Well then, this poor blog hasnt gotten an update since 2018. 6 years... a lot has happened in that time. This post will not be a review of it. Instead, I'm just getting right into it. While this started out as a transition blog and will certainly feature more stories from that, it is also for the general ruckus in my brain.
So, I'm just going to start dumping it here. Sometimes it will be a longer post, sometimes shorter. It will get dark. This is for all my venting as much as it is my triumphs.
If that works for you, read on for the actual post...
###
“Can you just…?”
“It'll only take a couple minutes.”
“I have a quick question.”
“Please, I really need it.”
Any one of these could break me in a single instant.
Even when I am quiet, My brain is moving a mile a minute. I'll be at work helping two people in person, trying not to forget someone else on the phone, or who the next person is in line after them. I'm focusing hard on a conversation or, notarizing a document. It's a precarious juggling act and one of those simple questions thrown in at the wrong moment sends it all tumbling down. There goes my train of thought - but aren't you so glad I was able to confirm you should put your Amazon return on top of the twenty other Amazon returns right in front of you?
I have to be on 100% of the time, running back and forth as I try to keep up with it all. People say I need to slow down. I can't slow down or I might lose that clockwork hum in my brain. If I lose that, I spin out, moving in circles struggling to retask. It's exhausting. And when I don't get a chance to break, it shows. If I don't get to eat, it shows. By the end of the day, even five minutes could make or break me. I need to recharge to be able to do what I do.
So when it's an emergency enough that I know I need to leave work even an hour early, and I have to fight people to be able to do it, sometimes it feels like it isn't worth it to try. The main front door is locked, the gate to close the store off from the mailboxes is half pulled, I'm literally counting the drawer. People sneak in the side door and need little things. I feel guilty. I'm too nice. I take care of the quick needs that I can as the time taken ticks away at my holding it together. The tears are coming. Some people argue why I would close early. The fight brings on the exhaustion faster. The sounds of people pulling on the door. Trying to ignore the phone. Tears are streaming down my face as I just try to get out of there. And I'm left panicking on the floor at 4:30 instead of 5:30, anyway, gasping into the phone I try to keep to my ear as my sister attempts to pull me out of the panic.
Are your returns worth it? Are your packages worth it?
You ask me if you can help me. I told you two minutes ago I'm trying to close. Just leave. Tell me to stop and go home.
Everyone tells me it's ok to take care of myself. That this town needs me. But why won't anyone listen to me when I am trying to take care of myself. Why does my finally saying “no” mean I have to argue with people. Everyone wants to encourage me to stand in my power until they're the one who needs something from me when I can't give it.
I shouldn't say everyone. I can think of a solid amount of people who would encourage me, who when I say I am closing early because I've been working completely alone literally all day, they say, “That is a good decision. Take care of you. I'll come back tomorrow.” And they go. Those people are treasures to me. I appreciate them more than I can say.
I wish those could always be the people I'm facing on a day when I'm not ok. I wish people could be more understanding of when others are not ok.
Was there a point to this? To get these thoughts off my chest, I guess. Yesterday was a hard day. Today will be another hard one. Will I try to close early again? I might have given up on that.
Remember to give some grace and kindness to people. I'm not the only person who is struggling and overworked right now, who just needs a friendly word and a break, perhaps a hug. Be patient and remember that the person behind the counter is not a robot, they are human too. Just because they are there to do a job means they can always be perfect. Sometimes the person being ok is more important than the job getting done. Business can stop for a second. Whatever the job is, it is not more important than a person's well being. When it comes to taking care of mental health, sometimes it really is a matter of life or death. Can you say the same for your package return?
There are points in our lives where we must take the plunge, the one that will change everything. It's horrible and terrifying and beautiful. Hope and fear collide together in a mish mash as you realize you can go on as you are, potentially only to crumble and lose yourself, or you can jump headfirst into the unknown. As the dark abyss swallows you up, as you descend into that which you cannot predict - something that could turn out wonderful or a disaster - there's a moment of panic, a final moment of, "Did I really make the right decision?" Then everything changes. Then you move forward.
Transitioning has been the best decision I have made in my life, it has also been the most intense. You can prepare youeself all you want for what's about to happen, read as many articles about the changes that may come, etc, etc; but until you really live it, until you burst out with the truth, even though you've already assured yourself that however much you do or don't change, nothing willl ever be the same, you don't realize quite what you've gotten yourself into.
