SnowGirl's Blog

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Honesty, and the speed of transition

I had a horrible session with my therapist. I went home crying, and totally upset. I sent her an email, concerning this, and I'm posting it here, so that some other people may be able to gain some insight into the tortuous life I've been through, and why I'm taking my transition so quickly.


I was very upset from our sessions, and I drove home crying. I'm upset, and was so upset because I didn't feel like you were hearing me.

I'm aware that you're concerned that I'm transitioning too quickly, but you must understand that there are many times extenuating circumstances that critically push a patient around normally considered and recommended treatment paths. When I had apendicitis, they sent me to the hospital for 18 hour observation, within two or three hours, they had determined that I was critically ill, and that my appendix had burst and they realized that 18 hours was too long. They went in, and found that I had very severe peritonitis, and that my digestive system had shut down.

If you want to know why I'm transitioning so quickly, then I will tell you. First, I've already been female for 4 to 5 years constantly online. I am already comfortable with my perception of myself as female. I eventually came out, and transitioned in the chat room that I share with most of my significant friends, and those other important friends that I have, I have also come out to.

I want you to understand that I am not just running away from my genetic gender, and my body, I'm running from who I was, whom I hated. I hated the person I was as Daniel, being a petty, nit-picky, pedantic asshole who had to argue every stupid point, and detail, and always considered myself right. To survive the conditions within which I was raised, I was forced to compartmentalize my emotions, throw everything away, left with cold hard stupid fact. Heartless. The only emotion I could not escape was depression, because it bubbled deep within me, swelling up and burst up on the surface. I was anti-depressants at the ripe-old age of 14 (possibly earlier). During my 5th grade year, I was moved out of mainstream education and placed in special education, because I was "fragile BD (behavior disordered)", because I would cry over seemingly meaningless things. I stayed there throughout middle school, and only returned to mainstream education in High School, where I later took an occational special education course just so that they could keep tabs on me.

When I made my decision, I was just coming out of the most depressive moment of my life. I could not function, I could not do anything but get online and present as female, and flirt with guys, and chat with girls. My apartment decended into a pigsty, literally collecting unopened mail, and papers strewn about, dirty clothes lying around, dishes sitting in the sink with rotting food on them, my garbage bin stacked enormously high, and precariously holding most of my trash, and the kitten's litterbox so full of feces, that they started relieving themselves on the tile floor just in front of the litter box. I masturbated multiple times a day, every day fantacising about being female during vaginal intercourse, since this was one of the few pleasurable things that I could do. And worst of all, at the time I saw my doctor to start my medication, I weighed just 115 pounds (lost 10 pounds, nearly a 10% of my body weightI since I had been so depressed that I could not physically muster the will to even eat.

My work was a depressive hell, of waking up at 10 (when I should be at work), struggling out of bed, lugging myself into work, to sit at my computer, and read the internet, chat with friends, and sleep. The only real work I did was my vain attempts to cover up my lack of productivity with lies and blame dodging.

Finally, I got on medication, and things started to improve some what, and I started being slightly productive at work again, and was able to pull myself up from a 1 or 2 out of 10, to a 3 or a 4. This continued for 3 or 4 weeks, at this quasi-better mood. Once I had made my realization that I needed to transition, and be female, my mood shot up to an 8. I cleaned up most of my apartment (I have so much crap in my apartment, and so little space, I don't think it's possible to clean it up fully) cleaned all my dishes, cleaned up my kitchen, starting showering nearly every day only skipping because I'd be late to work. I went from having to drag myself out of my bed with a crane, to getting up 2-ish hours early for work, so that I'd have enough time to get ready.

As I was just telling my mom, I almost *have* to wear my breast forms now, it feels incredibly wrong to not be wearing them, like taking off a prosthetic arm or leg, that you need in order to feel whole. I'm having trouble masturbating anymore, because I feel totally disconnected with the genitalia that I have. My penis is 5 inches unerect, and approximately an inch wide. Before I started wearing women's underwear, I could not stand to wear anything but briefs. To let my penis hang free is just such a psychological equivalent to being naked to me, that when I was younger, I could not even do so inside of my parents' house (this would be say, wearing boxers, or shorts, when my underwear was being laundered.) When I had sexual partners, immediately after sex I had to put my underwear back on. I could simply not stand to have my penis free-hanging even while snuggling with the person that I loved.

I understand the concern and the desire of a therapist to have their patients slowly transition, so that they and world have an opportunity to adjust, but you have to understand that my gender dysphoria by all of my accounts has led me to such deep depression, and emotional anguish, that I cannot bear the thought of returning at least even partially to the personality that I had as Daniel. As Daniel, I needed my emotions to be bottled, and kept in a nice Pandora's Box, but they won't fit back in there anymore. I cannot help but express myself as Cassondra anymore, it leaks out into everything, and my communication skills have never been better in my life. My friend Liz alone can attest to the drastic change from withdrawn anti-social Daniel to dynamic engaging and friendly Cassondra.

I am not seeking hormone therapy or SRS in order to express some fantasy or realize some alterior motive or hidden agenda. I look upon my history and I realize that I have struggled long, hard and deeply with this issue for my entire life, and that my gender dysphoria isn't simply the cause of confusion, doubt, and struggle, but has caused me serious and deep emotional and psychological wounds. This hasn't been some random nagging itch my entire life, but has been a fundamental driver of serious, many times life-threatening depression. Keeping me at many times throughout my life wondering what would happen if I were hospitalized, and even that perhaps my life would be better for it.

Now, I want to ask you. What could a person possibly have done to be forced to walk between that hell, and the real world, just to satisfy some clinical expectation of transition? And tell me, why I should have any desire to suffer those burdens again?


  • At 1:21 AM, Blogger truefluke said…

    You are a brave soul. You are among friends, at least among me.

  • At 5:50 AM, Blogger Kristen said…

    Me, too. *hugs* I won't tell you not to listen to your therapist, as though this person doesn't know what they're talking about, but I hope that email helps the two of you work together better.


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