One of the things my (awesome) doctor mentioned was the fact I’m really hard on myself. (No shocker there.) And that I don’t easily accept compliments. (Also, something I knew.) But he extracted some history from those ideas in a way that hadn’t occurred to me. One of the big things he said, which I’ve thought about before but never quite this explicit way, is I’ve trained myself to dismiss compliments because for so long they were at least partially false: “Oh, you’re handsome,” “You’re such a strong boy,” whatever. But I’ve trained myself to not only to dismiss compliments, but to feel that they were lies because the person giving the compliment couldn’t possibly see the ‘real’ me. Well, now that I’ve transitioned, that’s no longer true. So I need to unlearn that. Most of the tactics we discussed deal, at their core, with being nicer to myself and more open to accepting positive energy both from myself and from others.

The first assignment I was given was to think about what we called ‘internalized authenticity.’ That is, to really believe compliments. Not just accept them out of hand, or brush them off, but really internalize them. And to go a step further. When complimented, I’m now supposed to pause, restate the compliment in my head using an ‘I statement,’ and then respond.

This has been really hard, even just this past weekend, but also really rewarding. I still don’t always believe the compliments I’m given, but there’s something really powerful of stopping to say “I’m a good teacher” after a co-teacher compliments me or “I look cute in this top” after a friend does so.

The second assignment was asking friends for help. I’ve done this before in a ‘hey, be on the lookout for unhealthy behavior’ kind of way, but not in a ‘I think really poorly of myself’ kind of way. So I sent some of my closest friends this email:

I’ve talked to some of you about this, though not all of you, but I wanted to give you a heads up that I’m having a really hard time right now with a lot of things. I’m working on getting myself in a better headspace, both with my therapist, my doctor, and by simply trying to take care of myself.

To that end, I actually have a doctor-mandated touchy-feely assignment.

I don’t take compliments well. I have trouble believing them. I’m really hard on myself, and even when I think I should be proud of something I doubt and deny and say “Well, you should have done XYZ better.” But this email is going out to folks I trust, and folks I care about. My assignment from my doctor (not my therapist, my honest-to-god-doctor) is to ask for compliments. They don’t need to be big, but they do need to be real. That is, no cheating and saying you love my hair. We all love my hair – that’s an easy one. I more mean things you think are good about me, things that make me a valuable person, things that make me a worthwhile friend, artist, individual.

I don’t know what to expect from this, other than I’m really stressing about doing this…. As I said, asking for help and asking for compliments are two things I’m really bad at. But I’m hoping that y’all can help beat it into my head that my glass is, in fact, half full, and not as empty as it sometimes feels.

With much love,

-Rebecca

This has also been really hard, but incredibly rewarding. (Particularly coupled with assignment number one, where I have to repeat these compliments I’m getting!) I know, intellectually, that the folks in my life care about me and think highly about me. Often think higher of me than I think of myself. But with their help I am, in fact, beating it into my brain that maybe I am a pretty awesome person.

The final assignment, and the one that still makes me laugh (though I’ve avoided working on it thus far) is by 9AM tomorrow (Monday) morning, I’m supposed to email my doctor a list of things I like about myself/value about myself. Things I’m good at, proud of, whatever. This was, quite literally, the instruction from my medical doctor instead of an increase of anti-depressants.

Have I mentioned how much I like this doctor? Cuz I do. A lot.

I’m scared of this, and am putting it off until tonight when I have some downtime. This is maybe the thing I’m worst at: positive self-examination. I’m great at critical self-examination. (Hey, maybe I’ll put that on the list!) But examining myself and finding things that aren’t only ‘good enough,’ but GREAT is tough.

But I’m going to do it anyway. Maybe I’ll post the list here when I’m done.

So those are my tactics to fight The Dark Places. I’d love to hear thoughts on them, or any additional suggestions. That said, I’m feeling pretty tender right now so please don’t find ways to poke these assignments full of holes. They’re touchy-feely, yes, but they’re also helping me right now.

I’m always hesitant to post here when I’m having a hard time. It’s a few things. First, this is (obviously) a public forum. I don’t hide my ‘real’ identity. So there’s some reluctance to have friends I maybe haven’t talked to in a while say “Why am I hearing about this from your blog and not directly from you?” That hasn’t happened often, but once burnt twice shy. I also keep bumping into this weird public/private persona. I don’t make a conscious effort to distinguish between the two, but there is a distinction: there’s stuff about sex and relationships and emotions that I haven’t posted on this blog, or that won’t make it into shows I do. But I also feel this awkward need to justify my hard times, to say “I’m feeling shitty….but I know there are people worse off, so I can’t allow myself to feel shitty.” I think this is particularly tricky in minority communities (at least, it feels that way in the trans community) because if I say “I feel ugly” or “I feel masculine” or “I feel alone” there are lots of folks able to say “You’re not as ______ as me!”

