Where Am I

If I read this shit right, it’s been almost two years since I wrote. Which even by my standards, is impressively remiss. Ok, so, to cover what I’ve been up to, here’s the bullet-points:

• I left the flat I shared with a friend and traveled to a completely different part of the UK to be on stage for a while (not in anything you’ll have heard of), and stayed in that different part of the UK. BUT I couldn’t find anywhere affordable in that part of the UK, so I ended up living with the christian friend I had back at uni that I had feelings for (although when I moved in with him, I actually hated him a bit at first, because his trans partner made him out to be garbage – all of which later proved beyond doubt to be false. They’re now back together, too, but the christian friend feels trapped because the partner makes him feel like any attempts to leave will be met with heavy emotional blackmail, if not worse).
• After my stage appearance, I finally accepted that I’m not well enough to work. And medical professionals and the government and anyone who knows me agree that I am not fit for work. For a brief window, I was in a terrible relationship with someone who made me afraid to talk to my friends, which luckily ended in time, after much crying into christian friend’s chest, which he graciously tolerated. I’m going to call him Crumpetflakes to make this all easier to follow.
• After a while, he got a job at a better company, which meant he had to move to a different city. I did not want to go to a different city, and we both knew his partner (who I am wary of, since it’s not just Crumpetflakes who gets shit from that corner) would move in with him soon enough, so I had to find somewhere else to live.
• I couldn’t. But I didn’t want to tell him that, as I’d feel like I was making my incompetence his problem. So earlier this year, I was without a permanent address. I lived in a hostel for a bit, moved around on Airbnb, all trailing a huge suitcase of my possessions with me. Yeah, it was interesting, but also, it sucked, because nobody wants to let you stay if they know you’ve got nowhere else to go. So I had to be a bit cautious there, but now I have a proper place to live, and also, a dog!

Things are steadier now than they’ve been for a long time. I should be happy, or at least, happier than I am. But I miss sharing the flat with Crumpetflakes. We got used to each others’ rhythms, we always had someone to sing with (we sang a lot – mostly unrepeatable versions of classics, with a lot more genital references than Andrew Lloyd-Webber had originally envisioned, perhaps…). When shit hit the fan, we had someone there; I had someone to remind me that not everyone on the planet is terrible, and a reason to wash myself and eat dinner and clean up, he had someone to remind him that he has a right to feel valued by his partner, and that it is the 21st century and show him how to do his eyeliner right. Knowing that we’ll never live together again makes me sad. I’m very happy that he has found the person he hopes to spend his life with, and I’m happy that he seems to be happy enough, but I still worry. And I don’t know how to stop worrying, or at least, stop missing him, or get rid of this weird ache I’ve had for a while now. I mean, I’m mostly fine it’s like the background noise of a humming fridge that you don’t even notice eventually but, every so often when my dog looks at me like it knows I’m lying (that’s definitely projection, this dog doesn’t even grasp that my groin isn’t secretly full of ham slices or what the words “STOP!” or “SLOW DOWN YOU’RE PULLING MY ARM OUT IT’S SOCKET!” or “NO! THAT’S NOT EVEN YOUR OWN POO!” mean) and I just get a bit…pathetic. I try to focus on the upside; it only would have been worse if we’d lived together longer, and at least now I can live more to my own schedule and only clear up after myself, and not have to listen to the horrific noises he makes when he’s shagging someone. The dog smells less intensely than his weird soap, and probably humps less indiscriminately too, but I guess as human beings we get attached to animals of all kinds, even the biped homosapien ones; and often, the more we initially object to any individual, the more we ultimately end up missing them when they go.

So, I suppose I should feel great, or at least, pretty decent. Maybe once my place is fully sorted (with EVERYTHING working, not just, most things half-working and some things not at all), or maybe when I get more into the rhythms here, or when I feel I can write more, things will improve. For now, I’m still…pretty lost, I guess. Well, I know where I’m trying to go more than I did, which is a start. And I know it’s only a matter of time until I feel relieved to be somewhere new-ish, without anyone else to worry about. Autumn’s coming along, and that’s one of the better seasons. Maybe now I can actually remember to write this thing more often, too!

