Can you just...?

The ruckus returns... 

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? 

It Is What It Is

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."

Another Comparison

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.

Maybe I'll make you laugh. 

Ups and Downs

"What do you think today?"

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.

Frustration

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.

We'll see where this leads, shall we?

Notorious

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.

You could say, for now, I am stuck in this limbo.

It's Not Okay, but It Happens

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? 

A Comparison

Sometimes a change cannot solely be documented in the written word. I've been making video diaries to spew my thoughts since before starting T. I've never intended to share the entirety of any of these videos (they're far too personal), but I have thought about using bits of them for comparison purposes. Since I think I'm funny, I took my constant comments on the lighting and edited them together. Be warned, my language does include some light swearing  (just in case you happen to have a small child nearby).

This Is Not A Happy Post

If you were looking for something positive, for stories of goodness and words of happiness to lift your spirits, this is not the place. If you're looking for unfiltered honesty, raw emotion, and at times downright ranting, you're in the right spot.

My blog has been collecting cobwebs since August of last year. Well, now I'm back to spew my trans thoughts and feelings. A lot has happened so get ready for a downpour.…

Last November marks the turning point. October wasn't too bad. Neal was gone most of the month for a long trip to Alaska then back down the coast, which was the hardest.  (Neal is my partner. Don't think I've ever mentioned them by name.) I missed them dearly. During that time I started practices for the murder mystery, and my bosses went out of town for a week. Yes, I certainly had some hard times, but no challenges were too much. After all, we had finally found another employee back at the end of June, and we seemed set for the upcoming Christmas season. That was my biggest stress earlier in the year. As long as that was taken care of, all would be fine.

Surprise surprise, hell was about to break loose again.

Let me put this straight: I will never forgive our ex employee for what she did. Trust me, I've fucking tried, but this was blatant abandonment. Please, somebody explain to me how this is ok? She knew from the beginning that our busiest time of year is Christmas … that's one. In August, she told us that she was staying with us and not going back to her old job teaching at a small local school… that's two. Beginning of November she informs my bosses her last day is the last day of November… yeah, you're out of my good books. I don't care if she was trying to do better for herself. If you need a better schedule I get it,  but don't abandon people right before things are about to get crazy. It's not like this is a terrible job either. Oh boo hoo, I can get guaranteed 40 hours of work a week in Mammoth… I mean, what the fuck? Well guess what, my bosses and I kicked ass all December and survived. Take that.

Mid-November I hit my one year on testosterone mark. Seeing as I was deep in panic mode regarding the upcoming December, and I was already quite busy with other things I've mentioned, I never did much of an update.  That was when I really had intended on resurrecting my poor blog here. It was worthy of an update. A lot has happened. Then again, maybe an update would have been all repetition of what I'd been saying in several posts last year.I did manage to put together a slideshow of my progress that was a nice marker. Pictures always get more of a response from people than words. As someone who loves writing, I can't say that's a particularly nice thought.

I had hoped that I would have made more headway on my name change by November but even up till the moment I'm writing this, nothing has changed. I'm going to write a whole separate post on that one. There's a lot I can say in regards to that. Luckily the only time I really face my name is when I notarize. The majority of the world - no matter what gender they perceive me as - knows I like to be called Sam.

That does lead me into the brunt of my frustration, however.

I am misgendered CONSTANTLY. I am also a coward who never corrects people. (See post: "Where's the confidence" for more detail. Nothing has changed). Right now, I'm gunna talk about why misgendering sucks so much.

If you are trans, this next part isn't for you. You know. For the sake of example, imagine you, the reader, were assigned the gender of "male" upon birth due to certain genitals. Also, we are going to assume you are cisgender which is the opposite of transgender, meaning you identify with the gender you were assigned with at birth. Basically, you were assigned male, you feel male, you are male. Ok, now that that's settled …. Imagine if everyone in your life called you ma'am or she or her. Every day. How long could you put up with that? This isn't just a matter of caring what people think. If people are constantly calling you something you're not, completely missing your identity, it starts to fucking hurt.

I mean, speaking for myself, I've tried to ignore it. I can't anymore. I'm having nightmares now where someone will misgender me, and I straight up scream in their face that they are wrong. Part of me is terrified im gunna do that in real life one day without meaning to. I'm not that person but enough stress can do crazy things. I mean, stress gave me a terrible rash on and off for the past year that I finally seemed to have gotten rid of… but that's all we need to say about that.

Back to that misgendering thing… it's hard to put to words exactly what it does. It's like I'm two different people: the real Sam, the me I believe myself to be, and "Samantha," the girl. I feel 100% Sam but then someone hits me with a "she" or a "ma'am" and I'm confused. Who are they talking about? What girl? You mean me? Huh? This goes through my head all the time, and it gets worse each day. The more confident I feel within myself and my identity, the larger the rift between myself and this imaginary girl people have known grows. I wish I could explain the full mindfuck this causes, but really, I don't think you can completely understand it unless you've experienced it on some level. I'm sure there are parallell examples that are non trans related, I just am not aware of any in this momemt to bring forth as evidence.

You'd think with all this, I'd be tired enough to start enforcing my pronouns, correcting people when they're wrong… that would be a negatory. I'm not going to explain my reasons for not doing so. I already have. I don't want to keep rehashing it because I don't like my reasons. I don't want to continue to make excuses for myself. I just want to say that I need to make a change or I'm going to explode.

I know I've said "I'm saying this to make myself accountable" way too many times as well. It's not like that is making much of a difference. All it does is make me feel more guilty, which is the last thing I need. I mean, I'm my own worst enemy. The meanest person to me… is me. All I do is try to put myself in others' shoes, try to think of why they may do or say certain things and then give them the benefit of the doubt. But, I've taken it too far.  Now I'm so to the wrong side of things that I'm afraid of correcting people because I don't want to embarrass them or make them feel bad. This is not right. I'm to the point that I feel selfish when I think of myself. Transitioning has been such a test for myself in this. I've had to do so many things that my brain wants to say are selfish when that's not true. I'm just trying to feel comfortable within myself. Is that so hard to ask, Sam, really? It's not selfish to want to feel happy, to want to feel hope.

