Is That A Hairband In Your Hair Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

Hey vanity, this vile’s empty; so are you…

Not too much to say really.  However, I’ve discovered an unexpected love.  The hairband.

No, seriously you guys, I’m in love.  My hair is at just the right (read: annoying) length that this is like a gift from the gods.  I’m constantly pushing my hair out of my face, and this has solved that for me.  I only got them because I’m starting to experiment with makeup (first trials: not too bad.  My background in theatre has given me enough rudimentary experience to not have it be completely laughable, but work still needs to be done.  Not to mention I just don’t have enough just yet to do a complete job.  Concealer is going to be a must with my dark circles, for instance).  Funny thing was, I was only going to grab some simple cloth ones, but it was the dollar store, so I grabbed more traditional “hard arch” ones as well on a whim.  Guess which one I’m wearing now?

I totally plan on wearing it around the house.  I’ll swap it out for a cloth one when I leave if I feel the need (or simply carry the cloth ones with me, it’d be useful in class).  But this is just so darn convenient.

And it makes me feel way more like a woman than the makeup, for whatever reason.  That’s kinda weird, but whatever.

Posted in Clothes/Accessories | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

Man, I Feel Like a Woman (Or: The Oddities of Validation Via Crossdreaming)

I wake up in the night, all alone, and it’s alright.  The chemicals are wearing off since you’ve gone…

I’m really not proud of that title.  Just wanted to put that right out there.  But I also didn’t want to go with a very clinical sounding title aaaaaaaaaagain.  I’m trying to have some fun here, after all.

So, in a previous posting as I waxed philosophic about how crossdreaming has a very negative stigma associated with it (mainly due to toxic language that the very term “crossdream” is attempting to mend the damage from), I mentioned validation.  Which, as far as I can see from my perspective, is a wee bit important in the trans community as a  whole.  Which is a bit of a “duh” statement, validation is important to everyone, everywhere.  It’s probably more of a keyword issue here because it’s a lot harder to get validation.  I also kvetched here a bit about validation through extreme presentation, and how I’m struggling reconciling my feelings there.  Validation is pretty big.  But I’m going to focus on my thoughts about validation in regards to crossdreaming.  Which the damn title says I’m gonna do, right?

So, Captain Obvious flies in at this point to heroically point out that “well, yes, of course your crossdreaming is validation, Sandi!  Look at your fantasies, an over-exaggerated

I went with Deadpool because Deadpool rules.

I went with Deadpool because Deadpool rules.

caricature of a woman who would NEVER be mistaken for a man, and who men and women alike lust after, that’s a Master Class in validation!”  And I just nod, and try not to murder Captain Obvious.  But, the (good?) Cap’n is right, that’s a rather apparent to anybody with the least little bit of psychology knowledge.  But that’s not really what I want to to focus on.

No, I’m going to make a fairly bold statement that becomes less bold when I caveat it with “this is only pertaining to me, though it could pertain to others.”  Mainly, my crossdreaming, in and of itself, is validation.  Validation of my gender identity.  Now, I purposefully said gender identity as this leaves it open for others to co-opt if they wish, because crossdreamers are all over the gender spectrum.  But specifically, for myself, my crossdreaming serves as validation that I am woman.

The way I see it, the very fact that when I fantasize sexually I’m female is proof positive I’m female.  It’s one thing to refer to yourself in headspace as your female name, in feminine terms, etc.  But when I get turned on, my “sexual aura,” if you will, automatically radiates woman, well…that’s extremely validating to me.  In fact, it’s the line of thinking that led me to my realization in the first place.

This is another reason why, in my opinion, we need to create a social environment where crossdreamers can express themselves freely about it. Proper self-reflection is, unfortunately, not really a “self” action.  It requires an amount of exploration that, quite frankly, one shouldn’t have to do alone.  Jack Molay and his contemporaries are doing their best, but it can’t simply stop with them.  I’d try, but I’m only good at these rapid fire type thought processes.  I have neither the time or the patience to research this stuff out like they can.

Seriously, do we have to have a 50 Shades style pop culture phenomenon to spread awareness?

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Miss Tobi

So, I got a lovely email this morning sharing this video and story, and asking me to spread it along to my audience.  Which I am more than happy to do.  The video is wonderful, but it’s a short trailer and therefore limited, but the blog post, I feel, has a lot of great stuff in it, so make sure to check that all out.

Click me click me click me to learn all about How It Is To Be (Miss Tobi).

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Like A Ton Of Bricks (Caution: Possible Trigger)

To die unsung would really bring you down, although wet eyes would never suit you…

I had a major dysphoria attack earlier today.

I think I mentioned earlier that as for as dysphoria goes, I have it relatively good.  And I still hold to that.  But every once in while, it’s like an ACME anvil being dropped off the cliff, but instead of being the Road Runner and missing it, I’m the hapless Coyote and I can’t get out of my own way.