TDoR 2017

TW: TDoR, death, suicide

Trans Day of Remembrance is coming round again soon. I can never think of anything to say when it does; sometimes I want to write something for any open-floor parts of remembrance services, but there’s nothing I could say, even if it seemed appropriate. And most of the less specific pieces already written about death out there all seem to be about how, there’s a right time for everyone to die, and that we’re meant to take comfort in that fact. In some cases, it’s true; whenever I’ve lost a grandparent, I’ve taken comfort in the fact that they had lived long lives, and for one or two of them, they had reached a point where they weren’t living a comfortable existence, and that when death came they seemed to have found peace, and passed away without too much pain. But…you can’t say that for any of the names on the list. With every year, more cis outlets take note of TDoR and make some effort to observe it, but none seem to make any effort beyond that to stop behaviours or practices which contribute to a climate in which so many of these deaths are enabled. It’s like, for one day, they pay lip service to the idea of treating trans people like human beings, and decrying the awful things said and done to trans people, then in the next breath laugh along with comedians who make transphobic jokes and buy papers sensationalizing trans existence to the point of dehumanisation, and then wonder why trans lives aren’t considered worthy of respect, and how trans people can feel so alone as to take their own lives. I know all this has been said a thousand times before. But that just makes it all the more outrage-inducing that so little is being done. I’m going to shut up now. Most importantly, here is a link to where you’ll find a list of who we’re remembering this year. They matter so much, and however you go about it, please find a way to mark their passing, and mourn them with the respect and dignity they deserve:

https://tdor.info/

 

When Bigots Can’t Even Bigot Correctly

Well, I’m still here, and (touch wood), things seem pretty decent on the whole. But the other day, on my way into work, I had some hassle on public transport from a group of young men who were throwing lesbophobic slurs at me. Nobody else in the busy carriage spoke up; I wasn’t expecting them to, because life is not a buzzfeed article, but still. It just struck me how the non-queer world seems to be at a point where it thinks (cis)queerphobia is over because The Gays Have Marriage Now, and any time there’s some sort of anti-queer bigotry reported in the news they’re always fighting to be the first to share it and decry what an appalling thing it is to still be happening, and yet, given the chance to do something about it in the real world, not one even looks up to give an encouraging eye to the person on the receiving end, let alone step in and say something. My main reaction has been one of curiosity; I don’t know if they were being lesbophobic in order to misgender me intentionally, or just being lesbophobic in general. Which would not depreciate the bollockness of what they were saying, just – what do I call it, I suppose, is what I’m asking? Because, since I’m broadly male, I can’t claim to be a victim of lesbophobic harassment, since I’m not a member of the community who is targeted by this abominable prejudice or who suffers marginalisation based on it. Just like, for example, Piers Morgan couldn’t be a victim of misogyny if someone called him by a sexist term, because he’s not a woman (he’s a man, and an absolute shit-headed fuckstain of a wank-faced prick). And I’m not even sure how, or if, I can talk about encounters like this because I don’t want to talk over people who are the specific targets of it. That said, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt at all because, being violently misgendered is not an enjoyable experience – so, ought it to be called transphobia? But at the same time, is calling the use of specifically lesbophobic terms transphobia erasing the experience of women who are targets of this bastardry? I don’t know, it’s all a baffling puddle. But I ALWAYS find that whatever binary gender I’m assumed to be, people assume I’m exclusively attracted to the same gender. The upside of this is, any time I experience homophobic shouts in public, I can’t help but immediately look thrilled and touched, which tends to really creep the shit out of whoever had been attempting to ruin my day.

Anyway, in less baffling news, my roommate and I are getting on much better. We had a discussion, and aired some things we find mildly irritating about each other out the way, and expressed some emotions, and things have felt a lot less overwhelming since. He’s let me steal one of his jumpers, too, which is grand. I’m currently sitting under a string of our boxer shorts hanging across the ceiling because we don’t have a dryer. We carved pumpkins the other day, too, and have plans to go on an overnight visit to the beach in a couple of weeks, if all goes well! Additionally, my results for my course came back – they’re really not great, but I passed, so now all I have to do is work out the next step from here. I have a few dreams in the pipeline, so, fingers crossed, perhaps I can get my arse in gear and start making things happen soon!

