Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Late night ramblings

There I was - All snug in bed, air conditioner blasting out a cool 70 degrees (considering it was at 86 earlier...) but I couldn't sleep. Not the normal insomnia, but rather the infamous I-need-to-write prodding me out of bed. I say infamous because this is what usually happens.

I get out of bed, boot up the computer (god how old am I?) and then... nothing. NOTHING!!!! I'm shouting because it is VERY annoying.

This particular time:

My mind is full of things to write, ideas, stories, things that happened today, yesterday, last week, five years ago, you get the idea. So I roll to my side table, pull out a notebook, and slip unnoticed out of bed. Silently padding to the door, I slowly pull it open in hopes that the creaking hinges don't give me away. If that doesn't the squeaky floorboards in the living room will. It's hotter in the living room but not as hot as before when we decided to cook with the oven and George Foreman (the grill, not the man). There is a slight breeze coming through the two windows. I sit down and open the notebook...to find that it's the one whose shell came away from the pages. Yes, that's right. I have a cover and some pages that I stapled together. No, I did not make my own notebook, although that's a good idea so another bored night. This notebook I got free from CVS. No wonder it fell apart. At this moment it is sitting on my kitchen table receiving a dose of ghetto Elmer's glue held down my a 20 pk of fiber one bars (oats and chocolate, of course.)

With the notebook otherwise occupied I then decided I needed the computer after all. Slipping back into the bedroom, the sound of a laptop coming up off my wooden dresser awakens the other occupant. I am asked nicely to turn off "cold town." After turning of the air conditioner and announcing that I'm awake, I exit stage left. 9 times out of 10 I'll be the only one that remembers that exchange.

So now I'm here. What did I originally want to write? Let me think...

Earlier I was thinking about college. In the five years that I was there I had some good times, some bad times, some really great times, some I wish I could forget times, and I took some classes as well. I know a lot of people think back and say, oh I wish I did that differently, or I totally would go to that class more if I could do it over again (right - tell me another one) but I secretly wish I could do it all over again. This isn't another If I Knew What I Did Now Back Then moment. It's far deeper than that. I wish I could go back to do college as Me. Sean is a much nicer person. He's kind, independent, and thinks he's funny. My other persona was needy, vulnerable, shy, and while funny, a little bit of a loser. Not to say that I was a bad person, but I wasn't Me. Maybe I'm doing a bad job at explaining this...

I spent so much of my college life wrapped up in being someone I wasn't. My freshman year I had a pair of girl jeans from the Gap. (Later that year I gave them to my girlfriend of that era.) I lived with females, in all female halls, used female bathrooms (I never did get used to that.) I didn't fit in anywhere. Sure, I fit myself in places, but it was more like shoving the square peg through the circular hole. My academics always were backstage while my social life took front and center. I always needed to fit in someone, be someone to anybody, and that didn't do anyone any good.

I graduated a nervous wreck.

A few months after graduation I called a therapist. A year later I started testosterone. It's hard to believe I've only been on hormones for a little over two years. It feels like so much longer.

I walk down the street with my head held high... well, usually bobbing to my ipod and, as of late, plodding more than walking. I smile more. I'm less paranoid. I don't assume people are talking about me. When I speak, My voice comes out, not a voice I don't recognize. My name is called where ever I go, not one I barely register.

I was asked yesterday if it was strange to me that for 23 years of my life I had, went by, and was known by another name. Strange doesn't quite encapsulate enough emotion. Today I opened my suitcase to pack for my upcoming vacation and I found a sticker from a prescription I got in Canada when I was 16 and got sick. It had my old name on it. I ripped it off.

I don't like seeing my old name because it brings back the emotion it held.

The problem with these if I could do it all again scenarios is we tend to take for granted how much we know now. When I was eight teen had a known the truth about myself, would I have been ready for the next step? If I had the information, could I have sought out the help I needed? I'm not sure I was in the right place to do that for myself. I do know that having the information would have been helpful. It also would have scared the shit out of me. But at the very least I would have had a name for what I was feeling - what I deep down knew the problem was.

I often think back to moments in my childhood that seemed innocuous at the time - By the time I was 6 my mother could no longer stand to take me back to school shopping for clothes. She made my father do it because he had a better shot at picking out something I liked. 10 years old, bedroom painted dark blue with a soccer border, bed blue metal bunk beds. 12 years old, stole my father's socks and wore his pants to school. The time I bought a skateboard for $15 at Caldors and fell asleep in the tent I pitched in my room clutching the skateboard like a teddy bear. The fact I had a TENT pitched in my bedroom! Everyone assumed I was a tomboy and would grow out of it. Well, everyone but me. My senior year of high school I tried to grow out of it because I thought that's what I should do. My mom was so happy when I bought the aforementioned girlie jeans and tops to match. Seriously, I think it lasted a month. All my friends at the time can thank me for the hardly used clothing I gave them.

By the time I got to college I was a gender bending mess. A masochistic mess who was too frightened to even call to order a pizza. (I got over that fast.) I look back now and I wonder what would have happened if I knew and I acted. Who would have supported me? Would my friends change? Would my experience change who I am, where I am now? I know I will never know these answers, and this is completely disregarding my health. If I knew more about my health I would have ordered less pizza.

One thing I do know is I'm much happier being myself than any me I pretended to be.