Your Naked Body Is None of My Business

Let's file this post under things that I notice aren't being said in common anti-transphobia blogs I've seen.  Not that I've seen every single blog in this vein in the blogosphere, I haven't, not even close.  But I do think that certain responses should be a lot more common when the issue of "should pre-ops and non-ops be allowed to .... XYZ" seems to come up.

I am referring of course to the more common debates over whether transwomen should be allowed to access women's public restrooms and locker rooms, changing rooms, or White Womyn's Music Festivals etc... places where, apparently, women are expected to be at least partially nude at any time.  These debates always seem to reach a fever pitch when it comes to whether or not transwomen who have not had "the surgery" should be allowed or barred from the premises.

Before I give you my opinion, let me explain what MY dog is in this fight.

As I've explained in my blog earlier, I am an "Op" transsexual, for lack of a better term.  This is to say my vaginoplasty failed in a big bad way..  The surgical outcome has resulted in years of chronic pain and scarring and a lifetime of behavior modification centered around accomodating said pain. 

That said, I am far happier, far more comfortable  psychologically, possessing a "failed vagina" than I ever was possessing a "normal penis." Such was the intensity  of my body dysphoria pre-surgery if I had to go back and do it all over again, pain and cosmetic trauma and all, I would.  I HATED having a penis. I HATED the masculinization of my body during puberty I hated everything about my primary and secondary sexual characteristics right up until and long after I began HRT. 

Having surgery, even with crap results, undid an incredible amount of body dysphoria for me.  I can't over emphasize how important getting one's body "right", whatever "right" looks like for individual trans people,can be.  But even more compelling than the need to have one's body look "right" for the individual transperson, is often the need to stop looking "wrong." 

And that's what surgery did for me.  It didn't do a damn thing else for me, and with it came a host of hellish problems all their own.  But I will forever be grateful and glad for escaping that feeling of abject "wrongness" inside of my own naked skin.

So yes, if you must know,  I am good to go in women's changing rooms and just about any other place you might expect to see a naked lady *gasp and swoon.*   Unless you get right up between my legs, which I can't imagine why anyone would do so in a women's changing room, you wouldn't automatically know there was anything particularly wrong with my lady parts.  I haven't personally feared being ejected from women's restrooms and locker rooms for many many years now. 

BUT.  Every morning, like some hapless Rip Van Winkle who rouses from his 100 year sleep still terribly alive, loved ones long dead and memories still reeling...  I do recall what life was like before surgery. What my life felt like, I mean.  From the fucking inside.  Before passing.  Before I was allowed to access women's only spaces without fearing the side-eye.    Personally I don't understand how ANY post-op and/or post-transsexual could EVER forget what zir life was like beforehand.... Time does not heal all wounds.  I have been transitioned for the entirety of my adult life and... some days I remember the years as if yesterday.

What do I remember?  Other than the self loathing, the feeling of being trapped (Yes, TRAPPED in my own body... my apologies to those who hate the metaphor)...  What I remember best was that I was every bit as emphatically female identified  then as I am today... My mind was still my mind, my soul my soul.  Only my BODY was different.

Here I go again with the "Primary Transsexual" crap.  (I hate that cissexist psycho-medical jargon too, believe me.  But for some reason it has become as tho we obviously trans "male" children who grow up into women are slowly being re-written out of existence.... as if there were only ever six of us thru out history, well documented cases cynically invented by the patriarchs of Psychiatry and Sexology to control  The Flesh... while the rest of transkind , the REAL transfolk, all fall into the category of the much later in life transitioning manifesting one day out of the ether of self doubt and self denial.   That may be an unfair assessment of what mainstream trans culture has become, but that's how it often FEELS hearing my story discussed in trans circles these days)...   

Like I was saying, as a "primary transsexual", I came out in earliest childhood and I was always very vocal about being a girl and NOT being a boy.  I NEVER felt it was appropriate to identify as male I NEVER willingly consented to identify as male and I constantly looked for ways to get out of doing so.   I took the absolute earliest opportunity to escape my assignment as male and I haven't looked back since, except to shudder with relief and horror over the twilight zone mindfuck that had been my life til  right up until I got out.  I know that sounds hyperbolic, I know that sounds so "surely it wasn't THAT, bad Jane..." but for me, and for so many of my trans sisters, yes it sure was.  

A big part of the mindfuck of being coercively assigned male was being forced to use boys' and men's public restrooms and changing rooms, no matter how inappropriate and unsafe I felt doing so.

So yeah, I can't and won't forget any of that and I will never sit in smug judgment of those who long to access critical safe public spaces, have a demonstrable NEED for these safe spaces,  but are  not allowed simply for having the bodies that they have.  And even today I thank my lucky stars for my privilege, knowing that when I go into the women's restroom nobody is likely to say  "HEY WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE! I'M CALLING THE POLICE IF YOU DON'T LEAVE NOW!"

Back to the issue at hand.  Pre-ops and Non-ops and  Bears oh MY.  Okay not Bears.  I know absolutely nothing about that scene and it's besides the point.   But about the pre-ops and Non-ops in women's changing rooms.... I have this to say.

Your naked body is none of my business.  Even if we're in a public space where we're all gonna be naked. Conversely, my naked body is none of YOUR business either.  Full Stop. Period.

The anti-trans arguments always  hinge upon whether women, particularly cis women, will feel "invaded" or "annoyed" or "threatened" by the presence of  a woman-with-a-penis in the room.  Because having a penis means you're a man.  And women's spaces are created as safe spaces from Men.  And thus from penises.  And if you have any respect for women's spaces you must be willing to bar all penis bearing individuals from said spaces.

Okay.  I can understand, in this cissexist world, where having a certain set of genitals automatically marks you as being a certain class of person, why this argument seems to hold water.  I can even agree, when I use women's restrooms and/or changing rooms the LAST thing I expect or want to see there is a penis. I will cop to that. 

That said, I don't see how it's any of my business what my lockermate's junk looks like, just because she's naked.  

For those of you who've been in these spaces... Umm... haven't you ever seen something you wish you hadn't??   One time I accidentally walked in on my 67 year old ex co-worker changing her adult diaper in a stall.  I really wish I hadn't seen that.  I have seen other women, cis women,  with bodies so hirsute I had to stop and wonder about them for a second. I have seen nude and partially nude women's bodies of all shapes and sizes and textures and I'd rather not have seen any of it.   But their bodies were NONE OF MY BUSINESS.  If what I saw before me was unpleasant to my eye, I always had the option of AVERTING MY GAZE! 

I swear I'm not being obtuse. I understand that there are situations where public nudity is involved, where the atmosphere is more social, such as in women's bathhouses, steam rooms and day spas and whatnot.  Places where having non-standard-for-a-typical-female body would be a big handicap in that atmosphere.    Again, that still doesnt make anybody else's body your business.   If you don't wish to nudely interact with someone based upon the way their nude body looks to you... you do not have to do so. 

The problem comes when BEHAVIOR starts to transgress the boundaries of comfort and safety of the persons occupying any given space.  The "logic" behind the fear of un-operated transwomen being in women only spaces is that this might give cis men the bright idea to pretend to be transwomen just to gain access to women's space.  Do I really have to take down this argument?  Others have done it much better than I.  And really... I don't know of anybody who has ever done that.