The last year and a half has been a whirlwind. I never could have expected all that has happened. There have been a few defeats but many more triumphs. As it goes, I am extremely lucky. I have met nothing but support, and even the support that doesn't feel like it (the people I have come out to who still care about me but ignore the gender I prefer) is support to some degree. Each day is a new learning experience, a new challenge as I learn to balance the weight of this transition with everything else in life.
I still have days where dysphoria wants to take me out. That will not quiet easily. It sucks me down the rabbit hole and it's hard to pull myself back to the light. Accompanied by a mixture of joy and defeat depending on what I get called at work, it's a lot for the brain to handle. I'm trying to work on caring less about what others perceive of me. If I can stop thinking about that, I will be better off.
Already, I've taken steps to wear my binder less. Save myself some pain and fuck what people think. I still can get gendered correctly binderless and nothing feels better than that. I haven't yet been brave enough to ditch the binder for work (I run around a lot there, which means there's a high chance of "jiggling" if you know what I mean). I have been able to get myself to take it off before play practice though. There is such support and caring there, I feel comfotable being free. Not only that but practice is always after work and those 12 hour binder days need to be behind me. That is BAD. If you are a transman and reading this, please, do not wear your binder that long. It's not good for you. After almost two years of wearing it consistently 5 days a week, 9-12 hours a day, my back is tired. My ribs get sore sometimes (that usually prompts me to immediately shed the binder unless its the middle of the work day). I wish it were easier to take it off. I dont know why it's easier to choose having the feeling of a rock on my chest, more effort to breathe, than to not have a flat chest. The dysphoria is worse somehow. It's hard to explain.
There are many hard decisions. Similarly, there's the struggle of balancing the past with the present. There is so much of my past that I don't like to think about or acknowledge because it outs me. It makes me sad. These things happened, they were done by me, but a slightly different me. Admitting I'm that person to people who don't know that person can be painful. It could change everything. Or at least that's what goes through my head.
Take my theatre history for example. Up until the end of 2016 I had played primarily female roles. I had managed to get a few male roles when I was younger cause it doesn't matter as much in middle and high school. Boys never tried out enough. They casted with what they had. Still, going for and being put in femlae roles was the norm. I hadn't admitted what it was that was wrong with me to myself yet (being trans, I mean. Not something wrong persay, that's not the best way to put it, but all through my younger years, I felt like something was wrong but couldn't explain what it was). So, I have all this experience, all these memories from past productions that I'm afraid to share. Why would I want to share the princess experience of playing Cinderella in Into the Woods when the last thing I want to explain in why the heck I was in that female role. I like to assume people gender me correctly at first sight. It's happening a lot more anyway. So, I dont want to say, "Oh, I played this girl part," and have the person go, "I thought you were a guy... are you a girl?" I need to let go of the fear but that still doesn't mean I want to offer up the info. It makes me straight up dysphoric. Merchant of Venice was brought up the other day, including my role as Nerissa. The thought of myself in that red dress, all I was feeling at that time, made me sick. It made me confused and sad. How am I supposed to balance these things? Do I really want to ignore all my past? No. I don't. Its all so hard to reconcile.
I'm thankful that I can go forward with male roles at least. This year's role has me twice as pumped as last year. Also my bio for the program really hammers home that "he" pronoun thing. Maybe that will help come people clue in.
This post feels very ramble-y, but I guess thats how I've been feeling. It's been a strange mixture of highs and lows. I don't want you to think it's all bad. I just got back from my second year at High Sierra Music Festival, procured a new car that should last me forever, and I'm immersed in what I think is one of my favorite roles yet. I'm kicking butt at work despite how stressed it's got me, and things are looking up there considering we just hired two new people. (A lot has happened since the last time I complained about work, but that's a discussion for another day.)
All in all, despite the fears that try to being me down, as I've said before, I've gotta keep asking myself, "What's right?" Another good one to keep in mind, is the line Neal keeps reminding of from one of the songs The String Cheese Incident played at the festival, "It is what it is."
Remember when a month or so ago I posted a video compilation of all my vlog intros from the last couple years? No? (Get on that, its kinda amusing…)
Anyway, I'm feeling kinda down today and very dysphoric. So…. Guess its time for another comparison! They always help cheer me up. This one is much shorter than the last one. Just a 2016 vs 2018 comparison. I don't have much to say beyond that. I'm having a hard time stringing words together.
