not an isolated incident.

I have been 'feeling' things before they happen all of my life. Sometimes it comes to me in words, sometimes in pictures and sometimes in emotion. So far I have been unable to tap into the gift of my sixth sense and use it as I want to, but I get a chuckle every time it happens. Yesterday I was very thankful for it. This morning I started to think about the things our gut tells us and how true it is that you should trust what it says. I trusted my gut yesterday because the panic felt raw and I acted on instinct. That was a good move. However, I have had many situations where my gut told me to do something and I took too long to listen.

We all have our doubts in certain situations. Sometimes our own insecurities lead us to question the actions of others. Many times when our gut speaks to us, we question its validity, especially when it presents a potential uncomfortable outcome. And just as many times we allow our fears to manifest as gut feelings and believe them. As humans we are programmed to take the path of least resistance. Our gut instinct has not followed the same evolutionary path. Our gut instinct is still very much that, instinct. I do not believe it is influenced by our conscious wants and needs. However I think our wants and needs influence how we perceive that moment of instinct and how we allow it to effect us.

Trust your gut. But only in that instant. Insecurities are not instinct.

Well written, sound advice: Sex education

(reprinted with permission)

Letter To My Son: The Birds & Bees Letter
By Jo LeGall

"Got notice that your health class will be on the 19th so I'm writing this now and mailing it later. Not sure I could have done this in person without fidgeting. Wanted to pass on some advice I wish they taught during health class. Advice I never got from my parents either, if you count the warning to not come home if a. sick or b. pregnant. So here it is, enough stalling:

1. The number 1 prevention of HIV/AIDS is to get tested at the same time. That means you and your partner. Not knowing your status or their status is the top cause in the spread of HIV/AIDS. Assumptions get folks infected.

2.Using a condom is your responsibility to yourself. No one is going to say "Hey, I'm positive" or "I've got x,y,z." then hand you a convenient rubber.

3. Condoms don't protect for everything. N-9 might kill sperm but it does not kill the HIV virus or STDs. In fact, N-9 actually increases your risk of getting HIV/AIDS. That's why number 1 is so important.

4. Don't even think about kids unless you can financially multiply your income by two, all by yourself. That is what it will cost to raise a kid as a single parent. Multiply by three if it is you, a partner and baby. One of you won't be able to work full time and take care of a new born. You remember how hard it was when Mike (baby bro) was tiny. (this was around the custody trial and my eldest took over diaper changes, bottle feeding etc at the age of 5 and potty training at age 8. Convincing me that my ex is an ass.)

5. There are different types of sex. Most classes say to abstain from vaginal sex or anal sex to prevent pregnancy, STDs, and HIV/AIDs. Well oral sex is sex too. You can contract an STD from oral sex and having an STD increases your chances of getting infected, regardless of which side of the exchange you are on.

6. Condoms break, or come off during sex, or a partner can poke holes in it to make you a parent or get back at you. Always bring your own and put it on yourself. Make sure you're also holding on to the end closet to you when done. Condoms have been known to disappear inside, which kind of defeats the purpose.

7. Make testing a part of your check up, and a part of your dating conversation before sex. You're both adults. Well, you will be then hopefully.

8. Get real familiar with state laws on sex. They do have them and let them guide you when dating. In New Jersey, the age of sexual consent is 18. That means it's illegal for someone over 18 to date you if you're under. Prison sentences are anywhere from 5 to 30 years. In New Jersey it is statutory rape to have sex with anyone 13 and younger. So, no dating for you until age 15 mister! The sentence for aggravated sexual assault of a minor 13 and under is 10 to 20 years. Plus being listed as a sex offender. Which means, no contact with anyone under the age of 18. Which means no more school, no chance of a good job, no college and no family since you'd have to move out.

Sex with anyone under the age of 15 when you are 18 will get you a sentence of 5 to 10 years and registered as a sex offender. So, no dating until you're 15 mister and make sure they're in the same grade! I can't tell you not to have sex, although I really, really want to. Just make sure you are physically and legally safe. Remember "no means no" and that goes for you too. If you say "no" they have to respect you. Pushing the issue is a big sign of disrespect.