Now I would think that if any person, cis or trans, male or female or neuter, were to enter into a public space reserved for one particular type of behavior and began oh, aggressively propositioning and ogling the people in that space, I would PRAY the attendees would be empowered to eject them as a matter of course.   People can always (and should always) be held accountable for their behavior.  But to be held accountable for having a certain kind of body?  For having the gall to drag a particular shape of meat-avatar into a room??   Umm... not so much.

I could go on and on, but I'm hoping you gather my meaning.  There is no excuse for upholding Cissexism (and it is nothing else but) by claiming that the mere existence of a penis in women's space is the exact same as a man invading women's space.    The only way to make this claim is to say that Penis=Man.  And please don't hide behind the disingenuous claim of "I personally don't believe that a pre-op transwoman is really a man, but I respect the fact that most cis women would be bothered by seeing one in the locker room..   I Because what you're saying is,  "I don't believe in cissexism, but I respect other people's cissexist beliefs."   and that would be BULLSHIT.

Believe it or not I am an infinitely practical person.  I do understand how the world works and how much power cis people have to define what is and what is not women's space and who should have access to it.    I understand that the majority of the world currently believes that there is no such thing as a woman with a penis, that only men have penises, and if you're born with a penis that and only that is what makes you a man, no matter what else you turn that penis into, or your life, for that matter.  .  I also understand that in a sexist and misogynist world, women really do have a vested interested in creating women only safe speces where Men Do Not Enter.  But a no penises policy does not accomplish this task.  Men who are trans, that is coercively assigned female based upon their genitals and who have not had phalloplasty,  retain the  theoretical "right" to enter such spaces based on the shape of their genitals.  Meanwhile Women who are Trans,  coercively assigned male and  until surgery thus forced to identify themselves by the shape of their genitals, are barred from the very safe spaces they, as women,  they are (documentably) in dire need of.

Back to me now.   I remember....  !!!     Pre-transition, preteen, pre-power to define my own life, I still desperately needed a safe space, even then.  ESPECIALLY THEN.   A safe space from MEN in general,  and a safe space to BE female.  Being openly feminine and yet coercively identified as male, I was certainly never felt welcome in men's only spaces, certainly never made to feel safe or that I really belonged there.  The men who did see me in these spaces (more often than not)  treated me as a threat to their very manhood for simply existing, like I had come to infect them with my girl cooties.  Ironically, when I think about it, pre-transition and passing for a feminine teenage boy, I never met with ANY panic from cis women whenever I occasionally did go into women's restrooms, precisely BECAUSE of my obvious femininity. 

I'm sure then, assuming I was a flamboyant gay male,  they also assumed I must have a penis. I don't remember the topic ever coming up tho?  Hrmmmm.   I do remember my best girl friends from school would drag me in along with them at the malls, and occasionally sneak me into the girl's restroom at school (picture  the Ricky Vasquez character in My So Called Life.  Uncomfortably similar to me back then...)   Pre-transition, passing for a cis gay male, nobody ever "went and told" on me, nobody ever said they were afraid I was there ogling them, nobody ever protested my presence (to my knowledge). 

Granted, personal anecdotes aren't proof of one's argument, but when we're talking about the "dangers" of penises in women's restrooms, it's anecdote city, baby.  So, you show me yours and I'll show you mine.

Wow this post is going on forever when I really wanted to say something very simple.

*AHEM*

"Trans women are NOT a danger to cis women in women only spaces.  Not even " un-operated" trans women. People who behave disruptively in women's only spaces ARE a danger to women.  However, a women being naked in a women's only space where nudity is expected is NOT being disruptive... even if the naked women in question has a penis.  PERIOD.  (But Jane, a MAN being naked in a women's only space IS disruptive.  Again, if you can't drop the cissexist premise that penis=man then you will never get what I'm saying and you should probably move on to the next blog).  

Existing is not disruptive!!  If you don't like what you see, then don't look!!  It's just that simple.  And if you are personally so traumatized by the very idea of a person with a certain body part being in the same room as you... THERE IS THERAPY FOR THAT!  

Okay I will have to go back and clean up this post for sure.  But I need to get it out there.  Just something that's been a long time in the making for me to talk about.  So... yeah.  Happy Restrooming, everyone?

Peace.

**NOTE**  I have been editing and re-editing this post like mad and I'm not done yet.  You might wanna give this another read after a couple of days a week or so.  I'm sloooow.

Chronic Pain + PTSD = Sexual Dysfunction Squared

So.  In the interest of using this space to process my feelings honestly, it's time I got embarrassingly honest.  These are things that need to be said out loud, things that have gone unsaid in my life for too long.  To the point that the silence has become deafening here in this howling vortex where my relationship should be.

In cissexist medical terms there is no category for what kind of "Transsexual" I am.   I haven't been pre-op for nearly 15 years now..  However due to complications during surgery, my SRS was never completed.  It was in fact halted at a fairly early stage of the operation.    I am not pre-op and not quite post-op.  I could call myself an "Op" transsexual or more accurately a "chOPped transsexual" but that would be cissexist and I am determined to stop categorizing myself according to that paradigm.

The resulting complications of surgery over time have resulted in massive internal and external scarring,  intermittent incontinence and frequent urinary tract infections.  And oh yes, terrible, chronic pain as a result of the scarring.  Some days I can barely stand to be in pants or underwear for longer than a couple of hours.  Standing and walking for long periods hurts.  So does sitting for long periods.  Sexual contact is extremely painful, particularly direct physical contact to my genital area.  Any direct contact to my genital area actually is VERY uncomfortable, at best physically and psychologically. 

Over the last 5 years or so the pain has gotten steadily worse.  I've developed various coping strategies and patterns of behavior to limit the pain impact, but the only permanent solution to all of the above is another surgery.  Being that i spent everything I had on surgery the first time around and have lived pretty much right on or below the poverty line ever since, this has  been but a distant dream.  As for the pain itself, doctors have been unwilling to prescribe me painkillers for fear of my developing an addiction.  I imagine if I had a "socially acceptable" reason for my chronic pain, like a nerve disease or something, they would be more willing to work with me.  But the subtle impression I've gotten from docs over the years has been "well, you got yourself into this by undergoung an ill advised cosmetic surgery with an inexperienced surgeon to begin with, so pain is just the price you have to pay."   

Again, the only longterm solution for my problem is another surgery.   I've never had health insurance for the entirety of my adult life and have barely been able to support myself with the basics. Simply put, I'm S.O.L.  until I find away to scrape together another 15 to 20K.  Which I mos def will, TRUST . One of these days not too long from now. I'm on the right track again.. FINALLY after so many years of financial abjection.  But that's still some years away.

I've long since come to accept that this is the hand I've been dealt.. but the dealing with the reality of chronic pain has been a different story.   I suppose due to internalized ableism, I've always been reluctant to see myself as disabled.  To me, being disabled meant being in a wheelchair or having some sort of physical problem that requires you to walk around with a MedicAlert bracelet.  Anything else was just a "problem."  I may be unable to do a few things other people take for granted, like wear tight pants, or thongs, or run a marathon, or orgasm, or enjoy sex whatsoever, or sit with my legs crossed for an extended period.. but hey I'm not DISABLED.  So I kept telling myself.

