When I first started Transgurl, I wanted to create a fun, casual transgender weblog targeted at the general public and more-or-less newcomers to transition. It seemed like other trans weblogs were intended mainly for advanced transfolk and allies.
(Not that there's anything wrong with that.)
Now, while I like to think I did okay for a while, there are only so many aspects of MtF transition that really deserve full, in-depth entries. It ended up feeling kinda like trying to run a 24-hour news network about aardvarks or something. Heh. There's only so much to write about, and to keep the signal-to-noise ratio high, I haven't just written about Any Olde Thing very often.
That's about to change. I should be updating again sometime before too long, maybe with a fresh new layout, possibly using Wordpress instead, writing about anything that crosses mah purty lil' head this time around.
Cutesy logo with smart-alecky tagline and matching domain name. Check! Fancy three-column layout. Check! Eye-soothing pastels. Check. Introductory weblog entry... damn.
I'm Milla, a 31-year old transgendered woman. "Transgendered" is an umbrella term that describes people whose sex, gender identity, and/or assigned gender don't match, or don't conform to society's girl/boy binary. In my case, I was born with both sets of parts, more or less. I'm intersexed.
I was operated on at birth, declared a boy, and raised that way. Well, mostly. Today I'm living in Wisconsin as a woman with my partner, who is also female. (I'll call her C from now on.) She's what is known in the transgender community as a "GG", or "genetic girl."
But much more about that to follow. Here at Transgurl.com, I plan to write about my past and future experiences in correcting my sex and gender, and the unusual situations I find myself in.
Hopefully I'll be writing at least a few times a week, ideally once a day, so check back often. And hey, if you enjoy the site, help a sista out (see left). Thanks!
I've got some happy personal news to report. Woo-hoo!
I started volunteering at the local St. Vincent's thrift store Wednesday evening, despite it being hot and balmy. This was my first work experience of any kind as myself, and counts towards the work portion of my Real Life Test. Despite some anxiety on my arrival, when my co-volunteers were talking about a box of size 12 women's shoes having been donated by a transvestite (oh, goodness!), the evening went very smoothly. I was very comfortable (much moreso than in past jobs), and I passed with flying colors!
Also, I attended my final court hearing today. After waiting around 2 hours for a 5 minute hearing, my request to perform community service instead of paying the $650 fine (because of an inability to find work) was granted! And I'm only required 32 hours! I'll be doing more as a volunteer than that anyway. My previous volunteering will not be applied, but the figure is so low that I'm assuming the judge took my previous work into account.
The fine being waived is small potatoes. The real benefit here is that my probation officer sees the same sense in me being on probation as I do: nil. He only kept me on to make sure I took care of the fine. So now that the fine will be taken care of very shortly, I just have to get my supervision fees caught up, and I'll be taken off probation early, the whole legal mess behind me. That won't be a bad early 32nd birthday present!
Meet Foo, my new kitty! The vet identified Foo as male, but pointed out that "his testes are very small" and that he's an intersexed kitten.
His behavior seems to be somewhat feminine, and it's almost easier to call him "her". Connie's mom even had some pronoun trouble. For now we're using male pronouns, but we may start using female pronouns if they end up being more appropriate!
We recently got a new maintenance person at our apartment, and we needed some work done.
He got here a short while ago and replaced our screen door. A bevy of grrl punk (like X-Ray Spex) provided the soundtrack while Foo watched intently, and swatted at the screen door when it moved.
He's kinda cute, but it was hard to guess his age. He asked about the blind in the bedroom that needs either replaced or put back up, so I led him back to have a look.
I'm not sure if I passed or not. (Which usually implies not.) That or the guy was kinda strange or stressed out. Or maybe I just made him vaguely uneasy. It happens.
On the way out from examining the window frame, he stooped down near the new screen door to pet Foo.
"Nice little cat."
"Yeah, isn't he cute? We just got him a couple weeks ago."
"Not very old. Male?"
Well, actually, Foo's intersexed and of indeterminate gender. "Yeah."
"Males are the best," he remarked without a smile. And after an almost imperceptible, very possibly uncomfortable pause, he went out the screen door without another word.
Things weren't all that bad in reality, but it sure did feel like it. I couldn't really place just why.
Part of the problem was, I got depressed again. No, wait, that was the whole problem. Transgurl had run out of steam. I was still dealing with legal problems from July '05. I could have been sent back to jail for two and a half months at the drop of a hat. I was Doubt-y. And I only saw Connie a couple hours on weekdays; I was working at Goodwill for free every night because I had-ta. That last bit was the kicker.
Connie and I once volunteered a couple of Wednesdays at a different thrift store. A few of our co-volunteers made the experience less fun for us than it could have been, so we stopped going. But otherwise it helped me get out of the house, and we both love helping out folks who are even poorer than we are.
But at Goodwill, I felt like Little Miss Criminal in the Blue Criminal's Apron for Criminals or something the whole time. It might have been only my own insecurity toying with me, but only a few red-aprons interacted with me regarding anything beyond business. (And they were great folks, those non-judgmental red-aprons.)
So yeah, anyway, that's done. No more fine; I paid the community back for my crime by instead hanging up used clothes! Ah well. My probation should end very soon now, and that will make it much easier to become employed at all. Employment is good. A necessary evil at worst. It pays for hair removal. Internet. And miscellanea like rent and food.
I finally got rid of an unwanted part of my anatomy a couple days ago!
I have pretty nice teeth overall, but one of them, a molar, had broken in the summer sometime and had gotten really painful at times during my holiday visit home.
Today, at the Tri-County Dental Clinic in Appleton, I finally managed to get the bugger removed. Ten bucks! Huge thanks to all the donors and volunteers; it's a great service to the local community.
It ended up being a complicated surgical extraction, and the most difficult thing I've been through, including a root canal, a tendon re-attachment, and intensive facial electrolysis right below the nose. Nasty. Twelve shots total of Novocaine. I was numbed, literally, up to my right eyeball.
So over that evening, and all day yesterday and today, I've been doing Pretty Okay with a tab of Vicodin every few hours and chocolate ice cream as needed.
And while I'm writing a personal entry: my early probation discharge was officially recognized on January 17th. So the legal mess is behind me, and I'm a free girl. Woo!