Since it can be different for everyone, and of course not everyone even knows what it feels like, I’ll describe what today’s experience was like.

It started right after I got on my bus.  Luckily for my ego, on my way out, I get on the very last stop on the bus line, a stop that’s only active during commuter hours anyway.  Usually there’s only one or two others on the bus except me.  Today it was only one.  Had the bus been fuller (which it was later on,) it could have lasted a lot longer.

I sat down and got myself as comfortable as I can get in those seats, and closed my eyes for a second.  When I did, it was like a wave of wrongness crashed down upon me.

Courtesy of

Courtesy of

All of a sudden, I was very well aware of my bits.  I’m usually mildly aware of them, but when the tidal wave of dysphoria hits, I’m painfully aware of them and at the same time, painfully aware of what’s not there.  My general reaction is extreme grief/despair, and a desire to just disappear, so that nobody, myself included, can see me.  I had brought a hoodie with me for the chilly evening later, so I immediately got it out, put it on, threw the hood up and zipped it all the way up to the neck.  I know it does nothing, not really, but it’s like a suit of armor so nobody can see in, I’m just a human shaped blob.

The tears started then, as much as I tried to hold them back.  I really, really didn’t want to be crying on the god damn bus, but it’s not like I had much of a choice.  I spent the next ten minutes (thankfully, most of it was with the bus still waiting for the scheduled departure), quietly rocking in my hoodie armor, sobbing.  I’m sure my eyes still look wrecked, and it’s almost two hours later.

The scary part, for me anyway, is that I have no idea what triggered this.  I don’t have to be triggered, but normally I am.  A passing comment, actually actively thinking about it, that sort of thing, they can be common triggers.  Today, it was nothing.  I sat down, I closed my eyes.  The only thing I can think of is that a girl my roommate is seeing has been doting on me a bit, wanting to make me over and the like.  She really wants to go gung ho, even though I keep telling her that I’m not in to dresses, and the farthest I’d even think about in that direction is the Daria Morgendorffer look (to which I got a lecture about being fashionable, to which she got an earful about me not ever really giving a fuck about being fashionable).

The more I think about it, the more I basically AM Daria Morgendorffer.

The more I think about it, the more I basically AM Daria Morgendorffer.

Maybe the general stress of those conversations led to a bout of dysphoria?  Could be.  I wonder how that bodes for therapy, could the therapy itself actually make it worse before it gets better?  That’s kind of daunting (not change my mind daunting, mind you, just is).  I mean, it was a little annoying that she wanted to basically play dress up doll with me.  Don’t get me wrong, I fully welcome the prospect of another girl making me over, but at the very least listen to my basic wishes about fashion, would ya?

It also makes me feel bad because there are trans people out there who experience these feelings exponentially more than I do.  I dealt with it for an agonizing ten minutes (I’ve had longer bouts, but let’s deal with the immediate).  There are some that practically feel that way every waking hour of every single day.  That’s not life, that’s HELL.  And there are still asshats out there who minimize and marginalize their pain.  Who knows how many more people could get proper help if the 1) the social stigma wasn’t so shameful and 2) the medical world caught the hell up already (more specifically the backasswards system in the States where basically insurance tells the doctors what’s treatable and what’s not).

I consider myself pretty strong.  And even though its far less than some, these feelings bring me to my knees every single time.  It’s like losing a loved one, except that loved one is actually yourself.  An intense period of grief, despair, and mourning.

TL;DR: I have gender dysphoria, it sucks, I don’t have it as bad as others though, we gotta make things easier for transgender people because this shit will crush the spirit of anyone.

Posted in dysphoria, Trans Issues | Tagged , , , , | 6 Comments

Screw Pink, I Like Blue Better…But I Love Black

It’s the terror of knowing what this world is about; watching some good friends scream “let me out!” Tomorrow gets me higher, pressure on people – people on streets…

I’m not “girly.”

I’ll now pause for a very collective “deeeeeeeeeeeeer” from the masses.

Get that all out of your systems?  Okay, let’s proceed.  I bring this up because it’s pertinent in my mind.  Of all the talk of gender spectrum, it’s still expected by some people I know that if/when I start presenting as a woman in public that I’m going to be trying to go full supermodel or something.

Femininity does not equal “girly.”

I identify female.  I currently have biologically masculine traits.  My personality is pretty much split right down the middle, with a strong disdain for labeling anything that isn’t directly biologically related as being for one gender or the other (basically, if the answer to the question “why is that for men/women” is “it just is” then I disregard it, personally).  If/when I decide to present female, my personality won’t change.

This might actually be a boon for me, because the public in general may not misgender me, but think I’m just a really masculine or butch woman.  Because when I decide to present, it’s going to be how I carry myself, for the most part.  Hell, the more I think about it, I present every single time I walk out the door. People simply just don’t know what to make of the slightly long haired “dude” with the painted nails.  Considering the general company I keep in public (ugh, public transportation) it’s probably “little sissy ass faggot.”  That’s okay, though, “barely (if at all) educated ignorant smelly motherfucker” you can judge me all you want.  The minute your opinion matters to me is the moment I’ve given up the fight.