So let's talk about sex.  I've had lots of it.  In spite of the pain in spite of my physical limitations and the emotional cost, I've always been able to "please" a man sexually.  I did this by focusing entirely on his pleasure, faking my own, and in general completely removing my real feelings and real sexuality far away from the sex act itself.   This strategy made me a phenomenal escort, not to mention frequently sought after bootycall material for however many dozens of men I've , ermm.. "entertained" over the years.   No matter my pain, no matter how little I actually enjoyed the act itself, I was always able to make sure my partner was pleased... even if i had to LIE.

Enter Mr. Laplain,  true love, and the first ever man to actually give a damn about me and my pleasure.  Suddenly the game is changed and I am exposed for what I really am.  A sexually crippled, disfigured fraud who wouldn't know what really pleased her in bed if her l.ife depended on it. 

I am unable to perform sexually with Mr. Laplain because I am UNABLE TO LIE to him.  His pleasure, his interest in me sexually is dependent upon making sure I am at least as satisfied as he is, if not moreso.   But I honestly do not know how to associate the act of performing sexually with feeling sexually stimulated myself.  In truth I think of the two things as mutually exclusive.   I HAVE NO CLUE what feels good to me.  Because as far as I'm concerned NOTHING actually feels good (physically), everything is painful, everything is a chore.. and while I could always fake pleasure/lack of pain for my partners before, I owe Mr Laplain so much more than that and I refuse to treat him like a John.

Our sex life is a disaster, if you haven't guessed already.  And it is entirely my fault. I don't know what to do about it.  In reality  all I have to offer is "Yes baby, that is so much less painful when you do that.  Oh yes lover touch me over here so that I don't wet the bed or start bleeding!"

While at first the passion between us was born of newness and the charge of emotion that comes with having a brand new relationship... my ability to endure the pain and respond only to the pleasure he gives me has greatly diminished over time.  Whereas before I could get off on the fact that this guy really is into me and lose myself in the novelty of that... now I can only think god please don't get me started up because as soon as the blood starts flowing to my crotch the pain comes even harder and lasts for hours  after we're done.

You can imagine how this would take a toll on a man's self esteem and/or interest in a relationship,  to have his girlfriend constantly shrinking away from even the most vaguely intimate physical contact.  To have your own girlfriend refusing to share a bed with you at night for fear of getting turned on by you or turning you on and starting something that she won't be able to finish. 

And then there is the tiny matter of the pain in my crotch serving as a constant reminder of all the years of giving my body to men who could give a damn about me to begin with...  some of whom took my body by force because that's how little they thought of  me as a human being.

There is no immediately solution to any of this  as far as I can see except to call a moratorium on all sexual contact until my physical problems areresolved. Which is a ridiculous thing to ask of anyone in a relationship.  It's not like surgery is around the corner.  How is it fair to ask someone to give up his sex life just because you want to give up yours?  If I could be the kind of girl who was secure enough to let her man have a little on the side, I would totally do that.  But I don't think I am.. and I don't think Mr. Laplain would go for that anyway.  He is one of those rare(?)  men who needs to have some kind of emotional connection with the person he's sleeping with.. so any other person he slept with would a priori be someone who constituted a threat to our relationship.

I am completely utterly and hopelesssly lost here.  And if I don't figure something out soon, I'm going to lose alot more than my "focus." 

But what?

Two things on my mind. Real quick.

Quickly as I can, anyways.


The Princess Boy

I am only addressing this so certain  people offline will finally stop asking me to comment on this.  I have no comment on The Princess Boy.  That is, none on the child zirself, mind you.  I refuse. I have in fact gone out of my way not to read up on the media phenomenon because something about it all makes me VERY uncomfortable.

No, I don't object to children's gender expressions being supported and celebrated.  What I will comment on is the "media" aspect of the story.  I think it's heinous that a child ANY child, is ever made into a media figure.  Fame is a destructive thing, as we see time and time again in our fame obsessed culture.  But fame without the support network of any one specific industry to mitigate one's fame to begin with, particularly a child's fame, is a recipe for crash and burn and never ever ever being able to live it down that once long ago you were that famous person who was or did or said XYZ and whatever happened to you.. etc. 

Another reason for my discomfort  comes from a completely personal space.  Again I've gone out of my way NOT to educate myself on the particulars of this child so I don't know how zie identifies zirself to others.  but I do know that I would have been mortified to be known the world over as a Boy anything, even a Princess Boy.   If this child is ultimately trans and identifies as a girl, calling zir "Boy" is just a slap in the face.  And  YES take it from me you can be 4 years old and know what it means to be called a boy and how crushingly humiliated and powerless that makes you feel when you already know you are a girl.

The parents?:  Sure you don't mind if your "Boy" lives as a girl or at least girlishly, as long as HE remembers HE'S a BOY and you'll make damn sure the entire WORLD knows that you have a SON who may be different but he's your BOY and you accept HIM.... 

Yeah... that's why I can't bring myself to read up on him actually.  Too close to home.  My parents were never terribly concerned with my femininity... I was spared much of the mandatory "toughening up" that most gender nonconforming male-assigned children face in this society (tho by no means did I escape all forms of this particular type of hazing...).  But they were always very sure to emphasize I was their SON.... that I was a Junior to my father's Senior, that I would grow up to be a Man, even if that meant being a "different" kind of man one day, a MAN i would still be....  all of this was explained to me painstakingly, no matter how much I protested this notion, how much I complained and explained until I just finally gave up and completely shut down.

And while not forcing me to feel particularly ashamed of  being feminine definitely helped me cope in the long run... my family's insistence that I be recognized as male to any and everyone who asked and who didn't ask, to people who might one day ask.. well that definitely hurt in the long run...   baggage I still struggle with to this day.

Cis vs Non-Trans

I have been noticing that alot of people in the transosphere (gawd how i HATE these made up words that end in "--osphere"... UGH UGH UGH.. but for lack of a better phrase...)   have stuck with using Non-Trans even tho they are well aware of the term Cis.  

At first I thought it was just fuddy duddy on their part, not wanting to use the new weird sounding jargon, no matter how useful it is  But the more I think it over the more I start to see "non-trans" as the more inclusive descriptor in some instances.

This revelation came at the same time I realized that so much of my own writing about these issues actually erases the existence and  experiences of Intersex people.   Intersex experiences frequently do not  fall under the label of Cis or Trans as I talk about them, at least not neatly.  There are plenty of intersex people who were assigned a birth sex they do NOT disagree with that and yet they were still made to endure the indignities of being shoehorned medically, surgically, and socially into society's binary ideas about what gendered bodies should look like... in fact they endure a very unique style of coercion and punishment based on their bodies that people who aren't intersex simply don't experience.  

It hardly seems accurate to describe someone intersex as "technically cis" just for not disagreeing with the assignment they were born with.  And for intersex persons who do come to object to their birth assignment and take steps to correct that, they may easily identify as trans or may not identify as trans at all and it is NOT for me to say.

Anyway, I say all that just to say that from now on whenever I say or write Non-Trans, and whenever I read it on other blogs, I will take it to mean exactly that.  NON-TRANS... as in NOT TRANS.  as in  Something Other Than Trans.  Including not just Cis people as a group, but also Intersex persons and anyone else I may have missed who is definitely NOT Trans.

Not that I will stop using Cis any time soon.  We simply can't unpack Cissexism without it!

Did any of this make any sense?  I will have to come back later and check.  I would like to finish sleeping for the night!!

Anti-Oppression Lingo I don't quite "Get" yet...

