Month: August 2021

It’s time I come clean. I have demons I need to slay. I can’t do it on my own. I’ve been a fairly private person despite my sharing so much about my personal life. There’s one aspect I rarely talk about. Partially because of the stigma. Partially because I have an image to uphold. Then, here is the part I dread the most, letting people into the most vulnerable part of my life. Nevertheless here goes noting.

Back in 1996 I was court mandated to see a therapist. This was due to my anger issues. I won’t tell the story that got me there, that’s not important. What I will say is I desperately needed help and the state saw fit to step in and get me help. This was my first real encounter with a mental health professional.

I have no solid memories of my therapist. I can’t remember her name, what she looked like or the things we talked about. It’s all blank to me. That part doesn’t bother me as much. What does bother me is where this left me, undiagnosed. She failed to provide me with answers. She failed to give me proper care. What was her solution to my problem? She called my parents into her office and told them the best thing for me was for them to remove me from Nebraska. To uproot our family and move to another state. Anyplace but Nebraska she said. Go figure. The professional tasked with caring for my mental health wanted me out of the state. So, we moved to Idaho and I never looked back.

That experience soured me to therapists for several years. I continued to struggle in life. I continued to have issues. Dysphoria. Social Anxiety. Depression. Suicidal ideations. Extreme anger issues. Violent tendencies. The list goes on and on. I was sorta fortunate that I never turned to substance abuse (drugs/alcohol) or dangerous sexual behavior. That doesn’t mean I was okay. Obviously I turned to excessive eating among other vices. It took me several years before I was in a dark enough place I needed, desperately, to see another therapist to get some answers.

That therapist likewise nearly destroyed my faith in the whole system. At first she was kind and supportive. She got me to open up and I felt safe talking to her. She diagnosed me with severe depression, borderline personality disorder, PTSD and social anxiety disorder. She began medications to help me combat some of those issues. To this day I still struggle with the symptoms of those disorders. But, things went south real quick.

In a blur of events I still can’t quite sort out in my mind I went from feeling fine telling her I was good didn’t need to see her anymore to being questioned by campus police, arrested by city cops and escorted to a mental health clinic where I was forced to check in against my will for a 36-hour observation. Those three days were a living nightmare. I refuse to recall the events of that traumatic experience. Instead I pushed past it, dropped out of school against my will, well was expelled rather, and found myself homeless days before Thanksgiving.

Living in my van my aunt and her husband decided to take me in for a few months while I got on my feet. Fortunately I did get on my feet. I landed a job that led to my first TV job. I moved into a house with my parents when they left the same university housing I had been removed from. My mom was also pursuing her degree at the same time, that’s another story for another day. Anyways I stopped taking the medication and I moved on with my life.

My next encounter with a therapist was brief but less intense. It was gender therapist I met over the internet. She diagnosed me with gender dysphoria and gave me an action plan. Unfortunately I couldn’t afford her sessions and my one free session wasn’t sufficient so I remained unable to get the care I needed. Again suffering with a load of mental health conditions that make life nearly impossible for me to navigate properly. This being why I struggle with relationships. Why I can’t hold down a job. Why I push people away. Why my emotions are so intense. Yet I continue to fail to get treatment.

Most recently while working at the TV station at my last news job I was offered free mental health services as a part of the job. News reporters and editors are exposed to intense trauma on a constant daily basis. Think about it for a second all the awful things we’re constantly reporting on in the news, we are the ones talking to the victims families, the survivors or the police. We see a lot of heavy shit. It’s not an easy job. The insurance was limited in who it covered and I was stuck with a faith-based therapist. As a transgender bisexual queer witch, this was not okay with me. After one session I quickly learned I was incompatible with this therapist and once again found myself facing the residual effects of my childhood trauma alone without guidance.

I don’t talk about BPD. It’s a controversial and misunderstood disease. I do talk about my PTSD and social anxiety disorder as well as my depression as those are more palatable for people. Less stigma surrounding most of those. PTSD has a stigma but like I said as a journalist I witnessed traumatic events damn near daily so that one I earned. Social anxiety disorder keeps me from being able to function well in society. It also made being a reporter damn difficult. Sure I learned the skills to overcome my anxiety but to be fair they gave me a badge that bore some tremendous power. Having a position of authority and respect allowed me to over come my disorder and develop skills I otherwise would never have learned. I got help, on my own, by way of forcing my way into a career that necessitated I learn to get over it.

