Bros have each other's backs.

My brother has been trying to get my Skype name for a while now, and swore at me when I refused to give him it. Last night, my parents found out my reluctance and said I was being mean and selfish, and the reason 'I'd just seriously rather not, let me have my privacy' clearly wasn't enough.

My real reasoning was that it's my chosen name, and my gender is male. But my parents pressured me more and more, and I was jumped into unexpectedly outing myself to my brother.

It's not all terrible, since I intended to tell him before I told my parents again anyway, I just wasn't expecting it to be so soon. Although, I've always worked best when I don't plan to do something at a specific time, and just go for it.

So I ran upstairs, and told my brother that if he opened the door and let me in, I'd tell him my Skype name, and explain myself because there was more to it. I was shaking so much, and he offered me a Rocky bar he had on the side, but I declined.

I decided to just go for it, asking if he'd heard of Transsexuality. He had! I proceeded to gesture at myself shakily. He pulled me to sit next to him, hugged me, and took hold of my hands, telling me that it didn't matter to him at all, and it was fine. He seems to think I still like women, though, on account of him thinking I crush on Scarlett Johansson. I wouldn't mind if I did, she's a beautiful woman, but I'm kind of gay and with a woman, anyway. Shh it makes perfect sense. He said it means we can both go drinking and oggle at women. So bro times ahead perhaps, although there'll be no oggling from my unless it's to compliment people's outfits and if anyone gets close I'll wave my ring at them.

Turns out, he saw the same documentary that I did, the one I wrote about a while ago. 'Boy Who Was Born A Girl', so he understood, and just asked my name. True, he proceeded to laugh and ask why, so I explained everything except that I got the name from Vampirates, a  damned awesome book. He told me to give mum and dad time, because it's not that they don't agree with it, more that they can't believe it's happening to them, to their little girl.

Me and my partner knew my brother would be a good ally, and I'm so happy that he knows now. He guessed about my relationship too, but doesn't believe in asexuality. I still reckon it's linked to my dysphoria, but it's all well and good.

It was spur of the moment, and I don't know quite how it happened, but it's a good sign and if telling my parents goes badly, I'll just go to him about it.

The dreaded Lynx.

Last Sunday I went on a trip to the Teaching Awards in London with some staff from my old school. It should have been weird but my favourite teacher was there with me, so it was fine. Also, London. Worth it.

But in the morning, before I left, I couldn't find my own deodorant, which is crappy at best, so I grabbed my brother's Lynx. It smells nice, I like it, and why shouldn't I use it? My mother found out, ripped it from my hands, told me I'm a girl and I need to get used to it, and pushed some /dove/ into my hands. Then proceeded to tell me off because I wasn't using it properly. My excuse for that was that I was running late, my shirt isn't exactly loose, and I don't have time to go about unbuttoning my shirt, besides that makes me uncomfortable. As well as all that truth, I'd been binding, and didn't want her to know.

I was so shocked and unable to handle what had happened that I left the house crying silently, unable to see my phone to tell my partner, trying desperately to focus on my breathing. I couldn't stop hearing her words all the way to London, and it put a fair dampner on my day. But I thought that had been it. I was alright, they wouldn't go there again.

The next day mum stopped me on the landing, asked if I was wearing 'it'. I shook my head, she replied 'you must just need a shower, then.' I'm still half torn between insulted and proud because clearly I have a manly musk.

Five or so nights ago I was informed that some new spray had been bought for me, and didn't even bother to check it. I was busy finishing the last few episodes of Supernatural. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't some pink, flowering, 'sensual' spray that couldn't be more feminine if it threw on a little red dress and covered itself in makeup. I was so disgusted that I haven't even touched it.

My friend from my old town is visiting, and uses a spray called Charlie. Completely femme, her mum bought her it, but when she used it my mum called me down and asked, accusingly, if I was wearing Lynx. I said I wasn't, honestly. She clearly didn't believe me, went on to state that smelling like a bloke doesn't make me one and nobody in this house is allowed Lynx, she hates it and my dad isn't allowed it. I'd like to know how my brother owns it then, but okay. Dad informed me it's because my uncle who passed away before I was born used to wear it, but that's no excuse for such hurtful words.

So basically, when I move out, I'm using Lynx. I know smelling like a bloke won't make me one, but it'll sure as hell get me recognised more than that pink thing would. Sexist as it is, women are supposed to feel more attracted to male spray, so why on earth shouldn't they be allowed to wear it? I mean, not that I'm a woman, but my parents seem to think I am. Surely, at 16, I'm old enough to know what I'm doing, to choose which bloody deodorant I want.

What's In A Name?