But back to my main point.  Society, mainly because most of it still operates on the naive and overly simplistic notion of the binary gender system, wants to lump femininity in with girly.  It’s a load of bullshit.  How many cis women do you know, personally, who aren’t the least bit “girly”?  I even hesitate using “girly” as indicated by the constant quotation marks, because it’s stigmatizing.  I am just lacking a better term for that overly stereotypical farce of feminine nature.

Maybe this will get better over time (a couple generations) as trans (and gender identity) are given more of a mainstream push.  The more we know, after all.  But for now, its just something that bugs me.  I don’t need to embrace, what are quite frankly, stupid stereotypes in order to validate myself.  I validate myself by my own proclamations and actions and thoughts and feelings.  As does everyone else.

Posted in Trans Issues | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

The Perils of Public Transportation

Can I be the space for this, will I be the space for this; Breathe in, breathe out, must I bend the sky to realize?

Beyond having a mass transit system that goes to shitty pieces with even the slightest bit of inclement weather (thanks for making me wait 40 minutes on a bus that generally comes every 15 today!) there’s a certain..clientele?  Whatever you want to call it, but you get a certain kind of person in general who rides the bus/rails.

Now, I’m generally a quiet, keep to themselves person.  If I choose, or if I know you well enough, I can talk your ear off (though what I talk about might not actually tell you anything about me…just my thing).  But normally, I like to keep to myself, and my own counsel.

To this end, genetics blessed me with what is colloquially known as RBF: Resting Bitch Face.  Coupled with a general “stay outta my personal space” vibe I project, and I usually have no problems keeping to myself.

f9eBut nooooo, not in the special world of public transportation.  Apparently in this world, my RBF is actually catnip for crazy motherfuckers.  And my “stay away” vibe is translated as “talk to me about everything wrong in your life!” to them.

Okay, man, I’m sorry you got arrested yesterday…but I don’t know you, don’t care.  I’m sorry you’re dirt poor, hey, so am I!  And again, I don’t know you, and I know me really well, so I care just an eensy weensy bit more about my destitution.  Sorry your uncle is a drugged out mess and you might get kicked out at any time, hey, we all got problems.  Did you happen to notice these headphones I wear specifically to shut myself out from the world?  Ugh, guess not.

And that was all just ONE guy!  I count my lucky stars whenever I manage to keep the crazies away for an entire trip.  I feel like I should get off the bus/tram and dance a friggin’ jig or something.

It honestly wants me to start really going girly just in the hopes that their transphobia will keep them the hell away from me!  But with my weird ass luck, they’ll just be more attracted in to my personal sphere.

I miss my car…

Posted in public transportation | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

Stoked, Yet Scared

People think I’m insane because I am frowning all the time…

So, I got a call yesterday.  A call I didn’t think would come for another week at least.  To give me news I thought I’d have to wait at least another month for (based on what I had been told previously): my first appointment with a gender therapist is scheduled for two weeks from yesterday.

As the title suggests, I’m excited and I’m also terrified.  For exactly the same reasons.  This is it.  My commitment to getting therapy was what drove me to come out like I did, because countless times in the past I have brushed off therapy.  If I even went, I ended up deflecting anything that got anywhere near the truth.  Mostly out of reflex.  Later, because I didn’t want to talk about it yet (if it all, at the time).  But now, I’m determined to get the therapy I need and deserve.

And the only way I knew to do that right, was to do so in a manner that changes the course of my life forever.  Now, I’ve already taken those first steps myself.  The more I think about it, the more I came out the way I did was driven by doing it on my own terms.  I knew I was going to start seeing a gender therapist.  I knew that a possible outcome (and one I would pursue) would be to start on hormones.  I might start living more and more like a woman.  I decided that I was going to own that, take charge of it, and “get ahead of it” so to speak.  And it’s a decision I do not regret in the slightest.  I’m already happier.

But I still have no idea what the future actually holds.  But what little glimpse in to the

The magic wand would be nice, but I'm hardly naive...

The magic wand would be nice, but I’m hardly naive…

crystal ball I’m going to get is in that office two weeks from now.  What will she be like, my therapist?  She comes recommended from an old friend of mine who is a therapist himself, so I figure she’ll be good at her job.  But what will she be like?  I know how I’m going to ask her to address me, but I’m already wondering how I should present myself, if that’ll matter.  I’m sure it won’t, but I worry anyway. I’m a worry wort by nature, I can’t help that.

It’s one thing to stand tall and say “this is who I am, world!”  It’s another to step in to an unknown office with an unknown entity who very well could be instrumental in to who I become from here.

But I’m going to do it.  I just hope I don’t kick the door down on the way in.  I get excited.

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