Poppy Z. Brite's Blog, page 55
November 22, 2011
I Heard You Liked Updates
I'm doing much better and am sorry for all the worry and strife I caused. I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS OK. As they say. But Chris is wonderful, Grey is fabulous, my mom is happy as long as she gets chocolate on a daily basis, and the cats are ... well, evil and destructive, but fine. And I love y'all for having my back.
Just had a great phone conversation with Harlan Ellison, who has all the old fuck-you back in his voice, and the sweetness I've always known from him, too, regardless of his fearsome reputation. We laughed a lot. I do love that man; he's one of those people with whom I can always pick up right where we left off even if we haven't spoken for donkey's years.
Tonight I'm going to read 11/22/63, or at least a big chunk of it. It's indicative of my recent chaotic mood that I've had it since Saturday and haven't even started it yet.
(P.S. I made the private entries public again, if anyone wants them.)
Just had a great phone conversation with Harlan Ellison, who has all the old fuck-you back in his voice, and the sweetness I've always known from him, too, regardless of his fearsome reputation. We laughed a lot. I do love that man; he's one of those people with whom I can always pick up right where we left off even if we haven't spoken for donkey's years.
Tonight I'm going to read 11/22/63, or at least a big chunk of it. It's indicative of my recent chaotic mood that I've had it since Saturday and haven't even started it yet.
(P.S. I made the private entries public again, if anyone wants them.)
November 20, 2011
Pirates Arrrrrrr Scary
Also, it would make Chris a lot happier if I participated in the life of the Green Goddess, at least to the point of hanging out more and getting to know his "pirate crew." I haven't done very well with this, I'm afraid. For a long time -- one year? two? I was essentially agoraphobic. Didn't go anywhere or see anybody. Even then he was peeved that I never came in to eat, but it wasn't as if I were preferentially dining or socializing elsewhere. Then, after going on testosterone, I started dipping a toe into the gay social scene. I've come quite a long way with that, but the Green Goddess pirate crew and assorted fans comprise a whole different animal, an intimidating one, a Black Freighter where I might be the cabin boy going into the cooking pot. It's the major part of Chris' life, yet it's inherently foreign to me. I don't understand restaurants anymore. Or maybe I understand them too well, I don't know. At any rate, I had my shot at being part of the "foodie" world and failed miserably. It's no longer a comfortable scene for me. I'm no good at just jumping in when I don't know the lay of the land. I want Chris to have his success and savor it -- God knows he has deserved it long enough -- but I can't seem to take part. As we recently agreed, the gay lifestyle is not a threat to traditional marriage, but the chef lifestyle most surely is.
Blah, blah, blah, bellyache, bellyache, bellyache (as I believe Johnny Rotten once said). Feel free to call me a selfish, cowardly prat for this one. God knows I deserve it.
Blah, blah, blah, bellyache, bellyache, bellyache (as I believe Johnny Rotten once said). Feel free to call me a selfish, cowardly prat for this one. God knows I deserve it.
Why Did I Have To Wake Up?
I shaved off my beard (pitiful thing that it was) this morning. Just woke up with the overwhelming urge to get rid of it, and before I even brushed my teeth, zip, zip, zip, the stupid-looking little tuft was gone. I was so proud of it when it first started growing, but the past couple of days it has made me feel like a fake, like a kid with hair glued to my face. Like I was desperate to signify myself as something I'm not yet and may never be.
I may well have lost my boyfriend. Grey, I mean. If so, it's mostly my fault. I have a knack for finding the sweetest, kindest, most patient people in the world, and then driving them right out of my life. Four months is a bit of a speed record, though. He just sent me some sweet texts about how he loves me. I'll be damned if I know why he does, though.
And so it goes ... and so it goes ... and so will you soon, I suppose.
I may well have lost my boyfriend. Grey, I mean. If so, it's mostly my fault. I have a knack for finding the sweetest, kindest, most patient people in the world, and then driving them right out of my life. Four months is a bit of a speed record, though. He just sent me some sweet texts about how he loves me. I'll be damned if I know why he does, though.
And so it goes ... and so it goes ... and so will you soon, I suppose.
P.S.
I'm sorry I keep privatizing entries. It's mostly because of comments I made in the heat of an intoxicated moment that I wouldn't want certain people to see because feelings could be hurt. I truly appreciate y'all's comments on these entries and am setting their privacy level to "Just Me" so I can still refer to them.