A week or two ago, while idly looking up how one goes about changing their name, I discovered that the age restriction to change without parental permission is 16. Well, I've been of age for about five, almost six months now, so the news hit me rather hard.

All I would need to do is sign up online, for about £10, and have the papers sent to me. Or rather, to my willing friend. Then I need one witness, and it's done. I can show that paper to everybody that needs to see it and my name is legitimately changed to Lorcan.

However.

My parents aren't exactly the most understanding of people, and truth be told I think they'd flip out at me, tell me I'm being rash and not thinking about things properly. They'll be disappointed in me, angry, and though there's fuck all they can do about it, I'd still feel incredibly bad and I don't want to have to regret this decision. At school my teacher said choosing a name is a rite of passage to being who you truly are, and that's so very true. I won't have my choice, my rite of passage, darkened.

For University, I want to be recognised as I am. It's going to be an intricate process, choosing exactly the right moment to change my name so that the place I choose knows who I am. I can't change it and then start signing up because my mail will be sent here, and that could be a problem. But somehow, I'm going to manage it.

It's a tricky life, being a Trans* kid.

Dysphoria

Each time I sit down to type, I don't know where to start, and I have to shut it down. A fair few things have happened so I'm going to section them out. Also for ease of navigation, each post will cover a different thing that happened recently to me that I feel the need to write down.

So now, I'll tackle dysphoria.

Genuinely, it's doing alright. I've not had any major dysphoric moments, showering is actually doing alright. This morning, rather than instantly spiralling into sadness and the helpless feeling I'm used to, I just felt happy as I thought about the day I'll be able to get top surgery, when I'll sit in the hospital with those surgical bandages over my chest, knowing I'm finally where I want to be. On some sense, yes, it's a very long way away, and sometimes knowing how long it will be is enough to make me feel down for hours, but on days like this, I'm fine, the world is fine, and I'm handling it.

This feels like one of those 'it gets better' things. But I guess it does, in the end.

It's evaluation time!

Not much has happened recently, and yet so much has. I suppose only so much can to a kid who's still stuck in education with parents to tie him down.

But I've begun to notice a few things, found triggers that I can work to avoid, and discovered that my parents really don't know me, and I don't know them.

I've found a new friend, to start. His name is Ivan, and he lives in America, which sadly means that with work, he doesn't get home until 4pm, which is 9pm over here. Once the clocks go forward, it won't be until 10, meaning we only get a few hours each night apart from Fridays and days off. But he's probably one of my best finds when it comes to understandings and an ally. Not counting my partner, of course, who will forever be my number one, like Commander Riker is on the USS Enterprise for Captain Picard.
   Ivan's been a great help to me, providing extra backup and just somebody to vent to about Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran from Sherlock, if nothing else. I've been in contact with him for months and it's nice to finally get to a point where we can talk to each other properly.

Everything seems to be building recently. Slowly, bit by bit, I'm losing my patience for humanity. Not in any ways directly linked to my 'issues' but just everything. Why, even just now my dad drilled into me again about having milk in my earl grey, and I nearly snapped at him, saying I'll drink it how I like. It's never anything major, just me interpreting things badly more often than not.

I've not been sleeping enough, either. I mostly put it down to Ivan and our stupid time differences, but it's also just that I can't get to sleep even when I try to. My thoughts are too loud. In school, usually in Critical Thinking, I nearly faded out most days. Everything would become difficult to focus on, my eyes would become heavy, words kept shaking on the page and trying to shift and unfocus on them made it worse. But as soon as I close my eyes all I can think about is all the shit that's going on. All the things I can't do yet because I'm not old enough.

Recently I've taken to the notion that when I get to University, I won't have to go through my parents for anything, so I can be 'me' wherever I choose to go. I'll be able to change my name. They won't even have to know about it, which seems selfish, mean, against everything I'd ever thought I'd do, but might be all I can do. I might have to change my name, otherwise Uni will address me by my given name. By then I'll have a binder, I'll hopefully have settled for a way of being that suits me. I'll undoubtedly be a very camp man, but what can you do about that? Not that there is anything to do. I don't want to be butch anyway. I'll get a new haircut to start me off, so people don't misgender me and get to know what to refer to me as before anybody gets confused, I'll wear tight shirts so people can see that I'm a bloke. I'll have to get my own room, probably, but hopefully in shared accommodation. That said, by then my certificate might say that I'm a man anyway, so it won't matter so much if I'm put in shared with all guys or all girls only.
  The only downside will be people finding out. I don't have a facebook, so there is no way people could know that way, but what if somebody there knew me when I was female. Or if it just gets out. I've already said I'm accepting of the fact that eventually I'm going to get bullied in some way or another, but I'm not sure how soon I'm willing to have to face it. I won't be able to tell anyone, but maybe I can book an appointment with the psychologist there or something, if I need to.

