A 420 Tale

One time I made the mistake of trying to do a show on 420.  I had never actually heard of the holiday before.  All I knew was that everyone was saying,  "I love 420", "420 is the best."   I honestly thought they were talking about some new cleaning fluid they'd found.

By the time the show started, everyone but me was baked.  The comedians were stoned.  The host was stoned.  The entire audience was high....both of them.

I tried to do my set, but no one was listening.  Nothing but crickets.  Eventually I stopped and asked the crowd, "Hey if I were to leave this stage right now, how long would it take you to even notice?"  Literally half the audience...ok, that one guy...looked up at and said, "......whut?"

I don’t feel like a woman

When I was little had a reputation for being a goody-goody who couldn’t do anything bad.  I was hideously teased for this.   But none of my tormentors could possibly know that deep down inside I was a wicked boy…worse than any of them could possibly imagine.   I wanted to be a girl.

I knew it was a monstrous thing to want to be.  In the years before “Women’s Lib”, women were treated like children.  For a boy with a God-given penis to want to be female was seen as a desire to lower himself on the social ladder.   It was like wanting to be a slave.  

I tried diligently to rid myself of this horror.  I wanted to be good.  But nothing worked.  Unlike other transsexuals, I never thought I actually was a girl.  Bath time made that fact crystal clear.  My evilness was restricted to simply wanting to be a girl.  In those times that I actually indulged my demon and dressed up like a girl, I felt …happy.

As I grew older, I increasingly resented my body and was jealous of the bodies of girls.   Men were not attractive at all.  Their bodies were functional but boring.  I just couldn’t understand how anyone could possibly have any passion for these big lumps of flesh.   (In many ways, I still don’t.)  This made puberty particularly troublesome for me.   It was the beginning of my life long battle with depression.  About the only time I ever felt “happy” was when I felt female.   But these times were relegated to dressing like a girl ( a rare event,) snogging with my girlfriend (and even rarer event,)  and masturbatory fantasies (no comment.)

When you are trans, you constantly vacillate.  Am I a transsexual?  Am I just a weirdo?  Am I confused?  But in the chaos of my emotions, two propositions never varied.

1) When I am sad, I feel male.  (I came to refer to this as "James Mode.")

2) When I feel female, I am happy.  (I came to refer to this as "feeling happy.)

I felt that if I could just admit that I was a freak and become a woman, I would finally find contentment.  Of course, it took me 50 years to make that admission.  I was under the sway of “professionals” who as late as a year before I started transitioning convinced me that “I might THINK I was a transsexual, but real transsexuals think like real girls and real girls like to kiss boys.”   

When I stopped listening to those who would keep me from turning my back on my God-given maleness and started transitioning, I became obsessed with a new thought.  The two invariants held true (see above) but simply feeling female was not enough.  I actually had to BE a woman if I was to finally find peace.   I could surely imagine what it would be like to be free of my despised genitals and doing so would make me happy, but I knew that when I was physically female, there would be no need to pretend.  I would feel female all the time and my happiness would be never ending.

 

I had my surgery five months ago.  For the longest time, I was concerned that I did not in fact feel like a woman all the time.  I certainly didn’t feel like a man any longer except when I was in James Mode again.    (Apparently depression cannot be quelled with simple surgery.)  The invariant still holds.  When I DO feel my femininity, I am deliriously happy.   But I just don’t feel it all the time.   

In fact, 95% of the time I don’t feel either male or female.  I’m just a person.  I’ve come to realize that this is the normal human condition.  One only “feels” their sexuality when in a sexual situation.   Most of the time, we are just sexless entities trying to make our way through life without screaming.   Most of the time,  the thought of whether we are happy or not just doesn’t come up.

 

I’m very happy that I got the surgery.   I don’t despise myself any longer.  I no longer feel revulsion when I look at myself in the mirror.   But 95% of the time, I am no happier  than I was before.