But I still have those feelings.

This post is an effort to not justify or explain or couch my emotions. This post is simply an expression of them. Comments like “Well, you don’t have it that bad, look at XYZ” will not be appreciated, and may be deleted. I think I’m a damn generous moderator, but right now I just need some expression of self pitty and hardship.

With all that friggin discilaimering out of the way, lets get to it.

Being trans is hard.

It’s hard and it’s scary and it’s expensive. I went into researching surgery thinking ‘oh, a research project. I’ll make a spreadsheet.” (Which, indeed, I did. I’ll share it when there’s more info.) But I hadn’t realized how difficult the research would be, to think about tens of thousands of dollars I don’t have, surgery I don’t “want” so much as want done. (In the way that you want an ice cream cone, but you want to have had your teeth cleaned; I want the results, not the process.) And there’s this cultural expectation, which I think is fading with younger trans folks, that The Surgery is supposed to be unquestioned and unvarnished and pure. That you’re not supposed to be fucking terrified of having your sensitive genitals cut into, rearranged. That you probably didn’t use your cock too much in sex anyway, so the possible loss of orgasm isn’t a big deal.

And I don’t like my cock that much. But I really love to cum. The posibility – even the slim possibility – of losing that? REALLY SCARY!

But it feels ‘wrong’ to say ”Sometimes being trans fucking sucks. I don’t want to have to explain my body to sexual partners, I want to just wear my yoga pants to the gym without a stupid pair of exercise shorts so I don’t ‘show,’ I don’t want to research doctors or take pills or worry about legal protection or the fact I was fucking fired, I just don’t.”

On top of which, I’ve been thinking about self-injury again. I’m working with my therapist and doctor to get mental health help and meds (actually have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon to adjust meds) and I do have a support system, but still. I’m self-aware enough to know that thinking about self injury is a bad thing. I think trying to help a friend dealing with self injury a few months ago kind of backfired for me, cuz I’m now thinking about the self injury descriptions - that self injury is something folks do in part to physicalise emotional pain – and thinking “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea! I’m in pain emotionally, but wouldn’t it be better to focus it onto my body?”

I even have a plan, which I know is a Bad Thing In The Stages Of Self Harm. Of where I’d get the razors, where I’d cut on my flesh, how I’d hide it and not leave scars noticeable if I were wearing a shirt. The desire to feel physical pain instead of constant emotional pain.

I realized this week that a big part of the reason I always need the TV on, a book at my side, a podcast on my phone, is so I don’t have even a second to stop and think. It extends to the point where I only want to prepare food or do chores while listening to music or podcasts or watching TV, because once the wheels of my brain start turning they go to a dark place. Hence, in large part, my trouble getting to sleep. I don’t want to spend time alone with myself, so I do everything I can do avoid it.

I’m also feeling ironically and paradoxically alone. I have such a huge, supportive group of friends and family, but a limited group of queer friends, friends who ‘get’ the whole trans experience.

So what am I doing to work on all this? Well, I’m seeing my therapist and scheduled a short-notice appointment with my doctor, both of whom gave me great advice. I wrote the bulk of this post a few days ago, and have some strategies I’ve put in place since then. I’m still thinking of self harm, but not as strongly and the strategies (which I’ll expand in my next post) are helping. But it feels really good to get this out, without apologizing for feeling like shit, and just acknowledging that I do.

Self Loathing: Biking along Chicago’s lakefront, comparing myself to every beautiful woman I see, never feeling slim enough, curvy enough, busty enough, pretty enough.

Self Loving: Switching to a new (closer, more responsive) doctor to try and adjust my antidepressants to something more effective.

Self Loathing: Rushing into the switch (through my own laziness, not the doctor’s fault) and dropping hormone and antidepressant dosages way to fast. Panic attacks. Anxiety. Dizziness. Thoughts of self-harm.

Self Loving: Going to bed at midnight instead of two, three, four AM.

Self Loathing: Tossing and turning in bed, checking email, reading websites, IMing with friends until two, three, four AM.

Self Loving: Getting off my butt to apply for jobs, work on my show, apply for grants.

Self Loathing: Starting to apply for jobs, work on my show, apply for grants and then get overwhelmed and dizzy and lie on the couch until it goes away. Except it doesn’t, because the stress is still there.