Best of luck to all of you out there, and thanks for reading – your comments last time were really helpful, and it’s always great to visit your blogs and learn about your lives and what you’re all up to!

Where I’ve resurfaced

Well, I finally left the last educational establishment. In a couple of months I’ll get my no-doubt dubious final result, and take the rest of life from there. As I type, I’m sitting at the table in my friend’s flat. I’m living with him in a notoriously progressive city, which means (HOORAY!) I can go for a walk without being stared at too much, and nobody has vomited on seeing the production of my documentation thus far. I’m living with him while I work a temporary job at the same place as him. The job is mostly just assisting someone with mobility issues with daily tasks that they don’t have the necessary adaptive tech to do themselves yet. It’s long hours, and quite tiring, but the person we work for is patient with me while I get to grips with the various bits of equipment, and how to be present to assist when needed, but not so present that I end up getting in the way when it comes to tasks that can be done without assistance. It’s made me even more aware of how much the Tories have fucked everyone over. It’s absurd what doesn’t get funded, and what the person we work for has to organise WITHOUT help from the council or a dedicated manager or whoever, such as making rotas for workers and ensuring people get paid on time, etc. All at the same time as studying, campaigning for disability rights, dealing with me looming in to give reminders about medication breaks and trying not to get tangled in the wires when I change the water machine. They’re responsible for training us too, which is scary for both parties, because most people don’t get seen by the boss while they’re still learning a task. Anyway, it’s not a bad gig (touch wood), and it’s good to be in a city.

Living with my friend after a year entirely alone is proving an adjustment for both of us. We don’t have much space in the apartment, and we both have an unfortunate habit of not saying when something is bothering us. So…we’re both in the dark about what the other wants and needs. Well, that’s how I feel anyway. I’m constantly afraid that I’m getting in his way, or that my stuff is in the wrong spot, or that I’m talking too much and invading his personal sanctuary. But I don’t feel able to speak up about my worries and ask for reassurance. I feel like what he likes about me is that I stfu and don’t constantly ask him if he minds me being here, or insisting on over-emotional talks where we pour out our hippy sentiments about how we FEEL about whatever. So I’m kind of…stressed. And in my desire to not be clingy and forward, I think I’m coming across as slightly pissed off with him. Most likely, he hasn’t noticed a thing, and thinks everything’s fine. And maybe it is. But I’m not good at things like, the faces people do (unless they’re fairly extreme faces), or picking up on things like awkwardness or boredom, so if someone doesn’t specifically say to me that they’re fine and dandy and thrilled I’m here, then I sort of wander around in a nervous state of purgatory with no idea how things are. Our hours mean we only really see each other a few hours a week anyway, and the thought of using up that time for serious chat when we’re both shattered or trying to get ready for work is not ideal. Does anyone have any advice? Because, if this was a romantic relationship, for some reason I think i’d be easy to bring it up because that’s what people do in a romantic context, they give and take and check-in regularly that everything’s good. Whereas this is a friendship, so it feels like society expects you to read each others’ mind and just smile and romp about drinking lager or whatever the hell normal people do.

Anyway, I’m rambling, I’m gross, and I need a wash. I’ll try and scribble more frequently now that my course is done, and let you know what I’m up to. Cheers!