I am still very new to anti-oppression work. However I do know enough not to bother those who are more skilled in recognizing and dismantling various oppressions with questions I can easily answer for myself by doing research.  "Please explain why this is wrong" is the exact opposite attitude to take when learning about 'isms... If you aren't willing to take responsibility for your own ignorance, then you probably aren't willing to make any meaningful changes once you do learn.  So yeah, I get it.

But in spite of my study, there are a few items that I still don't get that everyone else seems to.  And apparently I am the only one who doesn't get it, which makes finding answers even more intimidating, because I don't want to be THAT BOZO, the one asking questions too ignorant even for a 101 Seminar.

 Let me just jump to the point.  I am supremely grateful for the anti-oppression blogosphere.. but I don't think it's culture is beyond critique.   Here are a few words/concepts/phrases I see commonly in anti-oppression discourse that I don't think I fully "get."  Or more accurately, don't fully agree with. I am not out to start beef with anybody or single out any bl og(s) in particular.   These are just a few linguistic phenomena I've noticed around and have found slightly troubling.  I suspect I'm not the only one who feels this way.  But even if I am... this is MY blog and if I can't say this stuff anywhere else without fear of reprisal, I can at least say it here.

1. CRAZY vs CRAZYMAKING.  I get that the word "crazy" has been used to demonize those who struggle with mental illnesses. I get that this is a word that has been used to invalidate more often than its been used to illuminate.  I get that Crazy is too often used in the same derisive spirit as the word "Lame," appropriating the experience of the mentally and physically  handicapped  (respectively) by assigning a maliciously negative and yet nearly irrelevant connotation to the word (crazy is used to mean anything socially outrageous and objectionable, not necessarily related to insanity, lame is used to mean anything considered unpopular and/or awkward, completely unrelated to an inability to walk)   for no other reason than to have a handy insult to use against somebody, a bad name to use as punishment,  a stigma for another's perceived social mis-steps.

So, I do NOT for the life of me, then, understand why the word CRAZYMAKING is just fine.  I can't think of any other word where on its own it is considered an insufferable slur, but in  conjunction with another word, it is considered a valid critique.  (There is no such word as "Fatmaking"  or "Uglymaking" for example, altho the words Fat and Ugly are often used in the same derisive vein as Crazy).   To say that certain harassing behaviors are "crazymaking" to me seems to lend support to the idea that there IS such a thing as crazy and that its okay to call it that. 

So is there such a thing as crazy? And is it ever okay to call it that?

I refrain from asking this question at other blogs, even tho I see the word "crazymaking" all the time... as if it means something non-abstract and obvious. But even more frequently I see commenters getting called out for being ableist, even banned, for commenters  for saying things like "You must be crazy if you think ...." yadda yadda.  

I am NOT trying to obtuse here. I am not advocating for the use of Crazy in spite of its ableist stigma. I really am confused about the so-called anti-oppression culture's use of this world.  How can Crazy be verboten, but Crazymaking is right on?

2. DEHUMANIZING.  I get the concept alright. I understand the definition.  But I feel like this word gets waaaay overused. 

Often when I see Dehumanized used in posts or conversation, I feel like what the author really means is closer to "Subhumanized," or even "Animalized." Made into a creature that is less than a human, more like an animal.  Well  duh, isn't that what dehumanizing already implies?  Only if you accept that being human is a binary state.. you are either human or you are Something Else.  And while I do believe that is exactly the goal of all oppressions.. to make people feel the tension of this particular binary.. I am not comfortable leaving the paradigm unexamined.

Plus I feel like Dehumanizing isn't specific enough.  The action specifically being critiqued as "dehumanizing" can be understood not only as stripping a person of their status as a human being, but actively re-creating that person into a subhuman being.  Thereby, putting them on par with animals, that other class of creatures we commonly recognize as living but not endowed with any rights relative to human beings. (I have always had a big problem with the premise that human beings are the natural "superior" of animals, but I have an even bigger problem with animal rights activists and their raging racism and classism, so I tend to stay quiet on this score).

Let me put it another way.   When somebody calls me the N Word... I don't feel Dehumanized. I feel like I've been ANIMALIZED. I feel shamed and insulted, exactly as if they had called me a Gorilla.  I feel like they don't see me as a human being so much as this mythical creature they call  N****R.  

I don't just feel stripped of my humanity, I feel like I've been categorized as something much worse than a human altogether.

IMHO this is a small but very important distinction to make.  It's the difference between simple erasure and being flat out lied on. 

I know I have alot more to say on this score, but its still tangled up in my head, so I will move on for now.

3. DOUCHE/DOUCHEBAG/DOUCHEBAGGERY.  This one REALLY bothers me because I feel its hypocritical of anyone who resists Misogyny to use this term as if it were an innocuous insult and in no way related to female genitalia.  I mean come ON.  Every feminist understands that calling someone the P Word or the C Word is horribly misogynist.   Comparing people, particularly "men" to vaginas is considered the ultimate insult to their manhood and their very character.  Associating a man with items specifically designed for use with vaginas is the EXACT SAME MISOGYNIST LOGIC. 

I'm pretty sure if people started calling men who behave like insufferable jerks TAMPONS, the misogyny would  be loud and clear.  But Douchebag is somehow... totally kosher?  Please explain this one to me.

I know I have other stuff that irks me about anti-oppression culture, but my back is killing me and I need to get ready for bed.  Work comes deadly early tomorrow.  And yes, the jobhunt still goes on. I turned down two offers because they were too far away.  But I will take that as an encouraging sign that my resume is out there, doing its thang.

More on this post later.

Hiatus complete.

Many good things came from taking time off.  I was able to channel the emotional energy I had been wasting fretting about how to blog about my life and my relationship back into ... my life and my relationship.  I gained much needed insight.  Mainly, I really do need the guidance of a professional if I'm going to manage my PTSD properly. 

That said, I haven't had much opportunity, financially speaking or schedule-wise, to find that professional help.  Still very much in the throes of job hunting.  That slowed down a bit once I realized the background check won't be happening til January or so, and there is a small but viable chance I might be able to opt out of it altogether by requesting a shift of duties...   but at any rate. I need another gig.  Even without the threat of being outed, the place is toxic on many other levels.

I have also learned in this time off that, in the longterm, I will never be happy in any job that I do if it doesn't involve the uplift of the trans community and other vulnerable populations I happen to be a part of.  Which is why I have decided to partner with Mr. Laplain on building a non-profit organization devoted to this end.

It's been a pet project of his for a while but he's only just been able to give it some legs  this year.  I won't go into great detail about it here as it's his baby and I don't want to create any coflicts of interest.   But, overwhelming new responsibilities notwithsanding, I am delighted to be of service to him and to our community.

As for Mr. Laplain and I, our brief split did us a solid.  I got a much needed wake up call that life with me shouldn't revolve around my triggers and recovery.  That other people's triggers do still matter.  And that having somebody love you unconditionally is not an open invitation to test  the boundaries of that love every freaking chance you get. 

I can't speak for him or to whatever he gained from our break, but he seems to be more committed than ever before.   I love him. I do.

And uh, I still intend to, like, totally use this blog as a personal space to dissect my overlapping identities and whatnot as well as a public forum for conversation with others who do meaningful work resisting oppressions.  I'm just not going to obsess over it like I was.... it was getting me nowhere.

Promises promises.  The proof is in the blogging. We shall see.

Scrapping Jane Laplain... for now.