I’m not in a great place right now. I’m seeing my doctor tomorrow, so hopefully we’ll be able to address my feeling shitty both physically and emotionally. I’m feeling like I did two years ago when I wasn’t eating enough out of stress, except I’ve been really carefully making sure I am eating enough. And the dizziness and nausea is coupled with mini-panic attacks.

I say ‘mini’ because I’ve had good ole-fashion panic attacks. Not for about a decade, fortunately, so I’m trying to focus on that as a positive rather than the ones I am experiencing as a negative. But having to pull over while biking, gasping for air and trying not to cry, still isn’t a good thing. Almost turning back from going to the bus to see a friend’s show. Feeling unable to go to a BBQ tonight.

I’m keeping it together as much as I can. I see my doctor tomorrow, so hopefully that’ll help, and my therapist on Wednesday, so I’m attacking this from both a medical and mental health angle. And my head is enough above water that I’ve been able to push down and ride out the bouts of major negativity: thinking about self harm has not turned into self harm. I can still pull myself back from a downward spiral of hating my body and hating myself.

Fingers crossed.

Dramatic lighting not included

My gallbladder was removed in May, marking my first extended stay in the hospital since I was maybe six or seven. And, as unpleasant as the experience was, it was also an eye-opener in a really surprising way: I like being taken care of.

I consider myself very independent. I have a great relationship with both of my parents, and am wiling (unlike my brother) to accept financial help from my parents. (And, in the case of my mom, accept challah, cookies, sweaters, bras, socks…) But the idea of being given financial or material help, for me, has always somehow been different than the idea of being pampered. Of being waited on. Taken care of. Which is what a hospital stay, almost by definition, has to be.

That was kind of a scary realization for me, since I don’t think of myself who likes that sort of treatment. (It also part of my final realization that – if I’d rather be in a hospital than at work – maybe I should quit my job.) I think some of it comes from feeling it’s too ‘feminine’ to be taken care of. I should be the strong one, the one doing the taking care of. I’ve had similar reactions to my burgeoning realization that I’m more submissive than dominant, sexually, which definitely also plays into ‘being taken care of’ as an emotionally loaded issue.

At the same time, my hospital stay reassured me that getting The Surgery (something I’m thinking more and more about) doesn’t need to be a horrible experience. That health care professionals can be nice and courteous. That I can handle being off my feet, helped by friends and family, and still make it out the other side.

But I’m disturbed to realize how much I think about how nice it was to be in the hospital. I’ve been watching a lot of Grey’s Anatomy (I know, I know) and every so often I’ll think “Boy, it’d be nice to just have people take care of me.” I talked about it with my therapist, who said it’s not an unusual reaction: being in the hospital – unlike even being sick at home – means you have no responsibilities. You’re not expected to get up, get dressed, check your email, anything. And, at a time when I’m often feeling overwhelmed by So Much To Do, that’s a nice fantasy to imagine.

I don’t like how I’m drawn to that feeling of giving up responsibility and abstaining from every day life. I’m still working on adjusting my antidepressants, which I’m hoping will help. I’m also just trying to get more projects I’m excited about, and find consistent part-time work to balance those exciting projects with a steady source of income. (Both of which will help with my feeling blase, I hope.)

Anyone else have advice on how to deal? Chicago winter doesn’t help, exciting snow days aside…

We also talked for a while about regret and how to look forward.

I explained to him how I’ve been feeling like I’m wallowing in regret. That I’m consciously aware of how good I do have it, but still can’t get over this fantasy that things would be better had I transitioned earlier or not had to transition at all. (By which I meant ‘had been born female.’ Don’t worry.) I know it’s futile, and I know it’s harmful, but I can’t get out out of it. He responded that I need to find a way to look forward, not  backward; regret over what’s passed can consume you. (Tell me something I don’t know…)

On the train ride home, I was rereading some essays from Yes Means Yes and one in particular struck home. From Sex Worth Fighting For:

I remained preoccupied by fears that something “truly” bad would happen, and often imagined gang rape and murder that would finish me off for good. It would probably be committed by boys who didn’t plan to go that far but felt like trying out their power on somebody who seemed like an easy target. This scenario felt so possible to me as to be the likely next step in my life.

That really resonated with me, because I have been feeling something of survivors guilt over not having suffered more harassment or assault than I have. Rather than count myself lucky – though I do that, too – I see myself as unfairly privileged, and of simply waiting for the other shoe to drop and for me to have the shit kicked out of me or worse.

The author of Sex Worth Fighting For continues in her essay, saying that what finally made things click and feel like she was taking an active response to her fears was a self-defense class. I’ve thought about that before, but I’m trying to fit it in context now with my experiences this past weekend at laser tag and pole dancing.

