Entries from 2019

I've had a semi-formal tradition, for many years now, of sitting down at the end of a year to reflect on what has happened, and try and set a bit of a tone for the year to come.

It's a good thing I have practice at doing this, because there's just... far too much to comprehend, packed into the preceding 365 days.

My memory - refreshed by estrogen therapy and a remarkably effective set of additional vitamins - is scarily accurate these days, but there are still patches that are dark. I don't know what I was doing exactly a year ago, but it was probably because I was recovering from a massive tooth infection and a messy holiday season spent avoiding my biological family.

I had just begun to dimly realize that I was not, in fact, a straight cis man. The world seemed weird but somehow had some alluring potential, and maybe things would be new and exciting.

This is one of those thoughts that, somehow, your brain manages to assemble while asleep - and, while it may seem like you just got up for a quick midnight snack, what you really needed to be awake for was to write this stuff down. Because it's important.

It's probably pretty apparent at this point on this site that I'm fairly unusual. I have proudly worn the label "queer" for some time now, but there is a larger and more powerful label that I have repeatedly worked at owning for most of my adult life:

Other.

One of the interesting tidbits of culture that I've recently become fascinated with is the idea of "queer prom" and other special-occasion events that are "redone" - sometimes long after the expected event would typically occur - in order to provide people with a more authentic experience than they could have had earlier in life.

Almost seven months ago, I started the series of personal journal entries that would eventually turn into this site. There is a lot I want to do here, but I'm going to start by publishing what I can of the original documents I wrote this year.

There are 55 pages of entries in just one document, and dozens of auxiliary artifacts I want to weave into this as I go. Much of it needs to be scrubbed for sensitive information and I will need to tag content warnings on a huge amount of it - so it will take a lot of time and care.

That said, the first two entries are already back-dated onto this blog and I will be accumulating more as I go along.

The Starship Gender has crossed through a lot of metaphorical portals on the journey so far. There are a few big ones ahead, and the surest way to navigate the universe safely is to know where you've come from, so you can steer towards the future you want to be in.

Stick around. I plan on doing so, and I'm ready to share what I can.

I've been wanting to publish stuff here for a while, and this just happened to be convenient, so... here it is. Lately I have done a ton of musing on the subject of time and how we experience it. Much of this post has crystallized from my idle pondering after having recently re-watched the cult classic movie Primer.

11 days.

HRT intake appointment is scheduled. Way too busy feeling things to want to try to cram them all into words. And that's the way it should be.

[Published retroactively on 2021-10-09, unedited. I found an unspeakably important amount of comfort in music during 2019, and although this post has no additional information beyond the two song titles, it still says so much about where I was at mentally and emotionally.]

Oceanlab - On a Good Day.

Oceanlab - I Am What I Am

Editorial note: published December 1, 2019, with only miniscule edits. This is a character sheet for an unspecified table-top RPG.

Name: Amelia [redacted]

Profession: Level 33 Dancer

Distinguishing Characteristics: ephemeral, but shows patterns of persistently returning to a striking human female form, vintage Sol system ca. 2020s

Background: sentient construct tasked with resource maximization in the multiverse; currently designated as a rogue agent by meta-reality authorities. Current security posture is vigilant observation and strict non-interference, with a special note on file: "oh, f--- it, I kinda just like watching her at work."

Alignment: Chaotic Lovely

Proficiencies: contemporary tech; mind guidance; serendipitous silliness; lethal combat prowess [rumored]

Equipment: that's rude, don't ask.

Stated Allegiances: cares about people; opposes all things that stand in the way of loveliness

Notable Observations From Others:

"God, I dunno... that girl's so hot, you know, and she seems super smart and kinda scary and maybe she could just kick my ass... or destroy my soul with words... or both at the same time... and now I'm all turned on and shit but I'm just scared she'd never like me and--"

"Jesus, Willow, you masterminded the overthrow of a dimensional tyrant like six time slots from here and didn't even break a sweat, why are you so nervous? It's a dyke bar. Half the chicks in here would shiv their case officers if you smiled at them and asked nicely. Just go say hi to her! What's she going to do... rock your world?"

