Broken Rules

Often times we set rules for ourselves, whether because of past experiences that we want to avoid repeating, or because we may want to avoid complicated situations, or simply because it seems like the responsible thing to do at the time. And much of the time setting personal rules and boundaries for ourselves in that way really is beneficial and can make life easier to navigate and contend with.

But lately I’ve also come to really understand the idea that sometimes the best thing you can possibly do is to break those rules and take a chance, even if you might be a little terrified of what could happen. Of course the easy option is to keep following those rules, and it would certainly present less of a personal risk and your life would probably continue to hum along as usual. But on the other hand, you just might end up missing out on an absolutely wonderful experience that you never in a million years saw coming. Sometimes the “safer” option isn’t the right choice, and your life would’ve ended up being far less rich for having chosen it.

You may be nervous or scared, and maybe even feel incredibly vulnerable, and that’s okay — there are a lot of big question marks that inherently come along with taking chances. But if there’s something telling you “this situation somehow feels different than it ever did before,” then listen to that, take a chance and see what happens, no matter how scared you might be. Because as it turns out, sometimes breaking your own personal rules can lead to some of the best experiences of your life.

Oh You Dreamer

It occurred to me that I’ve never actually mentioned the song whose title I borrowed for my blog header. The song was originally from Big Country’s Why The Long Face? album, and it’s about how our lives often end up being quite different from the perfect, idealistic ones everyone thinks they’re going to have when they grow up — “how the fuck did I end up here??”.

“Oh you dreamer,
Is this the way that you believed your life was gonna turn out?
Oh you dreamer,
Is this the better world that you were making all those plans for?”

Defining My Sexuality

Sexuality is a funny thing: It definitely falls into the “Nobody else’s business unless I chose to make it their business” category and it’s astoundingly rude to just randomly ask someone who they like to sleep with — unless you’re interested in dating someone, it has zero effect on your life. But at the same time I feel like it’s important for me to talk about it (on my own terms, of course), primarily for the same reason I talk about being transgender: because there might be someone else who’s confused and might find some relief in knowing they’re not the only one who feels the way they do.

So how do I define my sexuality? Well, the most honest answer I can give is…

It kinda just depends on what day it is.

Over the past couple of years, I’ve gravitated towards the term “queer”. There are still a lot of (justifiably) negative connotations to that word (and it’s certainly not one heterosexual people should ever just throw around), but it’s a very powerful feeling to “take back” an insult that was hurled at me so often when I was younger and purposely, proudly use it for myself. And…it just fits. It’s an ambiguous, fluid term for this thing that is my ambiguous, fluid sexuality. It’s kind of the anti-definition, when there really isn’t anything else that’s appropriate or even necessary. It encompasses everything that doesn’t fall within the hetero-normative “standard”, yet it’s not one specific thing. Lesbian? Yep. Bisexual? Yep. Pansexual? Yep. Asexual? Yep. Those can all fall under the queer umbrella, and I am all those things at some point or another, just depending on the day (or week, or month, or…)

There are times when I only really feel attraction towards women (that would make me a lesbian, for everyone who still doesn’t quite grasp the whole “transgender thing”). And there are times when I only feel attracted to guys (which would make me straight, repeat previous snark). I am also attracted to nonbinary, genderfluid and androgenous people, and I’m attracted to people completely irrespective of what’s between their legs or how they may (or may not) define or present their gender. And there are extended periods of time when I have absolutely zero sexual interest or attraction whatsoever.

For a long time, especially when I was younger, I felt like I had to define who I was attracted to, because that’s what society sort of subtly (or not-so-subtly) suggested: if someone asked you “What’s your sexuality?”, you were supposed to have an automatic answer (ignoring for a second the sheer rudeness of that question to begin with.) Whether it was straight or bi or whatever, there always seemed to be this pressure to fit into some kind of box just to make it easier on everyone else. When I came out as bi in high school, it was true then and it’s still true now…it just wasn’t the whole truth, although I didn’t know it at the time. We were more or less told that you’re either gay, straight or bi, only one of the three and that’s it — I never heard terms like “pansexual” or “asexual” at all, not until years and years later.

The older I got, the less sure I became. Not unsure in the sense that I was second-guessing who I was attracted to, but unsure in the sense that “bisexual” just didn’t seem exactly right. Despite struggling with my sexuality throughout much of my 20’s and “playing straight” for a while (that’s a whole other thing for another day), those attractions never really went away — but they also seemed to change at times (and all this on top of my increasing gender identity issues and alcohol problem. So yeah, that sucked.) It’s not like I would wake up and go “Okay, Mondays I’m gay, Tuesdays I’m straight, Wednesdays are Genital Pot Luck”…” or anything like that — I don’t choose it anymore than anyone else chooses who they’re attracted to. You just know, but in my case sometimes what I just know changes.