I know it's all just under two years away, but once I got this into my head, the possibility of being myself in my own country is amazing. To Ivan, and everybody he mentions me to, I'm Lorcan. In Sweden, my partner, her family and friends, they all know me by that, too. They knew me before I admitted it to myself too, so my gratitude to them is very high. But my own country... That's something entirely different. To be me, in person. To be spoken to properly, with correct pronouns.

The first time I tried to tell my parents, two years ago, they sort of steered me around it, saying I was too young. I was 14, granted, but my best friend knew he was gay when he was 11, and John Barrowman always knew he was. So did Mark Gatiss, apart from one afternoon of uncertainty. I was told to stop it all, to come back in a few years, and if I still felt the same, they'd talk it through with me. So I did, in August. Sat them down, started it with 'well it hasn't gone away'. But I just got the same thing. I've been treated like I'm making it up. They even went so far as to suggest that it isn't real. I bet people assumed homosexuality wasn't real to stay with. To suggest a way of life isn't real has to be the most insulting thing I'll ever hear, so surely the worst has passed. Anything else I have to take will be easy... hopefully. Either way, in two years time, I'm doing it again. I've gone from meekly running back into the closet, going back grudgingly, and this time I'm just not going back. No way. Four years will have been too much and I'll be an adult. I don't need their consent, but it would be nice to have their understanding.

Now, triggers. I've come to notice that it's mostly when I'm brushing my teeth. I don't actually know why, but I'm putting it down - judging by how I can always replay sentences I was thrown and a bitter anger that settled over me - to the fact that I must have thought over that conversation that night. While I brushed my teeth. It hits every single night but I've started trying to intently think about something else.

I've found a way to combat everything, though. I'm not sure if it will work or not, but I can hope.
It's a set of meditation methods from a blog I mentioned before, here. The plan is, whenever I'm feeling stressed, dysphoric, out of sync with the world, in need of some down time, I can use any of these techniques. Some work so that you can calm down while in public where meditation isn't possible, and they obviously work for anybody, not just Trans* or queer folk.

I've spent the entire day typing this entry, on an off. I think it's about time it was posted.

No Day But Today

As my title hints, I discovered the musical RENT this week. It was amazing and so very inspiring. I've fallen in love with yet another musical.

Today, I put this statement to the test.

I tested the normative barriers and used the Gents. Apologies for this story being retold as if it's a big adventurous action thing.

My friend said he needed to go to the restroom, so I offered to accompany him, since I wanted to try out the male side of the corridor for myself. They're the same, after all, but without the waste bin. And the drawing on the door doesn't have a pointy dress.

I floundered in the corridor for a minute or so, staring at the open cubicle room and wondering if I could really just stroll through the door and nobody would stop me. It's obvious they wouldn't, since the only people nearby were year 7 boys anyway. My friend offered to cover for me, let me know when it was clear, but then I remembered that line from RENT, and just said 'well screw that, let's just do it' and strode forward confidently.

Once I'd locked the door, I danced triumphantly and silently, and fistpumped a few times. I wish I'd brofisted my reflection, really. I'll do that next time.

So I conquered that scary moment of using the male-only bathroom! I've realised if I ever feel dysphoric in school, I can just go do that.

More canteen musings

Typed on Wednesday 19th.

One good thing has happened today, which almost levels the not-so-good thing from yesterday.

Let me explain. I assume everyone would prefer the bad thing followed by the good, since it seems kinder.

My parents are exhibiting tomorrow at an art thing that mum put together. Me and my brother are attending the opening to see how it’s all gone. I asked last night if I’m expected to dress nicely, since I love doing that anyway, and my mum replied ‘Yes, dress formally. But do dress like my daughter, yeah? Otherwise people won’t know.’

Well I like think I’m fairly hardened in that comments usually bounce off me, but that one really hurt. Is she expected low-cut shirts or a dress or something?

She went on to explain if I dressed like a boy and my brother dressed like a girl, people would get confused.

Still, that’s no way to make what is clearly a dig at how I dress and how I prefer male clothing, as well as trying to convince them I’m Trans*. I shouldn’t even have to convince them, for Christ’s sake. Parents are supposed to support their kids. If I want to be a boy, I should be entitled or allowed. And if I change my mind, that’s my own bloody look out. They can warn me against it, fine, but I think after a few years of knowing, and a lifetime of always wanting to be the male character, I’m pretty content with knowing that this is what I want. How I choose to dress and feel.

It’s like when the Dursley’s make Harry act ‘normal’ to hide who/what he really is.

I just… That was completely uncalled for.

Alright. Good things now.

The James Bond show last week? A friend told me everyone had assume I was a guy under the Johnny Depp mask. So it’s not all doom and gloom, I guess.