The nurse looks me right in the eye, hopeful. Her smile is big, her eyes bright even though she told me earlier she was a bit tired. I like her vibe. I need it for my goal. I take a deep breath, trying to force down the jitters that inevitably began in the waiting room. "I'm going to do it today. I'm shaky, but I'm always shaky when it comes to this. I'm gunna do it."
Ten minutes later I'm sitting with my pants down, holding the needle as steady as I can manage it mere centimeters from my leg. The usual pep talk runs through my head, only louder this time. I'm determined. "You got this. It won't hurt. It's ok, Sam." Every once in a while, I say the words out loud. The nurse echoes them. I am so grateful for her patience.
"Would you like me to play some music?"
I don't remember if I said yes or not, but she puts some on. I try to focus on that and breathing. It helps.
I look back to my leg. I. Am. Going. To. Do. This.
I fail at counting to three and forcing it in. I try counting a few more times. Still, I can't bring myself to do it. One more deep breath. And. Poke.
"There you go. Just a little harder." Her hand appears to help me add more pressure.
The shaking gets worse. "Its ok. Take your time. It's gunna go slow."
She helps me push the plunger. After what feels like another minute, it's done. She takes the needle and caps it for me, then holds out her hand for a high five. "Alright!"
This was a triumph for me, a wall broken through. Shot anxiety is a real thing (though not talked about nearly enough amongst transguys, in my opinion). Especially the last few months, I have been determined to beat it. I may not stay on testosterone forever, but as long as I continue having it prescribed for hormone replacement therapy, I need to be able to administer it myself. I never thought it would be this hard to beat a fear, or that I would be so fearful of this in the first place. Then again, no one ever said this would be easy.
Speaking of not easy, can we talk about binding for a second? I have been binding pretty regularly for about a year and a half now, and I have a few things to say. First off, you may be wondering, "What the heck is binding, Sam?" I'm glad you asked. Binding is a way to achieve a flat chest when you do not have one. While mainly used by transguys to alleviate chest dysphoria, I have also seen binding utilized by nonbinary individuals and lesbians, just because of preference. Dysphoria may or may not be present. In this case, I will be speaking from my own personal experience as a transgender man. I speak for no one but myself. Everyone is different.
I use binding because my chest causes me major dysphoria. When I first came out, months before starting t, I bought myself a binder. I started out wearing it on just the weekends, and have progressed to every day at work and trying to give myself a break on weekends. This may or may not happen depending on if I go out in public.
Now, there are several different ways to bind that I know of. First, there are ace bandages. Seriously, don't use these. They are dangerous. They are not built to give you breathing room and you can cause major damage to yourself. There is also KT tape. I have never used it and have heard mixed reviews. I don't like the idea of having to put my skin through the trauma of taking a bandage like thing on and off every day, so I probably won't go this method ever. My skin is fairly sensitive. Finally, there are "Binders" made specifically for binding down one's chest while also being breathable and "safe to wear." Still, there are rules. You don't sleep in them, exercise in them, or wear them for too long in one day or you can have issues. I think I break the rule of wearing mine too long in a day way too often. Anyways, think of it like an extra tight sports bra, or an anti bra. While a bra supports, a binder… squishes.
Not gunna lie, I think it's in the same realm of a corset for discomfort, except not as extreme. If you can't breathe, your binder is too tight and dangerous. (I'm sure the same went for corsets, but women were encouraged to continue wearing them anyway. There are warnings everywhere to be smart with your binder, thank goodness). It took some getting used to wearing. It still takes getting used to wearing. There are days it feels too tight or like its not binding well enough. I have a few different binders at this point that I try to rotate through, though I still tend to default to that original one. No matter what one I wear, it's getting old. It's starting to hurt me. My wearing it too long is beginning to take its toll. Luckily, from regular exercise and fat redistribution from taking t, my chest size has gone down considerably. Enough so that with the right shirt, I can go binderless and it not be noticeable. I'm not ready to go to work like that, but I need to slowly start working on a new solution. Top surgery is realistically a long off goal. Not only is it expensive ($6000-$9000 depending on a surgeon, not counting travel costs), but the recovery time is long (6-8 weeks). I can't take that kind of time off work. I can't afford it. I don't even know if I'm ready to put myself through the trauma of a major surgery. But, this battle with my chest is maddening. Some days it's hard to get out the door. I'm obsessed with hiding my chest. I get so upset when I feel like it looks too big, to which Neal always tells me, "Sam, it doesn't look big. If anything, you look buff. Your belly sticks out more." And to say my belly sticks out more is really the kicker because my belly hardly sticks out. I know this. I know Neal is right. I try to hold their words close, but it doesn't always work. Dysphoria is a strong beast.