Often, we transfolks are asked what it feels like to be a brain in the wrong skin. And we try our damnedest to explain or draw analogies, but these are usually met with blank stares. It's a very difficult concept to wrap your head around, unless you've experienced it for yourself.
Late last year, I came across a video which is, by far, the best representation of the joys of transgenderism that I've ever seen.
It's a very, very powerful short CGI film that I honestly can't view all the way through. It's just way too upsetting for me. Even thinking too much about it (or blogging about it) still tends to make my eyes wet and my throat sting.
So, yeah, fair warning: You may not want to watch this if you're trans, especially MtF.
Just figured I'd write about how well I'm doing in spite of the last entry, which has gotten a lot of private response. Although I'm unemployed during the holidays, and tend to moan here sometimes, I'm way happier and more at ease than I have ever been at this point.
Lately, my situation is straightening out again quickly! I should get my right to drive in Wisconsin back very soon (if I don't have it already), and I'll be off probation a year early sometime before the middle of January. Also, my physical appearance is really coming together through hormones, exercise, and diet (we also switched to Slim-Fast), and I'm getting a lot of attention from guys these days. (Tee-hee!) I'll have a new picture ID this Monday.
We'll be going home to West Virginia for Christmas over a week and a half, here soon. This has been the first holiday season I didn't hate (at least that I wasn't incarcerated over for the better part), and going home to give and get a real sense of finality and acceptance of my transition during such a happy time is (hopefully) going to be amazing.
So, yeah, I feel like some kind of reformed Grinch/Scrooge-type motherfucker. Outdoor lights and other decorations have long ceased to make me ill.
You know, I never bought it before, but it really is a wonderful life. Before this gets too mushy and misty, happy holidays, folks. =)
My sister Allison gave me the best Christmas present I ever got.
But it wasn't the glass frame and photo above. (Though that's up there.) She accepted me as her sister! I could bawl. In fact, I did once in an IM conversation a month or so ago when she called me "sis."
The holiday trip home, although I didn't get to see anyone I wanted outside the family, went even better than I expected. Nobody even seemed nervous or freaked out-- even Mom-- and my name and pronouns were respected minus a couple slips.
Except for a nasty off-on toothache, it was perhaps the best week of my life. Connie says it was for her too.
That's me with the present wrappings Connie put all over me.
Welp, the (semi-disproportionate) pounds got to be a little much to deal with.
Connie and I figured out a way to do South Beach on the cheap, so here I am, one week into the first phase again (ketosis). I'm looking to slim down instead of weighing down (ha) this holiday season.
This diet really impressed me the first time I tried it. The summer before I started transitioning, I started on it and stuck right to it, with a grit (and, okay, an ulterior motive) that surprised many. With about an hour on the treadmill daily-- and, well, more time spent on the ketosis phase than prescribed-- I lost about 40 pounds in the first three months. I made it down to 180 lb. (size 12-14 then) from 240, overall. I even had a "cheat meal" every couple of weeks, usually consisting of lots of local-joint New York pizza and real Coke. At my gender therapist's annual Christmas party that winter, I was convinced by a fellow client to take a break from the diet for the party, and I never ended up back on it. Until now.
You really don't miss the bread, and potatoes, and sugar that much. They sound good sometimes, but the real craving just isn't there-- for carbs or food in general. And I can eat meat (easy on the saturated fat, though, this isn't Atkins), eggs, most veggies, salad with real dressing, cheese... enough to fill me.
Once the first phase is over (supposed to be two weeks but I plan to spend six or longer again), you begin adding (mostly complex) carbs like whole grain pasta and fruit back into your diet. Weight loss slows, but it continues while the diet becomes even more livable.
When you reach your target weight (yay!), you add still more carb-y foods, but stay on the diet, to keep from gaining again. This is easier than it may sound, especially if you're staying active.
I couldn't recommend this diet more. My goal is to slim down to about a size 10-12 (I think), and stay there this time. So, a big "Nyah!" to holiday weight gain again this year.
This year's summer vacation, like the best I've ever had, was steeped in a little grit, and a lot of salty water. But it was the worst.
After getting laid off without warning a little over a couple weeks ago, I got really, really worried, and expected to go another long period without work or money. We couldn't afford this apartment any more (someone else was paying on the lease before I was hired), and the options for staying elsewhere for a while were, well, much fewer and less attractive than we'd thought.
For several days towards the end of my summer vacation, I stayed in an old haunt of mine I hadn't seen for a couple years, a place I call The Deep. I can't recommend this place any less, especially without all the swirly colors, and strange thoughts and visions I used to freshen it up with during earlier stays. Try the Hilton instead. Or solitary.
Until that point, I hadn't been suicidal since I decided to transition, a subject for another time. But I've learned by now to see that situation coming a mile away, and it was out on the patio. I nearly checked myself in one night, but decided to ride it out (burying my head in video games, graphics software, and YouTube) for at least the evening in an attempt to save five grand.
Connie then asked her boss if she could transfer to another store while I worked at that one. After an initial answer of no, she was moved to the store I'd been working at, and I was rehired doing kids' clothes again at her store. Full time, even! Yay!
A lot of my old coworkers are there too, and I received a welcome back on my first day back that really melted my heart. But while it's a great feeling to be working again at all, I think I'm going to use my "currently employed" status to try and find something a little less physical and high-speed. It really is rough.
Until then, the vacation is over, and everything is back to to normal, or as "normal" as can be expected in my situation, anyway. I'm preparing my upper lip for laser hair removal, saving up for a name change, and passing very, very well these days. The vacation from my vacation has been great so far, and looks even more promising!
While things have been for the most part pretty okay-- relative to how most of my transition has gone so far, at least-- I've not been, well, doing well, which makes it pretty hard to get the things done that need done. Like, say, posting on Transgurl more than once in two months!
Being a Fucked-up Bipolar Chick™ means there are both highs and lows, but Type II bipolar disorder (which I've been diagnosed with in the past) is hypomanic. This means that when I feel "high," it's not as severe or long-lasting, relative to Type I bipolar.