Also, the bathrooms here are separate doors in the corridor, with the male on one side and female on the other.

    I wonder if I could ever just stroll into the male cubicle… 

No, it isn't a cigarette. My friend got me Candy Sticks, with the Avengers on them.

Reflections on T and Identitity.

The following two texts were previously typed at school on separate days but I was too lazy to upload them, so you're getting a bundle of entries now.

This one is from Tuesday.

This is being written in my Sixth Form cafeteria. I have two free lessons, and nobody else does, so I’m taking some time out. The school wifi is terrible, I can’t get to any site I usually visit. The only thing that works is bloody google. And that can’t lead anywhere interesting. I’m typing this into Word to copy in later. I’ll ask about the plugs in registration, for later use. I have this double every two weeks, after all.

I woke up at 7:40am today. Which is when my friend usually leaves his house to meet me. I woke as he texted to tell me he was leaving, and fell into my clothes. I brushed my teeth so fast my hand was blurry.

Either way, it resulted in being too late to work out my binder, and I really could have done with it today.

   My partner comforted me by telling me she’d explained my situation, name, gender to her parents, and is now referring to me as Lorcan to everyone. In Sweden, I am truly who I want to be, and that affects me a lot more than it should. Her parents asked questions, but only to be sure of pronouns. Her dad helped pick my Christmas present. I know what I’m getting her, but she reads this so I can’t say it. But this means so much to me I can’t put it into words. I might have to draw some sort of thing to say thankyou or to show my feelings. I don’t know. Nothing will be enough.

There are supposed to be plugs in the cafeteria. I’ve seen them. I’m sat next to one. But I can’t open the cover to get to it. So my laptop will die in about 25 minutes, leaving me with another hour. Luckily, I have Chamber of Secrets, my sketch book and my notebook. And of course my MP3, which is charging right now.

  I can’t draw really, but I have an idea of something that I’d like to try out. It’s not the nicest of ideas, but I’ve been inspired by Copper Rose, a tumblr page I follow.

I’ve been thinking about T. I think I may result in taking it. I was considering only 25g, but realised last night that while it would slightly change my figure, which is already slightly androgynous and lacks curves at all, and maybe my voice just slightly, it won’t stop the bloody annoying week that happens every month. That seriously needs to go. So… Who even knows. I’ll ask my therapist whenever I get one. Whenever I’m allowed one and my parents won’t kick off about it. My partner is going to be a nurse, so she can help me every week I need to inject it.

I can’t wait for the day that people try to do an impression of me and need to lower their voice, though. That will be a nice day.

Oh shit. Laptop battery.

Uncle Mark

Let's get this done first. I have had 100 page views. That's fantastic! Not sure what to say about, but triple figures felt like an important moment. I've had no comments or messages ever though, so I'm not sure if just my partner 100 times or other people too. I'm not fussed, since this is just for thoughts, not popularity, so it's all fine.

I should really doing my Media homework, in which I've chosen Hitch Hiker's Guide To The Galaxy and am exploring the different forms of media it appears in, but instead I tagged along with my mum to a photo shoot of sorts with James and Uncle Mark for their album cover.
  James is a family friend who's trying to be a writer but foolishly read his work through before he finished and now can't complete his currently 40,000 word novel. Uncle Mark isn't actually my uncle, but is my friend's. I called him it once and my friend asked him if he'd be my uncle, and he was fine with it. Also, just 'Mark' makes me think of Gatiss.
  They recreated the famous Kray's photo below, despite Mark looking more like a mix between Gatiss, Johnny Lee Miller, and Jeremy Renner, especially with a beard Gatiss uses sometimes. And James has a long hair that is kind of a long bowl cut, curling inwards slightly at the bottom around chin-length. After the Kray photo, uncle Mark played the piano in the corner barefoot as a tribute to Lennon while James sat on top of it. The photos were seriously awesome.






He is by far my favourite uncle. While James and mum left to have a cigarette we discussed sixth form, university and how we both love to stay up until 4am, but once it starts getting light you think 'I really shouldn't be up right now' or, when you lose track completely and think your watch must be lying to you. One the way home he admitted he was going to change out of his suit because he didn't mind wearing it but it makes him think of times when he had to be someone he is not, and he should be heading home right about now actually, as I write this, on the train back to Waterloo. We bitched about annoying women and someone behind him one time who seemed to be going through her entire phonebook, ringing them to tell them she was on a train.
  When we had to part he told me he wishes me the best of luck with my A levels and he'll probably see me next month, since my friend tells me he's coming down and I come visit them both. He added that he's glad I'm friends with his niece, she needs more friends like me, and to try to keep her in line.
  As a side note, I noticed he had a wedding ring on, a simple silver band with slightly raised edges to make a sort of valley between them, and asked my friend about it via text. I needn't have, since he mentioned his husband. This man gets better and better. He's quietly camp, thin, tall and just generally funny and nice. Me and my friend are thinking of staying with him overnight or something when Thor 2 comes out, because we want to see it in London and staying with him is better than a hotel, which I doubt we'd be allowed.
  So that was a bit of an appreciation post.