I try to also keep in mind that there are actually a lot of transguys who dont bind. I've been searching out more and more of them. Finding their youtube channels, getting their perspectives and hearing how they navigate dysphoria. It's refreshing. To be honest, my dysphoria is worsened by going out in public and being perceived by people. I fear if I don't bind that people will misgender me. I need to get rid of that fear. This transition is for me. If I can find a way to be comfortable with myself without binding or going under the knife for a while, then I most certainly will, and I need to just ignore anyone who misidentifies me because of it. I know who I am and I don't need others to tell me. Again, I'm not transitioning for them, I'm transitioning for me. A lot of guys give that advice on dealing with being misgendered. It really does help to think about it that way. It's certianly helped me at work. I just dont feel comfortable correcting everyone and to some people, since I live in a small town and they've known me forever, will never get it right. But that's okay because (one more time for the people in the back) I know who I am and I'm doing this for me. Besides, all the people who do matter (or most of them) get it right.
I just care altogether too much about everything. I care too much about what people think. I care too much about work. I just need to relax. The other day I said I wanted to run away, to which my partner responded, "No you don't." I was annoyed at first, but when I thought about it more, they were right. I don't want to run away. I like this place. Some days I even like my job. The problem is that I've let myself get too worked up in everything that's wrong. I've taken on too much anxiety. There's so much that can be let go. I wish I could take a solid week off right now, just to reset my head, but I can't. So, I need to look to the little things. There are many little things to look forward to. For instance? Today, May 16, 2018, I am officially one year and six months on testosterone. If that isn't something to be stoked about, I don't know what is. Progress, Sam. Progress.
There was a brief stint in my childhood where my dad would ask, "What's right," instead of "What's wrong?" I need to start asking myself that more often.
Play this song first, even if it's just the first thirty seconds. Heck, let it play as you read.
Got it? Good.
This morning I woke up early feeling less than great. After almost getting stuck on the depression train by finding my way into a rather transphobic comments section on Facebook - that I just as quickly got out of - I decided "Not today!" and said to myself, "Well, Sam, if you're not going to use this time for working out then you should be writing"
I pulled out my phone and my little bluetooth keyboard and found my fingers flying over the keys. I had had an idea for a post rolling around my head since Saturday. There were a few words I had typed out from the day before, but the bulk came this morning. One hour later, I was finished. I hit "Publish" then got to work at preparing myself some breakfast. When I hit a stopping point, I turned back to my phone to share the link for the new post and was met with the worst devastation a writer can find: It was all gone. All of it. Every word. Except for the few misspelled sentences I had saved from yesterday, there was nothing.
I lost it. Completely. Totally. You may as well have just killed my dog.
I have apologized many times to my partner this morning, but I'm going to add another huge thank you to Neal for being patient and wonderful. Because I am crazy sometimes. I felt crazy this morning. I couldn't even tell you why exactly this hurt so much. The best I can come up with is this:
I have been so frustrated with my lack of being able to motivate myself to write. It's my dream, my passion, and I've been ignoring it. So, I guess you can say, it's pretty devastating when you finally motivate yourself to do something then all that hard work is gone. Yes, the actual act of writing was not erased this morning. I did write. The words were only lost in the exact way they had been written. The blog could be recreated. Still, by the time I realized it was gone, it was too late to rewrite it right then, even though that's what I wanted to do. No, I had to go to work, to the next thing for my brain to focus on. Usually that is a creativity stifler and it can be hard to pick up where I left off. I'm amazed I was able to get my keyboard back out and start writing again (albeit in a different app because I don't trust the other one anymore).
Anyway, now that that all has been said, I would like to get to the matter that the original post was about (The theme of frustration also works well with that, so… I guess I win?)