9. You are either sexual or asexual. You either have sexual interest in one or both sexes or you have romantic or platonic interest in one or both sexes. That would have cleared a ton of things up for me but you experience life by trial and error. Whether you have sexual interest or no sexual interest is fine. There's also no wrong person to have an interest in. They may be wrong for everyone else and perfect for you. Perfect for you is all that matters.

10. A good relationship is built on more than love. There is trust, honesty, respect and communication. That person you are with must love you just the way you are and you should feel the same. If they find some part of you disgusting, disappointing or whatever, that's not love baby boy.

11. Spend within your means. If you cannot afford something don't buy it. If your partner knows you can't then the gift you can afford will be twice as nice. Trying to impress with who you are not is not being honest, respectful, trusting or communicating. Not a good way to start a relationship. If you can lie about the little things no one believes the important things.

12. Always know that I love you just the way you are. There is naught that you could say or do that could stop me from loving you. My biggest concern will always be that you love yourself as unconditionally as I do.

Now pass this letter on when it's your brother's turn in Health class. It applies to all of you. I love you. I miss you.

Love Mom

Pray the Gay Away?

Last night's airing of Pray the Gay Away? on the Oprah Winfrey Network left me with so many things to ponder. Being gay myself, and quite comfortable with that part of me, I found myself easily angered at what seemed to be complete ignorance on some people's parts. However, when I put my anger aside, I was able to see that these people were not truly ignorant, they were in fact victims of the utmost damaging brainwashing I have ever seen.

I personally don't care how I 'became' a lesbian. If it was genetic, environment, trauma or a combination, it matters not to me. I am what I am and who I am and I how I got here really doesn't effect what I think about myself. However, anyone watching that program, gay or not, would be able to pick the gay-turned-straight guy out of a crowd of a thousand as a gay man. His appearance, his speech, his fluidity were very apparent. For someone who has been 'changed' to a straight man, I find it hard to understand why his mannerisms didn't change to straight ones as well. If his gayness was a behavior that could be changed, why was the sexual aspect the only thing about him that changed and nothing else? Why? Because he is still gay.

Anyone can change a behavior. I can go sleep with a million men if I wanted to. Does that make me a straight woman? No, it makes me a lesbian that just slept with a million men. Our sexuality isn't just about who we sleep with. It explains who we are as people. It effects who we relate to and connect with. Sexuality doesn't just equal sexual acts. Our actual sex lives, for the most part, are a very small part of what we do, yet for gay people it becomes all of how they are perceived. Confusing sexuality with sexual acts is why someone that doesn't understand same gender intimacy projects their disgust onto the gay person as a whole. It makes sense that these same people would then assume by changing the sexual act someone partakes in ultimately changes their being.

I am not a religious person. I made the decision not to be. However I believe anyone should have the opportunity to believe what they want and need to. It saddened me to see the children in this documentary growing up believing in their God yet thinking the God they expect to save them is the same God that is condemning them. The confusion that God would put someone "broken and wrong" on this earth, and that person is you, is a very difficult concept for a child, or anyone for that matter, to swallow. Growing up gay is very difficult to begin with. Growing up gay in a religious environment that doesn't accept you as a person is devastating.

I understand the reason programs that promote gay to straight conversion therapy exist. I understand for some life would be made "right" if only they could find a way to change. What I don't understand is why who you love and who you are intimate with dictate how you rank as a human being. And I don't understand how falsifying a behavior and lying to yourself makes you a better person than someone who is true to who they are and others.

Online Dating

I received an Email inviting me to join an online dating site. Because I have been in a committed relationship since 1997 I always laugh at online dating sites because my wife and I actually met online before it was fashionable and easily accessible. I scrolled through the Email and noticed the site was geared toward butch and femme women. It also noted categories such as ftm, mtf, genderqueer, stud, aggressive, stonefemme, stonebutch, and the list goes on. I realize I am getting older, and that I am in my fourth decade of life, but somehow the need to micro-label myself must have gotten past me.

Immediately I tried to stick myself in one of the categories; thinking, if I were to create a profile how would I described myself. "I Am" (check box) Genderqueer. "I Am Seeking" (check box)....um......um.....why must I choose? Hell, I don't even know what half of them mean. When did we as a community become so segregated that we all have to have tiny little communities within a community?

