Black Dogs on my Trail

First of all sorry for the radio silence the last few days, a busy weekend and a holiday Monday followed by an off site meeting all day Tuesday meant no time to properly compose my thoughts.

Saturday was a complete write off; the black dogs of depression had run me down and left me pretty well mauled. I am not a very outgoing personality and had never experienced serious depression until I stated to deal with being transgendered. It has been the depression (that and all the damn cars) that drive a wedge between my SO and I, more so than even being Trans.

I am seeing a therapist and it helps immeasurably but even so the black dog can sneak up on you at any time. "Black Dog" was what Winston Churchill called his depression, a fitting image I think.

Saturday was supposed to be a milestone, my first female haircut at a beauty salon. Up early to make my 8:30 AM appointment, I was giddy with anticipation. I arrived early at the mall and impatiently waited for the salon to open. Unfortunately the recommended hairdresser’s first language was not English forcing me to explain about five times that I was Trans and wanted a female haircut. Any louder and I may as well have announced my Gender Identity Disorder over the mall's public address system! She kept giving me male hair style books to look through until I pulled out a picture of April and showed her who I really am. I think she finally understood and she did the best she could with my long for me but relatively short male hair.

To be fair she did a good job with what she had to work with and I ended up with a gender neutral haircut that will allow me to continue to grow out my natural hair. On the return home my wife was not too impressed with the styling and subconsciously I was also unhappy with the process. For a MTF the idea of a trip to the salon is a fantasized experience and mine did not live up to my high expectations. Coupled with my SO's apparent disapproval I quickly fell into depression. It is a vicious cycle, feeling bad about something as simple as a hair cut or car problems colors your thought process and soon you are questioning your ability to pass, transition or even your self worth. The more depressed I got the more my SO lost patience with me making me even sadder at angering my greatest supporter.

Depressions living dead embrace had me all the rest of the day. All I wanted to do was to lie down and feel sorry for myself. All hope and joy had gone replaced with a vast emptiness that makes ending your life seem like the right thing to do. I took the children out bike riding, went to the store but I was only going through the motions an emotional zombie.

Roller coaster emotions seem to be the lot of the Trans person. We experience such great joy and happiness when we can be ourselves and such terrible lows when we feel that opportunity is being taken away from us.

Sunday and Monday were much better and I have some good news to report but I will tell you about that tomorrow.

Tuesday was back to school for the children and back to work for me. My job can be rather thankless at times and my boss quite a handful, after a tough day I felt that the black dogs were nipping at my heels again. In the morning at the school I look around at all the moms and later in the grocery store at all the GG's and I felt that I could never be one of them, to look that good, that natural, who was I kidding. However this time I was able to shake off my phantom pursuers, perhaps I just didn't have the energy to beat up on myself anymore this week?

I forced myself to go for my nightly walk/exercise as it was a beautiful warm late summer evening. Leaving the iPod behind I strolled with my own thoughts and resolved not to give up but to press on with transition, really what choice do I have? As Winston said, “If you are going through hell, keep going”....he knew what he was talking about.

See you tomorrow,

April

An Experiment

For the MTF Trans person hair is so incredibly important. It instantly identifies you as male or female. The right wig can instantly transform.

I still have my hair so I guess I am lucky but I have a typical male hair line, tall forehead and widow’s peak. Also my hair is amazingly fine and straight. I think I will be able to grow my own hair once I transition but will still need the scalp advanced surgically to look feminine.

A busy work schedule and a favorite barber who is in another town has meant that my current hair is well beyond its male best before date. In fact it is the longest it has ever been. I guess I could have got my hair cut but subconsciously I didn’t really want to.

I usually wore it in an Elvis style duck tail having too use much gel and hair spray to keep my pin straight hair defying gravity. I have worn variations of this style for twenty years or so (ZOMG!). Occasionally getting a flat top in the summer months. Time for a change don’t you think.

The plan or experiment is to see if I can have my hair styled for a feminine look, preferably one that downplays my forehead and can be combed in a male manner for work. That is not too much to ask is it!

I have an appointment with a stylist at a beauty salon early tomorrow morning. She was recommended by a friend. I will of course have to explain the “experiment” to her and that means telling her about me. “You don’t know me but I am Trans,” should be an interesting morning.

And if it all goes south it is all back to short back and sides…

Hugs,

April

A Trans Movie?

The Corpse Bride

The 2005 film by Tim Burton really caught my attention when it was first released. I bought the DVD, the CD soundtrack and even a figurine or is it action figure of the bride (Emily).