Readers

I hate cliches with the burning passion of a thousand suns. Particularly when they turn out to be 100% correct.  But it's true what they say about Life:  It's the stuff that happens to you while you're busy making other plans.

I had planned this blog to be so much more than what I was able to make it out to be. I had planned this blog to be a vehicle for exploring complex issues of intersecting traumas and life changing experiences good and ill I've failed to process or integrate to this day.  I had planned to be the kind of person who could connect with others about their passions and their pain.  I had planned for the first time to be someone who is able to open up about her pain and be honest about the life I've created for myself, rather than just going thru it on autopilot wondering what's wrong.

What I discovered is that I'm in no shape to do so at this time. And instead of slowly becoming that capable integrated person, I quickly became the same old paranoid, critical, defensive control freaking villain I've always been. Even now with every opportunity to change and reasonable expectation of privacy and safety, I still cannot.

I've tried to write fully three times as many posts as you see here on this meagre blog.  I was simply unable to complete any of them. No matter how much I plan "catharsis" thru self expression, I just cannot bring myself to say these things without compromising my own sanity and ultimately, my ability to support myself and sustain a routine or any kind of relationship with another human being.

In short I'm figuring out that this healing business is the sort of stuff I can only do when I have the time and emotional reserves to focus on doing that and nothing else.

And honestly priorities are what it's all about right now.  Due to several reasons that were both outside of and entirely within my power to change, I am forced back in to survival/autopilot mode.  I must find a new job and I must create a new routine in the sudden absence of the life partner I'd planned on spending my life with.  Again with those plans.

This may seem like a histrionic overreaction to being dumped but in truth I've been thinking carefully for the last several hours and coming to terms with several truths.

1. The kind of help I need can't be done alone.  And it apparently can't be done while I'm in a relationship either. Must figure out third option.

2. What I had thought of as my reaching a space of emotional honesty and "safety" in my relationship, the freedom to let the pain out for the first time ever in the context of a loving safe environment,   actually was about me giving myself free license to abuse others rather than (or perhaps in addition to myself) and neglect others' needs (in this case my partner's) rather than my own.

3. I have to somehow live with the fact that I became an unbearable monster to the one person who I can say ever cherished me and did NOT treat me as such.

4. I have (yet again) sabotaged my chances for true healing by returning myself to a situation where I have no choice but to be alone and to struggle alone.

5. I have to face that the problem, no matter how many awful things others in this world may have done to me, the problem  has always been ME, and my reaction to what happens to me.

6. I am nowhere near ready to be the kind of person I hoped I could be.

7. Due to my own desperate, stupidly stupid and selfish actions, I am further behind in that goal than I've ever been.

Or maybe not.  If nothing else, I've come to a space where I fully realize my own participation in the unhappiness that has been my life thus far.  This is not an insignificant thing.  Rather... it has given me new insight.  And perhaps new wisdom that the next time I attempt something as big as all this, I'd better do my homework first.

Thanks for listening.

Jane

*NOTE 10/22/10*   After a few days cooling off, Mr. Laplain  agreed to come back to try working things out.  Whether we do work out will be up to both of us, but mostly me. I still have all of the above mentioned work ahead of me.   I'll be back to blogging again, as soon as I get some real grounding.

i never got a chance to say goodbye

i've been angry with you becuz you've been visibly hostile with me .. of course you've had right to be. I know that's my own fault for not even explaining why * I * was being hostile and distant with you, but I swear to you i was unable to articulate myself until i did. and then even after that, you were distant and snippy everytime i did try to initiate conversation with you, at a time when i was actually trying very hard to break thru this fog of panic.


i haven't handled this situation well at all and i apologize.. and perhaps it is unfair to ask this of anyone.. but please understand when im in a state like this... when im suddenly dramatically different and quiet for no reason.. when you know we haven't had a fight or a falling out to warrant this kind of behavior.. you HAVE to understand it has nothing to do with you its all on me. so the last thing i need is someone being angry and distant with me becuz im going thru an episode.. it feels like im being punished or mocked for being triggered. like im to blame for what im feeling. that may or may not be the case, but hostility and pouting is the absolute worst way to get me to come around...

i guess im asking too much of you tho. im asking you to be sane in the face of my insanity, be kind in the face of my hostility.. and thats not fair. under normal circumstances i would say, oh hell no nobody can deal with a double standard like that... but when im not in my right mind... there isnt any reasonable accomodation that i am able to make.

this is the loneliest part of dealing with my PTSD... the triggering, the paranoia, the rage with nowhere to go but inward... the being in need of somebody to be normal and stable and ACT LIKE NOTHING DIFFERENT IS HAPPENING other than i just happen to be freaking out for a little bit in a corner somewhere. its impossible to explain... but if you know im going thru something that has nothing to do with you, please give me my space and please don't let it crush you to your core that i can't be a normal person in that moment.. just wait me out.. be happy.. live life... write me a love letter if you need to... just don't sulk at me and resent me... it makes me feel like you think im choosing my trigger over you. please don't make me feel that way, i would never choose this feeling in a million years. please don't lie in wait for me outside after work to make me feel "safer" or actively try to change my mood after ive explicitly requested space and silence... it makes me feel stalked and manipulated.

please understand you are not dealing with an able minded person... please don't expect sanity from the insane. at least not all the time. it just sets me up to fail.

I missed my calling as a self fulfilling prophet

Several things. In no particular order.

I found out my job picked up a huge military client. This client demands that we all submit to background checks.  I am not out to anyone at work. It is in fact, not a friendly place to be openly queer anything, much less trans.

I am scrambling looking for a new job because I'm fairly certain that once I'm outed at work it will be a glass ceiling situation at best, ammunition for management to lay me off for "unrelated" reasons by the end of the year.

After a three year respite, I started spotting from my ancient surgical incision that has opened and closed over the last ten or 12 years.  This is incredibly painful and gross.
I had a slow motion nervous breakdown over the course of several days after a drunken or drugged (couldn't tell) thug grabbed my ass and breasts while we rode in the elevator of my apartment building.

I said some awful hurtful things during this nervous breakdown to Mr. Laplain.  This was his last straw and he left.  I just came home from work just today to a note and a halved out apartment, where his things used to be.

I am at a loss for how to proceed. 

Or whether or not I even should.

Later.

Stuff White People Do: The Interview

You'll have to forgive me for sounding a bit like a high school student on summer assignment thru out this interview.    Macon of anti-racist blog Stuff White People Do (currently on hiatus), was so gracious to agree to be one of my first subjects, and then  ended up becoming my VERY first.  I'm glad it turned out this way.

As I've said here before, I credit SWPD with helping me come to a place emotionally where I finally realized that the seemingly far-flung aspects of my identity were in fact intersected as a survivor of domestic violence, sexual and physical assault and rape.  Namely, that race was NOT the least of my problems, as I had been given to believe, and that I actually HAVE experienced racism and even collaborated with racism during the course of my life.  Before this epiphany, I had believed that my being black was simply incidental to my identity... and that being trans was far more oppressive for me than anything else I'd ever been thru.  In short, SWPD snapped me out of my denial.

My views have since evolved a great deal and now I plainly see the intersection of race with other oppressions and privileges everywhere.  This has been as liberating as it has been daunting. 