Labeling ourselves is indeed an identifier. It does help others recognize us. Unfortunately, allowing ourselves to focus on them severely limits the interactions we have with others as well as potential relationships. My wife is not someone I would typically "pick out" of a lineup. As a matter of fact, none of my long term relationships were. She also doesn't have a label. She is a woman. She is a lesbian. She is a lot of things to me, but none of those boxes. Admittedly, she was unaware of some of them too. So lets assume, hypothetically, that I joined the dating service, and she did too. I can almost guarantee, that even after having been in a relationship for almost 15 years, we would not find each other on there. Why? Because you cant label who you are inside. You cannot label what you need in a person. You can not put a label on what completes you.

I think back to our own online story. We met in a chat room. We spent hours, days, weeks and months talking among a group we all grew to know so well. And while we didn't meet face to face for quite some time, the communication was open and allowed us to get to know each other. Had I seen only her name on a list, or a profile photo, or the statement that she was a married straight woman many miles away, I would not have given her a second thought. I would have passed on something that became my everything.

We cannot box ourselves in so tightly that those that aren't like us, or aren't what we are used to get no chance to know who we are. Choosing your connections by labels is like walking through life completely unaware. I cant imagine what my life would be now had I opted for an "I Am Seeking" box. But I do know it wouldn't be what it is today.

Pride Stickers

While commuting this morning, I noticed the car in front of me sporting a rainbow colored peace sign. My first instinct when I see a pride sticker on a person's car is to peer through the window and make my assessment on who in the car is gay, who might or might not be their partner and wonder if the kids in the back were conceived through IVF or are just visiting relatives. My gaydar kicks on and I make sure to stay within a certain distance until I am sure I have sized up the situation and pacified my curiosity.

Passing judgment because I can relate is still passing judgment. I had no idea what the orientations of the occupants of the car were, I assumed. I assumed because they advertised a reason for me to assume. I was guilty of seeing something that registered as homosexual and ran with it, guilty of what I so strongly oppose in others. I told myself I just wanted to feel the connection. Belonging to a small community, it makes sense to try to recognize those similar to you. That's where it should have ended; happy to see an openly gay person driving to work like I was. Instead I tried to sort out their personal life, something that is none of my business; something that I cannot accurately do without personally knowing these people.

The rest of my commute was spent in thought. Advertising who we are enables the world to see just how infiltrated we are with everyone else. However, it also opens the door for judging and hate to find an easier target. Some days I feel I should be loud and proud, other days I have the attitude that if I want to be treated like the rest of society I need to just act like the rest of society; that drawing attention to my differences keeps me at arms length. I suppose there are arguments for both thought processes.

I don't have a sticker on my car. I did once, but my daughter asked me to take it off. I drove her to school each morning. She had no fear of being picked on for having two moms, she just didn't understand why I had to advertise. I recall her saying "Mom, you don't see straight stickers on people's cars, you are no different." She was more concerned that the sticker would give people a reason to judge me without knowing me.

Smart kid.

Bucket List

A while back a friend was talking about her bucket list. During that time I wasn't feeling particularly well and couldn't put much thought other than feeling well into what my bucket list would consist of. Today I saw the mention of a bucket list in someone's post and it reminded me I wanted to revisit the idea of creating my own.

I was quite surprised at how difficult it seemed to make this list. I started wondering if I had become so dull that coming up with the thought of experiencing something new and exciting was too far of a reach. I wondered if I was subconsciously keeping myself from wanting more than I deserved. I told myself that a bucket list was supposed to be selfish, and that it was OK to desire things, especially those you have sacrificed for a greater good like marriage and family. I reminded myself that selfish doesn't always mean self centered. That selfish also pertains to the feel good we experience when doing something good for someone else.

Taking all that into consideration here is the far from complete list.

Publish my book
Get a breast reduction
Travel out of the country
Get married, for real
Buy someone a car
Learn French
Have a session with Ellen Fisher Turk
Go ballroom dancing
Learn how to play the guitar and piano
Save someone from themselves
Feel comfortable in public with my spouse
Visit Victoria Falls
Have someone famous record my song lyrics
Own a dungeon
Spend a weekend completely alone in the middle of no where
See the Northern Lights
Throw a huge party
Walk at least one of my children down the aisle
Have a closet just for boots
Feel well for one entire day

To be continued......