I was to the point I couldn't even visualize the future. It all felt too impossible. Life doesn't feel that way anymore. Yes, I still get frustrated, anxious, and depressed; but those feelings are far less than they used to be - and a lot of them stem from my not standing up for myself anyway. Not that transitioning will ever 100% cure those feelings because they don't 100% stem from being trans. Does this mean I now know exactly what I'm doing with my future? No. It does mean I now feel like there is a future for me.  Life seems to be bringing things together for me now anyway. For a 26 year old, I am actually incredibly stable. I have a full time job, I have my own place, I'm in a great relationship, I pay all my bills on time… hell, I've already filed my 2017 taxes.

This actually takes me to an interesting point. You see there's another divide I've felt. It's not quite as maddening as the Sam/Samantha misgendering one. This one is more curious than frustrating. I've always looked young for my age. That's nothing new. I remember I was 21 and had someone ask me if I was 16… so yeah, I'm used to it. Since I've started transitioning, that has only accentuated this fact. I realize I look young. Probably, what, 18? Maybe a little older? Maybe younger? Depends on the person. Anyway, even I see this when I look in the mirror. Sometimes it causes dysphoria, sometimes it doesn't. When it does, its usually because I'm really not feeling anywhere mentally close to the "teenager" I look like and it kind of weirds me out. Still I'd rather people see me as an 18 year old boy than a girl of any age. It's worse to be misgendered. What's even more curious is there are times I do feel close to that teenager mentality. Confused, angsty, at times emotionally unstable, etcetera… there were times especially last year I had to sit back and remind myself that was happening. Hell, there are times I remind myself now. This is still happening and will continue. Changes don't stop after a year. Back to the point, it's interesting to have to think of these things. There are days I'm so caught in it I feel like Harry Potter from Potter Puppet Pals when he's just banging his head against the wall constantly going "angst, angst, angst." (If you don't know what I'm talking about, look it up on YouTube). Those are the days I have to constantly remind myself to be nice and make sure I'm not taking my mood out on others. Those also happen to be the hardest days to keep it together at work. Unfortunately theres no such thing as an "overwhelmed by puberty or dysphoria" days at work and I have to keep on keeping on (even though I'd rather be curled up under a blanket in the dark at home, binge listening to Twenty One Pilots or The Wall by Pink Floyd). It takes a lot of energy. How bout we leave it at that?

On that note, I think I've spewed on this blog enough for this time around. Tune in next time for more tales from Sam's mind.

Where's the Confidence?

Hey there, Readers. It's been awhile. What can I say? A lot has happened since my last post. I've tried multiple times to write a new one, but the words wouldn't come… until now.

I've been very busy as of late. July had a lot going on. I got back from vacation and jumped once again into work. We have some slow days but this summer has been way busier than last year. Not to mention we never had a shoulder season break. Luckily, when I got back there was a new employee there who had started a couple days before I left. During the course of my trip she had gotten some good training in. I hate training. When you're trying to balance a busy work day while trying to stop and explain every step of what youre doing at the same time, it gets intense. I mean there was still plenty of training I had to deal with, but I got to miss out on a week of it at least. Besides that there has also been play practice. That's right, I'm doing Shakespeare in the Woods again. But this time I have a part I really like and I'm being true to myself. The difference between this year and last year is crazy. But more on that another time…

The last couple weeks have been hard. It's been very busy and for some reason the depression has come back for a little visit. I've been working on getting it out of here but anyone who has struggled with depression knows that's easier said than done. It makes me so extra tired and my nightmares have returned. It makes going to work and then practice in one day a daunting challenge - though to my credit I still get it done and manage to have fun at practice too.

But certainly there's something else feeding this black cloud, yes? That would be correct. It is the disappointment in myself. Dont worry. I will explain.

Building self confidence is challenging. Though everyone keeps telling me how brave I am, I feel less so. I don't stand as firm in myself as I should. Yes I came out at work and they agreed to calling me Sam but not one single time have I been gendered correctly, nor has an effort been made to try, but most importantly, I have not been doing anything to correct it. That is where I am failing myself.

How is anyone supposed to know? How are people supposed to get it of they don't start hearing the righr pronouns being used for me? I'm slowly starting to look less obviously female. Though I still get gendered female quite often, there have been a few times I have been gendered properly by strangers that happened over the last month. Each moment made my day. It's a sign to me of progress. I'm getting closer. (On the 16th I'll be  9 months on HRT. that's a long time.) But, if i start correcting people, start making it so others hear the right pronouns being used for me, then I will hear what I want to hear more. So why haven't I? Part of it is that I'm afriad of getting into a debate. I don't know what people will say and I'm always afraid I'll be expected to explain myself, something I don't always have the energy for. I'm also afraid of offending people, I guess. We all get annoyed when we get corrected a lot. I mean, I suppose it's less I'm afraid of offending people (though that's it a little) and more afraid of just getting on people's nerves. Are any of these thoughts right? No. Not really. I'm getting hurt by this going on and I just need to suck it up and not care what people think. I'm too tired for an explanation? I'll send people to this blog. That's what it's for anyway. I dont wanna annoy people? Too fucking bad. I'm annoyed. Other people can have a turn now.

I feel that way, but in the moment, I shrink. I need to stop. Every time I hesitate when I have to choose between bathrooms - and then choose that same awful womens room - I feel so terrible inside. I feel like I'm sabotaging myself. But I'm so afraid I will go the other way and be confronted. "What are you doing in here? You dont belong in here?" Its a fear, whether the likelihood of it happening is slim. I mean, I go in the women's room and I certainly don't feel like I belong there. I rejoice whenever I find a unisex bathroom. They are always safe.

I live in a far more accepting community than I give it credit. People surprise me every day with how cool they can be. Why i can't let that fuel my confidence is beyond me. I feel good. I mean, I'm struggling at the moment, but I keep putting it in perspective by telling myself, "Yeah, well, what was struggling like this time last year?" It was ten times worse last year. I am on a much better path. The job now is to own it even more and to work on that "who gives a crap what anyone thinks about me" mindset I've always wanted but never been able to hold onto because of fear. Goal number one? Come out to my new coworker. She goes by what my bosses laid out for her, and what was that? Sam is a she. A girl. One of the ladies. [Excuse me while I barf]. To be honest talking to them again is up there too. We'll call it a 2 part goal.… see what I just did there? I put it in writing to make myself accountable. I'm already at wits end. We're coming up on the final straw.