A few weeks back I made a post entitled, "It Happens, but It's Not Okay." It discussed (ranted is a better word) my struggles with doctor's offices and my shot anxiety. That was a day after my appointment with my endocrinologist in Pasadena. What I didn't mention was what had triggered the shot anxiety was the fact that my doctor had changed my shot schedule from one shot every 14 days (so, in my case, every other Wednesday) to a slightly smaller dose every 11 days (so, all over the damn place). I was already having trouble with the clinic back home with things as they were and I was worried that was going to make it worse. So, I figured I was just going to have to suck it up and start giving myself shots.
I still have all the stuff I need here. I tried it on my own and made it through two shots before I couldn't take the anxiety anymore and reached out to the clinic. Everything is still sterile. Nothing is expired. Sure, watching the videos hadn't worked before, but perhaps now that time has passed, I'm more used to getting shots, and I'm calmer in general, it will be easier. (That's what I told myself, at least).
Eleven days after the last shot I had had, I felt ready to go. I was nervous, but prepared. I had found a guide for transgender individuals on giving this kind of shot to oneself and printed it out, making sure the pages with pictures were in color. I watched a bunch of YouTube videos that other trans guys had made on the matter, so I could see it in action. I even dug out my old notes from when the nurse back at the doctor's in Pasadena had told me how. I couldn't do it alone and waited for Neal to get home from work. I had had the day off because it was a Sunday. Part of me had hoped that I would have been able to do it on my own before Neal got home, but I just couldn't do it.
There we were, in a comfortable, safe space. Everything was laid on on its own clean spot. I had plenty of room to do what I had to do. Neal was close by with an extra light to make sure I could see. I was fine all through drawing up the needle, finding the spot on my leg, cleaning it with an alcohol swab, but when that needle was mere millimeters from my leg, I lost it. Slowly at first, but worse the longer I held it, my hands quivered. My heart began to pound, and I felt sense beginning to leave me as a certain lightheadedness began to hit me. I tried to turn back to that needle, tried to will myself to just shove it in. "One. Two. Three" I counted to myself, but nothing happened. "One. Two.… Three" Nothing. "One. Two.… Three." Nothing. I out the needle down and began to panic because I couldn't do it. My hands began to shake out of control. I asked if it was terrible if I couldn't do it, to which I was assured was not true. Neal hugged me and reminded me to breathe. That it was okay. That I needed to calm down. It took a few minutes.
I don't remember if I tried again while Neal was in the room. There was a point where I did ask Neal to leave the room to see if I could will myself to try it one more time. I had no idea if that would make a difference. It didn't.
Lucky for me, I hadn't yet cancelled the appointment I still had two weeks out from my last shot. That was a whole other Anxiety Beast to face.
I arrived at the appointment at 7:45 am. It was scheduled for 8am, but they always request people to come fifteen minutes early to check in. I was already worried that it would take a long time. My endo may have changed my dosage and schedule, but she didn't write me a presciption. I had no hard copy. I had no clue how this was going to work, but it had to somehow. I think it was 8 when a nurse came out of the doors, "Samantha?" When I told her it was me, she asked me if I preferred Sam. I love it when people ask me this. I told her yes. She then went on. She may have started with "I'm sorry," but when she started her explanation, I knew what was going on. They were going to tell me that my dosage was coming through wrong thanks to the new computer system and that they'd have to wait for the Doctor to arrive at 8:30 to confirm my dosage. I was right. I hate doing it, but I had to stay. There's a reason I warn my boss on these mornings. I'm thankful he puts up with it. It is literally the only time at the clinic I can manage this with my schedule on work days. It shouldn't coincide with work going in this early. I should be out in ten minutes (not counting the getting there early thing), but that's rarely the case. It's especially funny because I'm usually the first patient there. I have no clue what I mean by funny. It doesn't make me laugh.
When she basically told me that I was going to be stuck there, I stared to unload about the new dose and that it was good that we needed to do this anyway. I did no say it that calmly. I couldn't tell you how I worded it, but I do remember feeling uncomfortable because I was saying all this out in the waiting room. Thankfully there was no one else there. The nurse then said she's get me back into a room and we could start sorting all this out while we waited for the doctor. In the end, I was at that clinic until 9:15am. A consent form materialized that I had to fill out to authorize the clinic to get my records from my doctor is Pasadena (something I feel like should have been filled out from day one).This way they would have a copy of my prescription on file at all times. Also, I reiterated to this nurse my want to learn to do the shot myself and was able to explain my struggles with shot anxiety and the failed shot. She changed a "goal" in my file to that of education, so that the nurses would know that that was what I wanted to focus on (again, something that should have happened from day one). In the end I was able to get the shot and make the next appointment. Although I was terribly late and ahd experienced more than enough anxiety for one morning, I felt hopeful. Still, I kept my guard up. The true test would be the next appointment.