Voting Stuff, and Nonsense

There’s a big and meaningful election taking place in the UK later this week. One of the controversies has been the difficulty trans people have had registering to vote. Basically, in order to register to vote, the local electoral register bunch have to be able to trace your records, and ideally attach you to a National Insurance Number. BUT, if you are a trans person who has changed their gender on their lists, you’re usually put on a separate system by the national insurance people – in theory, this is good, because this separate department means that you won’t be outed to your employer or anyone as trans, and means when you phone up, you usually don’t have to deal with a pig ignorant wankstain. However, it means that the electoral register people can’t check you properly via that method, so they end up assuming you’re imaginary or a sneaky fraudulent bastard, and usually ask you to send extra pieces of ID to prove you exist and aren’t an evil plot created by an unusually lazy criminal. This, however, throws up problems too – passports are incredibly expensive. Well, they’re about £80, which for some people perhaps isn’t a prohibitively huge amount, but in a community that still has rather high unemployment rates, it really is. And if you’re not someone who can afford to go abroad anyway, then you’re basically having to pay £80 to vote. Which is utterly fucking absurd. Whilst getting a replacement driving license is cheaper, it’s still a lot of money, especially if you’re living on Jobseekers. A provisional license is cheaper again, but not something you can get if you’ve already passed your test, and not something one should have to purchase in order to be permitted to vote; requiring a certain income to vote is not true democracy. There was a statement released saying that local election office-folks around the country would be spoken to, and encouraged to accept deed polls accompanied by old ID etc., but giving trans people an extra heap of bureaucratic crap to deal with on top of the existing file-cabinet of bollocks we have to lug around if we want to see a GP, or re-name exam certificates etc, it builds up and just discourages people who often already feel on the peripheries from taking part in the democratic process.

I’m quite fortunate that I was able to register, since I have a provisional license, so I just sent along a copy of that, which was fine in the end. But getting a somewhat terse letter asking for proof of your existence, and reminders of what the penalties for pretending to exist when you’re imaginary are is hardly an encouraging and inclusive response to not being able to check someone’s records.

Anyway, in personal news, I’ve been put on different medication now. It’s early days still – but currently my head feels like a cardboard box full of sponges, and I can barely sleep, and I’m getting the weird background nausea again. I’m absolutely exhausted, but my brain just won’t switch off. In better news, I finally saw that person I’ve long held complicated feelings for. It was a pretty wonderful day, to be honest. I hope they remain unaware of my uncomfortable feelings – they seem to be. It was the brightest I’ve felt in a long while, just hanging out in the garden and taking the piss out of one another. I really wish I could stop these feelings, though, as they’re damned inconvenient and the stress of them finding out and it ruining our friendship is tough to manage, at times. It’s strange, I usually pride myself on being able to subdue and suppress feelings, but for some reason this absurd human being makes me beam like a twat, and feel kind of….completely relaxed but excitably thrilled at the same time. It’s probably just chummy friendship mixed with tiredness and the weird weather lately, that’s all.

Hopefully the election all goes well, and hopefully at some point I SLEEP FOR MORE THAN THREE HOURS AT A TIME. Good luck in your respective realms!

And so on

I went to see the psych, who doubled my medication. So far, I’ve been getting the forecast nausea, a few headaches, and even more dilated pupils. I feel like…I can only describe it as a helium-inflated jellyfish on a string. That is, fairly precarious, somewhat detached, and a little floaty, and strangers who interact with me look slightly unnerved. I wouldn’t say it’s a happy floaty, more of an indifferent floaty. It’s harder to formulate coherent thoughts, too. I think I’m even more inside my own head than I was. Less colossal dips, but more empty-headedness. I suppose it’s a necessary inconvenience, however, since it’s cloud-brain or monsoon-brain. The psych mostly just confirmed my suspicions, and was more helpful than previous experience of the NHS mental health system lead me to hope.

One thing that did irk me slightly, however, was that the letter about me sent to my doctor opened with the fact that I’m trans. I don’t know why they always lead with that; much of my life trauma has been unrelated to that, and it didn’t seem at all relevant to the rest of the letter. In fact, as many of you will know, being trans has often just meant having increased difficulty in accessing adequate mental health care. I suppose I just wonder what they write at the top of cis peoples’ psychiatric letters; “George is a male-assigned man who has lived as a man for forty years”, “Susan is a cisgendered woman who wears womens’ clothing”, “Mike is biologically male, and frequently watches football matches; he has a heterosexual life-partner.”?  It’s bizarre that transness is still treated as a psychiatric quirk or issue, even in comparatively progressive corners.

But the good news is, I’ve been doing arts and crafts crap, and getting out the house more, despite my perpetual mound of work. It’s Easter in about a month, and I plan to stuff my face full of chocolate and sit around achieving bugger all.

