It is interesting to explore this side of myself and realize that perhaps I’ve been denying what I was truly desiring. For all my life I’ve always thought that women should be treated with respect and put on pedestials. Oddly enough, I didn’t view this for myself. Growing up as a tomboy, I never considered myself as a “woman” so to speak — at least not in the traditional sense. Sure I wanted affection and to special to someone but I desired (and still do) to make someone else feel that much more special. I suppose part of it is what made up my life and brought me to where I am today. Perhaps a minor history lesson is in order. I will say up front the following: I have survived this. All the highs (which sometimes seem far and few between) and the lows (which seem far too often). I am a survivor. I believe there are monsters out there and not enough knyghts to fight them off.
I was born far too early for my mom’s life. I found out later that I was at one point — around the age of 8-9 — a consideration for abortion. There were, and still are in my messed little head, times that I wish it had happened. But, eh. I’m still here. Go figure. My mom and biological father didn’t fair as well in marriage. By the time I was 1-2, they had divorced. My mom was given custody of me by the courts, since in the 70s men wouldn’t know how to raise children. Not that my mom knew either. My mom remarried and my step-father adopted me. What I learned of my real father from either my mom or step-father was that my real father was some type of monster, abusive and horrible (nothing could be farther from the truth I’d learn way later on).
Life at home wasn’t pleasant. I was a tv-babysat child and seemed to move from school to school ever year. Having a friend wasn’t something I truly discovered until later in life (and looking back there are a couple of friends I wish I could find again). By the time I was out of high school, I had gone to 9 schools. Transition was one thing that I hate. By 8, I was the poster child for latch-key-kid. The parental units were poster children of their own: emotional abuse reared it’s ugly head. I remember trying to write a story and asking my mom, a translator, about what she thought of it (me being all proud I had written 9+ pages). She hated it and said it was awful.
So I continued with other endeavors. I was an avid artiste and soon enrolled into ice hockey as a goalie (I figured it would require the least amount of skating skill — boy, was I wrong). It was around this time that I realized I really hate dressing up in dresses and didn’t really see the interest in boys. My friends on the team, however, were more important. I remember one that influenced me so much that I, little goody two-shoes that never skipped classes, never was late and never talked back, skipped history to help her deal with shit (namely, it had been less than a year since her dad had died — he had brought her to all the hockey games).
It was around this time that my mom decided she didn’t want to be with my step-father and didn’t want me around. So again, I was abandoned. This was not a good thing. My step-father, while only doing this once, got drunk and encouraged me into his bed. I was craving affection and love but never found it. It went nothing further than fondling but it was enough to scare me. The emotional and verbal abuse continued. I was too fat. I was too stupid. I wasn’t good enough to get into the Cantebury School of Arts in Ottawa and heck, why even try since artists don’t make money?? (Apparently, I was good enough to get an A+++ in art in high school plus have my bird sculpture on display at the-then Museum of Man and Sciences).
My last years of high school were the most challenging. The guys I was interested in were rather feminine in nature and I had secret crushes on the girls (how I’d imagine saving them from the horrors of the world at the time). I played a variety of sports in school including ringette, hockey and field hockey. I was in the computer/business class. And I wasn’t part of any clique. I didn’t belong to anyone or anything. I ended up dating one guy but he was emotionally distant. He was arrogant and self-serving in many regards. Heck, his mom even told me I could do better. And she was cool enough to let me live with her as a boarder (by grade 12 I was living on my own in a place affectionately called the Roach Motel — she was motified and insisted so that she’d know I’d be looked after).
When I got into university, I got into politics. Rather dangerous option. I ended up bonding with a female friend, who I still consider a friend. At one point, drunk on a bus to a convention I made a pass at her. Bad mistake in the long run. I rarely hear from her but I suspect that may have more to do with the fact that she has 2-3 kids now (at least I hope that’s it). While we were friends, I always made myself available to help out and protect her from the “opposition”. If you’ve never been in political party politics before, you should know that the enemy is both within the party as well as the opposition party. Makes it hard to figure out who to trust.
My relationship with my step-father and my mom had gotten strained. At one point my mom and I had a fight and I walked out saying, “Fine.. you don’t want me in your life, I’ll leave!”. I don’t remember what it was about but the words continue to haunt me since it was my last words to her. I also got to meet my real father at this point. I was rather surprised as to how much I’m like him (in mannerisms) and yet, so far apart (he’s a conservative catholic with very traditional views on family).