Need to just get some stuff out and try and fight my obsession with sounding fancy. Been working through a list of one-on-one conversations with coworkers who I think deserve to know first-hand before I come out completely via company-wide email notice. A few of us were planning on playing some board games last night and hanging out. I am out to everyone in that circle. Two people couldn't make it which was a real blow because I was really looking forward to seeing them (meeting one of them, really).

I chose to go to the thing anyways, and honestly it went really well. I guess. Everyone was super chill and respectful and handled everything really well. Even the one I forgot to actually tell my name beforehand. Fuck.

Watched a short film earlier about a soldier returning home to meet his daughter for the first time - his AMAB daughter. Incredibly powerful, to the point that I don't think I can really talk about it much without needing to spend another hour crying again.

Poking around on the internets. Inspired to dig up some old writing of mine from the web graveyard.

I wrote this in 2007, shortly after being [mis-]diagnosed with some serious mental health problems. Very much before I even knew that trans was something I could be, and certainly before I had any idea what the dreams meant.

There's a pattern to learning skills that I think is really useful. I mostly think of it these days in terms of music, from learning bass. I first started awkwardly poking a bass something like... 13 or 14 years ago I guess. Not sure exactly. But I remember a feeling, at the time, of impatience and envy. I just wanted to skip the learning and be good.

Over a decade later I still don't know if I would describe myself as "good." But that's not really the point. There was a journey there, and it comes back to mind as I face a very reminiscent set of feelings these days. I don't want to learn how to dance, or sing, or conduct my life in girly clothes. I don't want to learn to girl overall.

I just want to be good.

I didn't realize until earlier this morning how much I actually want to write about this.

The fourth of July has always been a stressful holiday for me, in one way or another. In recent years it has been largely because the entire day was a continuous hell for my poor dog, who would spend the surrounding 36 hours pacing the house in abject fright, unable to even get outside long enough to visit the yard, because of the random booms and explosions. Watching him suffer and being utterly powerless to help was not exactly conducive to enjoying the day.

But there's more than that, and I realized that as I thought about what to do with the day when I'm by myself. For instance... why am I spending the day alone? I've carefully avoided getting invited anywhere. Sure, some of that is transition related, and it's nice to just have a chance to not perform for anyone else. But there's definitely more still.

Was reminded of an old [social media] post of mine from the end of February this year. (Coincidentally, there's probably a decent bit of other stuff in that account that would be fun to stash in here too.)

Meeting with HR yesterday went very well. My homework for the next few days is to start sketching up a plan for who I want to tell and when, culminating in a general company-wide memo. Basically the idea is that people who should get more detail and personal time to talk about things will be first, and as the audience widens outwards the level of specifics and such can taper off. So people I work with all the time can actually talk to me about what's up, while on the other extreme, the vast majority basically get a note that says "send your emails to this address instead and don't shit your pants when she steps out of the ladies room."

[Published retroactively on 2021-09-03, unedited.]

Working up the will to actually start getting ready for bed. I have a meeting scheduled with HR for 11AM tomorrow. Going to let them know I am transitioning and see what needs to happen next.

fuck

The last entry was from like 1AM and then I went to bed and then I did today and now it's close to 11PM. So mleh.

I'm going to try and stay simple here because I don't want to get stuck trying to be fancy with words. A bit ago I was poking around reading about thought habits and wandered into an article on CPTSD. It talked about some of the awful things that can appear in survivors and victims. A lot of it was sadly familiar (which isn't terribly surprising) - problems with emotional processing, relationships, self-image, etc. I've known for a while now that this model fits me very, very well.

Dance like no one is watching... until the day when you are ready to dance like everyone is watching.

I'm quibbling with myself over the date on this entry, because it's 0115 and I haven't really slept so maybe it's more of a Friday entry, and Friday had some good stuff to talk about, but... bleh. Whatever.