In other news, I helped at wedding yesterday with a family friend's company that uses fine bone china and serves tea and stuff, and while I was clearing up, I heard someone mention Asexuality. I couldn't join in, of course, since I'm just staff, but it was lovely to hear it and know other people know it exists. I forget sometimes that not everyone is clueless and disbelieving.
  My mum told me I'd be the 'right hand man' to one of the people who run the small company, and that really felt good, even if she didn't mean it how I took it.

I've been looking around a few blogs, mostly run by Transmen, just to keep grounded on it all, and see how other people are doing, and one guy posted a double picture of him before going onto Testosterone and 1 and a half years later. His face had narrowed out, he said his hips got slimmer, and he took on a much more male appearance, however his hairline went back just slightly, as it would for a guy in his early 20's, since female's hairline is further forward naturally. Starting to think it might be worth the eventual hairloss.
  Also watched as a kid, Ethan, from France, injected their first T dose, to show how not scary it is, and document it. The jealousy hurt a little, but it looks so easy. I don't know. I might go for it in the end.
  My partner said when we'd first met, last November, she's thought I was a guy. I'd been wearing a blue hoodie that effectively hides my torso and a neckscarf over that to disguise myself, and my hair was a little longer, but she had no idea until I had to write my name in the book I was having signed. I figured that's a good sign my voice is deep enough, since it's deeper than most of my given gender, but even when dressed to present as male I still get female pronouns. So I'm not so sure any more. Although, that may be because of the ring I wear, the one my partner gave me. It's distinctly femme.
  Last night, she was having a drink and hanging out with some friends at her friend's house, and told me she'd mentioned me only as Lo, since Lorcan in Swedish is difficult, and Lo is a gender neutral name. To know I'm who I want to be - in another country - is comforting.

Right, need to be working.

The name's Bond. Lorcan Bond.

It was our induction day today.

Bit odd. We had to do a performance, and the title was Bond: Live and Let Die. We had to use the music to do something we designed ourselves. I was James Bond, a role I wanted for a very long time.
  We found celebrity masks and used those on the main characters. I was Johnny Depp.... As James Bond. Two wonderful people. Two Alan Carr's stole the queen and prince Phillip. I got to wear a black suit, which helped me feel a little better.
  However, my Bond Girl was my ex girlfriend. We're friends now, and it's fine, but having her circle me sexily and do what I'm sure was a very sexy expression to the tune 'Mr Loverboy' when I introduced myself was very much not good. Thank christ I had my mask on so I didn't have to fix a facial expression. It was... awkward, at best. I wish my partner had been there to be my Bond Girl. She'd have been amazing. Other than that, we did well. Got to the finals but didn't win. There were much better tutor groups than us.
  And, as a result of my walking home in black trousers, white shirt, black tie and waistcoat, I'm fairly sure I caught a girl glancing at me repeatedly and smiling slightly at me. I believe that's 'checking me out', right? I don't know. Either way, she stands no chance, since I'm a happily involved guy. Still, major Male points.

Yesterday, I had a free lesson, so I went to a cafeteria on my own, since all my friends were in classes, and got invited to sit with some colleagues from my old school. They asked about me and my ex, I explained we weren't together because I'm Asexual, and a girl said she'd heard of it, and I verified what it means, and it was all fine.
  Then, topic turned to sex, and then to Hex, the local Trans*. As far as I gather, he's on the hormones to become a woman, but still identifies as male. The five of them were trying to work out what it meant, since he is still very much a guy, not having had bottom surgery, but no longer has a flat chest, and maybe is registered as female officially. I think he's neutral, but I wasn't going to try to explain that and the ze/hir pronouns. I interjected with the idea that we address him by the pronouns he asks of us, and the girl who knew about Asexuality said 'you're on Tumblr, aren't you? I can tell.' and thus I had to go on to explain it's not gender identification disorder, it's dysphoria, and of course it lead to what that is, what it means, how it works.
  Suffice to say I felt a little drained and vulnerable afterwards.

Tomorrow I have one and a half lessons, but I have to be at school for all five. So I have a lot of time on my hands. It's supposed to be triple Critical Thinking, but how the hell are you supposed to think at a critical level for three hours straight? So we're just doing one and a half. The rest is free time and a study period in which I have nothing to study.