This wasn't a particularly long post, but all of this has been swirling around in my head. Feeling the slightest bit better now. If I can complete that goal, I'll be WAY better.

Six Months Stronger

It's been 6 months since I started testosterone, people. 6 months. To say I'm excited at the coming of this realization is an understatement. It's officially official as of today. I've been dancing around doing an update of things. It seems that 6 months was the mark to do it. I don't even know where to start. I'm just gunna get typing, and we'll see where it goes.

I see myself a little more each day, not just because my physical appearance is slowly changing, but because things are aligning within myself. As my hormones continue to be where they should be, I feel an ever strengthening peace within myself. That doesn't mean I still don't get anxiety, but this peace is different than being calm. It's hard for me to describe.

Honestly, I've been struggling with my anxiety lately. A lot of things in life have been piling up, pushing me to my limits. I don't always like to share that I'm struggling. I want people to see that I'm strong, that I can handle things. I'm afraid of people telling me to stop doing certain things. I don't know where it got in my head that if I show people my anxiety (especially when it pops up in response to, say, having to deal with some of the harder aspects of transition) that they're gunna say, "Well, transitioning is doing that so you should just stop transitioning." 1) No one has ever said any such thing to me and 2) My anxiety issues started waaaay before I started transitioning. I've had them forever and I know that hiding being trans has been making it worse, yet my brain can't seem to wrap itself around that sometimes.

I learned somewhere along the way that if you cause something to happen, you've gotta deal with it. Let me explain. Say, I make the decision to stay up late. Well, if im groggy the next morning for work then I have to deal with it and push through it. I made the decision to make things harder, so now I have to figure out how to function through it. See what I mean? It's not a bad way to think, but my brain likes to take it to the extreme and past logical sense sometimes. Anxiety sucks, what can I say? So, when I'm stressing about financial restraints and stuff I have to get done for myself, my brain goes, "You're not allowed to complain about being stressed because you're the one who chose to add on this extra journey into you life." But Brain, you've got something wrong there. This wasn't a choice, not like you think. I couldn't have continued on as things were. I would have gotten worse and worse, shriveling further into myself. I'm scared to think of what would have happened. So maybe this was a choice, a choice to stop the pain. It's no different than the choice to start taking anti anxiety meds or anti depressants.

Through it all, I walk with a little more confidence. I feel more at ease with myself, the person I am. Is my dysphoria gone? God, no. Some days it's almost crippling, but a lot of the emotional wacko is gone. Recently, I saw my endocrinologist to check in on how I'm doing with the hormones. I do these trips every few months. It's another good basis for comparison. Even just noticing how different (better) I feel now compared to the last trip 3 months ago is crazy. But, I must admit, it's hard to notice most of the time. It's easy to take pictures and do comparisons to see the outside changes, but how do you gauge the changes on the inside? I'm thankful last year I started a journal. I look back at entries especially from last summer and realize that I'm so much better in my head now than I was then. It's harder to talk about the emotional changes because they're so personal, which is interesting considering they're the most important changes.

What else is different? Quite a bit. 6 months of second puberty does a lot. Hair everywhere, gradual vocal changes, unending hunger, and lots of acne are the biggest changes. They were all expected. The hair has actually come faster than I thought. Could it come faster? Sure, but it's just fine right now. The voice changes aren't fast enough, but I just have to be patient (as with any changes, really). As of right now, I've been noticing a lot more cracking and throat soreness. I'm quite sure this is indication I'm heading into more change in the vocal department. The hunger was never something I had put much thought to even if i had been forewarned, but holy goodness am I constantly starving or what. No sooner have I thought I'm stuffed then bam I'm hungry again. It's a good thing I got back into working out at the beginning of this; otherwise, I would have turned into a balloon rather than made as much progress gaining muscle as I have. Now the acne.… I dreaded this one. This is something a lot of trans guys conplain about and I swear mine started on day 1. I seem to keep it mostly under control. It's not as bad as it could be but lets be honest, seeing any acne at all is too much acne. I had just gotten to a point where ny skin had been relatively clear for a good stretch. Ah well. It's worth it.

I could go into more detail, but that's getting close to awkward territory. Wanna hear more about what I've been dealing with? Send me a private message. Really, I love to talk about it; yet, in a blog sense, if i keep going, I'm just gunna start rambling. Truly though, the more I get a chance to talk about being trans like it's normal, the easier it gets. I like treating it like it's nothing weird, like it's any other Dr's appointment, like me getting my shots is no big deal. It makes me feel less like some science experiement and more like a normal person who just happens to need help with getting the proper hormones. You know, some trans guys like to talk about being trans like it's a hormone imbalance, like they're just guys who have an issue with their hormones and got puberty late because it took so long to start correcting the levels. I'm not saying every guy looks at it that way, and I'm not so sure how I feel about looking at it that way. But… for explaining it to people… Well, I think there are people out there it would be beneficial to have that explanation around for. 

So there you have it, my messy little 6 month update. Thanks for sticking with me. Tune in next time for more trans adventures.

P.S. -  I threw in a comparison photo. The left is 6 months ago, the right is a few days ago.

Neverending Selfie

Before I was so rudely interrupted by a nasty virus as well as the unwelcome Period Beast (see previous post), I was working on this post. This was originally supposed to at least partially be about how I've been feeling better in my body, yet in these past couple weeks, that enormous positivity I had regarding such things has been lost and is just now resurfacing. In fact, I've been struggling with not only dysphoria, but feelings of worthlessness that are in no way tied to my being trans (Because, you know, my life isn't just being trans after all. That just happens to be what I blog about most). Despite all that, I'm going to attempt to pick up where I left off here.

So, as the title implies, selfies. I am just as guilty as anybody of taking selfies. I rarely share them, but I have a ridiculous amount of them stocked up. You wouldn't know this by looking at my social media. Not only do I hate sharing pictures, but after I first came out, I purged my Facebook and Instagram as well. Many times I take these pictures fully intending to share them (to update a profile pic, usually), but inevitably, I hate the picture and either delete it or file it away. I've been doing this for years. I mean, when I say I have them stocked up, I'm not even kidding. As much as I dislike these pictures, you think I wouldn't have held onto them right? Yet, there they are in the cloud, deep in the pictures section in a folder marked "me." Though, I can hardly say any of these pictures truly reflect me.