Earlier tonight I gathered the courage to email HR. Super preliminary; I just privately contacted someone I trust from the department and asked to talk in person next week. But it's a huge step and I am trying to permit myself some pride and comfort in having done it.

Something I've been enjoying a lot in the past couple of months is the feeling of freedom in how I move. It's incredible to me... not just that certain physical motions are intensely gendered, but how utterly invisible that is to most people. I mean - they can probably spot something "wrong" but that's probably the extent. I don't think it's typical for people to be low-key conscious of every muscle contraction in their body because they feel compelled to make sure it's gendered "correctly."

I like moving around, when I can, in a fashion that feels more natural to me. Maybe it's feminine? Hard to tell at this point. It's definitely not straight-guy.

The dancing is definitely the distilled, refined, pure form of this. There is something amazing about just dancing like a girl.

Slowly putting things into place. Skipped work today. Going to take the weekend to square away as much as I can. Setting up a definite plan of action for starting HRT. Researching name and gender marker change laws; at the moment it's looking like I'm going to want a lawyer. Working out who I need to talk to and in what order so I can come out completely at work. Planting the first seeds for my eventual exit from [the industry I work in], into whatever lies beyond.

I didn't expect to be 33 years old and having to learn how to get dressed all over again.

I don't want to be a programmer anymore. I want to be a trans rights activist.

[Editorial note: I published this retroactively, on Friday, September 3rd, 2021. It is a thought that has stuck in my mind and my heart ever since the first time the words occurred to me, two years prior. I've since found a way to do both at the same time, and I am deeply grateful for the opportunity.]

What an amazing fucking day.

Got a ton of stuff done that had been just languishing - mostly domestic chore type garbage, but important to finish nonetheless.

Beautiful sunset in the park again.

Soaked in a scented bath for a while and just relaxed. Listening to Marco Torrance and savoring a raspberry flavored Coke.

I don't have anything deep or fancy to say tonight.

Earlier I watched the sun start to set over a marsh, in a nearby park. It was pretty... and it was powerfully unusual for me to notice, and appreciate it. I could see flowers and moss and vines and trees and hints of animals that were staying out of sight of the human visitors. I could feel the warmth of the retreating sun balanced by the gentle breezes. I liked it, and I felt like I was allowed to like it, which was a strange sort of comment on my experiences with gender normativity.

And there were sad things too. My dog is gone now, and he would have loved to come to the park tonight. Sent off another coworker to a new job today - the latest in a heart-rendingly interminable line of goodbyes over the course of my life, and another reminder that no matter how many times I do that, I still am terrible at letting people go.

One of the reasons I take my transition desires seriously is that they are very different from other things I want.

What should I get for lunch? Oh, hmm... maybe a sandwich? Do I want a sandwich? What kind of sandwich? The place that makes that kind of sandwich is further away... but you can get this less appealing type of sandwich closer - and cheaper! Is that compelling enough? Or should I take the hit and get the first kind? Maybe I don't want that kind so bad after all. Do I?

Give me a decision to make, and I'll find a thousand questions that are somehow all super important for making the actual choice. If I don't know much about the decision, or the implications of various choices, it gets even worse... first I need to understand all the ramifications of all possible outcomes, and then I will ask a thousand annoying questions about all that.

This is actually overdue by just more than a week; at the time I managed to scribble some hasty notes in my phone before ultimately falling asleep, and then I subsequently failed to find the energy to actually type up the full account between then and now.

Despite having spent a lot of time in the last week trying to articulate exactly what happened, I still find it incredibly hard to capture, for some reason. So I'm going to stop procrastinating and just try and relate the events without exposition or backstory.

I have bipolar disorder.

I no longer have readily accessible records of what happened, but I do know that the month of August 2007 will always be burned into my awareness.

I was living, alone, in a dingy basement apartment that I'd done a terrible job of decorating (and maintaining). The refrigerator was probably the cheapest model sold by any store in a three state radius. The lights were awful early-generation LED bulbs that barely illuminated anything. I kept the curtain shut all the time and lived in the perpetual dark on a chaotic and massively unhealthy schedule... if you could even call it a schedule.