I am not that strong. I am weak. I run away. I give up. I fold easily.  Put on a brave front and act tougher than I am. That’s the BPD. That’s my real struggle. My achillies heals. BPD is sort of an umbrella that has symptoms similar to bipolar, PTSD, OCD and ADHD. In a way it’s like a catch all. BPD means really fucked up. To some it’s a useless diagnosis because it’s an umbrella. To others it’s a signal that I have all of the above. To me it’s the shit I deal with daily.

I don’t talk about it because even those who support me, those who are on my side, aren’t united on their stance regarding BPD. There are those who dismiss it entirely. Others who suggest  dig deeper. Others still who think I should be medicated. And then there is me. What do I think? I know this disease well. I’ve read up on it constantly since I was diagnosed. I ran from it. I hid from it. I was in denial because my last therapist also wasn’t super helpful so yet again I sit here, alone, facing my demons without proper care. I can give some of them a name. I might be bipolar also. I am very likely ADHD. I could be, other things. But for now I know this. I am not fucked up. I am not broken. I am not a hot mess. I am a woman with real mental health issue who is not getting the proper healthcare she needs to get well. That’s my real struggle. That’s my real story. That’s why I constantly suffer alone. I can’t get better if I can’t get help. I face my demons alone and they are defeating me.

You often hear about the kid who can’t decide what they wanna be when they grow up. You know the one who see’s a fireman on field trip day and proclaims that’s what they wanna do for the rest of their life. Then after watching Jurassic Park they wanna be a dinosaur hunter. Eventually they cycle through so many different “careers” their guidance counselor gives up and suggests they drop out of school. That kid was me.

My life is odd for sure. By the numbers I have had 77 jobs, moved 62 times, owned 26 cars, attended 10 schools and four colleges. I was the kid who never could decide what I wanted to be because I didn’t wanna settle for one thing. If you asked me today what is my dream job I can’t give you the same answer as I would have had you asked me last week, and it will be a completely different answer should you wait another week to ask me.

That’s the beauty of having a free spirit such as myself. When I was a kid I wanted to be everything that looked fun. And for the most part, I’ve done it! I didn’t wanna settle on one career when I could have them all. It’s like Pokemon you gotta catch ’em all. That’s me. Three months ago I was talking about going back to school to become a scientist for real. Why? Because I was working, as a temp, at science lab doing medical testing. I thought it would be a fun, change of pace for me. Instead I went through a couple more temp jobs, and a few more career paths, before landing where I currently am. And I emphasize currently because we all know I won’t be here in five years. Whenever an employer asks me where will I be in five years I honestly and proudly proclaim no clue, wherever life leads me. But I back it up with the things I have done. I say I will rise to the next challenge. I will identify the next career goal I want to obtain, do it for a satisfying length of time, and move on to the next thing. The only thing left on my bucket list is to be a rock star and I think I can substitute that for kick ass podcast host in a few short weeks.

I can’t say I have had all of my dream jobs. I never did become a dinosaur hunter or an astronomer. But I can say I did at the very least take proper steps towards the vast majority of them. When I was 12 I wanted to be an electrician. I don’t know why or where it came from just thought it would be cool. At 25 I found myself unemployed and thought to myself my brother was a plumber, his brother was doing HVAC, maybe I should become an electrician. I went down to the county office got my apprentice license and found a job as an electrical apprentice. Did I stick with it? No, but I friggin did it and it was a blast!

I don’t look at those 77 jobs I have had as failures. I look at them all as having taken steps towards doing everything there is to do. My one goal in life is to die with as few regrets as possible. At least I can say I will not regret never trying out for this job or that job. Hell I even applied for jobs I was nowhere near qualified for and sometimes I get ignored but once in a blue moon I land a rare interview I am not prepared for. I never get those pie-in-the-sky jobs but it always puts a spring in my step knowing I was able to shoot for it and at least get the interview. I mean that’s a real skill mind you. Two months ago I walked out on a job, by the end of the week I had gone on four interviews and landed the job I had been gunning for in the first place. That’s what I do. I set my sights on something, I throw all my energy into getting that thing and then  discard it a month later once I become bored with it. I love my life.