The rest of the time is usually kind of a low-grade depression that sits just below baseline, and reacts to situations a little too strongly. Type II is also faster. It tends to turn your life into a roller coaster. And being hormonally female, especially via easily forgotten oral medications, does not help the matter. Seriously.
In a few moments, I'll be back on Prozac (generic). I've not taken it since right before going full time, but I probably should have been on it all along. It's not for everyone, but I've used it for four different periods, and it has always ended up making me much happier, more focused, and admittedly, better functioning. The change it induces in me is marked enough to draw happy, surprised comments. I've been on various other psych meds, and this, the second one I ever tried, is the one I personally respond to the best, by far.
The cycle goes something like this: Things get bad. I go on Prozac. It really helps and I feel much better. I feel so much better, I stop taking Prozac after six months or so. Yay, cured for life! For the third time! I do okay for a few months. Things get bad.
After the umpteenth close call I had a few weeks ago, I think it's time I seriously considered that I apparently need to be on something for good if I don't want life to feel like a broken glass treadmill with weekly reminders of how I could feel. Worse yet, I risk it ending abruptly by going without. Even now, as myself.
The last time I quit Prozac, I thought maybe my transition would remove the need for psych meds, at least for me. Even though things are much better than they would have been beforehand, transition itself only fixes one problem, and as the old Buddhist koan goes, everyone has 47 problems.
Some weeks ago, I was on the sales floor, going about usual business at my thrift store job. While sorting the rolling rack I had just priced, I heard a woman saying something to her son, presumably.
"That's for girls," she said, annoyed and bemused. I didn't dare sneak a glance at them, but I could only imagine. I sighed and carried an armful of boys' clothes towards the boys' section to put away.
Later, giggling. As a preteen girl laughed, I heard the door of a nearby changing room. Then, the same woman's voice: "I swear, if you try on one more thing for girls, I'm going to be worried about you."
Yuk it up, sweetie. It's real funny.
I wanted very, very badly to have a talk with this woman, but I couldn't risk my job. Not now.
I bit my lip, walked back towards the other rolling rack, and tried not to cry as I began separating it into boys' and girls'.
There has been yet another bump in the road for Your Humble Narrator, and it was a realllly big one. It came very close to being the one that broke the axle, so to speak, but this tranny is still shifting gears. [Alright, knock it off. -- Ed.]
I'll elaborate later. In the meantime, I'm gathering some limited crap (and tossing/donating the rest) so I can move to Chicago where I visited a couple of my very good friends earlier in the year.
I'm now unemployed again. Connie and I are through relationship-wise. As to whether we'll continue to be friends, well that remains to be seen. Regardless, she's not coming with me.
Still, this is looking like it may well turn out to be a change for the better.
I'd just lugged a hamper full of clean, dry clothes up two stories of snow-covered wooden steps at the back of the building, from the pay machines in the basement. While I struggled with keeping my increasingly baggy laundry-day jeans pulled up beneath my wool coat, a boy with long black hair looked out from just inside the apartment below us. I trudged upward, hoping my pants would not end up around my ankles right then and there, as they were trying very hard to do.
The girl stared at me, as surprised as I was. She looked me up and down. Her eyes widened slightly and she smiled.
I hadn't expected to see Milla standing there. I had just put my coat back in the closet and closed the door (which had been generally left open before I arrived) to help keep the cold out. And suddenly, there she was, staring myself in the face from out of a full-length mirror on the closet door.
And there I saw me, for the first time ever, in the flesh. No cheesy graphic manipulation, no breathy sighs regarding continued hormones and weight loss, no agonizing over upper body mass, no obsessing over which gory facial surgeries would make me self-acceptable, no disgust or bitter upset. My hair could use a little work, but y'know, it's not bad.
This time, though there weren't many of them, the tears were happy ones.
I was struggling to keep my job. Not that there was any danger of me being fired, but I was going through sort of a c'mon, Milla, hang in there just until you find something else thing on a daily basis.
But I was employed, functional, passing, and even quickly getting rid of my damn facial hair.
I felt as though my transition was really finally taking off. I envisioned myself straddling a red rocket straight out of a violent cartoon. It roared upwards for that big Suporn Clinic in the sky, the final stop in my journey to selfhood. (Yes, I'm a lunatic.)
The rocket was an Acme product.
Right after I began to develop shoulder bursitis, I was moved from children's pricing to the "cashier" position, which actually involved even more carrying and lifting of clothes. This in itself wasn't quite enough to make me tell the bosses to shove it, but I sniffled through one full day, after which my bursitis was so aggravated by being a "cashier", I just called in and quit the next morning, without notice.
Fuckers.
Meanwhile, a mysterious thrift store customer whose name I won't reveal here (but it starts with T and rhymes with Tom) had been talking to and visiting Connie at work at the other store. I'll refer to this person as "Tom" so as not to reveal that his name is Thomas.
Tom kept visiting Connie. Our relationship had previously been declared open and undefined. I'd already visited and started considering Mike and Melissa here in Chicago my partners. Connie seemed bemused but oddly non-creeped-out by Tom's visits. Eventually, she wanted to "find out why" he was doing this, and they went out for coffee.
Be sure to tune in next time for the exciting conclusion!
Things are difficult lately, what with a really nasty case of the flu, moving to a large city, and having a date turn out to be not quite what I expected on Monday.
I have so many things to tell about, O my brothers, sisters, and friends, but right now I still need to lay low for a while and collect myself.
Till then, I'm okay, still here with my wonderful partners in Chi-town, and taking it easy.
Wow. Dag, yo. I haven't written a real entry since before Christmas.
I'm still here, folks, promise. I'm getting around to feeling like I'm ready to write about some events that have transpired since, and I've also recently given in to the temptation of beginning to piece together the obligatory Boy Pic Post ™.
The show will commence shortly. You may wish to pick up some refreshments at the concession stand on your way back to your seat. We apologize for the delay.
As a (now formerly unofficial) member of the Unitarian Universalist church that Mike, Melissa, and I usually attend, Melissa and I did the cooking for a handful of Wednesday "Community Nights" over the winter and spring, where church members or any other folks could come in and have a large, decent meal for a suggested donation of five dollars.
