Currently it is 52 degrees, windy with clouds. My May flowers do not like this much. I had to take them in a few nights ago because we were under a frost advisory. My mother bought us the Sensational Strawberry something Bag which is a fancy name for a Topsy Turvy rip-off. I'm having serious doubts about harvesting happy, healthy strawberries. When the weather is nicer I will try and pack the soil in a little tighter. Instead of being a pessimist I at least need to be able to say I tried my best to the lady when she is crestfallen about the lack of fresh strawberries on the porch.
I went to the doctors on Monday. It's exciting that there is nothing new to say. Lupus seems to be laying low, my back isn't bothering me as much (which is great, because it's been nearly a year since the fracture), I'm transferring my neurologist to BIDMCs epilepsy clinic so all my doctors will be in one system and be able to communicate freely. My doctor is also looking into guidelines for medication I may need for the dentist due to my heart murmur. According to a rash I got when I was little when I happened to be on amoxicillan, I am "allergic" to it and will need something else. My teeth are in bad shape and it's making me nervous. I think it's also all the talk about how dental health has a huge impact on your overall health. I don't want my dental problems to play any part in my ill health. That would make me feel dumb. My major concern is a tooth that is basically missing one complete side. I'm afraid it might have to be removed. I also stopped going to the dentist before my wisdom teeth were checked out. I'm assuming they are impacted. The overall state of my mouth is not well, although I do brush twice a day. I fear, however, it is too little too late.
We had a conversation about my ADHD and if I started taking the meds again. It was thought by the neurologist that the adderell might have had a part in my seizure activity. My doctor scoffed at that but erred on the side of caution. With his blessing I started taking it again and haven't had any seizures. That's great. We also discussed how I spend my day. He asked me if I was isolated, and I explained that I didn't go out much and I enjoyed spending time alone. He agreed that if I'm okay with it then it's fine. I have no problem hanging out with others and having a good time. But with my health it's hard to tell if I'll feel up to going out, so it's almost impossible to make plans. This does sometimes make me a little awkward in groups. I hope I don't become that socially awkward guy that people gravitate away from!
My ADHD medication makes me feel motivated. It's hard to explain, but it's a driving force deep inside of me. I can feel it mostly in my throat because it's very much like the pang a smoker gets when they are craving a cigarette. Which explains why I smoked so much in college. Now that I don't smoke I have to be careful because if I allow it I am driven to do everything I can for hours on end. One day I cleaned the entire house. But then I am exhausted and am useless for the next day or so. I'm making a commitment to myself to find a healthy way of stabilizing a schedule so I feel accomplished but aren't completely diminished.
I have no idea if any of this makes sense. Be well, all!
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Thursday, April 8, 2010
The winds of change
When I woke up this morning I assumed the weather person led me astray on last night's newscast. I was freezing. After (begrudgingly) getting out of bed and opening all the windows it began to warm up. The cats were more confused by the hot weather than I, one who saw the news, of course. They laid against the walls like sloths. There was even food left in their bowls after dinnertime.
We assumed once we moved into a (much) bigger place the cats would go off exploring, sleeping, attacking, and whatever else cats do on their own. We talked about not being able to find them and "adjusting" to not seeing them so often anymore.
Yeah. About that.
Right now Porkchop is sitting on a piece of furniture next to me stretched out and sleepy. I'm guessing Io is sleeping on the bed with her Mommy. Oh, we also said there would be a strict No Cats in the Bedroom rule. You try listening to cats crying as if they were stuck in the vet's office for hours while sticking the pillow as far into your ears as possible and praying that they don't scratch up the rug completely. A wise woman (my girlfriend's sister) once said they are this way because we coddle them. Okay, it's true. But I think we coddle Io in fear. She's mean to everyone else but us and tends to do bad things on the floor when she doesn't get her way. But (for the most part) as long as they are fed and have clean litter (and clean water, but that's another story for another day) they are very nice cats. Oh, and Porkchop is afraid of everything. If you came and visited us you wouldn't see him and at the vet he pretends he doesn't have any bones. Comical.
