My editor has given me my book sooner than anticipated. Don’t Call Me Daughter will be released sometime in May. Based on my trans experiences. I most likely will publish via Amazon. Stay tuned for more info
Book Announcement
Category: transgender
Identities that shape us
I had a good discussion with my therapist about how last session brought up how much I was a boy and developed as a girl. It was really confusing and I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. The only person who I knew that was a man and dressed as a woman was the leader of the BAGLY support group. She was always surrounded by young males so I never had a chance for a one to one conversation with her. I think if I came out sooner, my life wouldn’t have been so painful. My therapist pointed out that she thinks I identify as being depressed and suicidal. She is right. But being depressed as well as being suicidal is transient. I have other states of being throughout the day. It comes down to my thoughts that go into the feelings that go into the behavior. All are connected in a triad. CBT can break the cycle. I told my therapist today what I thought about a year ago when I was back to my senses. I had a medically serious suicide attempt and I was pissed I was still alive. I didn’t tell her I thought my chance of surviving weren’t that great. The only thing keeping me in this world was having top surgery. It was what kept me going. It was crucial I identify more as a man than anything else in my life. As long as I had those things on my chest, I was not a man and it was literally killing me.
My therapist and I talked briefly about my parents. I know my father would never see me as his son. I don’t even think he would have accepted I liked women. My mother was a little more open but not by much. I will never know if she saw me as her son because she was dying or because her mental state was affected. I know when I came home from the hospital she still used the wrong pronouns. At that point, I didn’t care enough to correct her. It bothered me but there was nothing I could do about it. She wasn’t going to change. It took a lot just to have her call me G.
I like to think the suicidal stuff is behind me but I know it isn’t. It will always be an option for me. I’ve been suicidal since I was eight and even though I am more congruent with my thoughts, I have a shitload of trauma to deal with that could easily make me suicidal again. I learned today that even though I have a suicidal career, I can still change it to something else. It is going to take a lot of work though. As Dr. Doyle says, 1% is better than 0. I’ll be continuing to write about my midnight demons in this blog. It is the one thing that keeps me sane. And I hope that if you have found my blog because you are suicidal, there is hope. Things do change. It took a year for me but I’m not completely out of woods and that is ok. You are here now and I hope you stay.
Trans joy is real
TW suicide
I am experiencing trans joy!! Much better than euphoria. I am finally me. I attended a transgender conference about gender affirming care and I resonated with the speaker. As I walked I kept looking down at my chest and wondered where my boobs were. Top surgery has been so wonderful for me. I realized I am no longer a bearded lady but a true man. As sad as I am about my mother’s death, I know it was a blessing as she was so against top surgery and I know I would not be able to handle her negative comments. I am finally happy with who I am. I may not have a perfect chest but I think the surgery went well. Last year at this time I was recovering from a suicide attempt due to dysphoria. Amazing how things can change in a year. Trans joy is real.
I vaguely remember how confused and psychotic I was. I was admitted for 30 days to a hospital on the north shore. About 2 and half weeks into the stay, I found out my surgery was postponed and I was bullshit. I wanted to die and I know if I wasn’t in the hospital, I would have tried again. As the social worker told me, this was life- saving surgery. It was so hard to believe this when my mother was dying. Too much was happening after my surgery. My mother never saw me once the bandages were off. It is just as well as the night they came off, my scar became open and I bled. I had to pack the wound for weeks. The scar isn’t pretty but I am hoping it will fade with time. I know my mother would bitch about it with her sarcastic comments that would hurt me. I am glad she isn’t around to hurt me anymore. She didn’t like me being trans and she didn’t like me getting top surgery. But I had to be me and have this surgery that was so important to my mental health.
Today was the first time I was looking for my boobs and was happy that they weren’t there anymore. I felt more confident in myself. I didn’t really meet anyone at the conference. I was way older than even the speaker of the gender affirming care presentation. I’m lucky my genes have me still look like I’m in my 20s. I’m happy I got up early for this. I was nervous because I am not a morning person and I woke up at like 330. Luckily I fell back asleep without a serious hangover effect. Otherwise I would be kicking myself for missing today’s events.
It was really hard to feel euphoria after my mother’s death. The sadness I had felt for months continued for several more months. She has been gone for six months and I am post op 6 months. It’s a happy and sad predicament. Grief is something I don’t always control. It comes in waves. Not only am I grieving my mother, but the self that was dysphoric for so long. The teenage me who didn’t understand why I had breasts in the first place. It’s a lot to process. It is especially hard with depression that has been bad all week. I never thought I would feel joy until today. I know it may not last long but I have the scars on my chest to remind me of it.
sad and exhausted
Sad and exhausted
I was up in the wee hours of the morning. I had slept late and wasn’t really tired. I had finished the last of the casserole. I woke up and needed coffee. I had taken my morning meds and then went back to sleep for a couple of hours. I kind of planned the day of taking a shower, brushing my teeth, delivering the books to the Transgender Program, and then to Starbucks for coffee and lunch. I also planned on reading through my manuscript to see what else needed to be written.
The shower exhausted me. I had shaved and then I brushed my teeth. By the time I was in the shower, my back was flaring up. I had just finished washing my hair when I had to sit down. Cramps flooded my back and it was quite painful. I managed to get the bar of soap before sitting down so as I sat, I washed up. Drying off I nearly slipped in the shower stall. I managed okay then got dressed. I sat on my bed to rest and hydrate for a bit. I had no idea what I was going to wear. It was cool out but not quite cool enough for jeans. I decided on a button down shirt with my shorts. I then called a cab as I put my socks and shoes on. There was no way I was going to walk to my pcp’s office. I just didn’t have enough spoons for it.
The cab came. I put everything in my backpack and got in the cab. Traffic was bad. It normally takes like twenty minutes today took more than a half hour. I am glad I didn’t have an appointment or I would have been late. I dropped of the books and then ordered my drink and something to eat. I then walked to the Starbucks. There was a table free so I sat there and ate. After I ate, I tackled my manuscript. I got to like the 25th page and the printing was bad. The toner had already started to go and I didn’t notice it. Reading what I wrote stirred up some emotions and then I read the letter I sent my mother back in 2021. I got really sad. The pages were impossible to read so I called it off and then headed to the station. I got to the Square and picked up my meds that were ready. I thought about getting another coffee but it was past 3pm and I would be up late if I did so didn’t. I was exhausted and just wanted to go home. My nephew was in one of his moods as he didn’t even say hi to me when I greeted him. Whatever.
I thought about my mother all through the ride home. I was really sad. I still am sad. I am sad because my mom died and that I have no fucking clue where to go with my book. I couldn’t read what I wrote because there was a huge gap in the page. I am going to have to reprint the pages. I have a new toner that I haven’t installed yet. I’ve been lazy about it. People think writing a book is easy until they have to do it. I didn’t have pages to guide what I wrote so things just went on and then a new idea started and I was like WTF is going on here. I want to write more but I don’t know what I already wrote. I hate reading from a screen. I like pages in my hand to get something. This book is too important to me to just gloss over. I am going to try and see if Random House will publish it. No idea what is involved in the process. But I am half way where I want to be with 62 pages. I just need about 60-70 more to write. I’ll replace the toner in my printer sometime this weekend and then print out the 40 or so pages needed so I can read the rest of what I wrote. Hopefully it won’t hit me like a ton of bricks like it did today.
midnightdemons7 
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