As none of us drive, we liked to buy the ingredients and such at a certain local supermarket that offers delivery for a fee. This makes it possible to buy the large quantities needed and still shop for ourselves and not break our backs carrying it all home. The church would reimburse us, but we tried to ask for less than we spent unless money was particularly tight.
On the third anniversary of my starting hormone supplements (3/10/08), we bought all we needed and scheduled a delivery. A few hours later, a delivery man came by and carried everything upstairs for us.
Okay. *sigh* I think I'm ready to write about this now.
While Melissa was downstairs, outside on the sidewalk near his car, he carried a few plastic bags in through the apartment's front door, and saw me lying down on my bed through my door, exhausted. He greeted me and I came out of my room.
"Um, just leave them here," I said, both of us right by the front door.
He smiled at me. "Ooo.. muy bonita (very pretty)! Hablas Espaňol? Muy bonita!"
"Thank you," I replied, flattered, "No, no hablo mucho Espaňol." I only took two years of Spanish in high school.
He was cute, and he wanted to go out with me. As our relationship at Casa 3M is open, and I found him attractive and friendly, I agreed, and we exchanged phone numbers. He left.
I explained all this to M&M. They seemed surprised, but okay with it. He called me later on asking me in broken English (his English was slightly better than my Spanish) to call him at 10:15 because he got off work at 10. He called me again at 10:14 and said he was waiting outside. I grabbed my purse, said bye, and went downstairs and outside. I got in his car. It was dark out.
As soon as I closed the door he immediately got frisky with me. He started unbuttoning my long wool coat and grabbing my breasts, both through and then beneath my velvet blouse. I got really uneasy. I pulled his hand away. "No, no." After a failed attempt at communication, and another "no, I don't do that on the first date," (no means the same thing in either language), he started back up again and even started trying to stick his hand down the front of my jeans.
Fuck. I was afraid, especially of what might happen when he found something he wasn't expecting, however diminutive and nonfunctional. I wanted to run, but I was afraid of what he might have in the car, or what he might do. I was giving in.
There were people about in the neighborhood now, so he drove a short distance to a quieter, darker, more secluded area. He pulled my hand over to his lap and rubbed it. I pulled it away and looked at him. He started sticking his hand down my jeans again and I panicked. To reduce the risk of getting hurt or killed, I tried my best to explain to him in Spanish "yo soy transsexuale." Sure, that's not specific, or even entirely accurate, but that wasn't the point. He didn't understand, but didn't react much at all when he finally did come upon my Something Extra.
He pulled my hand back. He opened his pants, and put his hand behind my head and pulled it down towards his lap. After he was satisfied, he leaned back for a moment and starting driving again.
"Adonde vamos?" I asked, nervous and numb at the same time. (Where are we going?) "Do you want to go dance?"
He seemed amused I'd asked in Spanish. He said, "No, no." And without another word, drove back around the block and stopped at the apartment.
After some mild relationship drama before I told M&M what had really happened, and brief reactive psychosis on my part (including a good half hour bawl), I called a rape crisis line and they told me to go to a nearby ER. M&M went with me and made the whole ER experience a lot less horrible.
A rapekit was done by an obviously untrained nurse (with the constant verbal assistance of my advocate) and my blouse was taken for evidence. I was asked some questions by a cop and a detective, and six hours or so after checking in, around 6-7AM, we left the hospital and had "breakfast" at a diner and came home. My memory following this incident is very fuzzy, and I functioned very poorly for some time.
I didn't end up getting additional doses of prophylactic drugs either (as required by Illinois state law), but that's a story for another time. And happily, according to testing, I probably didn't catch anything from him anyway.
As a victim of violence, I'm receiving free intensive therapy (one hour twice a week) at a local LGBT clinic.
The investigation is still ongoing. My assailant gave me a false name. He tried to call me several times on two different occasions. The detective got a subpoena on his cell number. Right now I'm waiting to do a second line up, in person this time, and the DNA test could could take years.
As a gender variant woman, statistically speaking, I had an 80% chance of being the victim of assault at least once in my lifetime. I didn't expect it to be quite like that, though.
In the course of one day recently (Tuesday the 24th), I was insulted by some punk kid over my shoes two minutes after leaving the apartment, yelled at to "move, goddammit" and called a "badass bitch" by a nice, friendly lady in a wheelchair I didn't even see until hearing her as I walked by. I got lost two times, missed several buses, dropped something heavy along the way I'd bought and been carrying around without realizing it, and I even got read by the cashier who sold it to me. (The handles also eventually tore off the used paper bag he put my purchases in.)
More to the point, not much more than a block away from finally making it home, my rapist drove up and followed me in his car, asking for my name and "new number" (my cell phone is off) despite me not talking to him except to tell him to go away. He eventually left. I turned the wrong way on the street that connects to ours, disoriented by fear and stress.
After I got home, quit crying hysterically, and regained my senses (with the help of a couple shots of rum), I tried to call the detective on that case. When I called, he wasn't in, so I left a voice mail message telling him what happened with Melissa's cell number. He didn't call back. I still haven't been called in to do that in-person suspect lineup. I'm getting fed up with the whole ordeal.
Then I got drunkish on two large, pre-mixed "zombies" on the rocks. I slept for 12 hours that night.
I'm going out to my Anti-Violence Project therapy appointments twice a week now, an hour a session. My next appointment is today at noon, and it's 4AM.
I enjoy the appointments, but if I even make it there today, that'll be doing quite well. (Sorry if I don't, Aleksandra!)
Posted in misc, presentation by Milla | Post a Comment?
Damn, it's been a while.
[Walks up to podium. Clears throat.]
When I first started Transgurl, I wanted to create a fun, casual transgender weblog targeted at the general public and more-or-less newcomers to transition. It seemed like other trans weblogs were intended mainly for advanced transfolk and allies.
(Not that there's anything wrong with that.)
Now, while I like to think I did okay for a while, there are only so many aspects of MtF transition that really deserve full, in-depth entries. It ended up feeling kinda like trying to run a 24-hour news network about aardvarks or something. Heh. There's only so much to write about, and to keep the signal-to-noise ratio high, I haven't just written about Any Olde Thing very often.