I didn't intend on writing about my cats when I logged in. It's the lack of knowing what to write about that led me here. Is that how people become crazy cat ladies? I mean the really crazy ones with 30 cats that leave all their possessions and money to them in their Will. Does something finally snap inside them from years of not knowing what to do? In what, you might ask? I don't know, anything. In life, in the supermarket, hopefully not in the bathroom.
I wonder if people think too much about what they should be doing and get buried under their own expectations. It's hard to give yourself permission to be happy. It's always about pleasing others and never about pleasing yourself. Let me try and take this one step further. You've gotten into a routine for years, and years, and years and something finally changes that routine. Like for instance, you lose your job, you lose your spouse, or even a kid goes to college. What do you do when you finally can mold your life into what you want? Panic.
Why is it so hard for us to move on? My mother is a perfect example. She insists on keeping everything that belonged to my grandmother and great-grandmother and using them for what they were meant to be used. The woman has THREE dressers and both of their licenses. She does things in their memory, but not in the normal way. I'm not insinuating that if you do something in memory of a loved one it's weird. I just think there comes a point in our lives that we have to live for us, do things for us, and let ourselves be happy.
My intense love for music bubbled to the surface recently. I've done a good job at keeping it down for years. I even toyed with selling my trumpet. But one day I came up to the office, took out my old guitar, and laid on the floor with it. The calluses are gone on my fingers but I played anyway. A few days later I checked around the internet for a new guitar. Eventually I will buy a new one. Yesterday I took out my massive book of CDs and put Greatest Hits - Trumpent and Classic Wynton Marsalis on my laptop. Before listening to anything else I skipped to the three movements of the Hummel Trumpet Concerto. I was a senior in high school and determined to play all three movements at my recital. I'd been playing the Hummel for some time, probably even performing the first or the second movement. But never all three at once. I was going I do it. I was ready.
And on the day we auditioned for my music teacher, the third movement, Rondo, fell apart. I couldn't play it anymore. The consensus was I tried too hard and practiced too long and my body just couldn't keep up. I was devastated. I don't think I ever told anyone and just went on with it. It's been at least 8 years since I played and listening to it again brought back happiness. Not memories, just happiness. I was the kid listening to classical music sans words and singing along. Something my right hand phantom plays the fingerings.
It's along the lines of the Catholic Church when they mentor sinners: Let God into your heart. Maybe I need to let the music pour into my heart. Perhaps that's what I've needed all along.
We assumed once we moved into a (much) bigger place the cats would go off exploring, sleeping, attacking, and whatever else cats do on their own. We talked about not being able to find them and "adjusting" to not seeing them so often anymore.
Yeah. About that.
Right now Porkchop is sitting on a piece of furniture next to me stretched out and sleepy. I'm guessing Io is sleeping on the bed with her Mommy. Oh, we also said there would be a strict No Cats in the Bedroom rule. You try listening to cats crying as if they were stuck in the vet's office for hours while sticking the pillow as far into your ears as possible and praying that they don't scratch up the rug completely. A wise woman (my girlfriend's sister) once said they are this way because we coddle them. Okay, it's true. But I think we coddle Io in fear. She's mean to everyone else but us and tends to do bad things on the floor when she doesn't get her way. But (for the most part) as long as they are fed and have clean litter (and clean water, but that's another story for another day) they are very nice cats. Oh, and Porkchop is afraid of everything. If you came and visited us you wouldn't see him and at the vet he pretends he doesn't have any bones. Comical.
I didn't intend on writing about my cats when I logged in. It's the lack of knowing what to write about that led me here. Is that how people become crazy cat ladies? I mean the really crazy ones with 30 cats that leave all their possessions and money to them in their Will. Does something finally snap inside them from years of not knowing what to do? In what, you might ask? I don't know, anything. In life, in the supermarket, hopefully not in the bathroom.