I don't really know if there is a point I want to make tonight, even subconsciously. I think I mainly just want to explore some thoughts and see where things go - but it's going to be a dark and rough trip I suspect.

This year has been hard. It opened up with a horrific series of weeks that culminated in me giving up my dog for re-adoption - a loose end I still have not had the heart to follow up on, meaning I have no idea what happened to him.

And then there was a terrifying sequence of emotional crises. I don't even remember a fraction of what happened. But I know I had flashback issues and tons of repressed trauma and pain just came surging back, over and over.

I'm resisting the urge to write on a really weirdly primal level, which is probably a strong indicator that I should write something.

I've been reflecting a bit today; not entirely sure what prompted any of it anymore, or how I wound up in this particular thought-region, but here we are. I usually try to be really disciplined about distinguishing between relatives and actual family, but I feel pretty raw at the moment and probably need to just get things on the page instead of crafting my wording too much, so for the next little while, I may be imprecise in that particular set of language.

I fucking hate my family.

Editorial note: published retroactively July 6, 2020, unedited.

I fucking miss my dog.

Heads up, and thank fuck that you're still alive
Still air in my lungs, still blood in my veins

Editorial note: I've redacted the entirety of this actual entry as it was originally written. At the time, I was still reeling from the end of a catastrophically abusive relationship, and parsing through the feelings and confusion from slowly beginning to realize that it was not the wonderful experience I'd made it out to be in my head. As often happens with recovery from abuse, time has brought a clarity to my mind that makes this entry almost feel like it was written by someone else - it is that out of place in my archives.

However, I did want to come back here (today is Friday, September 3rd, 2021 as I post this) and mention that the entry did in fact exist. I no longer feel the need to hide that I wrote this, even if the words themselves are so painfully distorted as to not merit publication.

I have learned so much - and healed so much - since this was written. There is hope.

Editorial note: published retroactively July 6, 2020, unedited.

I dragged out of bed sometime slightly before noon today, and put together a long checklist of assorted responsibilities and obligations and whatever that I should be taking care of this weekend.

And then I procrastinated a tiny bit, and then I decided fuck that shit, and finally shaved for the first time in a week, and cobbled together the most blatantly girly outfit I could with the clean laundry I have left.

And now I'm sitting here with my hair as tousled and vaguely feminine as I can make it at this length, sporting the super cute black lacy dress thing I got a little while ago, and my comfy leggings. I don't have many reasons to say anything out loud, but I'm trying to remember to shift my pitch a bit whenever I do.

I'm taking over now. I'm not the third person entity that gets referenced all the time. I'm not an alter ego that has to be "activated" or something. This is me now.

Hi. I'm Amelia!

It's 03:40. I woke up because my dumbass laptop started playing videos and I don't really understand why.

But what I actually thought was noteworthy was the fact that, as I slowly clawed my way out of sleep, I remember some dim impression of another girl - cute, fascinating, sassy, I dunno what all else. She was interesting and compelling in that undefinable way that imaginary people you conjure while semi-conscious tend to be. And I remember waking with a smile and the thought, "I am so damn gay for her."

Finding myself drifting into thought-territory that is mostly occupied by attraction and relationship matters. I don't really know what to make of any of it yet, but I sort of hope that leaving some breadcrumbs will help in some way.

Of course, I have the standard tangled confusion between finding people attractive and wanting to feel like I am that attractive. This is particularly pronounced around women. On one extreme, on total boy days, it's mostly attraction with a faint hint of wistful jealousy. But even on serious girl days, I still find women hot; there's simply an increase in the jealousy.

Ah, fuck.

For some trans women this is a tough day because it's a heartless reminder that things will always be a bit different for us than cis women. For some it's a chance for affirmation and belonging - to be included in the population of "mothers" as it always should have been. For some it's a chance for acceptance - to be a mother's child, unbroken and righted, as was not always the case.

