I don't feel as though I'm doing anything with my life recently. I've been really caught up in my transition and I've sort of forgotten the larger picture. I feel stagnant in my job. It's a decent one with decent pay, but it's not what I want to be doing forever. It's been over two years, I need to move on. But I don't know what to move on toward. I want to use my degree, I want to help people and travel. But I'm tied here for a bit. With good reason. At least until next summer. In the meantime, I'm hoping to find something to do that might at least interest me. I am going to be changing my work schedule to four ten hour days, so I will have a day or two free for an internship, volunteering or even classes if I so desire. And I don't know what I'll do with that time, but I'm vowing now to use it wisely, and not just as another lazy day.

As much as I hate the thought, I've been entertaining the idea of taking classes again. I won't say "going back to school" because it makes me sick inside. I really have always dreaded school. However, I miss learning. I miss intelligent discussions. I miss writing and reading. I miss being caught up on events and methods and theories. I miss being relevant.

So, life gets harder after university. It's a fact. I'm now a real adult. Established. Working full time. Paying my bills. Scraping by.

But I feel different. The terror of living independently has faded away. Now I relish being disconnected from my parents in so many ways.

As far a school goes. I don't miss it. Occasionally, I think about discussions in my Global Studies classes. But I do not miss writing papers, studying, sitting through boring lectures, procrastinating. I feel like I spent most of my time in school procrastinating. Leaving everything until the last minute, but feeling the pressure of it all the while. I don't have that now. I leave work and it's far behind until the next day. I don't have to think about it at all. Sure, there are still some pressing things that I occasionally procrastinate on, but never to the previous extent. And I like that. I like not having things hanging over my head. Oh, except those daft loans...

But the same problems face me that I've written about before, years ago: apathy, complacency, lack of purpose.

I don't think about it much, I just do as I need to do or waste my time. I've been caught up in transition and haven't dwelt on purpose for some time. The thing is, I still don't know what I want to do with my life. I only know that I'm not really happy with it so far. Transition is a go. It is helping me find some clarity and peace of mind. But that's not a job. That's not a purpose, that's just a vehicle for the journey.

Frankly, I'm tired of my job. I'm tired of working with animals. My resume is filled with animal jobs. And I honestly just don't care anymore. I want to use my degree. I want to help people. I want to be useful. I just need to find a way to do it, and still make a living. I need both enough money and enough fulfillment or I will waste away.

I've had some happiness and some heart-wrenching. I've found fulfillment in becoming me. I've learned about myself, how manipulative I can be. How I hold on to things beyond reason. I've made it through what has thus far been the worst part of my life and I realize that it will not likely remain so for long. There are always good times ahead and just as many bad times. And I accept that. I and I know I can weather each.

If only I can shake the profound loneliness. This drifting discontent. I want to find me. I want to do it.

The Fox

The fox signifies a variety of things in folklore and mythology. Generally, the fox is cunning, clever, deceitful, resourceful, mischievous, and of course sly.

In Asian mythology, the fox exemplifies transformation. The Japanese kitsune, the Korean kumiho, and the Chinese huli jing are fox spirits that routinely transform into human form. In Mesopotamian mythologies, the fox is a messenger of a goddess. The Moche people of Peru insisted that the fox would fight only with his mind and not using physical attacks. Foxes are not generally portrayed as evil, but not really good either. They are aloof and often solitary.

In present-day culture, foxes still are synonymous with trickery and cunning and also sexiness.

Foxes feature in many films and books. Disney’s Robin Hood is a fox, fitting the character aptly. The fox in The Little Prince helps the prince learn the value of friendship. Zorro fights incognito for the freedom of his people, tricking the authorities. The Fantastic Mr. Fox proves that it is in a fox’s nature to thieve and adventure. He also shows loyalty to his family and friends. The fox in the movie The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe is the messenger and something of a double agent. He shows his loyalty and humor.

The fox is my alter-ego. I have been fascinated by foxes from a very early age. I began collecting fox figures when I was about eleven, beginning with a small pewter fox I named Seth the Scottish Fox. My first (and current) email address has ‘fox’ in it. My screen name is Rusco, the Elvish word for fox. (There is also a slight tie-in to Agent Fox Mulder from The X-Files.)

Growing up on a farm, I learned great respect for foxes. Not only were they very resourceful and cunning, but also ruthless. They would figure out ways to get into the bird coops to eat the chickens or turkeys. No matter how well the wire was stapled or how deeply it was buried, the foxes would get in. And once they got in, they would not just kill a bird and take it away. They would kill every bird, leaving the coop decimated. I know I should have been mad at the foxes for killing our future food, but I could only admire them.

Many people do not understand that I am similar to a fox. Firstly, the transformation bit. Perhaps not in the same sense as the myths, but I am undergoing radical transformation from a false presentation to my true form.

I am manipulative in the way that makes people respond positively. I used to abuse this ability, but have become aware of it and I now censor it. I am an introvert, observing interactions in relative silence. I tend to be a mediator and never a leader. I have a rather biting sense of humor. I like to think that I’m resourceful and creative. Oh, and I’m foxy (and narcissistic.)