I wonder if people think too much about what they should be doing and get buried under their own expectations. It's hard to give yourself permission to be happy. It's always about pleasing others and never about pleasing yourself. Let me try and take this one step further. You've gotten into a routine for years, and years, and years and something finally changes that routine. Like for instance, you lose your job, you lose your spouse, or even a kid goes to college. What do you do when you finally can mold your life into what you want? Panic.
Why is it so hard for us to move on? My mother is a perfect example. She insists on keeping everything that belonged to my grandmother and great-grandmother and using them for what they were meant to be used. The woman has THREE dressers and both of their licenses. She does things in their memory, but not in the normal way. I'm not insinuating that if you do something in memory of a loved one it's weird. I just think there comes a point in our lives that we have to live for us, do things for us, and let ourselves be happy.
My intense love for music bubbled to the surface recently. I've done a good job at keeping it down for years. I even toyed with selling my trumpet. But one day I came up to the office, took out my old guitar, and laid on the floor with it. The calluses are gone on my fingers but I played anyway. A few days later I checked around the internet for a new guitar. Eventually I will buy a new one. Yesterday I took out my massive book of CDs and put Greatest Hits - Trumpent and Classic Wynton Marsalis on my laptop. Before listening to anything else I skipped to the three movements of the Hummel Trumpet Concerto. I was a senior in high school and determined to play all three movements at my recital. I'd been playing the Hummel for some time, probably even performing the first or the second movement. But never all three at once. I was going I do it. I was ready.
And on the day we auditioned for my music teacher, the third movement, Rondo, fell apart. I couldn't play it anymore. The consensus was I tried too hard and practiced too long and my body just couldn't keep up. I was devastated. I don't think I ever told anyone and just went on with it. It's been at least 8 years since I played and listening to it again brought back happiness. Not memories, just happiness. I was the kid listening to classical music sans words and singing along. Something my right hand phantom plays the fingerings.
It's along the lines of the Catholic Church when they mentor sinners: Let God into your heart. Maybe I need to let the music pour into my heart. Perhaps that's what I've needed all along.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
LIVE via satellite!
That's right, folks, I'm at the Pollard Memorial Library in good ole Lowell, Massachusetts. I didn't feel like lugging around my laptop so I'm using a library computer. They got new flat screen monitors so there is a stack of old tube monitors behind me. Hopefully they'll be recycled.
I was waiting for the bathroom key and overheard two librarians talking about "a couple crammed in an alcove by the staircase." They were discussing how people nowadays don't have any respect for those around them and don't care who sees. This got me thinking about when I was in high school. The music wing was technically part of the middle school but really existed on it's own peninsula. There were 4 bathrooms: men's, women's, men teachers, and women teachers. The teachers bathroom's were one-stallers that locked. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand what I'm getting at. At least we had the decency to lock the door behind us. And the music practice rooms locked as well. However the main music room didn't, resulting in a near miss. Anyway.
I've been on a J.D. Salinger kick. I re-read Catcher in the Rye and read Franny and Zooey. I'm currently waiting for 2 or 3 more titles I didn't know existed to be available from the library. I'm sure there is more and if I get really crazy I'll find them. I enjoy his work immensely. It gets me thinking about how I was almost a writer. I guess almost is a sad word to use. I guess if I put my mind to it (and maybe took some amphetamines to keep my rabid ADHD in check)I could get back to being a writer. For now I'm content to think. I think a lot. By the time I get to a notebook the thought is gone. So for now I kinda have to be content with thinking because thinking is all I've got.
Way to get all deep there, kiddo.