I’m wondering if taking a self-defense course, of explicitly taking action that says, “Yes, I’m potentially vulnerable, but I’m going to do something about it,” might make me feel less stressed about (say) taking the risk of being sensual or exhibiting a more femme side in public, and even in private.

Have any of you taken any self-defense courses? What were your experiences with them?

I like my doctor, a lot. I didn’t have to jump through hoops to get my hormones (only in retrospect do I realize how rare that is), he has a good sense of humor, and he remembers the important goings-on in my life, even with months separating visits. I will say he is consistently running late, something that drives me up a wall. I operate on ‘stage manager time’: early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable. (This is why I show up fifteen minutes early to most places in my life…) The flip-side of his timeliness, though, is that he spends a lot of time with his patients; I don’t like sitting around in his waiting room, but I very much feel taken care of while seeing him.

At my appointment on Friday, I explained how I’d been feeling, i.e. not too hot. We talked about what’s been going on in my life, and what things have been positive or negative. He was very observant in that most actors and artists have some sort of post-show blues, but I described how this felt really different than other post-show blues I’ve experienced; that this was about feeling an utter lack of excitement about anything, not simply being sad a show was done.

He said that made sense, and gave me a 2-week trial of Lexapro. Then he asked if I would be comfortable with having my Chakras opened.

I wasn’t totally sure how to respond to that. My doctor is very into Eastern philosophy and medicine, although I’ve never felt him push that in our visits. Indeed, while he had discussed his experiences in the Far East and the decorations in his office clearly showed his interest in Eastern philosophy, he had never suggested I try anything along those lines. He explained what the Chakras were, for which I’ll use Wikipedia:

The Chakras are said to be “force centres” or whorls of energy permeating, from a point on the physical body, the layers of the subtle bodies in an ever-increasing fan-shaped formation (the fans make the shape of a love heart). Rotating vortices of subtle matter, they are considered the focal points for the reception and transmission of energies.

He said that, when someone is stressed or depressed, their Chakras can become closed off and prevent the free flow of energy in their system. That contributes and furthers the stress or depression in an unfortunate cycle. He wanted to try taking me through some guided meditation to try and open my Chakras and help me become less stressed.

To be totally honest, I was (and am) somewhat skeptical of the stated goal: opening my Chakras. However, I am a fan of guided meditation and even, when trying to get over panic attacks in middle school, went through some successful hypnotism sessions with my then-therapist. So I was on board for the general idea of a relaxation exercise, and said so. But not totally convinced of anything beyond that.

He took me into a different room, with a raised padded platform; not quite massage table but less clinical or uncomfortable than an examination table. I laid on my back while he explained where the Chakra points were that he would be focusing on: the top of my head, my forehead, my neck, my sternum, right bellow my bellybutton, and my crotch. He was going to place his hands on those locations and chant me through a guided visualization, cycling through repeatedly. During all that, I was supposed to visualize energy bouncing form my head to my feet, back and forth.

The exercise was, indeed, relaxing. I recalled my breathing instructions from hypnotism and began focusing on slow, measured, inhaling and exhaling. My doctor began a chant that, as much as I can recall, was something along the lines of

We call on you the universe force, guide us and protect us, open us to the new, ground us, allow us to be a channel for and a source of power.

I know that’s actually nothing like the exact wording, but that’s how I remember the emotional intent. He went through a bunch of repetitions at each Chakra, and then moved to the next. (For the last, near my crotch, he had me put my feet by my hips to bring my knees up, and then placed his hand on the bottom of my thighs. A little odd, but nothing that made me super uncomfortable.

After his repetitions were done, he took out a pendulum and held it over me. This (somehow) showed him that my Chakras were open, which was a good thing.

The whole experience was definitely a new one for me. I did enjoy it – I’m able to sink into guided meditation pretty successfully, presumably from my experiences being hypnotized and being used to lots of guided visualizations in acting and theatre classes – but I don’t know that I felt “better” after. More physically relaxed, perhaps, but not less sad or stressed. Admittedly, being more physically relaxed isn’t something to overlook. But my doctor was suggesting I come back once a week, and I’m not sure. He didn’t say I needed to, or that I shouldn’t also try antidepressants; either of those statements would have made me a lot more uncomfortable. Rather, he said it was something that helped him feel more relaxed and centered, and has had similar luck with other patients of his. He said I should think about it, and give him a call if I decided I wanted to try it.

