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Gender fluid
Apr. 18th, 2018 09:53 pmI knew I was queer without having words when I was about 7. I was playing house or doctor or something like that with a cute little blonde girl that lived down the road from me. I was being the daddy, I had made muscles for myself out of clothes and was all burly looking, and sexy, or as much as my 7 year old self had any concept of this sort of thing. Her mother knocked on the door, and I leapt into the closet, innocent of irony.
I knew I was queer when I was 8 and I was being molested and stalked by the two boys next door. I couldn't set foot outside my house for two years without fear of being messed with in some way. I turned into a really angry and confused kid. Queer, though.
I knew I was queer when I felt like a little strategically shaved alien, thrust into human clothes and sent to school with beautiful little sociopaths. This totally helped the ptsd. Not.
I knew I was queer in the mid 80s, when there were no words like genderqueer, at least not in sweaty little Richmond, VA. I had difficulty with sex altogether, and knew I had to heal up more before sex was going to have much of a point for me. I knew I was a woman, but never felt womanly. I often described myself as a queer man living in a woman's body, and this is still true to some extent.
I knew damn well I was queer, when as a woman living in the 80's I saw my government seemingly actively try to kill folks that were not so different from me. I watched my loved ones suffer and die, helped my loved ones bear this suffering and dying, and I knew I was no rebel on the level to go out and transition at that point in my life. You might as well have asked me to walk on the surface of the moon, it seemed such a remote idea. I had made peace with the fact I had a woman's plumbing, but I needed more healing before I would be ready for relationships, let alone transitioning.
I grew and changed, and knew myself better and better as a queer person. About a year and a half ago I had my girlbits taken out, as they were about to get up and try to kill me. To be honest aside from projectile vomiting across my room afterward I never even felt really bad. I got in trouble constantly for trying to do things, which I would try to do because I felt so good it didn't occur to me that I shouldn't get up and do stuff for myself. I didn't want to take estrogen, though I did try it for about 3 months. At this point, I no longer take hormones.
I had worked this kind of comfortable rut into my psyche, I think, being a woman. And untethering from Estrogen Island has changed my internal landscape to some degree. I'm looking to talk to someone about taking hormones, or in any case work on my gender identity stuff. I'm not even sure where I'm going to end up with this. Maybe just more butch of center?
Anyway. So that's a part of my story, and I'm sticking to it.
I knew I was queer when I was 8 and I was being molested and stalked by the two boys next door. I couldn't set foot outside my house for two years without fear of being messed with in some way. I turned into a really angry and confused kid. Queer, though.
I knew I was queer when I felt like a little strategically shaved alien, thrust into human clothes and sent to school with beautiful little sociopaths. This totally helped the ptsd. Not.
I knew I was queer in the mid 80s, when there were no words like genderqueer, at least not in sweaty little Richmond, VA. I had difficulty with sex altogether, and knew I had to heal up more before sex was going to have much of a point for me. I knew I was a woman, but never felt womanly. I often described myself as a queer man living in a woman's body, and this is still true to some extent.
I knew damn well I was queer, when as a woman living in the 80's I saw my government seemingly actively try to kill folks that were not so different from me. I watched my loved ones suffer and die, helped my loved ones bear this suffering and dying, and I knew I was no rebel on the level to go out and transition at that point in my life. You might as well have asked me to walk on the surface of the moon, it seemed such a remote idea. I had made peace with the fact I had a woman's plumbing, but I needed more healing before I would be ready for relationships, let alone transitioning.
I grew and changed, and knew myself better and better as a queer person. About a year and a half ago I had my girlbits taken out, as they were about to get up and try to kill me. To be honest aside from projectile vomiting across my room afterward I never even felt really bad. I got in trouble constantly for trying to do things, which I would try to do because I felt so good it didn't occur to me that I shouldn't get up and do stuff for myself. I didn't want to take estrogen, though I did try it for about 3 months. At this point, I no longer take hormones.
I had worked this kind of comfortable rut into my psyche, I think, being a woman. And untethering from Estrogen Island has changed my internal landscape to some degree. I'm looking to talk to someone about taking hormones, or in any case work on my gender identity stuff. I'm not even sure where I'm going to end up with this. Maybe just more butch of center?
Anyway. So that's a part of my story, and I'm sticking to it.