I've also been really into jelly beans. When we were shopping for our new living room furniture at Bob's I'd wear cargo pants that were too big just so I could stuff the pockets with free packages of jelly beans. They are known as the Jelly Bean Pants. Now that we've bought furniture and are waiting for it to be delivered I am donating my pants. Today I bought a bag on sale at CVS for 88 cents. As a kid I wasn't too fond of regular jelly beans. I was a jelly bean elitist, only eating jelly belly or jolly rancher beans. Last year I started actually enjoying the cheap store brand variety. What's not to like about chewy sugar coated in sugar? Try them with cheese nips. It's a new kind of trail mix. More like a sit-in-front-of-the-television mix.
My computer just told me to save my work because my time is almost up. I am going to do just that. Be well.
I was waiting for the bathroom key and overheard two librarians talking about "a couple crammed in an alcove by the staircase." They were discussing how people nowadays don't have any respect for those around them and don't care who sees. This got me thinking about when I was in high school. The music wing was technically part of the middle school but really existed on it's own peninsula. There were 4 bathrooms: men's, women's, men teachers, and women teachers. The teachers bathroom's were one-stallers that locked. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand what I'm getting at. At least we had the decency to lock the door behind us. And the music practice rooms locked as well. However the main music room didn't, resulting in a near miss. Anyway.
I've been on a J.D. Salinger kick. I re-read Catcher in the Rye and read Franny and Zooey. I'm currently waiting for 2 or 3 more titles I didn't know existed to be available from the library. I'm sure there is more and if I get really crazy I'll find them. I enjoy his work immensely. It gets me thinking about how I was almost a writer. I guess almost is a sad word to use. I guess if I put my mind to it (and maybe took some amphetamines to keep my rabid ADHD in check)I could get back to being a writer. For now I'm content to think. I think a lot. By the time I get to a notebook the thought is gone. So for now I kinda have to be content with thinking because thinking is all I've got.
Way to get all deep there, kiddo.
I've also been really into jelly beans. When we were shopping for our new living room furniture at Bob's I'd wear cargo pants that were too big just so I could stuff the pockets with free packages of jelly beans. They are known as the Jelly Bean Pants. Now that we've bought furniture and are waiting for it to be delivered I am donating my pants. Today I bought a bag on sale at CVS for 88 cents. As a kid I wasn't too fond of regular jelly beans. I was a jelly bean elitist, only eating jelly belly or jolly rancher beans. Last year I started actually enjoying the cheap store brand variety. What's not to like about chewy sugar coated in sugar? Try them with cheese nips. It's a new kind of trail mix. More like a sit-in-front-of-the-television mix.
My computer just told me to save my work because my time is almost up. I am going to do just that. Be well.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Holy moly, I'm following through!
As promised, a new post. Hello new and old followers of my blog! I think the first entry of this blog is from June 2007 when I first began taking testosterone for my transition from female to male. If that bothers you, I suggest you stop reading now. I have many medical issues, the most destructive to my writing being severe ADHD. I have the attention span of a fruit fly. So bear with me if I'm talking about a television show and suddenly you're reading about a tasty burger I consumed. I'll try my best but I won't promise anything. I like to think that if I go back and edit I'll lose the essence of what I was trying to convey in the first place. Yes, I have my BA in English. No, I don't often use it. But I do use proper grammar, unless I'm feeling particularly modern.
This weekend I met my girlfriend in New York to visit her family and see The Phantom of the Opera. When let loose, I'm a musical freak so this was quite an exciting venture. Thursday night I was completely packed and had everything set for the next morning in which I would call a taxi at 4:30am, take the 5:35am train into Boston, take the T from North Station to South Station, board the 8am Fung Wah bus, arrive in Chinatown and take the subway and hopefully board a 1pm ferry. Woah.