To follow my daily musing about my transition process read this blog.

I will occasionally still post here, but it will be more academic and well-planned. Whereas the other is more of a journal.

Dear Mother,

I think we've established that we don't agree on pretty much anything. We never really have.

Though I did not recognize it in myself until only recently, it is true that I've always wanted to be a boy. I don't know why, no one ever really does, but it's true. And now, now that I'm finally getting what I've wanted my whole life, I feel great. I feel like I can take on the world. Don't you see that? You say I need to pray and get God's guidance. So far as I can tell, I have His approval. I'm becoming myself so I can better serve others.

Also, please don't argue with me about the Bible and Christianity. I took a class each semester that heavily detailed all aspects of each. I know a lot more about the scholarship than you do, or likely will. Don't talk down to me about it. Don't assume that what you've learned is the only correct thing. I don't make those assumptions either.

Besides, the Bible is about love. God is love. Judgment is His alone. If you're the best example of Christianity, I want none of it.

That said, I do believe in God, and even to some extent, the Bible. I believe that the purpose of people is love. Through loving one another, the creation, and themselves, people honor the creator and fulfill their life's purpose.

My therapist has several degrees. She's well-learned. She's not queer. She's not an atheist. She's in fact Jewish and getting a further degree in that field. She's not an idiot that is just telling me what I want to hear. She is also not feeding me things. She is simply helping me figure out who I really am. And it's working.

So all of these things we do not agree on. All of these things we should never talk about.

However, because I know that you think of these things, I know that it affects our time together. That is why I insist upon bringing a friend when I visit. I need support. I need someone who loves me for exactly who I am and not who they want me to be. And because you've said that I am welcome, but my friends are not, I don't feel welcome either. Because my friends are part of me, just as you are. This is why I will not be visiting you for any amount of time in the near future. Until something changes.

All this said, I do love you. You are my mother. Sure, we never really connected or shared much, but you raised me and I wouldn't change my childhood. It's made me who I am. And even who I'm becoming. And I know you love me, but I know you don't love me for who I am becoming, but rather who I was, or who you want me to be. And it hurts.

Larz (I will never ask you to call me your son, only that you don't call me your daughter.)

I was told I should write more. And I certainly agree. I always want to write more. Sometimes it's terribly hard for me to do.

I got a call the other day from an old friend of the family. I couldn't answer so she left me a long message. It absolutely made my day. She said she'd been talking with my parents and they'd told her about how I'd come out to them and indicated how I wanted to be treated and who I really was. She was incredibly comforting, telling me that she respected me and could see such things in me from a young age. It always feels good to be affirmed, but certainly more so to be affirmed by someone I've known my whole life and respected.

I also recently received a note from another person I've always respected, telling me simply to be myself.

And then there are my friends, taking things in stride, switching pronouns and making it seem so natural (as I suppose it really is). Sure there are occasional slip-ups, but no one makes it awkward. It's just the period of change.

These people affirming me and supporting me in every way helps me to not get caught up in the fact that my parents, my mom especially, are not at all affirming or supportive. When I talk to my mum on the phone, she always slides something in there about praying or straightening out or something like that. It makes me want to lash out. If she wants me to be Christian, she'll have to change her attitude a bit. I don't want to be anything like her.

So in the meantime, I sort of pretend I'm an orphan. I've taken over all of my bills except my phone, as it's tied into the family plan. My dad said he'd pay my health insurance, but I did it anyway. Mostly because I could and I should, but also because I'm going to be using it to see my doctor. The doctor that is going to prescribe testosterone. And I don't want that to be something my dad can take away from me.

So now is a period of waiting. Waiting for my therapist to send the letter to the doctor. Then scheduling an appointment, subjecting myself to whatever doctor-y things need to be done and walking away with a prescription. A prescription to my new life. To the rest of my life. And it terrifies me just as much as it elates me. Because this is change I will not be able to reverse. And I'm not sure how far I'll go. If I will decide that it's something I need to do for the rest of my life, or just something to change a few aspects of myself and then I can continue to live in the in-between.

This concludes my writing for the day. For the month. Happy February.

I am Human

There have been a lot of things banging around in my head, pressing for attention lately. I’ve not slept much at all. Ever…

The main thing that preoccupies my brainwaves is transitioning. For a long while it was sort of back-burner and experimental, if you will. But now, now I want to get things rolling. I need to see my therapist regularly. I want to get on track for hormone replacement therapy. I want change. I want to be me.

And I think that is terribly important.

But I’ve also been getting twinges of conscience lately. My unused degree is haunting me. I am still the idealist I’ve always been. I still want to help the world in any way I can.

And these two overwhelming pieces of me seem not to fit together very well. I will be spending heaps of money on myself. For years. For the rest of my life. And I wonder if that’s over-the-line selfish. I wonder if I shouldn’t just find a good organization to donate the equal amount of money to.

Yet I realize that I cannot really help anyone unless I’ve helped myself a bit. I feel like I will be useless until I get this piece of identity back in place. That is my rationale. Is it wrong? Perhaps I shall never know.