My 2nd year of university was my most challenging. I was working full time (11pm-7am security guard), working on a mayorlty campaign (4pm-10pm), classes (12-4pm) and sleeping somewhere in between — for 9 months. I was on the verge of a breakdown. And then the worst happened. I got a call from my grandmother. My mom, on July 13, 1992, had been beaten to death with a hammer by her partner (some schmuck) in front of my half-sister (who was 8 at the time but luckily is mentally challenged so didn’t quite understand enough — how weird that something like that ended up protecting her). I was numb.
I was lucky that my mom’s family is extended and has many friends (something I’m envious of my aunts and uncles). We were well looked after and fed (although I don’t remember eating much). I remember distinctly bawling over the casket (it was closed due to the head trauma — no mortician would be able to fix that problem). I got a call from my step-father at that point and his words to me were, “Well, don’t you wish you had swallowed your pride!”. It was the last I spoke to him as well. Returning to Ottawa, things began to spiral out of control: my debt had increased because of a lack of work due to having to go to the funeral, I was depressed (no duh!) and my step-father was refusing to sign my loan papers because he was ripping the government off and didn’t want to get caught, so no university. Depression became worse when I had called my friend, after I had a few too many vodka coolers, and asked if she had a sharper knife since mine wasn’t able to cut through my wrists no matter how hard I tried. My lowest point ever. And never to return. I was lucky that the pass I made was something she didn’t hold over me since she and a whack of friends immediately piled into a small 4 person car, came over and hauled me back to her place. Needless to say, I was rather embarrassed and ashamed the next day.
I realized I needed help. So I swallowed my pride and called my real father. He agreed to take me in. I think he wanted the opportunity to make up for all the time denied to him. I just needed somewhere to call home and safe. Over the course of the year and a half that I lived with him and his wife at the time, I lost 40lbs without trying. Depression was one of the best diet plans I ever had. I managed to complete my degree (with a C average) and even got a post-diploma certificate (with a B average). I began to explore a world of “BBSing” (Bulletin Board Systems) in a desire to find friends and live out the “straight dream”. At one I met a guy who was nice and polite but had an intrigued to him that appealed to me. Eh. Maybe I was just horny for any kind of touch. It was hot and fierce at the beginning. I thought maybe this was it. 12 years later and many faked orgasms later, I discovered it wasn’t it. While I knew he was pleased (and I do have a huge desire to please) there was little in return. We started out ok but eventually the fighting and distance that I had seen in my parents was appearing in me. I figured I was destined to never truly be loved or desired.
This did not help the ol’ self-esteem bit. Over the course of the first 9 years I went from 145lbs (which at 5’1″ isn’t too bad) to a whopping — and scary — 210lbs (that’s about 50% body fat). I realized I had to deal with this. It was my 2nd lowest point in life. I swore — and have kept this promise to myself — to never return to that level of “fatness”. I wasn’t able to maintain the weight I had lost in 2005 (when I got down to a respectable 165lbs) and have returned back to my previous weight of 210lbs. It remains a challenge for me since I’m on the road a lot and often don’t get the luxury of time to workout when I want to.
In 2005, I got offered — and accepted — a job outside of the downtown Toronto area. Since my ex didn’t want to move from there because he’s interested in financial stuff, I figured it was time to go back out on my own. And stopped listening to what people want me to be. I wanted to be creative and stupidly listened to someone claim I wasn’t good enough. I was told I was stupid and figured I’d never be able to teach — yet I became a professor. I was told I wasn’t a good writer and yet, I write online articles about security and seem to have an existing somewhat-popular blog. Anyways, that job opened up a whole world for me and I found I was enjoying work again (at the sacrifice of my cycling unfortunately).
In 2006, I met an amazing woman who accepted me as I am. She is very happy with the person I am and will become. One of the best things about her is that she brings out the best in me. I had always wanted to become vegetarian and she showed me that it wasn’t that difficult to do so (and even go as far as being vegan). In 2007 I switched jobs (although stayed with the company) and moved to New York City. It has been an interesting adjustment for me to move down here.
So now, since it’s a new chapter in my life, I figured I’d go for gusto and do what I wanted to do and what I dreamed of. And I have the whole of the internet, and a new city, to explore. I suspect this might be a turn off for some and so be it. I’d rather people know where I’ve come from so they understand where I’m going to (which I still haven’t figured out). This is me. It’s brutal and there be monsters still there but I’ve beaten them thus far and will continue to do so. I believe in honesty and commitment. I believe in being true to one’s self. I haven’t been that true to myself until more recently. I’ll probably be doing a complete revamp of my wardrobe and get rid of the dresses and such that I felt I had to wear. I will be working out more to build up my muscle mass and tone up (I don’t want to be a muscle head but want strong arms to protect the ones I love). This blog will probably be best used for my exploration of what is referred to as my transgender/masculine side.