Last Saturday morning I arrived at the clinic. I had nowhere to rush to. No worries of being late. I was ready to see if all that time spent the last time had done any good. It did. I asked every question I could think of. The nurse had me draw up the dose since I said I was comfortable with that. She even had me choose the spot. At the last second, she asked it I wanted to try, but I just wasn't ready. She didn't pressure me. After she gave me the shot, she asked if I wanted to try it on some practice skin. It was a hard slab of skin-looking maybe silicone something that I was able to puncture repeatedly with the needle. The nurse explained it was what it's like for it to go into my thigh, so it's a good gauge of what it feels like. It was just what I needed. I know I'm going to get this in no time.
You'd think that would be the end of this crazy long post (at this point I have realized that this is phenomenally better than that original lost post, just thought you should know), but it's not. It's a good thing my weekend was good because life had one more wrench to throw into the works.
Remember the traitor who left right before Christmas, abandoning my bosses and me to handle the busiest and craziest season of the year just between the three of us? She's coming back.
Dun, Dun, DUUUUUUUUUUN!
… Sorry. Couldn't resist.
As it turns out, that job that she left us for back in December is cutting back her hours this Spring. She emailed my boss a couple weeks ago to see if we needed any part time help. All of us were shocked. None of us really expected to hear from her again. Yet, here she is. We were all pretty wary of the idea, but my boss figured it wouldn't hurt to see her avilability. It's not like we've had any luck hiring anyone else.
Apparently, she is going to be able to work full 8 hour days, two to three days a week. My boss told me this yesterday. He approached me in the morning and asked how I would feel about her coming back. I guess he had had to sell my other boss (his wife) on it. She wasn't excited about the prospect and suggested he ask me my opinion. Considering I would be the one to work with her the most, I'm thankful they were willing to hear what I think on the matter.
I am caught between two sides on this. It began to roll through my mind when I was first told that she had asked about coming back.
On one hand, I still haven't forgiven her. I felt betrayed when she left. At first she was going to stay - at least back in August - but then out of nowhere she up and has gotten another job? It's not like she didn't know how busy December was going to be either. How dare she leave like that and think she can come back the minute she needs us again. No. Get the fuck out of here.
On the other hand, we need help. In the mornings, it's just my one boss and myself (His wife has another job in the mornings. She doesn't arrive until lunch). We can handle it okay even when it's busy. The problem is when he has to go to the post office. Then I'm all alone. Oftentimes he leaves and then a whole bunch of people arrive. Suddenly, I'm notarizing and packaging and shipping and getting people's packages etc, etc for a handful of people all at once. I can't take that much longer. I know it's not every day, but I don't care. I'm about to lose my mind.
My bosses are getting tired too. They don't even get to leave early. At least on the weeks I open, I get to leave a half hour early. They don't want me to have to work alone at the end of the day, so they can't do that on the weeks I close. One of them can. It sucks because they were trying to transition things. They wanted a manager and two sales associates so they could start getting away from the business more. They've been at it for 23 years, I don't blame them. They deserve it. If we had another employee even part time, they could leave early a few days a week at least.
I told my boss a very condensed version of that. In the end, I said that whatever decision he made, I would be fine. I would understand if he wanted to bring her back and would swallow any old frustration. There would be no problem.
He told me he had to think it over a little more. This morning he told me that she will be coming back. Still, he's also wary. This isn't necessarily permanent. If someone who wants to work full time comes along, he still wants a resume from them. Even when he told me, he worded it like, "We'll see if this works out. If it doesn't, it doesn't." That doesn't make me think he's excited either. I'm certianly not. Still, I'd rather swallow my pride and get some help than continue with what's been happening.
Most people are aware of that fact that legally my name is Samantha. If you didn't know that, I am genuinely suprised, and just a little disappointed that now you do.
Most people are not aware of the fact that I am a Notary. I don't generally advertise that fact, so you'd probably only know if you'd come into my work looking to get something notarized.
I have a love/hate relationship with both of these facts about myself.