For a few months in my pre-out days I watched the film and listened to the music over and over again. Why so obsessed? Just a romantic story with a nice gothic feel or was it something deeper.

I suspect there is something Trans about this movie but I cannot put my finger on it. I have surfed around the net to see if anyone else shared my suspicions but I have never found a review or random comment that mentions transgender themes.

The story is based on an old Jewish tale of a murdered bride awakened by inadvertent vows, recast in Victorian England, all be it an Edward Gorey / Charles Addams sort of olde England.

Film critic Roger Ebert wrote that the film is not a “macabre horror story as the title suggests” calling it a “sweet and visually lovely tale of love lost”. I could not agree more. If you have not seen The Corpse Bride, go buy or rent it right away.

Now, it should be remembered that Tim Burton is the same director who brought us the bio pic Ed Wood, the infamous grade Z mogul who made the movie Glen or Glenda or I Changed My Sex. Poor Ed had a more than passing familiarity with his subject matter in this case.

Just what strikes me as Trans, is it that the groom Victor falls in love with Emily (the eponymous bride) even though she is not a “real” woman?

Emily’s joy at life and love regained, especially evident in the beautiful scene where she dances in the moonlight reminds me of the joy I and I am sure many of you feel when we can be our true selves.

I hope that readers will be kind enough to share their own perspectives on the film. Is there a Trans theme or am I delusional?

Hugs,

April

Words Have Meaning and Names Have Power

April Ashley

I did not struggle or fret over my name, it just came to me from out of the ether of my own experience. I would say a gift from the universe if I wanted to risk sounding like some new age hippie.

I was attempting to sign up for the crossdressers.com forum, my first tentative step in reaching out to the wider trans world beyond my closet.

I needed a female name, something close to my given male name but not a feminine version of it. Suddenly….APRIL…that was it. I had been friends with an April at my old job, actually that was her last name. Great, feminine but not too cutesy, I now had my forum name.

But sometimes things like a name take on a life of their own. April was supposed to be just a place holder, an internet nom de plume. When I came out to my spouse, she asked did “she” have a name, why yes April. When I first ventured out into the real world, it was April who took that first high heeled step. When I went to get my diagnosis of GID, it was April who walked confidently into the doctors office. It is the name my new friends call me and the name I hope that old ones and family will one day embrace too.

I am becoming April and I have no regrets.

It was only later that I realized that April was the name of the first British person to have SRS. (Not sure if Roberta Cowell should also get this honor) . I am sure I must have heard her name from my days at school in the UK or stumbled upon a reference to her in my earlier pre-web surreptitious research.

Not a middle aged transitioner like myself April Ashley became a woman at age 25. She has had and continues to have an amazing life that I cannot do justice to in a mere paragraph.

Instead follow the link below to read her biography, the entire work is on line and free to read. Warning, make sure you have a couple of hours spare! Her story would make a great movie.

http://www.antijen.org/Aprilv1/

See a more recent BBC interview here:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/local/london/hi/people_and_places/newsid_8383000/8383720.stm

“you can be who you want to be…but do it with joy…and be terribly brave.”

So retroactively I am claiming that April Ashley is my namesake, I hope she does not mind.

Hugs,

April (the other one)

The Sound of Fury

Don’t worry its just the title of Billy Fury’s first album in 1960. I am a big rockabilly fan and the more obscure the record the better. Not that Mr. Fury is obscure; he is a legend in the UK but much less well known here in North America.

I have a real soft spot for early British rock and roll and he was the best. Two tunes for your consideration, Don’t Knock Upon My Door (a rocker) and A Thousand Stars, a sappy romantic ballad, yes I can freely admit to liking those now.

In an earlier incarnation I dyed my hair blond to look more like Billy when he starred as Stormy Tempest in the movie That’ll Be the Day. You know come to think of it I do look good as a blond.

Three mini posts:

Sounds like a breakfast cereal, "mini posts the cure for the common breakfast". Blame the corny cereal jokes on the episode of Mad Men I watched last night. Did you see it? Peggy stripped and I still want to be Joan (who wouldn’t?)!

Not Quite April

Presenting as April at home is one of the steps forward that my spouse and I talked about when we were discussing telling the children. For three evenings last week after the children went to bed I have changed into casual April wear, girl jeans, blouse and bra for the slight breast development that the past five months or so on hormones have happily provided.

At first I was quite uncomfortable in this not quite April stage, no makeup, no overtly feminine clothes or high heels. Basically what any woman would wear after work, dishes and bedtime stories. I do feel more comfortable in my own skin and more relaxed but this in between stage is a little hard to look at I the mirror. I want to see the woman I am inside but the guy keeps intruding…and he is not welcome!