All is not lost

I recently had a very brief window of time off from my course, and went along to a non-binary night in a different city. I was kind of surprised by how much these things boosted my mental health. I don’t think I realised how much my course, or rather, certain aspects of it was getting to me, and how alienated I really was feeling here. I haven’t got many months to go, fortunately, and now I know that there’s somewhere not too far away that has people I can actually relate to and hold a conversation with, the world doesn’t seem quite so hopeless as it did. It was a good evening; I didn’t speak to many people, but the few I did speak to were nice, and interesting, and not up-their-arses. It was also nice to be somewhere where my pronouns and identity weren’t assumed based solely on what I was wearing that day, and I was told there might be a group closer to me who are open to people who are more flexible in their presentation. I guess the upside of being in a comparatively small country is that getting to different cities in the space of a day isn’t impossible by public transport. It was surprising how different the other city was though, and how I felt like I could breathe again since I wasn’t surrounded by people from a particularly sheltered and privileged background. I have nothing against people who are, but it can be incredibly alienating knowing that you can never really talk about your life, or the struggles therein and be understood in any meaningful way. It was just really validating having an ordinary conversation without being looked at like some sort of freak, or being met with polite but heavy silence. It was just what I needed. Hope for the future is an incredibly powerful thing, and something you tend not to notice the absence of until it suddenly resurfaces. Which is probably a good thing. Anyway. I’ve got an endless pile of work to be doing, so I just thought I’d fly in, and tell you the world hasn’t ended just yet, and that I hope your futures are looking bright, radiantly queer, and full of promise!

Rollercoasters

As the title suggests, things have been incredibly mixed lately, and particularly so the other day. I got my feedback for an assignment I did, (my grade was pretty decent, which is good), but it became clear that the lecturers here see all my work solely through the lens of “the trans one did this”. And it’s hit me really hard. I kind of thought previously that for all the shitness this place has, at least I was finally accepted as a fully-rounded human being. It turns out, I’m more of a performing monkey so they can jerk off about how tolerant they are. It’s really made me question the path I’ve chosen, and what the point of the sacrifices I’ve made have been for if all I can ever be, even in a more progressive place, is “the gender kid”. I’m feeling hugely down about it all. I suppose the bright side is, I know I definitely don’t want to stick around here after the course is done. I’d rather be somewhere where I’m openly stared at, than somewhere where I’m patronised and pitied and required to limit myself to being the personification of some tosser’s ticked box.

I also got a call recently from someone I’ve had complicated feelings for since forever, which was awesome. What was less awesome was that it was the first time we’ve spoken properly in a long while, and one of the things they talked about was how serious things are getting between them and their partner. The thing is, every time I get to a point of feeling sure all the feelings are gone, they contact me and suddenly everything comes flooding back. I really don’t know how to cure myself of this nonsense. I think I’m good at hiding it – but then, I think perhaps I’m not that good, otherwise their partner wouldn’t insist on telling me in great detail about their sex life, and showing me their romantic interactions any time we speak, despite the fact that the conversations clearly make me uncomfortable, and I can’t think why else the partner would want to show these things to someone he barely knows.

In better news, I’ve had messages and letters from people I hugely care about lately, and I should finally be getting a haircut next week if all goes well. I’ve also been getting on alright with my medication, and been making plans to see more of my friends this year. Plus, 2016 is over, which I am hugely relieved by.

I very much hope your lives are going well, and that they’re not plagued by cis ignorance / complicated feelings / mediocre readymeals!

Making it to Xmas

Well, I’ve endured my first term. I’ve no idea if I’ve passed it, though – I probably haven’t, given that the staff here are drastically unhelpful in terms of providing actual information about what assignments are due, and how they like them to be presented. My predication is, I’ve made a couple of massive errors in my work which will either give me a failing grade, or a massively reduced grade. At least I attempted the ones I knew about though, which is something. Suffice to stay, I’m still massively underwhelmed by this place, and by most of the people in it. One or two have got slightly friendlier though, and I hope our acquaintance-ship will make the next part of the journey (if I get to it!) more bearable. I’ve also found one staff member I kind of click with, who’s good at making me think, even if he does sound incredibly rude in his feedback sometimes. In that respect, he reminds me a bit of me – I tend to accidentally say completely the wrong thing, or be unaware of how I’m coming across, and he too finds it a bit grey here. So, that’s one person here I vaguely gel with – which isn’t particularly impressive, but for me, that’s a fair universe better than nobody at all, and feeling slightly less solitary has got me through the last few weeks.