Don't get it confused. I do not love being called Samantha, nor have I ever. It's a name that has never seemed to fit and always feels too formal. I would rather be called Sam. Unfortunately, there are occassions where one has to use their full name, where nicknames aren't accepted. Hell, the last job I had, there was already a "Sam" so they told me straight up that I had no choice, that there I would be "Samantha." Maybe because that's what I heard all the time, I just went with Samantha for the job I have here. I even had a choice. I have no idea what I was thinking. Anyway, that meant two things: 1) When they asked me if I would be willing to become a Notary long before I came out, I went with the name I was using for my commission and 2) When I finally did come out and want to be called Sam, a lot of people already had Samantha in their head.
Luckily, #2 wasn't as bad. Most people call me Sam anyway, and on a general basis, besides when applying for employment, I introduce myself as that. It was easy to change my business card, but that's where the easy part stopped.
Changing my name on other things requires legal measures. Legal measures I'm not ready to take on right now. Let's start with the fact that anyone who ever comes into my job with business related to a name change they always say, "Don't ever change your name." Cause it's a bitch. And it's expensive. And time consuming. Did I mention expensive? This is at least, at least (as in, no way in hell it will be that minimum) a $400 endeavor.
I literally have moments lately where I sit and ponder if there's any way I could come to peace with the name I have. Maybe I could save myself a lot of trouble if I could just embrace the name I was already given, use Sam most of the time, and suck it up when I have to face "Samantha." That method is what I've been going with thus far, and it's not doing me well.
Unfortunately, Samantha is such a female name. I've heard a lot of "female" names used for men, I've seen them while notarizing; but I feel like Samantha might be a little too far fetched for people. Honestly, it's a little too far fetched for me. I think of it and it's just so.... pretty. Girly. Not me. Can I really live with that name... forever?
No. I will go completely bonkers.
We go through waves with notarizations here at work. Some weeks we do one or two, maybe none at all. Other weeks it feels like every other customer needs a notary.
If you don't know what a Notary is, I will give you a quick rundown.
When it comes to signing certain legal documents, it is sometimes required that your identity is verified - or sometimes you have to swear the statement you are making is true before you sign the document. In these cases, an impartial witness is needed to verify this person's identity and/or administer the oath. That is where a Notary comes in. They confirm you are who you say you are, or that you swore that statement was true, by confirming you have a valid ID and taking that information and your signature down in their Notary book to live for eternity.
That's the most simplified way I can explain it. It seems like such an easy thing, but it's a very detail oriented task that requires a lot of care and attention. (Doing something wrong can result in fines and/or jail time for a Notary. This isn't no big deal). What a notarization also entails is me having to sign said document I am notarizing as well as stamp it with a seal containing my name and commission number (among other things). That's having to see my own full name at least twice during a Notarization (that's assuming they only have one signature to be notarized).
Maybe I could get myself to ignore it, but like I said, that plan isn't working out thus far. I think the worst part about it, is my name outs me. I dare you to name one Samantha you've met that is a guy that was named that name when he was born. I doubt it. Unless it was a trans guy, it's not gunna happen. Plus, any trans guy I've ever heard of born as "Samantha" changed his name. So, this is how it goes down. I could be on a roll. Maybe a customer is gendering me right, or I can see they're on the fence, but leaning towards male, but then they see Samantha... and their minds are made up. Obviously I'm a woman. That's it. Problem solved. Can you see how that would start to hurt, especially when it happens several times a day?
I really wish I had the patience and energy to hold onto the name I have and change society's expectations of certain names. if a man can be named Leslie, Mary, Kristen, Lindsay, etc... why can't "Samantha" be a part of the list? I can't even tell you how many times I literally sing "A Boy Named Sue" by Johnny Cash to myself on bad days. I wish it helped more. I'm really trying to take control of my thoughts here, turn things around, so I'm not so miserable waiting to be able to make more changes. Unfortunately, this isn't a light switch. I can't just "turn it off." These are feelings that have been buried and festering for years. Since I've accepted being trans and slowly started to try and mend from all the years of pushing that away from myself, those buried feelings wont go back into the hole any longer. They refuse to be ignored. They want to be fixed. Yeah, easier said than done.
I have a shit time with Doctor's offices. Seriously, I'm lucky if they can get it together for me. I go into my town's family clinic all the time for the same recurring thing and 75% of the time, something gets screwed up.