SWPD is certainly not the only anti-racist blog online.  However,  I found it unique in that it openly invited white people to discuss race and anlayze their own white privilege, to be VULNERABLE in these difficult discussions and just deal with that.  And with the help of the commenting forums, unambiguously held white people accountable for their participation in White Supremacy, unwitting or no.  It was a refreshing change of pace from the allegedly"I don't even see race" whitefolks who make an effort to say only the "right" things and are given a pass for their condescension because hey... at least they're trying right?   I never encountered such a forum that openly confronted white people and DIDN'T degenerate into hysterics and derail.   Not that it wasn't inclined to happen at SWPD, but because the forum culture was committed to not letting that happen.  I was intrigued.

What intrigues me most about SWPD was that it speaks to the importance of analyzing, rather than simply calling out,  the covert and "unintentional" types of racism we take for granted from others everyday.  It also forced me to call out the ways in which I had internalized and normalized racism in my own life.   I figured if this could be done with racism..., this could be done with all other oppressions.... and boy do I have a long list to sort thru....

Anyway. I am honored to have Macon as my first official interview.   Thank you, sir, for all the complicated healing issues you have raised for me. 
....................................

Jane: When you first started Stuff White People Do, what was your original vision for the blog? Did you intend for it to become the high traffic site it eventually became?



Macon:  My original vision was just a list of what I’ve come to call “common white tendencies,” and a place to write them down whenever they occurred to me. A blog seemed like a place to do that in a more public way, which seemed good because some white people might read it and think more about their own whiteness-induced tendencies. I was also inspired by the format, and in a dissatisfied way by the content, of Stuff White People Like. Like Peggy McIntosh has said about her famous article on white privilege, I wanted to write down, but also expand upon in whatever illustrative, convincing detail I could, such white tendencies (which differ from “privileges”).

I wanted these tendencies clarified so I myself could stop doing them. I also thought, and still do, that simply getting more white people to realize that their racial membership within an ongoing and abusive hierarchy is a way of challenging the effects on POC of that hierarchy.

So my initial target audience was white people—I thought I was writing about things that most POC already know. I didn’t feel that as a white person, I should try to teach POC anything about the topic, and especially about racism. Over the past two years or so, I’ve seen that the blog’s information, written by me and by others, sometimes helps POC deal better with white people. POC have also written that because this or that post pinned down and explained an example of racism, it confirmed for them that they’re “not crazy,” or that “it’s not just me that sees that, and sees it as racist,” or that what they suspected was racism really was that, and not what the some-other-thing that society at large claimed it was instead.

In terms of traffic, I didn’t have any particular goal in mind, and still don’t. Seeing the audience grow into a fairly large, engaged, and varied one has of course been gratifying, and I think that all of that input, including a lot of guest posts, has made it a more useful blog. Gradually, though, it occurred to me at times that without me realizing it, my efforts probably caused harm as well, especially if some white readers were doing little more with the blog’s information than patting themselves on the back, because they’d ingested a daily antiracism vitamin (which I guess would mean that in those cases, the posts are actually placebos instead).

What do you value most about SWPD? What are its biggest rewards and/or challenges for you?

I hope I’ve encouraged some other white people to look at their whitened selves, and ways. I’ve especially valued the blog’s audience, and I appreciate the various values that they, or most of them, have seemed to find in it. I hope the blog’s overall effect has worked against racism.

I’ve learned a lot about my own white/whitened self, and about white supremacy more generally. Personally, I’ve also valued the pressure that maintaining the blog put on me to think through various racism-related issues and problems. Writing is a concentrated form of thinking for me, and the blog helped me clarify apparently antiracist concepts and strategies and then articulate them better in other contexts.

The biggest early challenge early on was responding to commenters who challenged the posts. Not the overtly racist ones, but the antiracist ones, who basically pointing out that although I was writing in an attempted antiracist mode, I myself was sometimes being racist, in ways that I couldn’t see yet. I’ve since learned of the common white tendency that I was enacting there, and no doubt still enact, that of defending what I’ve said, digging in my heels almost as a matter of principle, and failing to see just how much I was still stuck in my own perspective, and just not listening well enough.

As the audience grew, my biggest challenge in the comment sections became moderating the comments effectively—screening them, that is, for racism and for derailment, moderating disputes among commenters, and dealing with commenters who dismissed the entire blog and tried to get other to readers/commenters to leave it.

Which blogs do you follow/have you followed closely? Why these?

In no particular order (and I’m sure I’m missing some—I keep up with about 75 blogs in my reader):

Womanist Musings, because Renee is so insightful, inspiringly dedicated, and often entertaining as well.

Sociological Images, for its concrete examples of racist phenomena and ephemera.

Racism Review, for the access it provides to hard data related to racism.

Racialicious, for its consistently useful posting choices and its insightful and generous commenting community.

Abagond, because his work is so varied and insightful, yet succinct.

Unapologetic Mexican, especially for “News with Nezua,” because he does that so well on all levels, and because he teaches me something every time.

We Are Respectable Negroes, because I learn a lot there, and I often get to laugh as I learn.

I also regularly read (although it’s technically not a blog) Counterpunch, and for political comic-relief, Dependable Renegade.

Obligatory POC skeptic question: As a White guy who doesn't have to deal with racism if he doesn't want to... what's in it for you? Why do YOU care, specifically? Why should we trust you?

Since I’m white, I don’t think that POC necessarily should trust me. I hope they are skeptical. I know—though I suspect not as well as many POC do—that I still have, and enact, various racist tendencies and habits. Consequently, though I don’t directly say so on the blog, I would encourage POC to remain skeptical of whatever I have to say. So far, I don’t say so because (1) the blog is about stuff white people do, not stuff POC do, and (2) it seems condescending or something for me to say so—it goes against my belief that POC already tend to be skeptical about me as a white person, because experience has taught them to know as well or better than I do why such skepticism is warranted.

What’s in it for me? Some resolution for an internal conflict that I continuously feel. Not to get too abstract about it, but that internal conflict is a battle between something like my sense of justice and morality (to which I attribute my unease and outrage over racial injustice, including the unearned benefits it’s bestowed upon me), and something like another side of me that’s been told it’s okay to relax and enjoy life, including the unearned benefits handed to me by the random details of my birth, my upbringing, and my current circumstances. The world around me encourages that latter side. For me, it used to be a struggle to keep the other side awake, and active, which is of course a side-effect, and a pathological one, of privilege. Because I try to listen to and nourish my moral conscience (rather than do what I’m “supposed to do,” which is to repress it), I feel compelled to not only become and remain more vigilant and aware of racial injustice, but also to do something against it. I think that to the extent I don’t do that, I’m psychologically and emotionally deformed, and underdeveloped.

Anyway, I don’t know what else to say about why POC should trust an anonymous white blogger. I would hope that consistently convincing work over an extended period of time would alleviate some mistrust. But then, I can’t convince everyone that what I do on the blog is effective work.

How important to you is an intersectional approach to anti-racism?

It is very important, but too often, it’s important to me in a merely abstract way. As a white, cisgendered, middle-class, able-bodied, U.S.-citizened male, intersectionality, I continue to function with less awareness of intersectionality than I know I should. Thanks to my occupancy in a lot of privileged categories, and to my intense focus on white supremacy, intersectionality is something that I continually need to remind myself to attend to. I know it’s important, but I don’t yet feel enough that it’s important, and so I don’t enact it enough. I know that my blog posts, like my daily actions in general, don’t register well enough the significance of other categorical influences, and phenomena, and injustices brought about by other significant categories.