Every so often I go back and look at these pictures. I'm not sure why. All it does it make me uncomfortable. Before I realized I was trans, I would look at them and not understand this discomfort. Now, I get it's because I'm looking at a person who isn't me. I see this girl that I was trying so hard to be, the ultimate character I ever played. I see the phases in style, especially hair color, as I searched endlessly for the winning combination in outward appearance that would make me feel good about myself. I don't even have to go far. I look back to a year ago, two years ago, and I'm hit with an overwhelming amount of emotion. I can see the sadness in my eyes. I can remember the exact moment taking that picture and how unhappy I was. I can literally place myself back in that slice of time and remember how dissatisfied I would feel looking at those pictures right after taking them - or even while I was taking them for that matter. I felt fake, like I was trying too hard, like that wasn't me.

I look back now with the knowledge I've gained about myself, and it's so weird. I don't recognize that person. It's kind of funny, now that I see a stranger in these photos, for the first time I recognize a beauty I never saw before. Yes I was beautiful, but I never felt that way. And when I notice that beauty, when I find myself seeing it, I also feel a certain sadness. I know there are parts of me that mourn for that girl. At times, I feel downright guilty for wanting to destroy her. Why couldn't I be happy as her? Why couldn't I make it work? I tried so fucking hard to be her, and it took separating myself from that person to finally understand how hard I was trying and how much worse it was making me feel.

So if it hits me so hard, why do I look at these pictures? Before I knew what it was, I did it to try and force myself to see some beauty in me. I would look at them and say, "Sam, you look great. Why can't you be happy in your skin?" Now I look back to remind myself why I can't go back just because transitioning is scary. It's easy for my brain to tell me that this is too much for me, that I'll never get where I want to be, especially when the Period Beast hits. I mean, I was getting much better at not letting it do that, reminding myself to be patient. It's when the bitch that I discussed in my last post gets into my head that I get fucked over. In the past couple weeks, I have felt so hopeless about a lot of things not just transition related, mostly just related to me as a human being. Lets just say no matter what I do, the self hatred goes from a five to a twenty whenever the cycle comes around. Anyway, back to selfies... that was the point of this post, right?

Since I started transitioning, the amount of pictures I take and hold onto has increased. Not that the amount I share has increased by much. Still, it helps to have these pictures on deck. It's true that you don't notice the subtle changes unless you have a side by side comparison to really stare at. So, every week or two, I make myself a side by side and look at it a while to remind myself that progress is happening. It's actually quite helpful. Not that I've felt like sharing it with anyone. The only person who has seen any of these is my sister and I think she's seen one. A month or two ago. I feel awkward sharing pictures of me, especially of my transition. It's not weird to share. You go to Instagram, and there are so many guys sharing their story through pictures. It's inspiring when they do it. Me, I'd rather share a picture of the mountains. But I still take pictures of me for me, that never stops.

I guess you could say one reason I don't share pictures as much is because I'm afraid of being reminded of the slow progress, of people not seeing what I see. I mean, every day I see the person inside a little more and even when I don't see him I *feel* him. That still seems to be just me (and maybe some people close to me). At work, people still see me as this girl. At the store. In passing. I start to wonder if I've really made as much progress as I've thought. I know I have, but it's so hard to see it. It gets me down, I'm not gunna lie. It's easier said than done, but I am working on not letting other people define my happiness. I mean, just because I don't pass doesn't make me any less trans, any less of the guy I know I am. The hardest part is remembering that. And it's the selfies that are integral in being that reminder.

So, even if the pictures aren't exactly what I want to see just yet, the seemingly neverending quest for the selfie that truly reflects Samuel continues. He'll show up eventually. Just gotta be patient, trust the process, and most importantly, keep in mind that it isn't passing that makes me a man.

To truly end this post, I'm going to do something that makes me more than a little uncomfortable. Here come the selfies… Maybe you see what I see, maybe you don't. Want to know what I see? I see fake smiles in the first group, sad memories, discomfort, but ever so slowly, I see a certain happiness begin to grow in the second group. It's that happiness that I've been searching for, and as time goes on, I look forward to watching it grow.

The Beast Came Back

This is extremely personal, but if I don't get it out and explain why I'm so done right now I am going to explode.

After four months of freedom, without any sort of warning, my period came back. Do I know why? No. Is it normal after being on testosterone and it having gone away? Actually, most probably yes according to my google searches. (I called my Dr. and left a message all the same just in case, but I have yet to hear back).

I feel like I'm being such a baby about this. I've gotten through this before. I'm not even bleeding as much as a normal period - which is more of a confirmation to me that this is sort of just a "cleansing out" if you get what I'm saying. The problem is I have all the cramps, all the issues with eating, and all the emotional mindfuck that is normal for the periods I used to get.

The cramps I can deal with, the fact that my stomach instantly dislikes all food and will throw it up at a moments notice - or worse, just have me queasy and gassy for hours on end and I can't throw up - is not something I can handle so well. Mind you, this happens no matter what I eat be it good or bad, too much or very little. It's like my normal stomach problems are amplified by 1000%. There's a reason I started eating vegan and then gluten free, and unfortunately, it had nothing to do with the animals. It was for the health benefits (though I did start learning about the animal side later on and definitely stand for that as well, don't get me wrong. I came for my health and will be staying for the animals and the environment).

But… the emotional side - now that's what really fucks me. I become a person I don't even recognize. I feel bad when I'm around people because I get it, I become irrational and bipolar. I lose all sense. I become so negative. No one wants to be around me less when I'm like this than me. Still, I end up isolating myself and coming to battle with this bitch who's so mean.

I tell you, I try to be positive, but it feels like all happiness is suddenly sucked out of me. I get bursts of it back but there's always a crash that has me crying and upset, full of negative thoughts. It becomes very draining to take reign of this and cast it away. It becomes too easy to get down on my body. My chest begins to hurt as it becomes tender and that makes it harder to ignore. It's not the only body part that does this for that matter, but I don't want to name the other one. My body itself feels swollen. I do best to avoid looking at myself, to push it out of my head.