That's about to change. I should be updating again sometime before too long, maybe with a fresh new layout, possibly using Wordpress instead, writing about anything that crosses mah purty lil' head this time around.
Yay for weblog liberation!
Posted in misc, weblog by Milla | Comments (2)
I'm Milla, a 31-year old transgendered woman. "Transgendered" is an umbrella term that describes people whose sex, gender identity, and/or assigned gender don't match, or don't conform to society's girl/boy binary. In my case, I was born with both sets of parts, more or less. I'm intersexed.
I was operated on at birth, declared a boy, and raised that way. Well, mostly. Today I'm living in Wisconsin as a woman with my partner, who is also female. (I'll call her C from now on.) She's what is known in the transgender community as a "GG", or "genetic girl."
But much more about that to follow. Here at Transgurl.com, I plan to write about my past and future experiences in correcting my sex and gender, and the unusual situations I find myself in.
Hopefully I'll be writing at least a few times a week, ideally once a day, so check back often. And hey, if you enjoy the site, help a sista out (see left). Thanks!
Posted in misc, weblog by Milla | Comments (6)
I've got some happy personal news to report. Woo-hoo!
I started volunteering at the local St. Vincent's thrift store Wednesday evening, despite it being hot and balmy. This was my first work experience of any kind as myself, and counts towards the work portion of my Real Life Test. Despite some anxiety on my arrival, when my co-volunteers were talking about a box of size 12 women's shoes having been donated by a transvestite (oh, goodness!), the evening went very smoothly. I was very comfortable (much moreso than in past jobs), and I passed with flying colors!
Also, I attended my final court hearing today. After waiting around 2 hours for a 5 minute hearing, my request to perform community service instead of paying the $650 fine (because of an inability to find work) was granted! And I'm only required 32 hours! I'll be doing more as a volunteer than that anyway. My previous volunteering will not be applied, but the figure is so low that I'm assuming the judge took my previous work into account.
The fine being waived is small potatoes. The real benefit here is that my probation officer sees the same sense in me being on probation as I do: nil. He only kept me on to make sure I took care of the fine. So now that the fine will be taken care of very shortly, I just have to get my supervision fees caught up, and I'll be taken off probation early, the whole legal mess behind me. That won't be a bad early 32nd birthday present!
Posted in misc by Milla | Comments (5)
Meet Foo, my new kitty! The vet identified Foo as male, but pointed out that "his testes are very small" and that he's an intersexed kitten.
His behavior seems to be somewhat feminine, and it's almost easier to call him "her". Connie's mom even had some pronoun trouble. For now we're using male pronouns, but we may start using female pronouns if they end up being more appropriate!
Posted in misc by Milla | Comments (2)
We recently got a new maintenance person at our apartment, and we needed some work done.
He got here a short while ago and replaced our screen door. A bevy of grrl punk (like X-Ray Spex) provided the soundtrack while Foo watched intently, and swatted at the screen door when it moved.
He's kinda cute, but it was hard to guess his age. He asked about the blind in the bedroom that needs either replaced or put back up, so I led him back to have a look.
I'm not sure if I passed or not. (Which usually implies not.) That or the guy was kinda strange or stressed out. Or maybe I just made him vaguely uneasy. It happens.
On the way out from examining the window frame, he stooped down near the new screen door to pet Foo.
"Nice little cat."
"Yeah, isn't he cute? We just got him a couple weeks ago."
"Not very old. Male?"
Well, actually, Foo's intersexed and of indeterminate gender. "Yeah."
"Males are the best," he remarked without a smile. And after an almost imperceptible, very possibly uncomfortable pause, he went out the screen door without another word.
Posted in misc by Milla | Comments (3)
Things weren't all that bad in reality, but it sure did feel like it. I couldn't really place just why.
Part of the problem was, I got depressed again. No, wait, that was the whole problem. Transgurl had run out of steam. I was still dealing with legal problems from July '05. I could have been sent back to jail for two and a half months at the drop of a hat. I was Doubt-y. And I only saw Connie a couple hours on weekdays; I was working at Goodwill for free every night because I had-ta. That last bit was the kicker.
Connie and I once volunteered a couple of Wednesdays at a different thrift store. A few of our co-volunteers made the experience less fun for us than it could have been, so we stopped going. But otherwise it helped me get out of the house, and we both love helping out folks who are even poorer than we are.
But at Goodwill, I felt like Little Miss Criminal in the Blue Criminal's Apron for Criminals or something the whole time. It might have been only my own insecurity toying with me, but only a few red-aprons interacted with me regarding anything beyond business. (And they were great folks, those non-judgmental red-aprons.)
So yeah, anyway, that's done. No more fine; I paid the community back for my crime by instead hanging up used clothes! Ah well. My probation should end very soon now, and that will make it much easier to become employed at all. Employment is good. A necessary evil at worst. It pays for hair removal. Internet. And miscellanea like rent and food.
Posted in misc, transition, weblog by Milla | Comments (3)
I finally got rid of an unwanted part of my anatomy a couple days ago!
I have pretty nice teeth overall, but one of them, a molar, had broken in the summer sometime and had gotten really painful at times during my holiday visit home.
Today, at the Tri-County Dental Clinic in Appleton, I finally managed to get the bugger removed. Ten bucks! Huge thanks to all the donors and volunteers; it's a great service to the local community.
It ended up being a complicated surgical extraction, and the most difficult thing I've been through, including a root canal, a tendon re-attachment, and intensive facial electrolysis right below the nose. Nasty. Twelve shots total of Novocaine. I was numbed, literally, up to my right eyeball.
So over that evening, and all day yesterday and today, I've been doing Pretty Okay with a tab of Vicodin every few hours and chocolate ice cream as needed.
And while I'm writing a personal entry: my early probation discharge was officially recognized on January 17th. So the legal mess is behind me, and I'm a free girl. Woo!
Posted in misc, surgery by Milla | Comments (2)
Often, we transfolks are asked what it feels like to be a brain in the wrong skin. And we try our damnedest to explain or draw analogies, but these are usually met with blank stares. It's a very difficult concept to wrap your head around, unless you've experienced it for yourself.
Late last year, I came across a video which is, by far, the best representation of the joys of transgenderism that I've ever seen.