Also, I’ve been taking the anti-depressants. I think it was for the best, especially given how next year’s shaping up. They do make me feel a bit spaced out, and I think they’ve dilated my pupils a bit, which has made some interactions a bit awkward. They’re weird, I still have days where I can’t get out of bed, but rather than sobbing randomly or feeling an overwhelmingly painful misery, I feel more…nothing-y. It’s hard to describe, it’s like, the sluggishness and restless sleep and whatever still happens, but now it’s with a permanent sense of indifference rather than a crashing low. And I feel slightly less self-conscious. It’s like a hangover without the headache.

I’m also still feeling irked by how everyone’s reading me as female. I’m thinking of asking them to use neutral pronouns and my legal name (which is masculine) next term, but I don’t think they’d get it. I do like clothing which is usually seen as feminine, but I don’t feel comfortable at all being read like that. Which makes life kind of difficult, because in the cis world, you have to go miles out of way to, in their eyes, look ‘correct’ and therefore worthy of whatever pronouns etc you’re comfortable with. I mean, masculine pronouns are fine enough with me, but explaining to multiple classes and blank faces that identity and presentation aren’t necessarily matched, and the fact that if a cis man dressed like I do they’d let him be camp in peace when I’m only here until summer just feels like I’d be draining myself unnecessarily, and would probably achieve nothing. But then I feel like if I don’t waste hours explaining I’m being dishonest somehow, even though cis people don’t (on the whole) have to do this shit.

In better news, I’ve been watching a lot of Netflix, and I recently visited some friends. It was surprisingly emotional. One of them wants me to move in with her when my course is done. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Part of me thinks it’d be beneficial for both of us, but another part thinks I’d be going backwards rather than forwards. But then I think, I know I’m not happy here, and this isn’t somewhere I’d ever love, whereas, there’s people back there that I definitely do love even if it’s a crap place to live. We wouldn’t have to live there forever, just until her current stuff there is done, which would be a year or two. I have a massive amount to think about at the moment, as ever. I think 2016’s been a pretty absurd roller coaster, and I feel like 2017 is going to be something of a defining year in my life.

Happy holidays – may your medications be helpful, and your social life be verdant!

Medication Station

Since my last post, I’ve been put back on anti-depressants. It’s been a long time since I was on them, and when I stopped taking the previous lot, it was against my GP’s advice. I’m really not sure I want to be on them again. Although I was on a different type last time, I’m still very suspicious of the side-effects, plus there’s always that terrible period of bodily adjustment to them, and possible (worsened) insomnia, and these ones even threaten bowel trouble, which sounds like the terrifyingly gross icing on the manky cake. It also means I can’t drink, which at this time of year, when I’m soon to be visiting family and friends (although the reasons for wanting to drink with both of those groups are very different…) is far from ideal. I haven’t taken any of them yet – I’m thinking it might be best to wait until the weekend if they’re going to make me a weepy incontinent for the first few days! It also means I have to go to the pharmacy once a week to get them, in a bid to prevent overdosing. I veer between thinking they’re not a terrible idea (given how my mental health has been lately, and given that next term is going to be even more isolated and difficult to get through than this one, medical intervention is probably necessary if I’m going to get through it) and wanting to bin them all rather than deal with the crap that comes with them, as well as the dependency and hassle of dealing with pharmacies and prescriptions and other endless bullshit.

I’m still having great difficulty seeing a future, and seeing a way forward. I mean, I have qualifications, but my mental health has been so shit for so long that holding a steady job, or doing extra-curriculars has been impossible, and since everyone has qualifications these days, the only thing employers are looking for is experience (and not being ‘visibly queer’, as it were). So when this course is over, I’ll be back to living in a small town where everyone stares at me and nobody will employ me. I feel like something needs to significantly change, but as it stands, I don’t know if these pills are going to give me a much-needed kick up the arse, or a thoroughly unwelcome disruption that makes the shit hit the fan even more (literally AND metaphorically, if the leaflet is to be believed…).