For a long time I thought there was something wrong with me because I couldn’t always pin down who I was attracted to or what my sexuality was, even though that was a thing society said I was supposed to be able to do. I wasn’t always attracted to women, I wasn’t always attracted to guys, I wasn’t always attracted to every gender all the time. But one of the big things that transitioning has coincidentally brought to me is a sense of acceptance and being at peace with the fact that I don’t have to pin it down — every so often, who I’m attracted to just changes and that’s okay. There’s no longer this weird sense of racing against the clock to “figure it out”, because I don’t have to! This is just who I am.

So how do I define my sexuality? I don’t, because I can’t — I’m just queer and I’m not ashamed to call myself that.

A Night at the Garden

This wasn’t Nuremberg or Berlin — it was here. These weren’t teens or impressionable, misguided young adults — they were grown men and women. They weren’t Germans, they were Americans.

It’s only about seven minutes long, but it’s incredibly disturbing and everyone should watch it.

“A Night at the Garden”

Acolyte

Adding another item to the List of Things I Didn’t Expect This Year, Antisect actually released a new album and it’s quite good! 35 years between albums must be a new record for any band.

I’m Not Doing My Homework

Sometimes my therapist gives me “homework” to do between visits. Usually these are small, simple things, like making a list of goals or a list of things I enjoy doing so that I can pull myself out of a bad headspace. I tend to find them very helpful, so I always do them. At my last visit, my “homework” was supposed to be to write a letter to The Asshole, because it turned out it was still bothering me and I’d mentioned there were a few things I wanted to say to him. This wasn’t really meant to be something that I’d actually give to him, just a way to kinda get out all the stuff I felt like I wanted to yell in his face.

Over the past couple weeks I sat down three separate times to write it all out, but I ended up writing nothing. I’d sit there staring at a blank page, trying to think up all the things I thought I wanted to scream at him. But each time, my mind would take a left turn and I’d end up thinking about all the other friends I have, the ones that have actually been there for me in ways that he never was and never would be. These are people who have taken me to dinner or thrift store shopping just because. These are people who have sent me flowers for no other reason than to cheer me up because I had a horrible week. These are people who have sat up with me on the phone at 2am, listening to me spill my guts while I bawl my eyes out. These are people who have shown me support in ways that I never, ever would’ve imagined. These are the people who have made an incredibly difficult period of my life orders of magnitude better. These are the people that I trust and love.

I realized I don’t actually have anything I want to say to him. Whatever fleeting feeling of vindication I might get from telling him off wouldn’t last, and it would utterly pale in comparison to the happiness I find in all of my other friends anyway. My happiness and well-being isn’t determined by one miserable asshole who doesn’t care anyway, I’m not the self-destructive nihilist he is, and I know that I have more to be happy about than he ever will.

Without them even knowing it, all of these wonderful friends I have helped me finally let it go, just by being in my life. In failing to do my homework it really helped me realize that, for every person that threats me like shit, there are literally dozens of other people who would never do that to me and who love me and who show that to me every single day.

Me too.

Changes

I’ve always hated (more like “viscerally loathed”) having my picture taken, or looking at photos of myself. I doubt there are more than maybe a couple dozen from the past 25 years; as soon as someone pulled out a camera, I’d instantly go into maximum avoidance mode. Like so many things, in hindsight I’m sure it had everything to do with being trans and my own self-image and dysphoria issues, even if I didn’t realize it at the time. But over the past couple of months I seem to have gotten a little more comfortable taking and posting the occasional photo of myself, even if it’s just privately for friends/family.

A few days ago I was poking around one of my sisters’ Facebook photo galleries, and came across a photo of me from few years ago. My curiosity got the better of me and I put it side-by-side with a photo I’d posted just a day or two before…and I ended up staring at them for a couple of hours. Narcissism isn’t my thing and looking at myself still isn’t something I particularly enjoy, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the obvious changes between the two pictures.

In the older photo, I seemed disconnected. I was barely feigning a smile, I’m pretty sure I hadn’t showered that day, and I just looked like someone who’d sorta given up on themselves; I was only half-there physically and mentally. I had already quite drinking by that point, but was still very much in the “I don’t really care about myself” mindset, and it was pretty obvious. I didn’t look like someone who liked themselves even a little bit.

But when I looked at the new photo, I saw a very different person. There are physical changes, of course, but what struck me most was how different my demeanor was. I could tell how much happier and more “present” I seem in the new photo. Everyone tends to pick out physical differences in themselves when they compare photos, but I think that’s the first time I’ve ever really seen psychological differences manifested in how I presented myself. The smile isn’t forced, I don’t look lost, and I don’t look like someone who hates themselves anymore. I finally see someone who’s kinda starting to like themselves for the first time in her life, and that’s been one of the best changes I’ve ever experienced.

Life

16 Psyche

I have things in my brain that I’ll turn into words on the screen soon, but in the meantime here’s a new Chelsea Wolfe song. Hiss Spun is turning out to be another one of my favorite albums of this year. I’d love to see her live next month, but unfortunately I’m not sure that’s in the budget. But it did occur to me that 2017 has actually been a really good year for new music (that I like, anyway); it’s definitely been a welcome respite from the otherwise sickly orange pallor hanging over everything.