For that reason I laid down in bed at 8pm. At 9:30pm, still awake, my mother texted me because she works third shift and, really, what 26 year old do you know who is in bed at that time? I think I fell asleep around 10pm only to wake up at 12am to use the bathroom. And again at 2am. After that I couldn't get back to sleep. I stayed in bed until 3:45am and finally succumbed to my fate. I was thankful to myself for deciding to set the coffee timer the night before. I had a breakfast of Tasteos (Market Basket Honey Nut Cherrios), coffee, and made sure the cats had enough food and water. I wouldn't let myself call the taxi until 4:30am because I didn't want to get to the train station way early. I even showed my cat the time on the phone to prove i wasn't cheating. The cab driver said he'd be there in 5 minutes. I hurried up and grabbed my stuff, ran down the stairs, and locked both doors. And then I waited. And waited. At one point I was staring off into space - but it turned out I was staring into a woman's house. I figured that out when we made eye contact. Oops. Finally I was getting nervous so I checked my phone. 1 missed call. Awesome. I called the cab driver back:
Driver: "A1 taxi services"
Me: "Hi, I got a missed call from you, I called about 20 minutes ago?"
Driver: "Oh yeah, I couldn't get to you. There is a police barricade around the street. I tried another way but it's all blocked off."
Me: "Uh... okay. Do you know where I can walk to in order to get to you?"
Driver: "I don't know. I'm already gone, I got other things to do."
Me: "Okay, thank you."
It's 4:48am and I'm walking down a dark, tree-lined road that is barricaded by police cars saying outloud, "Of course! Of course!" I thought that if I had a phone that could access the internet my facebook status would have said "FML." My best idea was to walk as far as I had to in order to get away from the barricade. I started running for a split second and decided that was a terrible idea. I have bad joints and a bad back. While I was walking I had my cellphone clutched in my hand and I thought, "Yeah that's smart, if someone jumps out at you what are you going to do, bash them with your phone?" I also wasn't sure why there were police around and why the street was blocked off. So then I convinced myself there was a serial killer on the loose. I finally find the end of the barricade about .4 miles away. I call another cab company that I just happened to have saved in my phone. The dispatcher seemed concerned that I was outside in the cold on a random street near a police barricade. He said someone would be there soon. While I waited I paced back and forth to keep warm and because my balance is bad I kept tripping over my feet. I also was talking to myself. I think because it was dark and cold and no one was around. It was a little frightening. Finally the cab driver picked me up told me crazy stories of being a cab driver. I made my 5:35am train. It was quite an experience, especially since I ended up being up for 21 hours that day.
We saw Phantom on Saturday night. I love the bright colors of NYC. I could do without the tourists, however. They are loud and annoying and never know where they are going. No, I'm not a native New Yorker, but I like to think I have a little sense. The show was fantastic. Our seats were 4 rows from the stage. It was amazing! Although at the end when there were a little pyrotechnics and pop guns I did freak out a little. The noises made me jump and I got paranoid that the flashes would give me a seizure. I've had three seizures since June and no one is really sure why, so I get a little nervous. After the show we went to Juniors for cheesecake. While we were waiting, Tracy Morgan walked in. It was funny, because I was sitting there and then I was like, "UMMMMM..." It was the type of um that made my girlfriend instantly look up. She's a repeater, so she kept on saying, "Tracy Morgan! Tracy Morgan!" Luckily it was a whisper so no one heard us. We saw him a bunch of times because the place wasn't very big. Now I don't even like Tracy Morgan, but it was just the thrill of seeing a celebrity in public. And it makes a good story. Well, off to take another bus! The joys of public transportation for life. I <3 my health ;P Be well, all :) More to come soon!
This weekend I met my girlfriend in New York to visit her family and see The Phantom of the Opera. When let loose, I'm a musical freak so this was quite an exciting venture. Thursday night I was completely packed and had everything set for the next morning in which I would call a taxi at 4:30am, take the 5:35am train into Boston, take the T from North Station to South Station, board the 8am Fung Wah bus, arrive in Chinatown and take the subway and hopefully board a 1pm ferry. Woah.