Still, every little thing sets me off, and I know it's irrational, but I fall into panic anyway. Everything feels wrong and there's a massive frustration that will come over me at times. I'll start shaking and won't be able to stay still. Many times it end in tears which only makes me more upset. Things that shouldn't offend me do. I become ridiculously sensitive. Like I said, I don't like nor recognize this person. But I'm stuck with her all the same. I guess you could say this is one of the biggest aspects of that female side that hits me and takes control of me. It's the hardest to escape because it's an impossible thing to control when it hits.

I know it will be over in a few days, and I've been really trying to console myself by finding distractions. It's in those moments that it hits me with one of those waves, one whopping blow, and I'm brought to my knees with so much emotion I don't know what to do with it that I've been really losing it these last couple days. I feel lonely and angry and my brain tries to project it onto others or little things, but in the end I always realize the thing I'm angry at is me, my body, how wrong it all feels.

I know this is a short post, but I needed to get this out. The act of writing this helped to pull me from one of those dark moments. Off to a land I music I now shall go.

The Weight

I had an actual post I was working on, but I haven't been able to focus. I've been dealing with a lot of chest dysphoria lately, so I decided to write a poem about that instead. Please note that when I say I've written poetry, I'm not following a specific form. I go with the flow of what comes to me. So, here it is.

The Weight

There's a weight upon my chest.
It just began to grow.
It once was flat, but now it's not.
They told me this is how it would go.
I thought that I'd be fine.
It's normal, that's what they said.
Yet there's a nagging anxiety in the back of my head

There's a weight upon my chest.
One side larger than the other.
Only by a smidge, yet I want to cry for mother.
Something isn't right.
Couldn't one just shrink?
I don't care if they're small,
Even not there at all,
Not a single wink.

There's a weight upon my chest.
It only makes me feel fat.
None of my shirts look right.
How can I fix that?
Do I need to diet?
Find a boyfriend who likes my boobs?
I'm feeling very empty.
There must be something I can do.

There's a weight upon my chest.
It's driving me insane.
It's shrunk a lot,
I'm so damn skinny,
Yet I still feel the pain.
It's hard to see an indent.
I still feel fat.
I still feel wrong.
Someone please, help me.
I don't know what's going on.

There's a weight upon my chest.
It's grown back out again.
Every bounce.
Every flounce.
It's all I see when I look down.
This shirt isn't that low cut,
At least that's what I thought.
I wish I had worn a tshirt,
Even if that doesn't fix it all.

There's a weight upon my chest.
I need to crush it down.
I bought myself a binder.
Will this help me now?
There's a new kind of constriction.
It's different to breathe.
But, oh my god, my shirt looks right.
I don't feel fat.
I'm free!

There's a weight upon my chest.
I cannot bind today.
There's phlegm in there.
I need the range,
To cough it all away.
But, now the sadness has returned.
Again, I'm feeling wrong.
I feel so much more aware of this.
After having a solution for so long.

There's a weight upon my chest.
The sickness still remains.
No matter how much I want to
I cannot bind again today.
This is wearing me down.
I'm getting very tired.
There has to be a permanent way
To tell my chest it's fired.

There's a weight upon my chest.
One day I could have it cut away.
But, that's easier said than done.
It's an awfully large bill to pay.
It's not just the cost.
Such procedures are apt to affect one's life.
After all, recovery lasts far beyond the day beneath the knife.

There's a weight upon my chest.
Until it's gone away,
I'll bind when I can.
If I can't, I'll just have to say--
"Don't think about it.
"Don't look down.
"It will all be okay.
"Chest or not, what makes you, you isn't going to change."

It Takes Courage

It's been longer than I intended between posts, but it doesn't matter. Like I said in my first post, there is no set schedule for updating this blog. I do it as I am inspired. Anyway, putting together this post in a coherent way has been tricky.

You see, I came out as transgender at work.

As I have mentioned in my last couple posts, this is something I have desperately been needing to do, but I've been holding back due to my own terror. Figuring out exactly why being authentic is so difficult me is the core of this post. Let's get to it, shall we?

I have lived my entire life afraid of being myself. Between the fear of losing friends, being annoying, or not being accepted by anybody, I have become quite guarded. Sometimes I'll sit down and search my brain, trying to find the sources of why I have such a hard time letting myself be wholly me. I've often been the pushover in groups of people, the quiet one who tags along and goes with what everyone says. I can pull to mind all the criticisms, all the times people that were supposed to be my friends made me feel small. (I'm not saying I was always the perfect friend either. I still regret how I ended certain friendships). I was often told I was being too sensitive, and to this day, it's hard for me to tell if my feelings are justified or if I really am too sensitive (usually I assume it's the latter). I wonder why I let it hurt me so bad. I guess it's because all that "poking fun" just added to the dissatisfaction I already had with myself. I already felt wrong, weird, out of place, even if I didn't have the words to explain it, then people would have to point out my shortcomings. The things I didn't know, how I was too much of a "prude," etc. I've often felt like a weirdo for things that are beyond my control.

I've noticed this complex in my head formed that if someone disagreed with me, I was probably the one who was wrong, and I needed to shut up and be schooled. I've made myself look stupid so many times unintentionally that it just became easier to shut the fuck up. It got to the point where I couldn't even raise my hand in class to answer a question. Group projects were a certain form of hell. When In groups, I often felt I was faking it more than anything. Even now, it takes a lot of warming up for me to talk to people in social situations (and that feeling of faking it still seeps in). Hell, I avoid cast parties or work holiday parties like the plague. The radio station only ever got me to one Christmas dinner (I was eligible to go to 3 or 4), and I often bail out of cast parties for plays I'm in. I get around people and I just freeze up. They try to ask me questions to get me talking and my tongue fails me. I never feel I can say what I mean. I dread even getting my hair cut because I'm expected to carry on a conversation with the person cutting my hair.

The walls I've built around myself are thick. As hard as I've been working to chip away at them these days, progress is slow. Each time I come close to knocking down another side of the wall, truly breaking free, my instinct is still to hesitate. I hate this. Where's my self confidence? I know that I'm not going to be happy until I can be 100% free, so what's the holdup?

The holdup is I have spent so much time systematically squashing myself down that it has become habit to second guess myself. Automatically, I expect that I am not good enough for people. I expect that people won't like me no filters and that the only way to make sure they won't leave me is to not be wholly myself. That is bad. Don't be like Sam in this way.