At the same time, because the blog’s focus has been de facto white supremacy, especially as manifested in common white tendencies, I think that attending too much to other categorical factors could water down that focus, and/or distract from it. Not that there’s any real danger of “too much,” though, since as I said, I know that my approach is not well-attuned to intersectionality. I suppose I hope that readers can fine tune this or that observation about white supremacy in accordance to other categories they find significant as they read, but even there, I think that’s more of an excuse than a solid justification.

How effective do you think blogging is, as anti-racist activism?

In quantitative terms, I simply don’t know, and I don’t know how that could be measured. I obviously think it can do some good, since my goals in doing it are not purely selfish. It’s another way of getting useful information out, information that can cause people to act—or, I hope, in the case of the white people who read my blog, to learn that they may well do some egregious, racist stuff, and stop doing it.

In terms of effectiveness, I’m inclined to be a patient person—another result, another symptom, of privilege. I’m certainly not saying that I think anyone else should be more patient! And I do feel an impatient, frustrated rage about injustices caused by white supremacy and its enactors. But I also know that white supremacy can’t be brought down overnight, nor by one person, and that if any progress has been made, that didn’t happen quickly either. It’s a long term struggle, of course, and I feel hopeful that many swpd readers use information from the posts and comment sections to prevent various forms of racism from happening in their own lives. Actually, I’ve seen that happen, and I’ve heard about it happening too—people write emails to me about it, and sometimes guest posts on the blog.

I do think blogging is effective antiracist activism in my own life; because I’ve clarified various racist tendencies and actions of my own by writing them out for the blog, I don’t do them anymore. That doesn’t mean I and various elements of my life are no longer racist, but it does mean that what I do in the world is less racist. And I hope that’s true for some white readers as well.

Why did you put  SWPD on hiatus?

Mostly because the energy and time it took was detracting too much from other areas of my life—from other forms of activism, as well as my personal life and my day job. Moderating comments had also become a problem that I wanted to step back from, so I can reassess how I was doing it.

After moderating comments for about two years, I still wasn’t doing it effectively. Basically, I was still failing to see some forms of derailment, and of hurtful negligence and insult toward some of the commenters, and I hope that stopping will give me a chance to develop better radar. Some of the commenters I considered most valuable were apparently driven away, or sometimes driven into exasperated frustration, by my moderation practices, and some valuable commenters were also driven away by other valuable commenters. I hope I can figure out how to better prevent such things from happening.

I also want to get rejuvenated. I did consider posting less often and reading through the moderated comments even more slowly than I was, instead of taking a break, but I also felt some burnout coming on. White supremacy doesn’t take a break, of course, and I’m continuing to fight it in other ways, but I’m hoping that stepping back will renew, and also reshape, the particular passion that I’ve had for blogging, so I can do it all better than I was doing it before.

Ever coming back?

I hope so! And I’m planning to, but I don’t know when yet, mostly because I don’t know when my other work is going to settle down, and I don’t know yet if the energy and time that blogging took from my other antiracism efforts is worth devoting to it.

Which other social causes are you passionate about besides anti-racism?

The usual suspects for someone (maybe someone white, and mlddle class, and so on?) who identifies as left of “liberal,” but especially raising awareness of, and trying to inspire action against, gendered abuse and injustice. I’m also incensed by the general oblivion in the U.S. about the fact that it’s a militant empire, a resource-stealing, murderous one. Also, the sad, disgusting, and dangerous realities the corporatized, industrial food that most of us in the U.S. eat, as well as the part that our food choices play in the lack of food and health for others in the world.

Who are your personal anti-racist role models?

I have disagreements with some of them, and I’m sure I’m neglecting some others, but those who come to mind first include Robert Jensen, James Baldwin, David Roediger, Elaine Kim, damali ayo, Adrian Piper, Toni Morrison, Ronald Takaki, Tim Wise, Lillian Smith, Renee Martin, Paul Mooney, Karen Brodkin and Thandeka. As I look at that list, I think “heroes” is a better term than “role models.”

Good Intentions and the road to...

One generally shouldn't initiate a slammingdoor fight with one's fiance the night before one's official anniversary/ birthday.  Especially after he has baked a cake from scratch, made you a delicious salmon dinner, rubbed your shoulders, sat with you thru a sappy chick flick (Corrina Corrina),  and in general tried his best to please you all week in preparation for the big day.   But where would I be in life without my emotional rollercoasters???  Where would I go??

My inability to be straightforward about my emotional needs in the moment is starting to take its toll on the both of us.  It seems no matter how I try to explain that when I get home from work, my priority is to 1) decompress from the physical pain i've been in 2) decompress from the anxiety/triggering 3) sloooooooow waaaay the fuck doooooown and not be stimulated,  not to move or be moved... we just clash.  Time and again.

This is alot to ask everyday of a man who has ADD, is extremely gregarious and social, and genuinely adores my company and gets excited to see me.  I mean constitutionally I know I'm asking more than he can give me. When he needs affection, I need isolation.  When he needs conversation I need silence.  When he needs stimulation and a change of pace I need boring routine and zero surprises and no new decisions to make.  This is not a recipe for success.

And I feel profoundly guilty. I think back to the spontaneous, active person I used to be before PTSD and crotch pain began to rule my every waking moment.

allow me to join everybody in commemorating the 9th anniversary for 9/11 for a sec.  Everybody in the US of A remembers what they were doing THAT DAY, when they first heard, how they felt.  What they had planned to do until.  So here's me:

For three weeks I had been looking forward to going out with Danny, a guy I was dating at the time but only rarely got to see due to our competing escort schedules.  Dating is a strong word for it tho.  He was one of several guys I had chosen serially to hook up with for no other reason than he was mindblowingly hot.  He was a part-time porn actor, escort and male stripper in Montrose, which if you didn't already know, is the famously gay nightclub district of Houston.  Most of the guys I singled out for "dating" were strippers, male escorts, or porn actors or bartenders and bouncers at the local gay bars trying to break into any one of the gigs above..   People think that these guys are all gay.  In fact most guys in the sex industry, like most guys on the planet, are pretty much straight.  But heteroflexibility is a prerequisite.  Being an escort, I was privy to my male peers in a way most people aren't.  It's a pretty incestuous crowd  If you're not "in the scene" it's hard to relate to people who aren't.  So, like any work place, you're most likely to date the people you spend the most time around.

My selection of "mates" was entirely utilitarian.  I made a point never to get with anybody I had ever worked with...cuz that would just be weird and sad.  My thinking was that since I had slept with and performed various erotic acts with men I in no way found attractive for a LIVING...I had to make damn sure that I was sleeping with the hottest guys I could get my hands on... in my LEISURE time.   You can imagine the dysfunction and cumulative damage to one's psyche and sexuality one incurs from such a mindset.    But  at the time I resented that the vast majority of my sexual history occurred in the context of sex work, with men who did nothing for me, other than pay me. Quitting that gig wasn't an option, but  I had to do SOMETHING to get those  "dirty old man" cooties out of the old bat cave, yanno???  I mean.. THAT makes sense right... fight fire with fire yeah??

Um. Yeah.

Most of the time sex with these hot guys  was less than stellar...  many if not most were doing the exact same thing as I was... sleeping with somebody they actually found attractive to make up for all the creepy guys who paid them to dance, hump, pose or whatever.   I didn't particularly care one way or another if the sex was any  GOOD or not.. I just wanted it to be with somebody who I would have done it with for FREE.