For that reason I laid down in bed at 8pm. At 9:30pm, still awake, my mother texted me because she works third shift and, really, what 26 year old do you know who is in bed at that time? I think I fell asleep around 10pm only to wake up at 12am to use the bathroom. And again at 2am. After that I couldn't get back to sleep. I stayed in bed until 3:45am and finally succumbed to my fate. I was thankful to myself for deciding to set the coffee timer the night before. I had a breakfast of Tasteos (Market Basket Honey Nut Cherrios), coffee, and made sure the cats had enough food and water. I wouldn't let myself call the taxi until 4:30am because I didn't want to get to the train station way early. I even showed my cat the time on the phone to prove i wasn't cheating. The cab driver said he'd be there in 5 minutes. I hurried up and grabbed my stuff, ran down the stairs, and locked both doors. And then I waited. And waited. At one point I was staring off into space - but it turned out I was staring into a woman's house. I figured that out when we made eye contact. Oops. Finally I was getting nervous so I checked my phone. 1 missed call. Awesome. I called the cab driver back:
Driver: "A1 taxi services"
Me: "Hi, I got a missed call from you, I called about 20 minutes ago?"
Driver: "Oh yeah, I couldn't get to you. There is a police barricade around the street. I tried another way but it's all blocked off."
Me: "Uh... okay. Do you know where I can walk to in order to get to you?"
Driver: "I don't know. I'm already gone, I got other things to do."
Me: "Okay, thank you."
It's 4:48am and I'm walking down a dark, tree-lined road that is barricaded by police cars saying outloud, "Of course! Of course!" I thought that if I had a phone that could access the internet my facebook status would have said "FML." My best idea was to walk as far as I had to in order to get away from the barricade. I started running for a split second and decided that was a terrible idea. I have bad joints and a bad back. While I was walking I had my cellphone clutched in my hand and I thought, "Yeah that's smart, if someone jumps out at you what are you going to do, bash them with your phone?" I also wasn't sure why there were police around and why the street was blocked off. So then I convinced myself there was a serial killer on the loose. I finally find the end of the barricade about .4 miles away. I call another cab company that I just happened to have saved in my phone. The dispatcher seemed concerned that I was outside in the cold on a random street near a police barricade. He said someone would be there soon. While I waited I paced back and forth to keep warm and because my balance is bad I kept tripping over my feet. I also was talking to myself. I think because it was dark and cold and no one was around. It was a little frightening. Finally the cab driver picked me up told me crazy stories of being a cab driver. I made my 5:35am train. It was quite an experience, especially since I ended up being up for 21 hours that day.
We saw Phantom on Saturday night. I love the bright colors of NYC. I could do without the tourists, however. They are loud and annoying and never know where they are going. No, I'm not a native New Yorker, but I like to think I have a little sense. The show was fantastic. Our seats were 4 rows from the stage. It was amazing! Although at the end when there were a little pyrotechnics and pop guns I did freak out a little. The noises made me jump and I got paranoid that the flashes would give me a seizure. I've had three seizures since June and no one is really sure why, so I get a little nervous. After the show we went to Juniors for cheesecake. While we were waiting, Tracy Morgan walked in. It was funny, because I was sitting there and then I was like, "UMMMMM..." It was the type of um that made my girlfriend instantly look up. She's a repeater, so she kept on saying, "Tracy Morgan! Tracy Morgan!" Luckily it was a whisper so no one heard us. We saw him a bunch of times because the place wasn't very big. Now I don't even like Tracy Morgan, but it was just the thrill of seeing a celebrity in public. And it makes a good story. Well, off to take another bus! The joys of public transportation for life. I <3 my health ;P Be well, all :) More to come soon!
Monday, March 8, 2010
(Another) New Beginning
This weekend I realized I missed blogging. It's always been a place to get my feelings out or get up on my soap box. I almost typed soup box. Oh dear.
Anyway, starting tomorrow I'll update with a (hopefully) meaningful post and try to update in a timely manner from here on out.
Yay!
Anyway, starting tomorrow I'll update with a (hopefully) meaningful post and try to update in a timely manner from here on out.
Yay!
Monday, November 9, 2009
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.
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.
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