Newlywed Game

I glanced at the television as I walked by the other day and noticed the Newlywed Game was on. I often like to answer the question silently in my head and even throw them out aloud to my better half to see how she would answer them. One particular question I couldn't seem to find an answer to was "what about your partner would you like smaller, and what would you like larger?" The physical answers the contestants came up with primarily pertained to "boobs". The non physical ones were also fairly non specific "smaller mess, smaller anger" basically anything that wouldn't result in a war back in the hotel room after the show.

Typically I would have turned to my wife and asked her to answer the questions. I did not however. The realization that I would learn that she wasn't happy with parts of me was more than I could handle. I took a quick inventory of my body parts and wondered what she would pick. Most likely, had I asked the question, she would have chosen her answers carefully and diplomatically knowing my sensitivities. For that I love her. But truth be told, I wouldn't have believed they were the honest answers. My inventory included everything that doesn't seem to fit proportionately. I think about the curvy, fit women I am not. I think about the androgynous genderless person I feel but again, am not. I think about the masculine dyke, again, no. I don't fit anything, and surely she sees that. She may not love me less, but she has to recognize all the parts don't fit the package. A bag of mixed parts. She must have a preference, and I am probably not it.

I took a minute to think, if I asked for her answers, she might reciprocate and ask me for mine. What would I answer? My inventory taking turned to her body. I came up blank. I wouldn't want anything bigger. She is already taller than me and bigger than me. Some days I hate that I am so small. I thought about what I would want smaller. She is a big girl. But would I want her smaller? I really don't care. I want her to be however she is comfortable being. So no, I wouldn't want her smaller if she didn't want herself smaller. I pictured all the parts of her bigger and smaller, morphing her in my mind. No picture made me want or love her any more or differently than I do now.

I wonder why it is so difficult to believe someone else could feel that way about me?

On The Inside

Looking into the mirror this morning, I realized it was a day when I don't look on the outside how I feel on the inside. I got thinking about the gazillion times I have heard people say, "Its who you are on the inside that matters". While I agree with that statement, I felt a little resentful that the phrase doesn't pertain to me. Who I am on the inside is the basis for everything people judge me for. Who I am on the outside is pretty typical and unnoticeable. The inside is where my identity, my sexual orientation and my past lies. The very things that have the ability to make me ugly and unworthy to a great majority of ignorant closed minded people. And while I recognize the fact that they mean nothing to me, it is those same hypocritical people that make the "its who you are on the inside that matters" statement when they or their loved ones are being cruelly judged.

When I have to face the stranger in the mirror I don't see who I am, I pick apart everything that is not what it is supposed to be. I look to my maturity and knowledge for comfort. I tell myself I know who I am and I am comfortable with that. I try to convince myself that others don't matter, but in reality, they do. Today I wondered, as the years slip by, will there ever come a time when I step in front of that mirror and see myself, not someone else using my insides as a way for their outsides to get around.

"It's who you are on the inside that matters". If that is so, then why do so few people bother to look there?

Straight Women

The book I am reading touches on an intimate relationship between two women,one lesbian and one straight. The story takes me back to a time in my life when I preferred to court straight women. I always loved a good game of cat and mouse. I loved the chase and the conquest. I loved the attention. Although being the token lesbian in the group gets tiring, I never exhausted of straight women needing to know that if they wanted to, I would say yes to them. Now that I am older, and a whole lot wiser, I know their attention had little to do with me, a lot to do with their own ego.

As I am reading I am reminded that I struggle daily with the thoughts of "When will she remember what she liked about men and return to them?". Even after fourteen years of being together, it has never left my head. In days past I didn't care. Men were not a threat to me, they still aren't. However that is my perception of them, and I cant possibly know what anyone else truly feels. I worry endlessly that the sex is not enough, that although I can connect in ways no man can, I cannot do what they do. Not really. Will there come a time when she misses that more than she enjoys me?

I love straight women. I always have. There is something innocent yet fiery about them. Those first moments are indescribable. To feel the unbridled passion and freedom pour from them is exhilarating. Unfortunately as soon as she catches her breath, reality typically rears its ugly head. The truths of what it means to be in a same sex relationship surface. The sudden need to hide who they are. The realization that they now have to endure what comes with being a minority. The fact that indeed, the world is very different from this place. For some its worth the effort, for most, it is not.