"In every heart there is a room ... "
Late last night I composed a silly, sentimental little poem for Chris and sent it to him via text message. When I asked this morning, at first he said he hadn't seen it. Then he said he "might have glanced at it" but couldn't remember for sure. I felt incredibly stupid and presumptuous for having sent the thing.
Do any of you ever reflect on how life is an awful lot of trouble? Strife and bother, whinge and slobber, sound and fury signifying nothing, or at least not as much as we'd like to believe? I'm not saying suicide is a good choice, but if you could just sort of painlessly X yourself out of existence, wouldn't you sometimes think about doing it? Wouldn't the temptation chafe you like that irritating but stimulating seam in your trousers? Is the Imp of the Perverse as real a thing for you as it has always been for me?
And if you're trans, does the Evil Monkey of Doubt ever cling to your back and gibber about how you'll never fool anybody, you'll be the butt of bad jokes, all this angst and money and pain and effort and you'll still be called ma'am/sir all your life, why the hell are you even bothering, uck-uck-uck ...
I'm not going to DO anything, I promise, so none of this DOC YOU'RE FREAKING ME OUT commentary. It's just one of those moods. I can blow off steam here when I can't do it anywhere else. But the ideations do rear their wormlike heads from time to time, and don't you hate it when you try to express them to someone, and their response is "I'm very tired"? WELL, GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP, THEN, I'LL TRY TO REFRAIN FROM DYING OVER HERE. LOL. Lulz. STFU.
Do any of you ever reflect on how life is an awful lot of trouble? Strife and bother, whinge and slobber, sound and fury signifying nothing, or at least not as much as we'd like to believe? I'm not saying suicide is a good choice, but if you could just sort of painlessly X yourself out of existence, wouldn't you sometimes think about doing it? Wouldn't the temptation chafe you like that irritating but stimulating seam in your trousers? Is the Imp of the Perverse as real a thing for you as it has always been for me?
And if you're trans, does the Evil Monkey of Doubt ever cling to your back and gibber about how you'll never fool anybody, you'll be the butt of bad jokes, all this angst and money and pain and effort and you'll still be called ma'am/sir all your life, why the hell are you even bothering, uck-uck-uck ...
I'm not going to DO anything, I promise, so none of this DOC YOU'RE FREAKING ME OUT commentary. It's just one of those moods. I can blow off steam here when I can't do it anywhere else. But the ideations do rear their wormlike heads from time to time, and don't you hate it when you try to express them to someone, and their response is "I'm very tired"? WELL, GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP, THEN, I'LL TRY TO REFRAIN FROM DYING OVER HERE. LOL. Lulz. STFU.
November 19, 2011
Because I Just Haven't Been Maudlin Enough Tonight
This is pretty much how I feel about all the people I love most right now. Don't watch it unless you want to see Billy Joel singing and playing the piano.
A Word To The Unwise
Warning: Do not ever post rhapsodic blog entries extolling the fabulousness of your shiny new relationship. If you do, something weird will immediately happen, and you will spend at least one evening at home getting drunk, being abused by cats, wondering whether any non-trans person can ever really comprehend trans-ness, and marveling at just how clueless about it even the best of them can be.
November 18, 2011
Teaching Moments
I read this post on Microaggressions:
"Well, you can't reasonably expect health care providers to know anything about your situation. I mean, you're transsexual, and that's pretty weird. I don't know why you're so upset about this. You should really be more tolerant of people who don't get it." -- This was the response I got from a cissexual in-law after I disclosed my recent experience with an emergency room psych nurse whose idea of appropriate treatment for a potential overdose consisted of telling me that my decision to treat my transsexuality in accordance with recognized medical standards made me a "deluded, drug-addicted freak" who needed therapy and Jesus.
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Boy, does that ever resonate with me. You should really be more tolerant of people who don't get it. It's been a long time since a medical professional told me I needed Jesus (and back then it was for writing horror fiction, not for being trans), but I am SO FUCKING SICK of being told that I need to create "teaching moments," or that it's my duty to educate those around me, or that it's haaaaaarrrrrrrrd for the poor cisgender people who've never encountered anybody like me before, so I need to be a Good Trans Person™ and represent for the team. Look. You all know that I talk openly about this stuff and don't mind answering respectful questions. But being told that it's my duty? No. Even some of the people I love most do this, and it's a real pisser.
"Well, you can't reasonably expect health care providers to know anything about your situation. I mean, you're transsexual, and that's pretty weird. I don't know why you're so upset about this. You should really be more tolerant of people who don't get it." -- This was the response I got from a cissexual in-law after I disclosed my recent experience with an emergency room psych nurse whose idea of appropriate treatment for a potential overdose consisted of telling me that my decision to treat my transsexuality in accordance with recognized medical standards made me a "deluded, drug-addicted freak" who needed therapy and Jesus.
