My psycho ex

I already talked a little about my dating experiences pre-transition, but I feel like talking about my psychotic ex to illustrate just how crazy butch straight girls can be. I dated her from January-August in 2008, so it was right after my failed attempt to transition. I had known her for a little while just as acquaintances, and I was absolutely convinced she was a lesbian. I asked her on a date thinking I was androgynous enough for her (she did seem interested in me). On our first date, she talked about how funny it was that everyone she knows thought I was a girl; I quickly deduced that she thought I was a guy. Then she talked about her last boyfriend, which lead me to believe she was straight, despite the fact the everything about her screamed dyke. No matter, I had had a crush on her for some months, so I decided to go on a couple more dates with her. I told her I was a crossdresser as I usually do at the begininng of the relationship, and she was cool with that.

Anyway, after a while of dating I began crashing at her pad. This is when I really started to get to know her and began to realize just how psychotic she was. You see, she lived to fight. She is the most pugnacious person I have ever met. She had a very short fuse, and frequently I was embarassed to be seen in public with her because of the scenes she’d create because of some imagined slight. She was not above chasing someone down in a car, getting out and screaming at them until she was blue in the face. I quickly wanted out of the relationship, but I was afraid for my safety if I didn’t let her down just right. (She would throw pots and pans at my head if I wasn’t completely pleasent and obedient.) I decided to tell her I was trans and see what happened.

I did it the way I usually do; by writing a letter and letting them read it when I’m not around (this gives them time to sort out their thoughts/feelings and saves me from the initial, usually over-emotional and irrational reaction). Anyway, I came home from work that day to find her bathtud full of broken glass. She had gotten so mad, that she pulled every wine glass she had (which was a lot) from the shelf and smashed it in the tub. Like I said, psychotic. I was very glad I wasn’t there. She had also called all my friends, hoping to out me and ruin my life, but they all already knew, which pissed her off more because she didn’t like being “lied” to. She had always suspected that I was latently gay, she said, because I didn’t like sex with her. (Sex with her was a nightmare; she liked it extremely violent, and frequently I felt like some sort of murderer-rapist, which wasn’t a pleasurable experience, so I frequently found ways to avoid it.) I told her she was probably just projecting onto me because it’s obvious she’s a dyke and hasn’t come to terms with that. That pissed her off even more.

Anyway, we stayed together for a long time after that, because I was even more terrified of offending her. Luckily, after I required several hospitalizations due to my newly-developed mental illness, she decided to call it quits because she couldn’t handle having a crazy partner. For a few weeks we were friends, but she got a new boyfriend and decided she hated my guts suddenly. She began sending me harrassing text messages saying things like I was latently gay or that I fake a mental illness for attention. After a while that quit, and I started running into her in public places, which was really awkward. Thankfully, I haven’t seen her in almost a year, so I think she either moved or learned not to go to places that I frequent.

I’m still not convinved she’s not a lesbian.

A little history

I think I should include a little history about my experiences with cross-gender feelings. It tarted when I was about three and my little sister was born. Until that point, I don’t think I realized that there was a such a thing as gender, but something about my little sister being born and learning about boys and girls made me realize something was very wrong. I don’t know exactly what it was, I just somehow knew I was supposed to be a girl.

For a couple years I went to bed every night after praying that god fix his mistake. Every morning when I woke up, I was gravely disappointed by the fact that I hadn’t been magically transformed as I slept. This caused me to question the existence of god, and eventually my dad won me over to the atheist camp.

Anyway, I eventually got used to being a boy at about age 9. Part of this had to do with the fact that I met my 2 best friends that year (they were brothers who moved from upstate New York; one of them is Josh, who I wrote a post about a day or two ago). At around 10 or 11 I began taking an interest in girls, which also helped to quell the gender identity issues because I figured if I was a girl I’d be interested in boys. This feeling of being okay lasted until I was about 12, when I met my first lesbians.

I was in Colorado at a family reunion. We were eating at Wendy’s, and I had finished so I decided to go to the car and listen to some music. As I exited the restaurant, two beautiful women in their early 20s came walking towards me. As they walked, one of them took the other one’s hand and kissed her. I had heard about lesbians, but I had never seen one. I tried not to stare or anything, but I couldn’t help it; I knew instantly that that’s what I was supposed to be. I longed for them to abduct me into their world.

This lead to a very deep depression during which I contemplated suicide several times in a day. For the rest of the vacation, all I did was lay in bed and mope. One day, my dad left the room with the TV on HBO and an Ellen Degeneres special came on. I was only half-listening because at first I was too depressed to care. Eventually,  though, it dawned on me that she was a lesbian and I instantly sat up and began watching intently. I felt like I had found a role model. I remembered a time when my dad’s girlfriend was watching a daytime talk show with a bunch of beautiful women and I asked her what was so special about them. She said they used to be men, so I knew that it was possible for me to become female, I just didn’t know how.

About a year and a half later, we finally got internet at my mom’s house. Since she didn’t know how to track my web browsing habit like my dad could, I knew it was my chance to do some research. I stumbled across a Montreal SRS surgeon’s website and he had a lot of useful information about gender dysphoria and transsexualism. I had been seeing a therapist for a few months because of my depresion and suicidal tendancies, so I decided to talk to him about it. After spending a lot of time talking about my feelings and other therapisty stuff, he said that he thought I probably did have gender dysphoria.

I knew my parent’s wouldn’t like it. It meant I was a freak. I wrote a letter to my mom about it because I couldn’t talk to her face to face, and she only acknowledged that she read it; she didn’t say anything else about the subject. Ever. My dad at one point asked me if I was a crossdresser, and I told him yes (I had been borrowing girl friends’ clothes and crossdressing at school, changing before my parents picked me up). He threatened to take away my allowance if he ever caught me in girls’ clothes or makeup. That didn’t change much; he only caught me with nail polish on once and he didn’t flip as much as I had expected him to.

Starting at 13, despite the fact that I was exploring my gender identity, I went into a hyper-macho phase where I cut my long hair and began having sex with anything with a vagina that I came across. By the time I was 15 I was doing stuff that most people spend their lives fantasizing about. I’ve done all sorts of freaky scenes. I realize now that this was me trying to prove to the world or maybe myself that I was a “real man”; I had learned from mainstream media that “real men” have lots of sexual “conquests.” I made a lot of stupid mistakes, and I’m really ashamed of that period of my life.

When I moved out to Nebraska, people started tearing me down because of how effeminate I was. They called me “gay” and “fag,” so for a while I tried to learn how to act butch. In my second semester of college I quit all that because I had fallen in with the local feminist and artist scenes, and both those circles embraced gender variance. Then I met a girl and fell in love, and I’m pretty sure I’ve talked about how that ended. Anyway, that’s my story.

Freaking parents

My dad’s major problem with me transitioning is that he’s disturbed by the fact that I’m lesbian-identified. I don’t know why this bothers him more than if I liked guys. I suppose it’s because I wouldn’t be a “normal” woman.

Anyway, I was just talking to my mom about it, and she randomly asked “If you’re going to be a woman, why do you care about the gays?” I had no clue what this was supposed to mean, so I asked her. She just repeated the question, so I told her that it made no sense. I kind of got the feeling she was asking why I’m into the gay rights movement. Anyway, finally she said in an angry tone, Are you going to be a gay woman?” So I said “Yes.” She rolled her eyes and stormed out. The thing that bugs me is that my mom, despite being religious, claims to be gay-friendly and has told me she’s always voted for gay rights in her church council.

I don’t know why my sexuality bugs my parents so much. It makes no sense to me.