I was sitting in the break room at work during lunch today, sharing a table with some of my coworkers in my training class. One woman asks another if she had seen the Facebook post of a mutual acquaintance of theirs. Apparently this acquaintance had posted a coming out statement announcing that they were transitioning from male to female accompanied with a picture dressed in woman’s clothing. I tensed up, fearing the worst, having no clue where this conversation was going to land. They chatted, saying things that to them seem supportive and open minded, but were just clumsy. Things like “I support people like that” and “what ever makes him happy”. I think they definitely had good intentions but were clueless on how to express them. As I sat there, my eyes shifting back and forth between them, the heat raising up the back of my neck, thinking “don’t these two realize that there is a transexual woman sitting between them?”

This was a very odd situation. I was sure that if I had said anything at all I would have outed myself to those who didn’t know I was transexual. Then I thought “how could they not know?” I’m not very feminine looking and I have a very deep voice, like James Earl Jones deep. I have this very strange mixture of emotions right now, I’m worried that I will be outed, amazed that they don’t realize, and satisfied that I have managed to properly socialize myself as a woman despite being raised as a male.

So, please, tell me what it’s like to divorce a borderline.


This is a very powerful read. It makes me wonder what soon to be ex-wife #3 truly thinks of me.

Originally posted on Panda's Privates:

I really try not to take things personally, especially when it comes to mental disorders. But I admit that I hold them close, almost cherish them. My mentally-flawed brain is what makes me me and I’m turning my life (and sanity) inside out trying to love myself instead of hate, hate, hate.

I almost don’t like blogging communities. I admit that too. Sorry whatever audience I have.

They take me out of this bubble. This safe bubble. No judgement. Anonymity.

I’m not currently following any blogs because I don’t have a ton of time to read them, and if I’m being completely honest, most of the time I just don’t want to. It’s not that I don’t want to connect, or am anti-social (although I kinda am, mostly because I hate human stupidity and ignorance). It’s that either the posts are too close to home and I’m not ready to…

View original 384 more words

To Stealth or Not to Stealth

I started a new job with a large telecommunications company about a month ago, my first post-transition. When I first started I thought everyone was just being nice to the new trans girl. Now I am starting to realize that I am actually being accepted as a woman, despite my very deep voice. I work in a call center with over 200 employees and not one person has used a male pronoun of given me a second look. No one has even flinched at my presence in the woman’s restroom.

As I am getting to get to know my co-workers we are getting friendlier. Deciding which version of the truth to tell is stressful. I never know how much of my past to reveal. I’m not trying to run from or hide from my past, but I do think that it is not relevant. I don’t need to be announcing to the world that I am trans.

This however creates issues with my backstory. I have not had the stereotypical female life experience. As desperately as I wanted it, simply haven’t experienced the life that most women do. I can’t bear children. I’ve never experienced gender bias in the workplace until now. Men treat me like I am a moron when it comes to technology. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from pointing out that I have been using computers since the late 1970s and was selling consumer electronics before they were born.

I’m walking a balance beam of truth. I don’t want to lie, or fabricate a life story, but at the same time I don’t want to out myself. I hate using words like “partner” to describe past relationships (although I have no issues with others using them). “Partner” seems to me to be purposely vague, bordering on deceitful. But if I mention that my last two relationships were with a boyfriend and a wife, that automatically causes people to take a deeper look at me. Being known as a transperson in the workplace would cause everyone to walk on eggshells I would imagine. The company I work for is an incredibly open and diverse company. They are swift to address any issues of misconduct, discrimination, and inappropriate behavior in the workplace. I know this because I have already been interviewed as a witness to an incident within my training class.

I am in a very odd place at work right now. For the first time in my career I feel comfortable at work just being me. At the same time I am worried about what will happen if my past is revealed. I am curious how others have handled their post-transition jobs. I’m sure it is vastly different than transitioning on the job.

The Blade Wins – Another Relapse

The craving and desire to use have been overwhelming the last few days. I’m not sure why, I haven’t had any significant triggers, but the cravings are back nonetheless. I tried reaching out to fellow members of NA and like always I was unable to reach any one. I hate that they will always say “call anytime day or night if you need to talk” and then not a one of these fucking people pick up the phone. I’m to the point where I want to give up on the fellowship and manage my recovery on my own.

I started to get very depressed and thoughts of suicide started flashing in my mind. It happens that quickly sometimes, without warning the thoughts are suddenly there. I briefly considered hopping a bus to the sporting goods store and see if is even possible for me to purchase a gun in New York State. Due to my hospitalization earlier this year, I am prohibited from owning, possessing, handling or firing a firearm in California until July 1,2019. I don’t know if that ban extends nationwide. It didn’t seem like an appropriate question to ask when signing my discharge papers from a psychiatric hospital. Realizing the gun idea was probably a no go, I called the National Suicide Prevention Hotline. I know they are always there. I talked to a nice woman for about 45 minutes or so and felt well enough to hang up the phone. I used the bathroom and as I was washing my hands I looked at the mirror and hated what I saw. I was almost like it was before I transitioned, there was that much self hatred. I ran to the living room, opened the end table drawer and slashed my wrist 7 times. As the blood rand down my arm, I could feel the stress, anxiety, and self hatred melt away.  Crisis averted.

