I am not you, nor myself.

One day I identify as Transgender, the next I’m fluid. I’ve come to the realization that I may not always identify as one gender, both genders or even a gender and that it’s not anyone else’s business as to why I go by different pronouns so very often.

I used to believe that I had to experience dysphoria just to be considered transgender or even believe I was born in the wrong body. Everyone has their own struggles, everyone is different and not everyone may feel the same way as another transgender person does. I don’t believe that I was born in the wrong body. However, I just believe that I need to alter the body my soul has been entrapped into.

If I tell someone that today I’m male and tomorrow, I go by neutral pronouns or even female pronouns, that doesn’t mean I’m being fake or that I’m doing it for attention. Labels are what make me confused and without them maybe I’d feel a lot more comfortable with who I am.

I myself, am too fluid in every sense of the word to label myself all the time as a certain gender. Sometimes I’m comfortable with it, sometimes I’m not. That doesn’t mean that I deserve less respect just because someone doesn’t accept me or are confused.

I am just simply trying to live in this world and it’s already hard enough.

I am me, myself and I. I am everything and nothing. I am the grey before, the disaster during and the aftermath of every storm.

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Therapeutic Balances

On Friday October 17th, I had a consultation with a new therapist because recently I’ve decided that I need help with my mental health in general because I’ve put it off for many years and I just keep thinking that quick fixes get me places.

Quick fixes in my experience, really are just quick. They aren’t fixes, but that term just seems to follow the work “quick” sometimes.

Whether it be alcohol, antidepressants or even both of those mixed together. Longboarding, writing, singing, taking walks only soothes the soul so much when you’re burying the things that need to be worked on, pushed through.

For me, I’ve been struggling with dysphoria, with staying at jobs even through the hard times and just other things that have seem to have grown.

At first, I wasn’t sure how my appointment was going to go, because I get really nervous with Psychiatrists and Therapists, professionals in a whole. I got there early, which I wasn’t sure was going to happen seeing as I had to take two transit busses and then a subway to get there and so I waited for a bit.

While I was in the appointment, I felt so free… I’m used to telling complete strangers almost my entire life in stories and poems and whatever, but with therapists, it’s a hit and miss type situation for me. I either hide many details of my life, or I spill almost way too much. This time, I spilt enough information to help me feel great about it.

One minute I want therapy, the next I don’t, but this time I have a great feeling that I’m going to finally allow myself to get the help that I need. I realize that I may never end up being okay without therapy, but I’ll never know unless I try.

Awakened Stamps

When I was a little boy, I was a girl                                                                                                                                                 who enjoyed the presence of dinky cars and                                                                                                                                   ninja turtles pizza shooting toys

Hanging around girls is where you could usually find me                                                                                                           getting excited                                                                                                                                                                               liberated by the thought of people seeing me                                                                                                                               how I felt inside and wondering how I got mixed among the company of the opposite sex

It wasn’t until my hips widened and my given labels made me feel dysphoric                                                                             before I realized what Dysphoric meant                                                                                                                                           that I came to the realization that I was not the stamp that was implanted                                                                                     upon my very being nor did I really fit under one category of personality                                                                                     but too fluid to even have one word to be the definition of

Writings of a not-so-called writer.

Can you call yourself a writer if you aren’t published and don’t write various different types and forms of writing?

Can you call yourself a writer if you don’t even write things often?

I just say I write instead of calling myself a writer, unless I’m using hashtags as writers because it helps my poetry navigate the internet better.

It’s amazing how you can be so into writing for a while, almost anything and everything inspires you to write. It could be something as simple as a little speck of dust.

The dust, who knows what exactly that dot is speckled with, how long ago it drifted from out of nowhere.

Or something that can be written about a million times in a million different ways such as a person.

They sat there, all they did was sit there and I was taken aback. only my mind knew what to say while my mouth couldn’t vocalize those thoughts.

Sometimes, it doesn’t really take something I’ve seen before or something I’ve heard or said before to spark the desire, the yearning to jot down words in the form of poetry, rhyming or not.

I just turn on music, usually the old same songs I listen to on repeat or I dip into the waters of unfamiliar sounds to my ears and I just start writing.

I used to write about what I felt falling in love would feel like. Then I started writing about heart break, insanity and I even wrote some pieces while drinking alcohol. I’d often find myself re-reading what I’ve written the previous night in the wee hours of the night/morning and I found that my mind was all over the place, as it always seems to be, but it was more obvious in what was on the programs I type in on my laptop, and spilled onto paper.

I go through periods of time where I don’t even pick up a pencil or a pen and then I meet someone who inspires me, who is there and who I’m intrigued by. Whether it be someone I’m into or a person I met waiting at the bus stop on a rainy or snowy day.

Then I start getting back into the scene. Barely eating, staying up later, talking with that one person and not doing much other than writing about them or something they’ve said or I’ve just simply thought about them.

Writing, I’d have to say can be hard, but is one of my biggest releases. Escapes.

 

 

 

 

Day 17 – 30 Day Transgender Challenge

Song that I am listening to while writing this post:

Latch by Disclosure Featuring Sam Smith

What’s your binding choice and why?

I haven’t been binding for a while, but my main choice for chest binding is wearing a chest binder, but I haven’t worn one for a few months. I just stick to wearing extra layers of clothing.

Before I had discovered the wonderful world of chest binders, I had done the whole Ace bandaging technique. I didn’t like it.

 

 

Day 14 – 30 Day Transgender Challenge

Song that I am listening to while writing this post:

Fix You By Coldplay

What are some of your passing tips or things you do to pass?

Before I had ever worn a chest binder, and even currently as I no longer posses a chest binder at the moment, I would layer my shirts, mostly in twos and threes.

I’d make sure that my t-shirts didn’t cling to my chest and if they did, I’d wear a sweater to cover up my chest.

As for having female hips and behind, I would and still wear my jeans low. But I’ve been doing that for years. I also wear a hat or a hoodie to cover the majority of my head or enough to pull over my face as I walk into the men’s washroom.

When it comes to speaking with people, mostly strangers, I’ll either lower my voice or limit what I’m saying. I try not to make it sound forced and or obvious that it’s being forced. 

 

Day 13 – 30 Day Transgender Challenge

The song that I am listening to while writing this post:

Mammoth by The Devil Wears Prada

Bathrooms

If I was doing this challenge last year, I would most likely be writing about how confused I was about using washrooms ( I prefer to use washroom, I like the sound better ).

Fast tracking from last year to the present, I still find myself using the women’s washroom mostly when I have a job and or when I’m around people who don’t know that I’m transgender or I just feel awkward around certain people. 

But, saying that, I mostly use the men’s washroom in public. Sometimes it’s still nerve racking, even after a year of mostly using it. I’ve learned to just avoid eye contact with other men as much as possible. 

I’m not sure about in other cities, provinces or other countries besides Canada, but where I live, there’s security guards either in or outside of some of the washrooms, mostly in some malls and I get nervous around them because sometimes they look at me as though they can tell I wasn’t born male.

I just put my head down and continue walking, with as much confidence as I can muster up in the moment that is.