So imagine all this going down in my head and then add the need to come out, the need to be completely honest about who I am with people - and to enforce it.

Houston, we have a problem.

Coming out to my family last summer then my friends and extended family on Facebook back in October was the first hurdle. It was not easy and it doesn't seem to get any easier each time I have to do it. I'm lucky that everyone I know is accepting and just wants me to be happy. No one has argued with me regarding my gender nor my choice to transition. For that, I will be forever grateful. I wish every trans individual could be so fortunate.

Despite the acceptance, I let coming out at work be something I put off for a good amount of time. I knew it would be painful the more I prolonged the divide between my personal and professional lives - and fucking painful it has been.  With each day it only got worse. It takes a lot of energy to keep up the front of "Samantha," a lot more energy than I realize.

But my mind cries out with my fears:
"What if your bosses are freaked out by this?"
"What if work gets weird?"
"What if somehow you get fired for this?"

Yet as the nightmares got worse, as it got harder to get myself ready for work every day, I knew I was getting closer to the point I wouldn't be able to put it off any longer. It was the week before I came out when I finally had the last straw. I answered the phone with the usual "This is Samantha, how can I help you?" The man on the other end had a need to say that name a lost every other word. "Why hello, Samantha. I was wondering if you could help me, Samantha. Yadda, yadda, yadda, Samantha. Every time he said that name, it felt like he was stabbing me in the gut. By the time he cheerily said goodbye, I felt near tears. I wasn't going to be able to take this anymore. Even if it was just getting people to call me "Sam," I needed some form of relief.  

So despite the fears still chiming through my head, I revisited the coming out letter I actually started a couple months ago. I spent several days on it, had a couple other pairs of eyes look at it, and then came the hard part… deciding when to give it to my bosses. When I first pulled that letter back up and started working on it, I had made a silent promise to myself - I had to give it to them by the end of the week. Naturally, the anxiety got worse as the week progressed. My time of things continuing as they were was coming to an end. That was the scariest thought of all.

I mean, I think part of the reason I was afraid of coming out wasn't really just to do with my bosses, it was the customers. You see, you only have to come out to your boss or your coworkers once but when you work in retail it's different. Each customer that comes in, I have to make the silent decision - do I enforce my pronouns if they get them wrong? Do I try to explan? Essentially, I'm going to have to come out to someone new probably every day, and that's the scariest thing I've ever embarked myself upon. (I'm already failing but hey, cut me some slack, this is week one).

Then came the most important thing I had to tell myself:

"Sam, you have to do this because you can't live like this. Who are you living your life for? If it isn't going to work at MBE then you need to figure out where to go next now. The time to unnecessarily suffer is long past."

Somehow on Friday, March 3, I took the leap and as my vague Facebook post announced that day, I went from complete terror to sweet relief. My bosses were fine. I could tell they were shocked and hadn't  expected such an admission from me. Still, they assured me that the most important thing is that I'm happy. I couldn't have asked for a better response. That moment of acceptance, of knowing that there really is hope, and my life is not going to all crumble apart… that why it's all worth it. All the pain. All the stress. All the fear. It's all okay because one day you wake up and realize that all those negative thoughts, those stupid worries, they're gone.

The best example is March 6, 2017, the first day back to work after talking to my bosses. On that day, for the first time in I don't know how long, I woke up and went to work and I felt NO anxiety. Will it return? Of course, but that doesn't scare me because now I know it's possible for it to go away.

We're in whole new territory now. Whether I choose to enforce pronouns is up to me, but now that I'm out at least I have the right to. Plus, as the hormones continue to do their work, eventually I won't be misgendered anymore. While there will be new challenges and frustrations to deal with now, I'm happy I've moved on to the next step. Honestly, I still can't believe I actually did it.

So to anyone out there who is struggling with coming out, whether you do it tomorrow or wait a long time, I'm proud of you. It takes a lot of courage to be yourself.

Buried Feelings

I've talked a lot about appearance in regards to clues to knowing I'm trans. A lot of that is because the rest comes down to feeling, and it's tricky to describe such things. How can you explain how something feels to someone who may not have ever felt such a way? Usually, I'm close to grasping just how to do that; but as I start to put it to words, it begins to fall apart, my point lost. This post has taken me some time to put together, but I think I've found a way to describe it.

I've always felt a want to impress boys, to show off. Growing up I thought it was because I had crushes, or that I just wanted to prove that I could be as good as the boys. The first one wasn't necessarily true but the second one was closer. I wanted to be accepted by the boys as one of them. I wanted to say, "I like a lot of the things you do. I want to join in with you. Can we be friends?" But I never did. I always had this looming fear that I wouldn't fit in, that they would reject me just on the sole basis that I was a "girl". (I actually wanted to take auto-shop so bad in high school but didn't because of that fear. I was a lonely person constantly afraid of rejection and being more lonely - still am. It's a stupid reason, and I still regret not stepping out of that comfort zone). That doesn't mean I never had guy friends. When I did, I always enjoyed the friendship and time spent. I don't know why some of the friendships never grew stronger. I've identified a want to be one of the guys on many occasions in my life. Being a closeted lesbian I felt it especially (and felt very confused by it too. If I was a lesbian why did I want to be one of the guys?). When around guys, I would want to talk about girls too. I would want to join in in general. Feel accepted.

Alternatively, in a group of girls I have always felt out of place. I noticed it more as I got into high school and beyond. I would be a part of the group, but I would always feel like a bit of an outsider. When working in places that were mostly women, I would have that same feeling and have a hard time joining in conversations. I'd smile and nod, act like I felt like a part of things but an act is all it was. Even where I work now it's the same. It's hard to explain the exact feeling, which is weird because when I feel it, it's so distinct… When I'm with my female coworkers I feel like there's a certain bond between them. It's not like friendship, it's not even that they get along better, it's just that there's something between them that I don't have with them. Does that make sense? I feel like it doesn't make sense but I don't know how to word it so it will. I mean, it's like I feel like I'm not one of them, but I don't have a desire to be one of them either. It's different than when I'm around guys.