I have always preferred straight women. I lived for the once in a life time experiences I knew they could never find with their male partners. A long time ago I was happy to forsake an honest relationship for those moments. Today I am a different person. I have not changed, I have evolved. I do not need the conquests and obsessions like I did then. I do not need the attention and the validation. However,as much as those needs have diminished, the need to feel safe has not.

I am hoping for a happily ever after for my book couple's relationship, and for my own.

When Family Counts

I am a fairly patient person. OK, no I am not. But I do understand that change takes time. I also recognize that evolution is a slow process. So I get it that gay rights are progressing at a snail's space, but they are progressing none-the-less. I don't consider myself oppressed, as I feel that places a very negative value on who I am. I consider myself unfortunate to share the world with bigots, unwarranted hatred and a whole lot of ignorant people. The point at which my patience truly stops and my understanding goes out the window is when my children come under attack simply for being my children, and my family is not recognized as such.

I am well aware of the lack of rights I have in regard to marriage. I realize I have no claim on my wife's estate or her on mine. I know we are not afforded the same benefits through the government as our heterosexual counterparts. That being said,I should at least have the right to dictate who I choose to call family. My children do not legally belong to my wife who is the head of household according to the Census. That in essence denies any of us in the household to state we are a family, including me and my biological children.

According to the 2010 Census, I am a single person and there are two children living in the house. My wife is just a single person in the house. With no sexuality questions on the form, and the Census' lack of recognition of same sex marriage and relationships, the counts are skewed beyond belief. The purpose of the census is to acquire population data. That data is used to allocate funding, provide adequate social and health policy, and determine economic policies.

How can the gay and lesbian community be counted and taken seriously if on paper they don't even exist? How can policy makers take a look at the benefits or lack there of for providing services, marriage equality etc to the community when it doesn't accurately know who the community consists of? Most of all, how can they make the determination that my children are not part of a family because I am not the head of the household?

I may not have the peace of mind knowing that my wife will get my social security benefits or even that my same sex relationship is recognized by the government, but I thought I had the right to claim my own children as my family. If I lived alone they would be my family but since I am committed to a partner and our family as a whole, somehow it has diminished all meaning on paper.

I am Not George Bailey

We all know George Bailey, the man whose imminent suicide was sideswiped by Clarance, an angel, in order to show him that indeed his life did effect others. For even the most despondent of people, you would be had pressed to find someone that their lives haven't touched. We all touch people in one way or another. Our actions have a cause and effect like everything else. We are responsible for certain occurrences. There is no way we could exist and not leave a blueprint. However, not all of us are George Bailey. Some of us would have a very different experience if Clarance came to visit. Obviously if I had not been born, my children would not have been either. They owe their existence to my saving mine as a teen. However, aside from that, I think Clarance might have a bit of a struggle convincing me my lack of existence would have diminished many people's experiences.

For a very long time I have been the scapegoat for many other people's unwillingness to accept responsibility for their own actions. Somehow my existence has been the reason for others misfortune's. And while I know, in reality, their issues are what cause their accusations, it is exhausting to constantly pretend the blame doesn't effect me. From the time I was a young child I was the scapegoat for everything my mother hated about herself. Everything from my bed wetting to my childhood rape was somehow my fault and a way to make her look bad. When I came out in high school, I was to blame for the shame my family name would now have to carry. As an addict I was to blame for my addiction and the shame that too caused the family. As a pregnant homeless young woman I was to blame for my circumstance, not the parent that evicted from their rental property so they could live in it when their home was condemned for lack of care. As an adult I am still being blamed. Blamed by others who feel my existence is keeping them from benefiting. That my relationship has hindered their ability to have a healthy life. That somehow I have been the sole reason they have been unable to achieve happiness.

I have learned that there will always be people that will try to sabotage your happiness because they cant seem to find their own. And I have learned that these are not real blames to carry on my shoulder, and yet, some days I find them there. They are coupled with sadness for those that need to drag me through the mud to feel better. But no matter how I rationalize, they are still heavy.