Danny happened to be one such guy I was seeing at the time. And sex with him was better than good.  It was... like being rescued from a burning building.  It was straight up action adventure. It was breathtaking. I relied on him much more than I knew I should. 

He was in fact the first one to call me that day.  I remember it was 7amish when the phone rang.  I saw the caller ID.  Thought...  FUCK.  He's calling me to back out on our date tonight. He had a terrible habit of standing me up at the last minute.  Then showing up out of nowhere on some other day when I wasn't planning on seeing anyone.  But this was on my fucking birthday no less. . And he's waking me up to do it??  I snatched up the receiver prepared to give him hell ....  but when he said my name it was clear he was crying or something.  I ask him what's wrong he just says "Go turn on the news.  Get up and do it right now!"

Annoyed and alarmed all at once, I stumble blindly  to the living room, turn on the TV... just in time to see the first tower crumbling.  I had no idea what I was even looking at, I didn't have my contacts on and it seemed like a movie or video footage of a demolition or something.   It took me quite a bit to process what was actually happening and where.  By the time I realized that two planes had been flown into the World Trade Center all I could think was.. "Oh.  Well. Huh. Look at that."

I hear so many stories about 9/11 and people's first reaction and I figure they've got to be laying it on a little thick.  People claiming to have fallen to their knees in shock or horror.  People who I know have no relationship to New York whatsoever, mind you.  But for me,  it wasn't shock or surprise. It was... "Wow it's finally happened." 

I wasn't angry. I wasn't scared. I felt only this surreal sense of the whole country shifting immediately into a new paradigm.  Bombings, terrorist attacks.  That was something that happened in another place.  We only bomb our own. We only kill our own...  No country had ever "laid hands" on us like this.  But somehow without ever having thought about it before, I KNEW that one day they would.  And from that point on we would have to deal with the rest of the world as peers in a way we never had to before.

But I digress. Yeah yeah the World Trade Center, big tragedy.  Thousands of people dying horribly, planes hijacked, people leaping to their deaths blah blah.  The real tragedy?  Danny was going to stand me up!!!  He was far too upset by all this to keep a lousy date!  He had family in NYC and needed to know if they were alright. This was terrible!!  Who would get the cooties off of me after I had just spent a whole day and night with the Adult Baby Banana Pooping Guy???  I had been looking forward to Danny for weeks!

And Danny proceeded to do just that..."I don't know if I can make it tonight... I'm sorry..." 

"Danny! Don't be ridiculous of course we can't go out...  Forget about us... You can't be alone like this.  I'm coming over right away..."

And that was how I pulled it off.  I went and spent the rest of the day playing the supporting actress role of my life.  I consoled and comforted Danny.  I held his hand while he called NYC.   I took him for a long walk to clear his head.  We stopped and talked to complete strangers about the attacks, we walked hand in hand in the park.  I listened intently to him talk about having served in the Gulf War (the first one, at that time). I swooned with girlish pride in his patriotism.  People on the street treated us as a young couple in love, sharing in the solemnity of the national tragedy of that day.  Everybody in Houston was eerily subdued.  Houston is NOT a quiet city. It is not a polite city.  It is not easily fazed.  But that day, everywhere we went, everyone we talked to seemed to be on the same page...  "I can't believe it. I just can't believe it." 

I felt like a fraud.  "Oh me either.. it's so shocking!"  But I was lying. I wasn't shocked.  I didn't really feel anything one way or another.. and my BEST FRIEND lived in new york.  She called and said she could see the smoke from Brooklyn.  She was alright tho.  That was really the extent of my emotional engagement in what happened and I felt like a terrorist myself... shouldn't I be more upset?  Why is everyone taking it so hard?  I mean, we hear about people getting bombed in the Middle East all the time. Palestine. Israel. Wars in Africa.  It all felt the same to me.  Brutal but distant and unsurprising to me.  "This must be the beginning of the end."  Danny said.  I had no idea what he meant but I agreed.

All of this to get laid.  I remember thinking I must be getting carried away when one elderly couple stopped us outside of a cafe in Montrose, their eyes glowing with the same stunned sadness.   "How long have you two been together?"   Danny looked at me like huh?? What are they saying.   "I can tell youre very much in love" the lady said.  "Just beautiful," the gentleman said.  They told us to take care of ourselves.  

I felt awkward, embarrassed.  Like I had been caught stealing something and was being praised for my finesse. I knew I was taking advantage of Danny, but I was living for this moment.  Acceptance. Walking the streets in daytime, with a  MAN... an attractive MAN.. a manly, ex-army masculine archetype of a man...... being seen as straight, and NOT a transsexual, and NOT a hooker.  . Being seen as beautiful.  And not in the hey look at that gnarly old dude with that hot black chick *nudge nudge wink * sense I was used to...   NO we were an attractive, normal male and female couple. Not two creatures of the night conspiring debauchery or selling sin.   Nobody was staring at me as the girl who looks like she's a model or in porn or something,  not as the high class call girl,  not my USUAL public persona.  I was just another woman out with her boyfriend.  Her HOT boyfriend. In love. Being loved.   It was all an illusion.. but I needed it.  I needed to know these things were possible for me to have, even if only in the most superficial sense... and I was willing to be a total fake to get it.

So I got superlaid that night, just like I wanted.  But Danny never returned my calls after that.  He had caught on to the way I had been hamming it up and I guess it squicked him.  Rightly so.  I can't say that I mourned losing him.  There was always another pretty face.  But I hated the way I had been "caught" wanting something so badly.  I lived life in such a way as to appear that I was above such things...Fitting in.  The approval of society as a straight, non-transsexual woman.  Who needs social acceptance, when you have beauty?   I even acted like I could care less that people found me beautiful or not.. when in fact I spent every waking moment on some aspect of my appearance, and to go thru a day not hearing how lovely I looked from at least one random stranger was to spend a sleepless night wondering what I did wrong.

You would never know any of that by looking at me today.  And neither would Mr. Laplain. 180 degrees.  I can't be bothered to care how I look.  I can't be bothered to show affection, or go for long walks in the park, or shave my fucking legs, or be seen out and about with my man,  a beautiful young couple in love.  I am no longer young. I am no longer beautfiul, except in  his eyes.  And he is still so beautiful in mine.  But I can't seem to show it. I can't say it except behind his back.  I can't accept his love..I can't even feign the illusion of being kind and loving anymore, altho it was my JOB for 3 years.   I can't be spontaneous, can't just up and spend the whole day milling about the town, exploring, experiencing.  I can't participate in LIFE  at anything near the level that I used to anynmore.

And that fills me with sadness, shame, rage.. and so many other heavy hearted things. I feel like I found the man of my dreams, the REAL love  I've been waiting for my whole life.. but  I found him too late. And there is nobody to take out my anger on but HIM.  And he doesn't deserve this. He asks for so little and I can't even give that.

Today is officially our one year anniversary.  Our first date was at the hospital.  And our second.  And our fourth. (Mr. Laplain lives with a congenital illness which unfortunately requires hospitalization from time to time). We have never been to a movie together.  We have never been to a restaurant that wasn't a hole in the wall take out joint.  I am determined to do those two things for him today.  I have planned this for a month.  I am in alot of pain physically.  I do NOT want to move out of this chair, let alone this apartment. But I need to show him that I want more for him than somebody who can only come home, collapse in a chair and weep.