Everyone keeps asking why I have so much free time but it's just because I'm supposed to have nine lessons of everything but I now only have five of CT. It's awesome! I plan to take a few extra pounds so I can get a few coffee's at the cafeteria and write or something.

Close your eyes and count to ten, then start again, start again.

This morning I woke with two completely unrelated thoughts through my head. The first was yer make me sick in a Scottish accent, though I can't tell you why since I've never been able to master a scottish accent but suddenly I can say this sentence. Although in an incredibly twisted way they may sense with the second thought.

The second was a strong, painful feeling of dysphoria. I've not had to deal with it for a long time, and it threw my apart completely.

I confided in my partner when I eventually got my twitter direct messages to work, and she asked what triggered it. The answer is plain and simple; my grandparents yesterday. I always feel on edge around them, like I have to strive to be something I'm not around them, and it made me re-evaluate myself. I also apparently have a hairstyle like my mother did when she was younger, so I kept being jokingly called her name.

The point of my haircut was to (subtly) make me feel a little more male, to look it. It must have worked, if that lovely bus driver last week is anything to go by. But to have it ruined by 'your mum had that style!' made me want to curl up and give in to what everyone expects of me.

I've been pushed back into my closet twice now by my parents, and that really isn't helping.

Before I could go and make a sandwich my partner taught me how to create to feel better, and watch an episode of Supernatural to root myself, I was forced by my thoughts into my binding, which was done crappily, I'll admit that now. I've fixed it, but the need to feel restricted and present as male when I stare into the big mirror in the living room was almost overpowering.

Getting dressed today was a dilemma. I've posted before about how I wake up wondering who I want to be today, and then dressing accordingly, but today I wanted to wear a tee my friend gave me three years ago, the last time I saw her. It's got a cupcake on it, with 'yummy' over it. It's clearly feminine but I didn't want to present as it. Throwing caution to the wind I put it on anyway. Now even I can't tell what I'm supposed to be. And I'm not entirely sure if that's good or not. Probably not. I don't know any more.

My partner said fairly recently that she feels awful that such a normal and necessary task as showering and getting dressed is difficult for me, and I repeat what I said just over a month ago. If I could just be happy with my given gender, that would be fabulous. But clearly that's not the case.

Another point I've noticed is that I have always put a full stop after my name, whatever name I use. It's something I'm happy with, and feel quite partial to, now I think about it. The full stop shows that that's it. It's just a name. Who we are inside is up to us, but our name shows who we want the world to judge us as. So when I eventually get myself around to writing my chosen name on forms and such, I'm going to use a full stop, even if it's in the middle of a sentence, because why the fuck not.

There's a blog, (in)visibly queer, and I respect them so much. Ze is called elle, lower case, because she doesn't want a name to be what defines who he is, rather be just a word. Hir also uses mosaic pronouns, if you'd not noticed, meaning it goes by whatever they want or the person talking to them feels comfortable with. She is openly queer and comfortable with who they are, and I'm going to send them an e-mail letting hir know how much I value their posts, they remind me it isn't just me. I'm also going to ask what forms of meditation hir uses, to see if they'll help at all.

I'm currently dealing with my dysphoria by listening to Gaydar Radio, letting the thumpa thumpa, the beat that beats my heart for me, and getting on with my work. I can't ignore it forever, but I can't do anything about it either. I already know I can't tell my parents.

Sick as it is, I'd happily - already, cautiously - put up with the verbal/physical abuse I will inevitably get when I come out to the world, because I'll be who I am. And that is worth everything to me. This looks and sounds horrible, like I want to be bullied. I don't, I just desperately want to be myself. Do you.

The Return Of The Grandparents

As  the title suggests, my grandparents visited today. They're the only relatives living in Britain that visit and that we really keep in contact with. But they're from my mum's side and me and my dad aren't that keen on them. Dad, luckily, gets to hide in his man cave, because there aren't enough seats for everyone downstairs, but I have no choice.

Regular questions I get every time they visit usually include whether or not I have a boyfriend yet. I always tell them no, of course not. Happened twice.

Instance number one.
'Who are you texting?'
'My friend.'
'Girl or boy?' Knowing smile.
'Girl. Her name is Sophie. She's a friend.'
'Not a boy?'
'No.'
'No boyfriend?'
Laughter. 'No. God, no. I'm not doing that.'

Instance number two.
Mindless talking '-when I meet with Emmett next week'
'Who's Emmett?'
'Friend in Dorchester.'
'Male friend?'
'Grandad, Emmett is the campest person I know. He's fabulously gay and definately not my type, nor am I his. The only two boys in my life are gay.'