At Adventure in Camping, I was surrounded by guys. I never completely felt like one of them, but by the end I felt as close as I could get. It was pretty darn nice. After that, working at Hertz I was surrounded by guys again. You see, the rental desk is located inside a local sports shop called Kittredge. Some people would try and include me but mostly I would observe from my little corner, wishing I was a part of the guys. I was confused, lonely, frustrated. I constantly wished I knew what was wrong with me. I knew I was missing something. This feeling wasn't new.

When I lived with my grandparents and they would take me to events or when they would have friends over, I would always get along with the husbands and the older men better. It wasn't that I couldn't get along with the ladies, but it never happened so naturally. Even between my grandparents, I gravitated towards my grandpa. Over the first year I lived there especially, I spent so much time with him. We went on a lot of lunches out together as he told me his stories. The best would be our "violent movie nights" as we called them. My grandma would be out for the evening which meant we had the house to ourselves. We would order pizza and watch movies that Grandma couldn't stomach (mostly Clint Eastwood movies like Dirty Harry, The Outlaw Jose Wales, etc. We mixed it up with other violent movies too). I know girls can like this stuff too, maybe that's why I never took it as a clue. But the love of those movies isn't really what I'm trying to draw attention to here anyway.  It's the natural draw to my grandpa. I've always felt that around my dad too, my uncles, all my male relatives. I hardly ever saw my mom's dad, my Grandpa Mike, but I even felt it in regards to him as well.

I don't remember a lot of "girl pressure" from these family members so much. By that I mean "you can't do this or that because you're a girl." There is one thing that has killed me over the years though. I'm the eldest and have always been told I can do whatever I put my mind to… but I can't carry on the family name and my brother can. Before I say how this makes me feel I just wanna say that that may not even be true because my family doesn't know my brother's deepest dreams. No one can tell him he has to start a family one day (I've never gotten any indication from him that he wants to). He shouldn't be expected to carry on the family name just because he's a boy as much as a girl shouldn't be expected to drop hers because she's a girl. Anyway, I have always been deeply hurt by this any couldn't explain why. It's not like I plan on having kids anyway. I've thought about maybe adopting one day, but as of right now I have no desire for children. I think its just the fact that I wasn't even considered as an option but my brother automatically was. I would feel the same way every time my parents or my Granny M especially would bring up the importance of him being the "Taylor male" and how great it was that my parents got a boy. I have always tried not to let this get to me but it always has all the same. Honestly, I feel like my brother will always have my dad's attention in ways I'll never be able to get it. I have always felt the need to make my dad notice me. I've always wanted to be just like him only I feel like he's never seen it. I feel like I could be waving my hands in his face screaming, "I want to be like you! Look at what I'm doing!" And he'd only glance and say, "Oh that's nice," then forget about it. I know he doesn't ignore everything I do but it always seems that the things I most want to share with him, he barely notices. Still, I'm always running back to him for advice, or even just to talk. I love him yet he drives me mad. We're so alike in so many ways yet I wonder if he sees it.

We're going to move on now and talk about another layer of this feeling. To be honest this part is making me  emotional, and I'm writing myself into a corner. There's more I want to say but I'm gunna have to say it at a later time. So, onwards…

There's someone else I've  always felt drawn to. Let's talk a little about my obsession with Freddie Mercury. I have been, for the longest time, in love with the band Queen. Their music will gets me to stop and listen every time. Often this includes singing along - even to the guitar solos. I adore every band member,  but none more than Freddie. Freddie drew my attention more than anything from the first moment I heard his voice, and even more so after watching videos of him perform. I eat up information about what he was like offstage. My obsession confused me as much as I fed it. Why was I so into Freddie? I remember a few years back Queen held a contest to start an official cover band that would tour and everything. I filmed so many audition videos but never sent any in. Why would I? None of them were right. It felt good when I was filming, but every time I played back what I had done, I didn't look like I thought I did, I didn't sound like I thought I did. Besides, how would I ever get the part as a girl when so many actual guys with talent were trying out. I had no chance and it broke my heart.

I've been listening to both male and female singers for years. When it comes to singing, I find that it's always been a personal habit of mine to try and mimic the voice I hear. In fact, when I took voice lessons and was asked to sing in my own voice I really struggled. When I mimic the female singers, I've always been proud of myself when I can do it but consciously realized "That's not me, that's me being (insert name here)" and when I tried to sing along with male voices… well singing along was all fine and dandy, but if I tried to sing it by myself it was (still is) the most heartbreaking disappointment. Do I really sound like that? Before I had the word "trans" it was especially heartbreaking, because I didn't understand why I was so upset.

I mean, I finally get an underlying struggle I had while working at the radio station (Oh yeah, I worked for a radio station for a while. Started interning my senior year, worked there a couple years and came back and worked for them part time when I moved back to Mammoth up until October of last year). I would have such an issue with listening back on my recordings. In the beginning, I would play back my voice tracks more but hated listening to myself. I knew I sounded fine, but for some reason I did not like listening to my voice. Once I had been recording enough to feel more comfortable, I stopped listening back as much (it was my trick to being so fast at voice tracking). Every so often I would force myself to listen to a shift of my voice tracks. All I'd have to do is turn on the radio when I knew I'd be "DJ-ing" while I was out and about just to check in with myself and make sure all was ok, but it was very difficult. The worst was doing commercials. At least a little more of my personality would come through when talking about music but recording a commercial would be like slipping right back into that Samantha costume I would for work. My voice would go into advertisement mode and would become the same voice I would use as a reservationist - or any job that required answering phones for that matter. I can remember being back in Adventure in Camping. One of the guys walked in after I had answered the phone with the usual spiel "thank you for calling adventure in Camping this is Samantha, how can I help you?" He did the total, repeat and mock of what I said and it made me feel so terrible. These days when I answer the phone this way for my current job, since I'm aware of the problem, I am also very much aware of the disconnect between myself and this voice. I'll answer the phone and it's like for a moment there's a whole new person there. Who's speaking? It's not me. Where is that voice coming from? Part of the reason I left the radio station back in October is because I knew voice tracks would soon become unbearable.

I mean, I feel great now that I've started hormone replacement therapy. I'm actually 3 months in (which is a huge deal that I'm so excited about). There's a certain calm within myself, a certain comfort within that I can feel that I've never felt before. Each day, it's only getting stronger. Yeah, I still have bad days. Normal stress still gets to me and dysphoria is a constant struggle but deep down inside where the worst of the mania was… it's fucking gone.

