Z
Zoe_Brain
Guest
Tina - I got released from the Hell of being transsexual.
No-one who doesn’t have it can understand how bad it is. You feel worse than miserable, you feel perverted. Every time you look in the mirror, you see something terribly wrong, even obscene in a sexual sense.
The same kind of instinctive, unreasoning revulsion at this un-natural, perverse and perverted mix of the sexes that others feel about any such matters affects us too. But we get reminded of it every waking moment, we cannot escape.
Every morning, you wake up - and there’s an instant of panic. Crudely, “Where have my boobs gone!!! And what’s that between my legs???”. Then you remember, sigh, and go on to meet another day, trying to at least be a decent human being, even if the whole male facade you have to present is a sham, and a mockery.
Relaxation is impossible: we can never act on instinct, because the body and the instincts do not match. Just walking, our instinctive reaction to swing our hips jars with the fact that we have no hips to swing.
This has an erosive effect on the mind, having to devote so much of our intellect to suppressing “what comes naturally”. This isn’t about sexual attraction - we have far too much on our minds to be attracted to anyone - and if we were, what would we do? The screaming at the back of our minds that this is all so terribly wrong never goes away.
But we soldier on, bearing our cross, until one day, we can’t. Not that we won’t, or that we don’t want to. We physically cannot. We become dysfunctional, not just miserable.
Here’s a quote from a therapist with extensive experience in the area.
It was nowhere near that bad for me. Once a month perhaps, not several times a day - it would have been at least a decade before the frequency was that high (the condition is progressive… it gets worse over time).
I was just hoping for an early death, or to find something worth dying for, something that would help others, save lives, rather than be a waste of a gift from God. My life was worthless, a burden and a misery - but if I could trade it in so others whose lives were a joy could live, that would be a victory! And in the meantime, I could help in smaller ways. My life was unsalvageable. Others’ though were not, and sometimes they only needed a little help to succeed. Every time I helped a cancer patient make it, or gave some money to charity, or sponsored a child in East Timor, it made the whole horrible, obscene, awful, hideous mess a bit more bearable.This wasn’t altruism, but selfishness - my life was meaningless suffering, I couldn’t find any meaning to it as there was no meaning to find - so I had to create meaning, or the whole thing would be some sad, horrid, cruel joke.
Then, in 2005…I was released. My body changed, normalised, for reasons medical science is still at a loss to explain, nearly 5 years later.
The only complaint I have is - Why Me? Why was I released, when others who deserve it more, whose suffering was far greater than mine, were not? I’m not even Christian, let alone Catholic!
So many people think I must be bearing some kind of Cross, just because I’m persecuted, and some call for my quite literal extermination. They can’t imagine how awful that must be.
Trust me on this - compared to what I’ve been through - it’s nothing. Compared to what others are going through right now, less than negligible. I don’t feel it for myself, I fight for others who do. And not as much as I could do. I’m no saint, that should be obvious!
No-one who doesn’t have it can understand how bad it is. You feel worse than miserable, you feel perverted. Every time you look in the mirror, you see something terribly wrong, even obscene in a sexual sense.
The same kind of instinctive, unreasoning revulsion at this un-natural, perverse and perverted mix of the sexes that others feel about any such matters affects us too. But we get reminded of it every waking moment, we cannot escape.
Every morning, you wake up - and there’s an instant of panic. Crudely, “Where have my boobs gone!!! And what’s that between my legs???”. Then you remember, sigh, and go on to meet another day, trying to at least be a decent human being, even if the whole male facade you have to present is a sham, and a mockery.
Relaxation is impossible: we can never act on instinct, because the body and the instincts do not match. Just walking, our instinctive reaction to swing our hips jars with the fact that we have no hips to swing.
This has an erosive effect on the mind, having to devote so much of our intellect to suppressing “what comes naturally”. This isn’t about sexual attraction - we have far too much on our minds to be attracted to anyone - and if we were, what would we do? The screaming at the back of our minds that this is all so terribly wrong never goes away.
But we soldier on, bearing our cross, until one day, we can’t. Not that we won’t, or that we don’t want to. We physically cannot. We become dysfunctional, not just miserable.
Here’s a quote from a therapist with extensive experience in the area.
This patient, this woman was willing to continue to pretend to be a man, for her partner, for her children, and indeed for her career and her whole life, everything she held dear. She just couldn’t any more. The breakdowns were increasing in frequency.
It was nowhere near that bad for me. Once a month perhaps, not several times a day - it would have been at least a decade before the frequency was that high (the condition is progressive… it gets worse over time).
I was just hoping for an early death, or to find something worth dying for, something that would help others, save lives, rather than be a waste of a gift from God. My life was worthless, a burden and a misery - but if I could trade it in so others whose lives were a joy could live, that would be a victory! And in the meantime, I could help in smaller ways. My life was unsalvageable. Others’ though were not, and sometimes they only needed a little help to succeed. Every time I helped a cancer patient make it, or gave some money to charity, or sponsored a child in East Timor, it made the whole horrible, obscene, awful, hideous mess a bit more bearable.This wasn’t altruism, but selfishness - my life was meaningless suffering, I couldn’t find any meaning to it as there was no meaning to find - so I had to create meaning, or the whole thing would be some sad, horrid, cruel joke.
Then, in 2005…I was released. My body changed, normalised, for reasons medical science is still at a loss to explain, nearly 5 years later.
The only complaint I have is - Why Me? Why was I released, when others who deserve it more, whose suffering was far greater than mine, were not? I’m not even Christian, let alone Catholic!
So many people think I must be bearing some kind of Cross, just because I’m persecuted, and some call for my quite literal extermination. They can’t imagine how awful that must be.
Trust me on this - compared to what I’ve been through - it’s nothing. Compared to what others are going through right now, less than negligible. I don’t feel it for myself, I fight for others who do. And not as much as I could do. I’m no saint, that should be obvious!