Today I seriously thought about George Bailey and all the horrible things that would have happened if he hadn't been there. I didn't feel like George. I felt that so many people would have "been much better off" without me causing such pain to them. That Clarance would have showed me a bunch of narcissistic people finding their way much easier without me as their roadblock. And as much as I know someone else would have been their target, for just a moment, nonexistence seemed a much lighter load to carry.

The Elderly Couple

While sitting in the "waiting room" waiting for my chest xray, I took the opportunity to people watch. Oftentimes I try to imagine what people's lives are like. I think about what their house looks like, where they work, if they even work, what might be on their meal plan for dinner that evening. I wouldn't say I am judgmental, just curious.

An elderly couple came in just as I sat down to do my waiting. The man was pushing the woman in a walker/chair type device. She was facing him in the seat. It looked awkward, but it got the job done I suppose. I watched them intently. She was obviously a victim of some sort of terrible osteoporosis or rheumatoid arthritis. They both had to be in their 80's. After settling the chair/walker in a place as to not be in the way, the elderly gentleman took off his hat and gloves. He placed the gloves in his pocket. He proceeded to stand in front of his wife and help her remove her gloves. With no words being said, she grabbed hold of the walker and stood up so her husband could put her gloves in her pocket. He then proceeded to remove her hat, scarf and coat like they had done this a million times, and probably had. When she was settled back in her chair, the man took off his glasses and tucked them in his shirt pocket. In that same pocket was a pack of tissues. He took one tissue out, proceeded to fold it gingerly and used it to wipe his wife's nose. It was at this point that I was very moved. I looked at others watching them. I could tell by their faces most of them were simply thinking, "damn, glad that's not me." I could not help but think, "Damn I hope that is me". Maybe not today, but when that time comes I want to know I have someone that cares for me in all respects or that I can care for them; to believe that the commitment I make now will carry through to those fragilest of times.

I began to recall what I used to think I needed and wanted in a partner. Its amazing how differently I think now to even just ten years ago. The things that seemed so important in a relationship replaced by what truly is important. As I watched that elderly couple I tried to picture what their life used to be, dinners, dancing, raising children, and what it consists of today. I am sure he dresses and undresses her daily. Most likely he feeds her and baths her. They probably cant share a bed anymore. I imagine he tends to everything in the house and everything relating to her care. I saw no resentment in his eyes. When he looked at her he seemed so proud to be with her, to do for her, to love her.

That, to me, is what its all about.

Virtual Friends to Die For

Recently Simone Back committed suicide. Her last correspondence with people was a status update on Facebook,"Took all my pills be dead soon so bye bye everyone.” Her death is yet another senseless tragedy for the LGBT community. The way in which it unfolded made me question what social media is doing to the world.

None of her "friends" did anything to save her. No one made a phone call to the police or a relative. Instead numerous comments followed and opened up discussions and banter back and forth between the very people Simone had come to believe were her friends.

Most things you read regarding Simone seem to center on the fact that no one took responsibility for her death. Personally, as sad as the story is, I have to question where the liability lies, or if there even is any. Morally you would think that even if you did not truly know someone you would at least consider reaching out to someone if you were to read her final statement. However morals are not necessarily grounds for liability.

Most of us have social media friends that we have no idea who they are. Some of us have gained them through networking, friends in common, and due to similar interest groups etc. Others are simply collectors. Simone was painted out to be a collector. This was a woman with obvious issues. I don't know anything about her, only what I have read and I don't dare speculate. However one that commits suicide is not without issues. She had a great number of friends on Facebook yet very little seemed to know who she was personally. Whatever her reason for feeling the need to have so many online friendships, it doesn't mean that those she "friended" have a legal obligation to save her from herself. I cannot imagine ignoring her pleas myself, but I am not everyone else.

I do find it eerily strange that no one reached out to Facebook or the authorities. Even in the group of those engaging in the "she is faking" commentary you would think at least one person would have had a moment of morality. As twisted as her virtual friendships showed to be, I am not sure they are to blame for help not arriving. I have read the Facebook bashing as well. Distraught people feeling Facebook should have a better handle on its community's safety. I think they would only carry blame if someone had reported it to them and they ignored it. It's a free networking site, not a babysitter.