I also mentioned where I plan to get a job, and my bro interjected with 'That's a gay club!' I know it is. It's also a cafe in the day. 'But it's a gay bar!' Yes, it is. I'm aware. In honesty, it's why I'm asking to work there. I feel comfortable around gay people. They don't expect anything of me, I can be myself (not completely of course. Not unless I know them very well) and I find camp people are very calming people to be around.

It's always rather stressful when they visit. Full of things that are expected of me and bloody repeated questions. Everyone was insisting I frame my 'basic first aid' certificate and hang it up. I have nowhere to hang such a thing, and if I did, I would hang up my signed Colin Baker photograph. That's much more important than a certificate. I'm not going into nursing, my partner is, so why would I need to hang it up?

We watched my brother's christening, and I couldn't help but think back to a conversation me and my partner had not days ago about our son, when he is adopted eventually, being christened. Well, more a strong agreement that it will not be happening. Churches go completely about everything we are and love. The idea of going into a church for our son to be christened is disturbing. If the priest knew who I am, what I am, and how strongly we both adore and support the gay community, he'd probably have a fit.
  Although my brother was christened, I wasn't. My grandmother was the one who enforced it anyway, and for some unknown reason, despite him being the most troublesome, he's always been the favourite of hers. She's rather stuck in the old ways, believing women should know there place etc; and through disliking that that applies to me, I can't stand that way of thinking.

I think these two people will be the ones I'll have difficulty convincing that I'm Trans*. After my parents that are apparently convinced it doesn't exist.

Oh, in better news, my partner's friend is training to be a tailor, and offered to make my suit when we get around to our wedding. Awesome!!!

More brilliant things than you can shake a rainbow at.

I've been helping out at the beach with the paralympics these past three days, in the golf area, and I must have done quite well, since everyone seems to think I'm the best volunteer they've had. All I was doing was asking people in the golf area to fill out this registration form, and writing in the corner of the forms how many people were in that group, so one adult signs a form, I write four to include his wife (sadly no husbands) and two kids. It gave a more accurate count of who was actually doing the golf, or rather just how many visitors there were.

As a result of being a 'super star' as Pete, one of the instructors called me, I got to go out on a boat and look at the sailing in the harbor. That was brilliant. And today I got told to contact the other instructor, Steve, to get a level one golf coaching degree. So yeah, I do sport now.

In other news, I was called 'sir' on Monday! I was checking bus times for my school journey to sixth form, with my back to the bus that was just stationary, and the driver asked 'can I help you, sir?'

I need to point out how much I've been longing to hear that.

I turned around, and I could see him trying to work out whether to apologise or not, and instantly started talking, using my best and deepest Sherlock voice (my voice is already deep enough to get by, but that extra kick hurts no one). It really made me feel better since I'd been coping with 'talk to that woman over there' or 'miss' or 'she' all day and was starting to feel a little edgy.

Don't Panic

Well Dartmoor was amazing. I made new friends, walked the moors at night, and was given the nickname Frodo. I was, of course, stupid to worry.

I've had a haircut! I no longer look like my profile, but it's a cool photo so it's staying.

As part of the National Citizen Service course, I have to do volunteering, and we chose to help the RNLI at Bournemouth Air Show. (If anyone was there, I was the kid in a RNLI shirt with short black hair, holding a clipboard, staring in awe at the planes)

The Air Show was amazing. I got to witness Apache helicopters flying upside down, looping, crossing over each other really close, Blades planes doing stunts, and the Red Arrows. Twice. I can't even explain how happy that makes me. Also watched Barney Harwood of CBBC fame in a Blade, being given the controls to do a loop. Felt oddly proud.

Got to be Stormy Stan, the RNLI mascot. This is him, not with me inside, but there you go. Got high fives, hugs, photo's. And these two lovely kids gave me shells they'd collected off the beach. I also got the chance to play peek-a-boo with a kid whose face was painted like Spider Man. One of my friend's said I'll be a brilliant dad. She doesn't know, she was saying that because I explained I'll be the male figure in me and my partner's son's life. Apologies for the sideways image.

One of my new friends, I shall call him Emmett, after the fabulous man in Queer as Folk, went to a Love Parade in his town (like Pride but for straights also) and afterwards retreated to the gay bar/club near him, where he recieved fans with Gaydar Radio on them. This is an amazing station. At the moment it's all Brighton Pride, which hurts since I'm not there. However, another friend bought me a multi coloured bracelet, so I'm supporting Pride quietly in my room.

Emmet told me he was carrying the LGBT flag (Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender), and I almost told him about myself, but don't know him well enough. I know he'll be lovely, but still. I stayed over his house alone (parents were in France) so we could both get to an early NCS meeting without me getting up super early, and we talked about his boy problems and we discussed pros and cons of long distance relationships. He is quickly becoming one of my favourite people.