It's a very, very powerful short CGI film that I honestly can't view all the way through. It's just way too upsetting for me. Even thinking too much about it (or blogging about it) still tends to make my eyes wet and my throat sting.
So, yeah, fair warning: You may not want to watch this if you're trans, especially MtF.
Doll Face
Posted in misc by Milla | Comments (1)
Just figured I'd write about how well I'm doing in spite of the last entry, which has gotten a lot of private response. Although I'm unemployed during the holidays, and tend to moan here sometimes, I'm way happier and more at ease than I have ever been at this point.
Lately, my situation is straightening out again quickly! I should get my right to drive in Wisconsin back very soon (if I don't have it already), and I'll be off probation a year early sometime before the middle of January. Also, my physical appearance is really coming together through hormones, exercise, and diet (we also switched to Slim-Fast), and I'm getting a lot of attention from guys these days. (Tee-hee!) I'll have a new picture ID this Monday.
And I just love my new dress.
We'll be going home to West Virginia for Christmas over a week and a half, here soon. This has been the first holiday season I didn't hate (at least that I wasn't incarcerated over for the better part), and going home to give and get a real sense of finality and acceptance of my transition during such a happy time is (hopefully) going to be amazing.
So, yeah, I feel like some kind of reformed Grinch/Scrooge-type motherfucker. Outdoor lights and other decorations have long ceased to make me ill.
You know, I never bought it before, but it really is a wonderful life. Before this gets too mushy and misty, happy holidays, folks. =)
Posted in misc by Milla
My sister Allison gave me the best Christmas present I ever got.
But it wasn't the glass frame and photo above. (Though that's up there.) She accepted me as her sister! I could bawl. In fact, I did once in an IM conversation a month or so ago when she called me "sis."
The holiday trip home, although I didn't get to see anyone I wanted outside the family, went even better than I expected. Nobody even seemed nervous or freaked out-- even Mom-- and my name and pronouns were respected minus a couple slips.
Except for a nasty off-on toothache, it was perhaps the best week of my life. Connie says it was for her too.
That's me with the present wrappings Connie put all over me.
Posted in coming_out, misc by Milla | Comments (3)
Welp, the (semi-disproportionate) pounds got to be a little much to deal with.
Connie and I figured out a way to do South Beach on the cheap, so here I am, one week into the first phase again (ketosis). I'm looking to slim down instead of weighing down (ha) this holiday season.
This diet really impressed me the first time I tried it. The summer before I started transitioning, I started on it and stuck right to it, with a grit (and, okay, an ulterior motive) that surprised many. With about an hour on the treadmill daily-- and, well, more time spent on the ketosis phase than prescribed-- I lost about 40 pounds in the first three months. I made it down to 180 lb. (size 12-14 then) from 240, overall. I even had a "cheat meal" every couple of weeks, usually consisting of lots of local-joint New York pizza and real Coke. At my gender therapist's annual Christmas party that winter, I was convinced by a fellow client to take a break from the diet for the party, and I never ended up back on it. Until now.
You really don't miss the bread, and potatoes, and sugar that much. They sound good sometimes, but the real craving just isn't there-- for carbs or food in general. And I can eat meat (easy on the saturated fat, though, this isn't Atkins), eggs, most veggies, salad with real dressing, cheese... enough to fill me.
Once the first phase is over (supposed to be two weeks but I plan to spend six or longer again), you begin adding (mostly complex) carbs like whole grain pasta and fruit back into your diet. Weight loss slows, but it continues while the diet becomes even more livable.
When you reach your target weight (yay!), you add still more carb-y foods, but stay on the diet, to keep from gaining again. This is easier than it may sound, especially if you're staying active.
I couldn't recommend this diet more. My goal is to slim down to about a size 10-12 (I think), and stay there this time. So, a big "Nyah!" to holiday weight gain again this year.
Posted in misc, presentation by Milla | Comments (3)
This year's summer vacation, like the best I've ever had, was steeped in a little grit, and a lot of salty water. But it was the worst.
After getting laid off without warning a little over a couple weeks ago, I got really, really worried, and expected to go another long period without work or money. We couldn't afford this apartment any more (someone else was paying on the lease before I was hired), and the options for staying elsewhere for a while were, well, much fewer and less attractive than we'd thought.
For several days towards the end of my summer vacation, I stayed in an old haunt of mine I hadn't seen for a couple years, a place I call The Deep. I can't recommend this place any less, especially without all the swirly colors, and strange thoughts and visions I used to freshen it up with during earlier stays. Try the Hilton instead. Or solitary.
Until that point, I hadn't been suicidal since I decided to transition, a subject for another time. But I've learned by now to see that situation coming a mile away, and it was out on the patio. I nearly checked myself in one night, but decided to ride it out (burying my head in video games, graphics software, and YouTube) for at least the evening in an attempt to save five grand.
Connie then asked her boss if she could transfer to another store while I worked at that one. After an initial answer of no, she was moved to the store I'd been working at, and I was rehired doing kids' clothes again at her store. Full time, even! Yay!
A lot of my old coworkers are there too, and I received a welcome back on my first day back that really melted my heart. But while it's a great feeling to be working again at all, I think I'm going to use my "currently employed" status to try and find something a little less physical and high-speed. It really is rough.
Until then, the vacation is over, and everything is back to to normal, or as "normal" as can be expected in my situation, anyway. I'm preparing my upper lip for laser hair removal, saving up for a name change, and passing very, very well these days. The vacation from my vacation has been great so far, and looks even more promising!
Posted in employment, misc by Milla | Comments (2)
While things have been for the most part pretty okay-- relative to how most of my transition has gone so far, at least-- I've not been, well, doing well, which makes it pretty hard to get the things done that need done. Like, say, posting on Transgurl more than once in two months!
Being a Fucked-up Bipolar Chick™ means there are both highs and lows, but Type II bipolar disorder (which I've been diagnosed with in the past) is hypomanic. This means that when I feel "high," it's not as severe or long-lasting, relative to Type I bipolar.
The rest of the time is usually kind of a low-grade depression that sits just below baseline, and reacts to situations a little too strongly. Type II is also faster. It tends to turn your life into a roller coaster. And being hormonally female, especially via easily forgotten oral medications, does not help the matter. Seriously.