I was able to start my transition rather quickly. I am lucky in this and will be forever grateful. I found a therapist that I was even able to Skype with so I didn't have to travel a ridiculous distance (I still have to travel for my endocrinologist, but hey, you win some, you lose some). I didn't have to be seeing her for years, or live as a man for a set amount of time (there are states that make you do this) before I was able to get a referral to begin hormone replacement therapy. Now, just so you know, you don't have to do HRT to be trans. Everyone's trans journey is different. Considering one of my goals was always to kill my period, I knew HRT would be a goal for me.

You have to understand that it's extremely difficult for me to make decisions, especially regarding myself and my happiness. I will obsess for a ridiculous amount of time before I finally make the damn choice and only cause myself more pain by prolonging the wait. This was different. Now, I did have to come to terms with being trans. Like I said, there were years of pushing it away, but when the time came that I finally turned around and applied the word to myself, it felt so right and fit so perfectly...  Even when I was sitting there going,  "No… I have to think about this more… It can't be true…" I knew it was true. I could try and deny it all I wanted, but that wasn't changing anything. I knew I would never stop obsessing about it because it's the ultimate truth and there was no way I could lie to myself about it any more. I struggled with being a lesbian more than this. I mean, fuck, I was aware of that for 3 years but something just felt off about coming out. I didn't plan to deny it if someone asked me out right, but I didn't want to come out publicly (I also realized that was weird). Turns out it was because it wasn't the right label, and I was holding out for myself...

Let me say it again: This has felt so right! I can't tell you the last time I felt this comfortable with myself. Shit, I never felt so happy to be experiencing puberty. Female puberty was a new hell every day. My boobs alone have caused many tears and my period…. Listen, I know no woman is a fan of her period, but it would make me so miserable and feel so far from myself… I hated my period so much that back when I was dangerously skinny, I lost my period and didn't tell anybody. I knew it wasn't healthy and that scared me. Still, I was more afraid of people making me go to the doctor to get it back. Long story short, I did get healthy again and got it back, up until I started taking testosterone that is (thank fucking goodness).

Back to first puberty… I remember I didn't notice when I started growing hair, other people did. I very clearly remember being in middle school, 6th grade. I was jumping on a trampoline with one of my friends and happened to be wearing one of my favorite shirts - just happened to be a tank top. I lifted up my arms and with one cry of "ew" brimming with so much disgust, my friend made it known to me that I had underarm hair and that it was unacceptable. With shame later that day, I asked my mom if she would show me how to shave. The stuff was fast growing, and I would need to shave often. Still, this wasn't the only time my underarm hair would be made fun of. "Maybe you should just go to France, Sam. I hear girls there have a lot of underarm hair. You'd fit right in." Looking back now I realize I was most embarrassed because I *like* being hairy. I have always shaved out of shame. I never wanted to start shaving my legs either. The most freedom I ever felt was last summer when I said "that's it" and gave up on shaving my legs and underarms for good. I am not ashamed to say that I'm one of those transguys who checks for new hairs every day. I'm also happy to report that I have hairy genes, and one of the first changes I started noticing was my increase in hair. (Please I beg of you if you ever notice my stubble or whatever tell me. You will make my fucking week). Let me tell you, I never realized how much I wanted facial hair until I started growing it. I've felt such sadness the times I've had to shave it. (Yes, it's actually growing enough that I've gotten to this point). I let it go until I feel like it's noticeable in the right light. If anyone *has* noticed, they haven't said anything. I think it may have to do with the idea that everyone assumes I'm a girl and if they do notice it, they probably figure a girl doesn't want to hear she has facial hair. Damnit.

I hate it when people assume anything because of how I look. I mean, I wish appearance wasn't so much of the issue, but people really do decide things about you based off how you look. I mean, here's a little one that causes me endless annoyance. I work in a shipping center. People bring in all sorts of packages to go out. Men drop off packages, take one look at me, and go "This is heavy. Do you want me to help you with that?" This package is 40 lbs. I can fucking lift it. I could lift twice as much. I *want* to lift it. I've always loved being considered strong. As long as I can remember, I've taken a sense of pride in being able to lift heavy things. Fuck, I lift weights for fun. Man, woman, I don't care. Let me lift the heavy thing. But, because I'm assumed to be a girl, people let me lift less. I insist I can do it as much as possible, but I swear there are still times I get told no. Every time we get copy paper delivered, my boss, Marcia, goes "No, no, no don't lift that. Let Craig take care of it." Because he's the guy. Let me just excuse myself to go throw a temper tantrum in the corner…

(Some time later)

Lately I've been bouncing between that feeling I mentioned earlier of feeling so good about myself to this extreme frustration that comes from people not seeing me as I see me. As I said in my last post, it's time to come out at the places I'm still closeted. I'm only going to get more upset the longer this all goes on. I mean, I was just talking to my partner about my lack of confidence in myself this morning and I said this, "I think I have so little confidence that I don't want to do enough to help myself." I had to stop and look at that after I sent it because somehow I feel like that's hitting the nail on the head. The lack of confidence feeds the dysphoria just as much as it feeds my fear of coming out.

I want to stress again how much it's not about appearance. It's about feeling comfortable within myself. Unfortunately, it seems I won't be able to completely get there until my appearance can line up. "Passing" is a controversial thing. The idea of that being the goal - as if to say I was never what I claim to be in the first place, that I won't be until I look like a guy - is an insulting thought. But we live in an appearance based society. We have a long way to go before someone looks at you - no matter what gender you look like - and asks your preferred pronouns before addressing you. For the current time - a gradually shortening amount of time, I try to remind myself - I still look too much like a girl for people to assume I'm anything but one. I try not to let it bother me though more often than not I fail.

I can feel my self confidence trying to form deep within myself. Some days I can feel it come forward, have a few hours where it takes control. Holding onto it in the hard moments is the real challenge. In the end though, it's a personal problem. When it gets down to it, I'm the only one who can fix this. It does help to write it out, to get it out of my head.

I hope this post wasn't too long, or too all over the place. I feel like there's so much more I could say, I just don't know how to fit it. This was probably one of the most difficult posts to write thus far.