Now I need to just make that decision…

I also took the first Lexapro pill, 10mg, this morning. There isn’t supposed to be an effect for at least 2 weeks, which seems sort of silly – I’m supposed to schedule an appointment with my doctor in 2 weeks to discuss how I’m doing, but if I won’t be noticing an effect by then, why give me only 2 weeks of pills? Oh well… As I said, I like my doctor and am willing to trust him on this.

Hard. Session.

She gave me a mini to-do list, which I’m working my way through. I called my mom to talk to her, and we both cried a bit. I don’t know that I’m going to go up and stay with her tonight, but maybe tomorrow or this weekend. Play with the cats a bit. I’m putting off calling my dad, but need to do that next.

I also let the lead teacher of the high school class I’m working with know I couldn’t come to tech this weekend and next week. Which really sucks. More than anything else, I feel bad about dropping that commitment.

I also called my doctor to schedule an appointment and get my hormone levels checked, as well as get a prescription for an antidepressant.

The last few items on my short-term list (trying not to think long-term at the moment) are calling my boss and saying I won’t be in the rest of the week, putting an auto-reply up on my work email, and talking to my roommates. And calling my dad.

Working on breathing. I’m told that’s a good thing. And, I think, after having dinner I may go downstairs and play with my landlords’ dogs. That’s always good therapy.

Edit: Calling my boss was almost worth it, just to hear the sudden change in his voice when I started crying at him. I really didn’t mean to, and was hoping to make it through the conversation without crying, but by god it garnered a sympathetic reaction.

(Post title comes from this story. It is not a happy story. You’ve been warned.)

Almost exactly a year ago, I wrote a post titled If it quacks like a duck…

…how would I respond if someone said to me, “I have this friend whose been really stressed lately. In fact, a few times in the last month or so she’s forgotten to eat and has made herself sick as a result – she gets really nauseous and dizzy, and one time was out of commission for over 12 hours. Do you think she’s developing an eating disorder?”I’d probably say yes. Not a conscious one – she isn’t chosing not to eat to lose weight, or as an intentional defense mechanism – but yeah, probably.

Since then, I’ve been pretty good at staying on a healthy eating schedule. I’m still not eating healthier (no huge shift to greens like I promised my doctor…) but I am eating, even when I’ve been really stressed.

Well, I’ve been really stressed the past week, and realized two things that are really scaring me. First, I’ve been consciously tempted to not eat as a way to feel like I’m in some control over something in my life. Second, I’ve been thinking about cutting, to have some external focus for pain instead of all the internal ones.

The first feeling, about eating, is something I’ve never experienced before. Last year, I was honestly surprised to look  back at the end of the day, at 8 or 9PM, and realize I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. It was not a conscious choice to avoid meals. Rather, in my stress, I could never be bothered to eat; it didn’t seem worth the time. (At least until I almost fainted at work and finally realized why I’d been feeling so drained and dizzy…)

But now… There’s some horrible desire, somewhere between “I’m hurting emotionally? Well, I’ll show me! I won’t eat! That’ll teach me a lesson!” and “If I can’t control anything else, I can sure as hell control this.” and “If I’m going to be miserable anyway, I might as well lose some weight from the experience.” I’m circumventing those desires, and making myself eat, but I’m not really enjoying the experience.

As for a desire to hurt myself, that’s something I haven’t felt in probably five or ten years. I never actually cut myself, in spite of some long nights sitting with a blade. Likewise, I’ve never actually attempted suicide, in spite of some specific and detailed (and undoubtedly naive) fantasies about it. And I’m not suicidal right now – my instincts of self-preservation are still too strong to actually let me seriously consider ending my life. But that blade is looking tempting once again.

Similarly to the feelings around eating, I’d say it’s about control and about focusing the emotional paid I’m feeling onto something specifically physical. At least, that’s how I’m thinking about it. As I said, I’ve never tried cutting myself. But the thought of smoothly parting flesh, of blood, of pain… It would sure as hell direct my focus away from feeling like I’m worthless, if only for a while.

I’m seeing my therapist on Wednesday, and am going to tell her all of this. I’m going to ask about antidepressants, too. Because I’ve always moved the goal-posts of what I would consider ‘success’ in my life: Come out. Start seeting a therapist. Go on hormones. Buy some womens’ clothing. Start dressing as Rebecca. Ask people to call use Rebecca instead of my old name. Live as Rebecca with friends. Live as Rebecca with family. Live as Rebecca at work. Live as Rebecca full-time.

But each time I hit those goal-posts, ‘success’ becomes something that much further away and unobtainable. And so I become less and less inclined to keep going toward that next goal. And not in the good kind of way, the “The only winning move is not to play” kind of way, the “everyone learns something about themselves and comes out stronger kind of way.”

The kind of way where I fantasize about sitting down and giving up.