Jared, as I'll name my other friend, is giving me a Cyberman head, and we're going as Steampunk for the NCS meet-up dinner. Everyone will be all formal and we'll rock up in our outfits.

Back to Sixth Form in five days. Yaaaaaaay. And I think that's it.

Note. In future, if people try to get you to enter a competition for free, or hand you something, please take it. I learnt what being constantly rejected feels like, and it isn't nice at all.

His joy is my grief.

I've stumbled upon some documentaries on Channel 4, which I'm watching online only, about Trans* people going through the stages of becoming who they really are.

The title is a quote from the mother of Jonathan, the main focus of the first show I tried out, 'the boy who was born a girl'. I sympathise with Jon completely. He's my age, but has already begun the hormone treatment required to truly become a young man. While looking at photos of 'Natasha', he explained that he really didn't see a girl. He saw a man in drag, as he so bluntly put it. He'd never felt comfortable as Natasha, and when he first had all these thoughts and feelings they made him confused and frustrated. It was almost like watching a documentary of myself, except that I just felt relief when I worked it out. I wasn't the only person like this, but like Jon I hadn't considered that there was another option to being who society raised me to be.

His mother is amazingly supportive and he's so incredibly brave to be going through this in school. But while I'm overwhelmingly happy for him, I'm also getting a ton of painful feelings because my own parents told me to 'think it over' and come back to them when I'm 18, and that I was only being influenced by people I met online. True, at my age, especially then, I was susceptible to suggestion, but I'm wise and mature for my age, which should have been obvious.

I've tried to not think about it for a year, going so far as to force myself to not go there when my mind started to wonder, and I stopped going online at all, stopped visiting the blogs I frequented and asking people to not call my my chosen name, but to revert to my given one, but I literally can't do that any more. That's another reason for this blog. I don't trust diaries, since they're easy to get into and read, and where better to put my thoughts than the internet, where I can't exactly be judged too harshly, and even if I do, it doesn't matter.

Sometimes the sheer mass of what I'm thinking and feeling becomes almost overwhelming, and I feel nauseous when it's at it's worse. It is such a big change, bigger than just realising you're gay (not that that isn't a big thing in itself) but you are in fact asking the world to see you differently, to address you differently and respect you as someone you once were not. But at the same time I'm painstakingly aware that I can't go on being who I am forever. I'm just not comfortable with it and never have been. Getting changed at school has been difficult since I was very young, discussing feminine things, swimming pools, it all just screams wrong at me. I even had to refuse going to the prom, simply because wearing a dress is everything I'm not and I wasn't allowed to have a suit instead.

As Jon said, if I could just get rid of the gender dysphoria and be who I was born as, that would just be amazing, but as it is, life is hardly worth living if you're not happy with who you are. I can't see myself idolising women, and I've always preferred male characters (a prime example is my strong wish to be Peter Pan since I was seven years old and first saw the Disney film, or wanting to be Red Ranger instead of Pink or Yellow).

Still, I've got to wait a few years to re-explain myself, and then I need a psychiatrist just in case I haven't been sure of my identity since I was 15 and then two years living as my preferred self before I'm permitted surgery. So... early 20's. It's a long time stamp, but it will be so very worth it.

Sympathy for the Dalek - An extended metaphor.

Doctor Who, Series One, Episode Six, Dalek. 2005.

I stumbled across this episode today, and suddenly it struck me. This Dalek is different. He begins to feel something other than the 'seek and destroy' mindset that all genetically engineered Dalek's are given. From the very moment Rose Tyler stupidly puts her hand to it's metal casing, it begins to doubt it's given role.

This Dalek is, in it's own alien way, Trans*. This entire episode is just amazing and I can't sing it's praises enough, it's full of so many emotions and Eccleston holds his own so very well, but the main part that stands out is the confusion the Dalek feels. This is a being that isn't designed to have emotions and suddenly had them thrown at it. All it wants is freedom.

My heart goes out to this Dalek, who can't understand what it's suddenly feeling and why it hasn't killed Rose. It chants 'what am I?' and questions itself. This poor Dalek is experiencing what so many people do. It wonders what will become of it now that it has this new outlook. It's heartbreaking when it admits to Rose that it's scared, and that it can die because it's met a human who wasn't afraid. I have many emotions for this Dalek.

Sadly, it chooses the easy way out, which is understandable given that this is still a Dalek, one of the supreme race, who believes all of it's other race to be dead.

At the end, when it opens up to feel the sunlight, that is like Transitioning (a term I generally dislike because it implies moving from one gender to another, which isn't always the case) but all it wants is to try to work out what is going on in it's befuddled mind.

'You've obsorbed her DNA. You're mutating.'
'Into what?'
'Something new.'