For now.

Demons Resurfacing

Things have been going well lately until today. I’m getting overwhelming cravings for opiates. I keep having visions of downing a handful of pills or even sticking a needle in my arm. The needle visions in particular scare me. Heroin is a huge problem in the area I am living and it can often be purchased for less than marijuana. I only ever used a needle once and that was years ago. Why the thoughts are popping into me head is beyond me. I have a sponsor in AA, but have been unable to find one in NA. My sponsor is sweet, but she simply doesn’t understand drug addiction. When I told her what my drug of choice (Norco) was, she didn’t even know what it was. It’s gonna be a rough ride for a while.

Serenity and Calm Seas

The last six weeks have been a whirlwind of ups and downs. Six weeks ago tonight I came very close to taking my own life. I poured around 40 Seroquel tablets into a plastic cup. I held the cup to my lips and prepared to swallow them all. Suddenly I remembered a promise I had made (in writing no less) not to kill myself in my friend’s home. I poured the tablets back int their bottle and picked up my box cutter and cut myself 75 times. I sunk into a deep, deep depression that I was sure I would never escape from.

The following week my friend informed me that she had a change in income and was no longer able to allow me to stay at her house. On November 1st she drove me to a bus stop and sent me on my way into an unknown world. I rode the bus to the social services office and begged for assistance. Social Services was able to provide me with a motel room for three nights. They gave me a list if apartment complexes and told me that I needed to find an apartment, and they would pay up to $400 a month toward it. I was instructed to check back three days later and report my search results. The motel was a bleak, disgusting, place that should be condemned. There were prostitutes and drug dealers in the parking lot. Not a good situation for a recovering addict to be in.

I of course was unable to find an apartment that cost less than $400 to rent. The last time I was rented an apartment that was less than $400 am month was more than 25 years ago. I reported as instructed three days later and was granted an additional three days at the motel and told once again to come back in three days to report my search progress. During that three days I received my final confirmation that I would be starting my new job on November 17. I returned as instructed and I informed my case worker that I was starting a new job the following Monday. She gave me the spiel again about returning in three days. I told her I couldn’t because of work. She once again gave me a voucher for three more night and dismissed me. I left her office and was crying when I got to the lobby. I had no idea where I was going to go or what as I was going to do. Suddenly my case manager came into the lobby and called me back to her office. She then gave me a voucher that allowed me to stay in the motel until December 1st.

I started the new job as scheduled on November 17, which was my 46th birthday. Knowing that I had to figure out where I was going to go I once again began searching for an apartment. I looked at an apartment that I really liked and they were running a special where the first month of rent was free, and all I needed to move in was $510 for the security deposit. I knew that I would be able to afford that when I received my first paycheck on December 1st. I began to panic again because had no idea where I was going to go.

Then an angel stepped in. I was telling a dear friend (the same person who purchased me a plane ticket that got me off the streets of Northern California and brought me here to Upstate New York). She asked if I were able to get the money before my first payday would I be able to move in on the first. I told her yes I was, but didn’t have the money. She then did something that I never expected and would have never asked for even though my life depended on it; she offered to let me borrow the money. I signed the lease the day before Thanksgiving and moved in on Saturday the 29th. My friend drove over three hours to my new place with a truckload of things to get me set up in my new apartment. She brought furniture, dishes, cookware, cleaning supplies and some food to help me get started in my new home. Unbeknownst to me, she had been soliciting friends and acquaintances for donations to what she called “Project Allison”.

I slept in this morning and when I awoke I made myself some tea and began to reflect on these last six months. At first it felt like I was shaking off a hangover and that everything was right and life was perfect and that nothing could ever go wrong. I haven’t been self harming, I haven’t picked up a blade since the night I cut myself 75 times. I’m working for the first time in over a year. I have a home again after being homeless for six months.

Then I forced myself back to reality. While I am facing calm seas at the moment, I know that storms will come. That is the cold hard reality of being me. I am a mentally ill addict, nothing will ever change that. Borderline Personality Disorder is a cruel mistress. The best I can realistically hope for is to manage my symptoms effectively more often than not. I need to learn to ask for help long before I am in crisis. I need to take my medications properly. I haven’t seen a therapist since I left California. I need to be in therapy, and I need to be diligent and follow through to find a therapist here.

I am counting my blessings now and appreciating what I have. After losing everything I am now thankful for everything I have. I have learned to appreciate the calm and stable times when I have them, I know they won’t last forever. I am embracing myself and I am not pretending to be something I’m not. For the first time in my life I don’t hate myself. That’s a pretty damn good place to be.