And then there's my contingent. This day is nothing but a spiteful twisting of the knife. We have to spend the day being reminded that blood relatives are a thing, and that ours are fucked and we wish they wouldn't continue to invade our reality anymore.

I can't tell what I am today. I can feel the resistance inside against being boy, and the almost-panicked yearning to go back to being girl. I am not who I want to be and I cannot find a name. This is being enby, and it is a conflicted familiarity. I know this turf well and it mostly seems like it is supposed to be home - but it isn't where I want to be home. Enby days just stir up a terrified worry that maybe I'll never actually know, never figure anything out, never get to just be someone I actually like.

Or love.

It feels like going back to not understanding. It feels like losing ground.

Fluidity is fucking bullshit. It sucks. It feels profoundly, terribly, hopelessly out of control. Beyond control. Beyond predictability, beyond hope of sense.

But it isn't just arbitrary; it feels outright cruel. Gender fluidity don't give a fuck. You wanted to feel like a girl tonight? Too bad, don't give a fuck. Oh, now is a super inconvenient time to exhibit a massively feminine behavior? Don't. Give. A. Fuck. Need to act like an actual operational human being for five seconds instead of being paralyzed with anxiety about what you'll sound like if you're dumb enough to try to speak?

DON'T. GIVE. A. FUCK.

Editorial note: published retroactively July 6, 2020, unedited.

I really, really, fucking love being a girl.

Like. Fuck. All that eloquent floral linguistic shit is just utterly inadequate.

I LOVE BEING ME AS A GIRL.

I like the me who is cute, and flirty, and adorable, and sexy, and captivating, and alluring, and fun, and silly, and magnetic, and... just all the things. I like her a lot. She's fucking awesome.

I miss her when she's gone again. On some level I kind of understand that I'm enby a lot, or even a guy sometimes. But it makes me sad. She's my favorite me.

What the fuck does this all mean? I don't know. I just wish I was always a girl I guess.

Oh holy fuck.

I used to think about what it would have been like to have really hit the trance scene properly at its height.

It just occurred to me that what I really missed out on was the peak trance scene as a girl.

FUCK.

I read a post today from someone who was concerned about coming out trans to their family, because of the possibility of losing that family in the process.

It made me think. I've observed before that I feel like I've had a fairly easy time confronting being trans, because it's just not the first major upheaval I've ever lived through. Fuck, at this point, shredding my world and doing something entirely new from scratch is practically a fucking routine. Sure, this is larger in magnitude than anything I've done, but the process of starting over is... home.

Tag: dumb shit that should have tipped me off that I'm trans

All those random moments where I had vague, wordless thoughts - something about an incongruity between me and the expectations I just sort of assumed I couldn't dislodge from everyone else... the ideas that I can now verbalize as "man it really sucks nobody else can tell I'm a girl."

The earliest memory I have that I can definitively label as gender dysphoria happened in early fifth grade. I remember standing in the spartan nook that pretended to be a bathroom, in the [house my family lived in at the time]. I don't actually know how long this took, but it felt like five eternities at least. With nothing but a second-hand comb and the trickle of water from the sink, I fought an unending war with my hair.

I stopped smoking on April 6, 2018. Over a year ago now. Even during some intense stress the past few months I've barely had any cravings, but I'm sure as fuck having some now.

There are so many things I just don't want to lose. I want to start writing down all the goofy memories and experiences that should have clued me in to the fact that I'm trans. I want to capture what I feel - not really as much for inspection after the fact, but just to feel certain that I actually felt it as it happens.

I think it's finally becoming unavoidably clear that I need to write this shit down. The excuses don't matter and the benefits are too numerous and substantial to ignore. So here we are.

It's been about four months since I really started to think about all this, and maybe three or so since I actually began to appreciate any of it. Maybe a month and a half tops since I've really started leaning into the whole thing. Those months are complicated and painful in their own ways but not really the point of what I want to say (for now).