For fear of being seen as heartless, let me say I feel horrible for what happened to Simone and to her mother who was finally notified via a text message sixty hours after the fact telling her she should check on Simone. I feel terrible for the sad place Simone was in, for her feeling so connected to her virtual community that her last cry for help was to them. I feel sick that none of those virtual relationships were strong enough to care, even though I am sure she was counting on one to be.

In this day and age we need to step back and analyze where we are dedicating our time and efforts. While its nice to have access to people we would never have the opportunity to cross paths with otherwise, we need to stay in reality. We need to nurture real friends and relationships. We need to understand the magnitude of what will and what won't happen if your life is consumed only with your friends who live on your screen

Dionum

So my editor says to me, "I have trouble thinking of ways to depict your stuff with graphics." To which I replied "I have trouble thinking of ways to depict myself all the time!" Which is the whole purpose for writing about genderqueer issues in the first place. It's so difficult to explain being something other than what people know. When in conversation with someone unfamiliar with the term genderqueer, attempting to explain your gender or lack there of is akin to explaining life forms on other planets. Trying to get people to think outside that box is a challenge. It was challenge enough for me to understand it. For example,say you are speaking of temperature. You might refer to hold, cold, or something in between, maybe warm. Most of us can relate to that and comprehend it. Now try to explain something other than hot, cold or a combination. It doesn't exist in our vocabulary. You can make up a word, say, dionum, but that doesn't explain anything. Its is just a word. There are days when I can explain myself as hot, cold, or warm, but most days I am dionum. A word for something that just 'is', something different than what we know. I consider myself my own gender. I identify as both female and male and have the physical 'goodies' of a woman, but I use those terms because those are the ones I know, the ones we all know. But they don't really fit. I am OK with being a dionum, but I am not OK with being a dionum and being called a confused hot or cold, or maybe I am just a warm and don't know it. I embrace my genderqueerness. It fits me, it fits my wife, thats all that truly matters. But I will continue to try to explain to people that a marvelous world exits outside of what we concretely know, we just need to be open enough to recognize dionum when we see it.

Nature Vs. Nurture

I have been thinking a lot lately about certain relationships and their negative impact on life. Some days I am confident enough to tell myself there is no room for negative people or feelings, that life is just too short. Other days I find myself obsessed with "fixing" what's wrong. Its makes me wonder if we, as people, are even strong enough to walk away when we know things in our lives are toxic. It seems senseless to continue to try to correct something you have no control over. Toxic relationships are everywhere, we all have them. People we want to love that have no idea how to love us back. We waste precious time and resources trying to change ourselves to fit into the poison situation. Many times we are perfectly content to accept blame when it isn't even warranted, if it can make things the least bit better. Why do we nurture what is so blatantly bad for us? Is it nature or instinct to attempt to survive the experience? Are we that afraid of loss and loneliness that we allow the toxins to control who we really are? Perhaps we are too afraid of the unknown to risk it.

I understand completely when emotions, or fear of them, get in the way of rationale. What I haven't been able to understand is when people expend all their energy on what doesn't work and so little on what does. By allowing nature to dictate your nurturing, the relationships that need the most work, the ones that are the most poisonous, always seem to get the most attention. The things that are good in your life should be celebrated and stroked. Ignoring what doesn't need so much work sends a very negative message. Its says, you are not worthy of my time and attention.

I remember as a child I had a special needs cousin whose older sister was often times ignored because she needed less care. Unfortunately less physical care didn't mean she needed less emotional care. I recall feeling very sorry for her. She was a straight A student, always kept her room immaculate, excelled in dance school and was very giving. However, no one seemed to notice her. She was a very capable young girl and people interpreted that as her having little need. It was very sad to always see this girl, full of heart, getting so little in return. To this day I always try to make sure I nurture all things in my life that are good to me, not just the ones that yell the loudest for attention.

We have a responsibility to all people that touch us. Its the amount of responsibility we take on that we must decide. To what extent do we use our time, energy and resources on relationships that will never heal, are unhealthy or toxic? How much should we take from those that are deserving to try to fix those that may not be? How do we find the strength to walk away from what we know is poison and feed that which is not? Balance is essential in all things. Nature dictates our instincts, our hearts and souls dictate how much we nurture those instincts.