In a few moments, I'll be back on Prozac (generic). I've not taken it since right before going full time, but I probably should have been on it all along. It's not for everyone, but I've used it for four different periods, and it has always ended up making me much happier, more focused, and admittedly, better functioning. The change it induces in me is marked enough to draw happy, surprised comments. I've been on various other psych meds, and this, the second one I ever tried, is the one I personally respond to the best, by far.
The cycle goes something like this: Things get bad. I go on Prozac. It really helps and I feel much better. I feel so much better, I stop taking Prozac after six months or so. Yay, cured for life! For the third time! I do okay for a few months. Things get bad.
After the umpteenth close call I had a few weeks ago, I think it's time I seriously considered that I apparently need to be on something for good if I don't want life to feel like a broken glass treadmill with weekly reminders of how I could feel. Worse yet, I risk it ending abruptly by going without. Even now, as myself.
The last time I quit Prozac, I thought maybe my transition would remove the need for psych meds, at least for me. Even though things are much better than they would have been beforehand, transition itself only fixes one problem, and as the old Buddhist koan goes, everyone has 47 problems.
46. *gulp*
Posted in hindsight, misc by Milla | Comments (3)
Some weeks ago, I was on the sales floor, going about usual business at my thrift store job. While sorting the rolling rack I had just priced, I heard a woman saying something to her son, presumably.
"That's for girls," she said, annoyed and bemused. I didn't dare sneak a glance at them, but I could only imagine. I sighed and carried an armful of boys' clothes towards the boys' section to put away.
Later, giggling. As a preteen girl laughed, I heard the door of a nearby changing room. Then, the same woman's voice: "I swear, if you try on one more thing for girls, I'm going to be worried about you."
Yuk it up, sweetie. It's real funny.
I wanted very, very badly to have a talk with this woman, but I couldn't risk my job. Not now.
I bit my lip, walked back towards the other rolling rack, and tried not to cry as I began separating it into boys' and girls'.
Posted in misc by Milla | Comments (6)
There has been yet another bump in the road for Your Humble Narrator, and it was a realllly big one. It came very close to being the one that broke the axle, so to speak, but this tranny is still shifting gears. [Alright, knock it off. -- Ed.]
I'll elaborate later. In the meantime, I'm gathering some limited crap (and tossing/donating the rest) so I can move to Chicago where I visited a couple of my very good friends earlier in the year.
I'm now unemployed again. Connie and I are through relationship-wise. As to whether we'll continue to be friends, well that remains to be seen. Regardless, she's not coming with me.
Still, this is looking like it may well turn out to be a change for the better.
Till then, much love, and I remain --
Milla
Posted in misc, weblog by Milla | Comments (3)
The girl took me by surprise.
I'd just lugged a hamper full of clean, dry clothes up two stories of snow-covered wooden steps at the back of the building, from the pay machines in the basement. While I struggled with keeping my increasingly baggy laundry-day jeans pulled up beneath my wool coat, a boy with long black hair looked out from just inside the apartment below us. I trudged upward, hoping my pants would not end up around my ankles right then and there, as they were trying very hard to do.
The girl stared at me, as surprised as I was. She looked me up and down. Her eyes widened slightly and she smiled.
I hadn't expected to see Milla standing there. I had just put my coat back in the closet and closed the door (which had been generally left open before I arrived) to help keep the cold out. And suddenly, there she was, staring myself in the face from out of a full-length mirror on the closet door.
And there I saw me, for the first time ever, in the flesh. No cheesy graphic manipulation, no breathy sighs regarding continued hormones and weight loss, no agonizing over upper body mass, no obsessing over which gory facial surgeries would make me self-acceptable, no disgust or bitter upset. My hair could use a little work, but y'know, it's not bad.
This time, though there weren't many of them, the tears were happy ones.
Posted in misc, presentation, transition by Milla | Comments (4)
So, yeah. Back to the bit where my life got flipped, turned upside down, for only the 17th time in three years.
Holy shit. "Ian" died three years ago and came out to her mother, almost to the day.
I was struggling to keep my job. Not that there was any danger of me being fired, but I was going through sort of a c'mon, Milla, hang in there just until you find something else thing on a daily basis.
But I was employed, functional, passing, and even quickly getting rid of my damn facial hair.
I felt as though my transition was really finally taking off. I envisioned myself straddling a red rocket straight out of a violent cartoon. It roared upwards for that big Suporn Clinic in the sky, the final stop in my journey to selfhood. (Yes, I'm a lunatic.)
The rocket was an Acme product.
Right after I began to develop shoulder bursitis, I was moved from children's pricing to the "cashier" position, which actually involved even more carrying and lifting of clothes. This in itself wasn't quite enough to make me tell the bosses to shove it, but I sniffled through one full day, after which my bursitis was so aggravated by being a "cashier", I just called in and quit the next morning, without notice.
Fuckers.
Meanwhile, a mysterious thrift store customer whose name I won't reveal here (but it starts with T and rhymes with Tom) had been talking to and visiting Connie at work at the other store. I'll refer to this person as "Tom" so as not to reveal that his name is Thomas.
Tom kept visiting Connie. Our relationship had previously been declared open and undefined. I'd already visited and started considering Mike and Melissa here in Chicago my partners. Connie seemed bemused but oddly non-creeped-out by Tom's visits. Eventually, she wanted to "find out why" he was doing this, and they went out for coffee.
Be sure to tune in next time for the exciting conclusion!
Posted in employment, misc, relationships by Milla | Comments (1)
Things are difficult lately, what with a really nasty case of the flu, moving to a large city, and having a date turn out to be not quite what I expected on Monday.
I have so many things to tell about, O my brothers, sisters, and friends, but right now I still need to lay low for a while and collect myself.
Till then, I'm okay, still here with my wonderful partners in Chi-town, and taking it easy.
Again, much love.
Milla
Posted in misc by Milla | Comments (5)
Wow. Dag, yo. I haven't written a real entry since before Christmas.
I'm still here, folks, promise. I'm getting around to feeling like I'm ready to write about some events that have transpired since, and I've also recently given in to the temptation of beginning to piece together the obligatory Boy Pic Post ™.