Everything in my life seems tied to that defining identity bit. My relationships with people for example. Things with my parents aren’t quality, though nothing devastating has occurred. My friends are generally freaking fantastic about all of this. And the pronoun transition at work has gone smoothly. I will admit it’s odd to be referred to as male. Not wrong at all, just different. It makes me smile.

The remnants of my Christian faith are still with me. I’ve recently described myself as a “back-burner Christian” which I actually hate myself for saying. Honestly, I do not think I wish to identify with Christianity any longer. However, this does not mean I’ve become an atheist. I really don’t know what to believe right now. It’s been a struggle for me for years. Long before any of the queer theory entered my brain. All I can say, over and over, is that the Bible tells us God is love. So I cling to that.

I don’t want to lose sight of what’s important. I need people to help me out. I need affirmation. Because I do sink. I do lose sight. I fall into apathy. I am sucked at by complacency. I am overwhelmed by the world, life, loneliness.

I am human.

Holiday Spirit is Dead

I remember liking Christmas. As a child of course, because I received all sorts of fabulous things. I would call my best friend after lunch and we’d compare loot. I always got clothes and generally loved them. I got books regularly and toys when I was young enough for them.

After a time I began to like it less. The excitement was gone. My mother was moody on holidays, and dampened the festive spirits. The clothing wasn’t my style anymore. I asked my mom to stop getting me clothes. Mostly because I didn’t like her choices, but I told her I wanted to simplify.

I began to like it less as I became more aware of the stupidity and cost. People rushing to purchase obligatory gifts for loved ones they don’t really know. Gifts often returned the next day. People spending exorbitant amounts for frivolity. More excuses to be drunk and make poor choices.

Last Christmas was the first spent without my family. My roommates were away with their families, and I worked and spent some time with a few friends. I bought a computer after mine died a horrible death. It arrived on Christmas Eve, a great self-gift.

I was not with my family again this Christmas.

This Christmas I gave myself a broken heart.

Perhaps next year I can share Christmas with someone and really appreciate it. I don’t have to be lonely in a room of happy people and my own sundered heart.

journey

I didn’t want this to be necessarily a journal/diary blog. I wanted it to be a space where I could share some of my thoughts on events and issues and generally show some critical thinking and thoughtful writing.

Well, in the absence of any critical thinking, I shall revert to a more-or-less personal journal of sorts.

Here’s what I’ve been up to lately:

Figuring out and verbalizing my gender identity. This has been a long process. And certainly no small task. It began in my head my senior year of university and has progressed quite far. Of course, the actual beginning was in the beginning. When I was young etc.

I’ve never been the typical girl, I was always a tomboy. I never had Barbies, only GI Joes. All of my favorite stuffed animals were male. All of my imaginative alter egos were male. When I was very young, four perhaps, I was Fluffy-baby-boy-lion. And I would tell everyone that, the whole phrase, as I crawled around on the carpet and roared. When I was in first grade (perhaps younger) I was John. My friend and I would play for hours that we were a couple of lost boys roughing it in the woods. It was amazing. She grew out of it. I never did. When I began writing, all of my protagonists were male. Usually around my age. Usually journeying to far away lands (but that a different story). I always chose a male avatar when playing video games. As I said, I never really grew out of it, yet I did scale back. I tried to introduce female characters into my stories (failing usually).

I never really let any of these things truly enter into my conscious thought. I was a good Christian girl. I kept telling myself I was happy being strange. Being single. Being me. I wore what I wanted (generally guy’s clothes). I cut my hair how I wanted it (generally short). Very few people questioned me. But I do recall finding it terribly amusing and even a bit exciting when people would mistake me for a guy.

I made it almost all the way through university before making a very important realization about myself. I am not straight. It was a very rough time. I didn’t know how to rectify all of what I’d been taught throughout the years to what I was learning about myself. I joined an online queer community and basically educated myself on all things LGBTQ. This is where I learned the term ‘genderqueer.’ It was almost a year after my initial queer self-realization that I began to identify as genderqeer. I realized that it really fit my situation. I wasn’t particularly unhappy with my body (most of the time), but I knew that I did not fit the typical female model. With this new label I also began to bind my chest. This made me feel much more masculine and somehow right. I began to pass as male quite often in public. In the year since then, I’ve embraced my gender and sexual identities. I have even progressed slightly more toward transgender. I have recently asked friends and coworkers to refer to me with male pronouns. So far it has been very invigorating. It makes me smile to hear myself referred to as ‘he’. The feeling is unexplainable.

There was also the nickname I ended up with. In truth, my dad was the first to really call me Larz, but in high school several of my friends used it and when I went to university, I introduced myself to everyone as Larz. At this time, only my mom still uses my given name. I am considering legally changing my name to Larz.

Besides the random gender issues, I’ve been working full time at an animal shelter. Not exactly what I want to be doing with my life, but it’s good money and not terribly difficult work. It’s also a perfect place to transition.

I’m working on moving, and quite excited about that. I’ve got a lovely bunch of friends here in Denver. I really don’t know where I’d be without them. Actually, without the affirmation I’ve been getting, I don’t know that I’d ever have been able to make some of the huge decisions I’ve made lately. Namely switching pronouns and coming out to my parents.

So that’s me. 2009 out.