My hair is the longest it has ever been and if I don’t comb it back as I do in guy mode I can let my bangs fall naturally over my forehead, hiding the typically male widows peak hair line. I am seriously considering finding a stylist who will have a go at giving me a female cut that could be easily be combed from female to male. If not….back to short back and sides.

My spouse had been great and remembers most of the tome to call me April and even use female pronouns. Next step is to introduce my female wardrobe to daylight hours and the children.

Depression and Frustration

I didn’t get out this weekend and the inability to be fully April, even for a short time weighted heavily on my mind. I am better than before, a few months ago I would be super depressed. Therapy has helped deal with the depression and perhaps I can see a brief light at the end of the tunnel where I will be April all the time.

Prison of Masculinity

Part of the reason I could not get out was the male part of my life had too many demands. The Lincoln Mark IV is still on the disabled list. I pulled the fuel pump and have started to rebuild the carb as both the garage I are in agreement that the problem is fuel delivery related. I didn’t get a chance to finish the job as the shop gave me the wrong fuel pump and filter! Covered in gasoline and grease and feeling anything but feminine I needed a 45 minute shower to get all the crud off me.

No replacement could be sourced Sunday so I finally had to tackle the floor repair on my Oldsmobile Toronado. I had stripped the interior and removed all the wet sound deadening material due to a sunroof leak. Satisfied that I found and fixed the leak (oh god I hope so!) I have to strip off the surface rust on the floor, fix a small hole and repaint before the interior can go back in. I got most of the sanding and painting done last night and reinstalled the power driver’s seat….heavy. The plan is to put a top coat on the floor tonight and drive her to work Tuesday. We had a hot weekend and I was drenched in sweat and covered in metal and rust fragments by the time I was done for the evening. Time for the second long shower of the day.

Sorry, getting carried away with all the car stuff, the point is that I was rather down about having to do all these car repairs, like a guy. I love the cars but don’t really enjoy the getting dirty part anymore. The cars were feeling like a self made prison and I strongly resented the time I was spending on them. The defensive wall I had built out of cars to keep the pink fog out was now a prison forcing me to still be a man.

A rationalization of the fleet is coming. I wish I could keep the most expensive ones but they may well go to finance surgeries.

Peace and Hope

I don’t know if I consciously applied any of the techniques I have learned for fighting depression. But a long shower, shaved legs and then slipping into a soft cotton nightie and a fuzzy robe really helped. I curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea and watched the latest episode of Mad Men. Simple pleasures but everything seemed a better, I felt peaceful, I felt like me and some hope returned.

Hugs,

April

Defensive Obsessions

Ok I won’t bore you with car stuff…too much….up till 2:00AM no doubt trying my neighbors’ patience.

After determining I have some sort of vacuum leak/manifold air leak, I finally had to admit defeat and resolved to call the auto club in the morning and have her flat bedded to my mechanic. It was either dust off the 59 Cadillac or borrow my mother's mini van. So feeling very down market today.

My spouse came out around mid night and told me to call it quits. I was quite down looking out at a driveway filled with a sea of Detroit iron all needing some sort of repair, costing much in dollars or time. She made a good point; my heart wasn’t really in it anymore. I hung my head in sad agreement. You know she reminded me that you used to spend three or d four hours a night out here, I would never see you. You haven’t done that in a long time….since coming out.

As you might guess I love cars and still love cars but the obsessive need to fix and restore for hours on end has fallen by the wayside. I much prefer to drive them and a quick wax now and then. I can freely admit that I used my ever growing fleet to keep me busy and my mind off the dysphoria.

A had a intense need to start another project every year or two even if the previous one was still ongoing as it kept the male me sane. Replacing one madness with another. I am sure many of you have experienced the same thing whether that girl fog dispelling obsession was exercise, work or extreme bird watching.

Cars were the biggest culprit but I was also becoming quite obsessive about politics and in the past record collecting.

As a couple, the cars were the greatest source of tension in our marriage, in some ways being Trans does not even come close. I was totally impervious to her arguments, reacting angrily to any suggestion that I sell some of them or spend less time working on them. It makes more sense now, cutting back on car time and spending risked weakening my male defenses and that was unthinkable.

I admit that a lot of my self image is still tied up with what I drive but now that I am finally being true to myself and I no longer need the constant male reinforcement an exhausting obsession can hopefully go back to being an enjoyable hobby.

hugs,

April

From the above ad:

"We invite you to visit your dealer soon- with the man of the house- and spend an hour in the passenger seat of a 1959 Cadillac"