========================================
Boy, does that ever resonate with me. You should really be more tolerant of people who don't get it. It's been a long time since a medical professional told me I needed Jesus (and back then it was for writing horror fiction, not for being trans), but I am SO FUCKING SICK of being told that I need to create "teaching moments," or that it's my duty to educate those around me, or that it's haaaaaarrrrrrrrd for the poor cisgender people who've never encountered anybody like me before, so I need to be a Good Trans Person™ and represent for the team. Look. You all know that I talk openly about this stuff and don't mind answering respectful questions. But being told that it's my duty? No. Even some of the people I love most do this, and it's a real pisser.
Various Rambling
Life is confusing lately. I feel pulled in a lot of different directions. I have an unbreakable bond with Chris, but for years we've lived more like a pair of slobby old bachelor brothers than like an actual couple. In fact, we recently decided our official designation is "soul brothers." Things are getting very hot and heavy with Grey, to the point where I want to sleep over at his place almost every night, but I can't because I have this house and these cats and my mom and a life set up here. The fact that I sleep better and less painfully over there (his bed is more comfortable and he only has one cat instead of the dozen or so who pile on me whenever I get in my bed) isn't helping me spend any more time at home.
We never even meant to have a relationship. It was just supposed to be lust, but we clicked really, really strongly, like you only do a few times in a lifetime. Going on four months now and it's so exciting, yet so comfortable. I haven't laughed so hard with anyone since I was about 12. Not too long before we met, I was listening to An Innocent Man (which is in general a very happy, in-love album) and "The Longest Time" came on and I heard the lines "I'll take my chances, I forgot how nice romance is, I hadn't been there for the longest time," and I thought, "Welp, I don't guess I'll ever get there again." I gotta say that however this all turns out, it was good to be wrong on that point.
It's my first gay relationship, is what it is. Chris is the most gay-friendly person in the world, and he's been hugely supportive of my identification and transition, but that's just not quite what we have. There have been times over the years when we thought of ourselves that way, but the rest of the world didn't see us that way, and like it or not, society does matter. Being (mostly) accepted as just another guy in the local gay scene, feeling comfortable at the bars, getting to know people -- I never thought I'd have that, but now I realize how badly I always wanted it.
Overall, I feel much more comfortable at gay bars and spaces than I do in the straight world. There are occasional snarky comments and incidents like the one Grey wrote about yesterday, but I never feel threatened. When I'm traveling in the straight world, I've taken to using the bathroom before I leave home or waiting until I get back, because right now I don't really feel comfortable using either public restroom in a straight space. I don't see why they can't be unisex like in Amsterdam (though I admittedly do not miss the Dutch toilets).
[COMING SOON: Original pictures of STEPHEN FUCKIN' KING!!! Watch this space!!!!!one!!!]
We never even meant to have a relationship. It was just supposed to be lust, but we clicked really, really strongly, like you only do a few times in a lifetime. Going on four months now and it's so exciting, yet so comfortable. I haven't laughed so hard with anyone since I was about 12. Not too long before we met, I was listening to An Innocent Man (which is in general a very happy, in-love album) and "The Longest Time" came on and I heard the lines "I'll take my chances, I forgot how nice romance is, I hadn't been there for the longest time," and I thought, "Welp, I don't guess I'll ever get there again." I gotta say that however this all turns out, it was good to be wrong on that point.
It's my first gay relationship, is what it is. Chris is the most gay-friendly person in the world, and he's been hugely supportive of my identification and transition, but that's just not quite what we have. There have been times over the years when we thought of ourselves that way, but the rest of the world didn't see us that way, and like it or not, society does matter. Being (mostly) accepted as just another guy in the local gay scene, feeling comfortable at the bars, getting to know people -- I never thought I'd have that, but now I realize how badly I always wanted it.
Overall, I feel much more comfortable at gay bars and spaces than I do in the straight world. There are occasional snarky comments and incidents like the one Grey wrote about yesterday, but I never feel threatened. When I'm traveling in the straight world, I've taken to using the bathroom before I leave home or waiting until I get back, because right now I don't really feel comfortable using either public restroom in a straight space. I don't see why they can't be unisex like in Amsterdam (though I admittedly do not miss the Dutch toilets).
[COMING SOON: Original pictures of STEPHEN FUCKIN' KING!!! Watch this space!!!!!one!!!]