The show will commence shortly. You may wish to pick up some refreshments at the concession stand on your way back to your seat. We apologize for the delay.
Posted in misc, weblog by Milla | Post a Comment?
We Unitarians love our food.
As a (now formerly unofficial) member of the Unitarian Universalist church that Mike, Melissa, and I usually attend, Melissa and I did the cooking for a handful of Wednesday "Community Nights" over the winter and spring, where church members or any other folks could come in and have a large, decent meal for a suggested donation of five dollars.
As none of us drive, we liked to buy the ingredients and such at a certain local supermarket that offers delivery for a fee. This makes it possible to buy the large quantities needed and still shop for ourselves and not break our backs carrying it all home. The church would reimburse us, but we tried to ask for less than we spent unless money was particularly tight.
On the third anniversary of my starting hormone supplements (3/10/08), we bought all we needed and scheduled a delivery. A few hours later, a delivery man came by and carried everything upstairs for us.
Okay. *sigh* I think I'm ready to write about this now.
While Melissa was downstairs, outside on the sidewalk near his car, he carried a few plastic bags in through the apartment's front door, and saw me lying down on my bed through my door, exhausted. He greeted me and I came out of my room.
"Um, just leave them here," I said, both of us right by the front door.
He smiled at me. "Ooo.. muy bonita (very pretty)! Hablas Espaňol? Muy bonita!"
"Thank you," I replied, flattered, "No, no hablo mucho Espaňol." I only took two years of Spanish in high school.
He was cute, and he wanted to go out with me. As our relationship at Casa 3M is open, and I found him attractive and friendly, I agreed, and we exchanged phone numbers. He left.
I explained all this to M&M. They seemed surprised, but okay with it. He called me later on asking me in broken English (his English was slightly better than my Spanish) to call him at 10:15 because he got off work at 10. He called me again at 10:14 and said he was waiting outside. I grabbed my purse, said bye, and went downstairs and outside. I got in his car. It was dark out.
As soon as I closed the door he immediately got frisky with me. He started unbuttoning my long wool coat and grabbing my breasts, both through and then beneath my velvet blouse. I got really uneasy. I pulled his hand away. "No, no." After a failed attempt at communication, and another "no, I don't do that on the first date," (no means the same thing in either language), he started back up again and even started trying to stick his hand down the front of my jeans.
Fuck. I was afraid, especially of what might happen when he found something he wasn't expecting, however diminutive and nonfunctional. I wanted to run, but I was afraid of what he might have in the car, or what he might do. I was giving in.
There were people about in the neighborhood now, so he drove a short distance to a quieter, darker, more secluded area. He pulled my hand over to his lap and rubbed it. I pulled it away and looked at him. He started sticking his hand down my jeans again and I panicked. To reduce the risk of getting hurt or killed, I tried my best to explain to him in Spanish "yo soy transsexuale." Sure, that's not specific, or even entirely accurate, but that wasn't the point. He didn't understand, but didn't react much at all when he finally did come upon my Something Extra.
He pulled my hand back. He opened his pants, and put his hand behind my head and pulled it down towards his lap. After he was satisfied, he leaned back for a moment and starting driving again.
"Adonde vamos?" I asked, nervous and numb at the same time. (Where are we going?) "Do you want to go dance?"
He seemed amused I'd asked in Spanish. He said, "No, no." And without another word, drove back around the block and stopped at the apartment.
After some mild relationship drama before I told M&M what had really happened, and brief reactive psychosis on my part (including a good half hour bawl), I called a rape crisis line and they told me to go to a nearby ER. M&M went with me and made the whole ER experience a lot less horrible.
A rapekit was done by an obviously untrained nurse (with the constant verbal assistance of my advocate) and my blouse was taken for evidence. I was asked some questions by a cop and a detective, and six hours or so after checking in, around 6-7AM, we left the hospital and had "breakfast" at a diner and came home. My memory following this incident is very fuzzy, and I functioned very poorly for some time.
I didn't end up getting additional doses of prophylactic drugs either (as required by Illinois state law), but that's a story for another time. And happily, according to testing, I probably didn't catch anything from him anyway.
As a victim of violence, I'm receiving free intensive therapy (one hour twice a week) at a local LGBT clinic.
The investigation is still ongoing. My assailant gave me a false name. He tried to call me several times on two different occasions. The detective got a subpoena on his cell number. Right now I'm waiting to do a second line up, in person this time, and the DNA test could could take years.
As a gender variant woman, statistically speaking, I had an 80% chance of being the victim of assault at least once in my lifetime. I didn't expect it to be quite like that, though.
Posted in misc, news, relationships, sexuality by Milla | Comments (9)
In the course of one day recently (Tuesday the 24th), I was insulted by some punk kid over my shoes two minutes after leaving the apartment, yelled at to "move, goddammit" and called a "badass bitch" by a nice, friendly lady in a wheelchair I didn't even see until hearing her as I walked by. I got lost two times, missed several buses, dropped something heavy along the way I'd bought and been carrying around without realizing it, and I even got read by the cashier who sold it to me. (The handles also eventually tore off the used paper bag he put my purchases in.)
More to the point, not much more than a block away from finally making it home, my rapist drove up and followed me in his car, asking for my name and "new number" (my cell phone is off) despite me not talking to him except to tell him to go away. He eventually left. I turned the wrong way on the street that connects to ours, disoriented by fear and stress.
After I got home, quit crying hysterically, and regained my senses (with the help of a couple shots of rum), I tried to call the detective on that case. When I called, he wasn't in, so I left a voice mail message telling him what happened with Melissa's cell number. He didn't call back. I still haven't been called in to do that in-person suspect lineup. I'm getting fed up with the whole ordeal.
Then I got drunkish on two large, pre-mixed "zombies" on the rocks. I slept for 12 hours that night.
I'm going out to my Anti-Violence Project therapy appointments twice a week now, an hour a session. My next appointment is today at noon, and it's 4AM.
I enjoy the appointments, but if I even make it there today, that'll be doing quite well. (Sorry if I don't, Aleksandra!)
Posted in misc by Milla | Comments (4)