I'm going to preface this with something that I hate about myself. I'm a coward when it comes to shots. In all actuality, I could be giving my t shots to myself. I would LOVE to give them to myself. I fully intended going into this clinic looking for a little extra instruction on how to give it to myself. (PLEASE, if you are reading this and are a nurse or have experience with muscle injections, please help me. I just need a guide for one or two shots then I'm golden. I will PAY you.) I mean, the doctor's office where my endocrinologist is is what initially messed up. I remember the first t shot I ever got, my doctor sent me to a different department in the building to get it, and she specifically said they were going to show me how to do it. Know what happened? Nurse gives me a shot. "Okay we'll see you in 2 weeks for the next one!" But, but... I then had to explain (close to tears because I was extremely stressed that trip and I was still full of female hormones) that I live OVER 300 miles away and they were supposed to show me. Nurse panic. I've seen it in their eyes many times. So they show me as best as I can. They gave me the initial shot in my arm, so she kinda just had to mime it for my thigh (where self injection of t is commonly done), with an assurance that I can look it up on Youtube. You can learn a lot from Youtube, but injecting yourself is a hard one. I don't know about you, but that made me uncomfortable. I took her advice, looked up some videos. Still, it's not the same.
Not only is stabbing yourself with a giant needle not easy, but when I get nervous, I SHAKE. I have no control over it. To this day, I could be as ready for an audition as possible, but the first time I'm standing on stage you can see that script shaking like a leaf. Well, that's how my first two self injections went. My hands couldn't stop shaking, it hurt way more than when the nurses give it to me, and I was paranoid I was going into the wrong spot and was gunna hit a vein and go into shock or something. So, I reached out to the local clinic for help.
When I initially went in, I stated my intention of just needed help learning how to do it. Every time, they came in just to do it for me. I was nervous about the shot, and it was easy to let go of the stress of shaky hands and injecting wrong and just let them do it. But now the stress of going in and dealing with this dance it too much. Now it's this monster. Usually I have a different nurse every time. I'm lucky if I can get the same one a few times in a row. But, do you know how hard it is to ask every time - "Hey, I've been coming here trying to get help to learn how to do this. Will you help me?" Also, when half the time they seem to be TRAINING the nurse, it really doesn't seem like the best opportunity.
The beginning of this year I think it was, I did try bringing this up again. I was so proud of myself. The nurse seemed to be on my page. Hell, she even GENDERED me correctly. That's NEVER happened. Not at the clinic, not at the endocrinologist. Why else do you think I'm getting testosterone injections? Ah, but I digress... So the nurse who was on my page. That was all great, but then I never saw that nurse again. I get I have to speak up, but I'm fucking tired. I knew it would be a struggle being trans, but I didn't think it would be this hard to work with doctors once you've been doing something so long it should be routine. The first time I went into the clinic about this it was December of 2016! I get I'm asking for something weird and out of the ordinary, so I try to keep a deep well of patience. At this point, it's starting to go dry. I mean, the first time I went in they told me it would be no problem. Lo and behold I get there and there is a problem, I need to have an appointment with one of their doctors to approve this. I completely understand that, but I sure wish they had told me about that ahead of time. I've been forgotten in the waiting room because they forgot to tell the nurse I was there, They gave me twice the dosage of testosterone once. Called me a few hours later and were like "Yeah if you start feeling really, really sick come to the hospital because we gave you too much..." Uh.... Suffice to say the next day my emotions freaked out, I got really weird, and I had to go sleep it off... I'm glad it wasn't any worse than that. Also, they have messed up information on appointments before. They called me one day as I was driving into town saying they had messed up when scheduling that morning's appointment (even though I had scheduled it TWO WEEKS in advance) and that I would have to wait till the doctor got in (30 mins later AT LEAST) before I could actually get my shot.
It's not just the clinic in my hometown either. Just yesterday I was seeing my endocrinologist in Pasadena. It took me an hour to realize that they had called in everyone who had checked in after me. What can I say? I was spacing out and tired. I had just driven five hours straight, and was trying to decompress just a little before my appointment. Well, surprise surprise, even though I had signed in, they had my name nowhere. Luckily they got me right in after that. Still, I don't know what point is a ridiculous amount of waiting. I swear they've made me wait that long before and it wasn't because I was forgotten but because they were busy. Either way, I didn't scream at them. Just said, "It's ok, it happens." But when receptionist responded, "Yes, but it shouldn't," I wanted to laugh. You don't realize how often this happens to me, do you?