The best part of having done all my dream jobs is I can say I have had my dream job. Even now, data entry clerk at a big office was a job I dreamt of having multiple times over the years. I never knew, nor cared frankly, what they did, I just wanted the job. And currently I am loving it. Tremendously.

I never got to be a dinosaur hunter myself but luckily I did push my sister into an anthropology dig she got to do that was aired on one of those science shows. I don’t know which one Discovery or PBS maybe but still I spread my mojo to those around me helping encourage them to chase their dreams too.

The reason I share this is simple. I never had ONE dream job, I had many. And that’s okay too. If you are made fun of for having multiple dream jobs just do what I did, prove everyone wrong by doing them all. You don’t have to let them push you down and say pick one and stick to it. Why bother living such a boring life? I can’t imagine having lived in the same place, doing the same thing, going to the same school working the same boring job. Not. For. Me.

Sundowner West had been this trailer park we lived in for about 2 and a half years or so. I can’t remember the timeline for certain, but I do know we moved there after I finished 3^rd grade and left right before I started 6^th grade. This is a place where I have formed some definitive memories.

I distinctly remember the weekend before we left Sundowner to move back to Miltonvale. We had already packed everything into boxes and were sleeping on the floor in the living room for our last night before we moved. Our cousin, Danielle, had been living with up until earlier that summer. We were still adjusting to her no longer being in our lives. I must admit, I was quite sad when she left. Her and I were starting to become very close. Fortunately, life would give us a second chance soon enough but that comes later, down the road a way. I’ll get there. Trust me she’s still in my life. In fact, she’s the only one of my cousins out of dozens who accepts me for who I truly am. I love you Danielle I hope you read this.

We bookended our move to and our final move away from Miltonvale the same way. It was sort of a family tradition. When we moved we’d spend the last night in the old house sans beds, then the kids would get to spend the first night in the new house alone while our parents finished up the packing. Our goal was to have a night to ourselves, each respectively of course, and ideally for us kids to start getting the place set up and livable for when mom and dad arrived.

It’s strange to think about how long we spent in that dusty old town. Partially because that last time we lived there was one of the longest stretches for us not only in the same town, but also in the same house. Part of why this particular town holds such a grip on our imaginations is for us, it was so unusual to stay put for so long. In a way it gave us hope we finally found our home. That kind of helps explain why it was so heartbreaking when we left. To this day I have never had a group of friends like the ones I had there. Sure I’ve had friends, and I’ve had social circles come and go, but this was different.

I wanna dig into how I became friends with each one. I will start with Daniel.

He was the first of the group to extend me a warm welcome. Unfortunately for me, and him, I was so scarred by bullies I failed to interpret his kind gesture and look of openness. Instead I read it as judgmental.

It was during recess day one of school. I had already begun the ritual of being initiated by the bullies. They could smell a kid who they could push a mile away. It didn’t help I rarely bathed properly so I was always an easy target.

As we lined up for recess I was already prepared to wrap my fingers around Jared’s throat and squeeze the life out of him. Daniele picked up on this. He was the kind soul. Moved here from California. Had a sorta hippie family. He was the spiritual one. Not Christian, not religious. But he had his beliefs. He extended me a friendly welcome and gave me a sympathetic nod. I later learned he was just trying to be my friend. I wasn’t having any of it. I retorted with my usual “what the F— are YOU looking at?” to which he said something I fail to recall exactly. It may have been a gesture of woah slow down or it may have been something sarcastic, I can’t be sure, but in my mind, it was all I needed. I jumped on him. I started punching and kicking this kid. I grabbed him by the neck and began banging him into the wall.

After a few seconds, he was in tears saying it’s cool man I’m sorry. I stopped and asked, “why aren’t you fighting back?” He shrugged and said violence isn’t his thing. I was instantly disarmed, fell to the ground in shame and cried publicly for the first time in my life.

Somehow, he forgave me instantly. He sat next to me at lunch and asked how I was doing. I said I was sorry for attacking him. He said he understood. He could tell I was having a hard time and wanted to be my friend. I walked with him to his house after school. We climbed a tree in his backyard and from that moment on it was like it never happened. We never spoke of it again. He never threw it in my face, not even when I stole his girlfriend but that comes later too.

Daniel became one of my best friends during my time there. We used to sit on his computer and he showed me how to write computer code. We played AD&D Eye of the Beholder II Legend of Darkmoon, Duke Nukem (the original side scrolling one) and eventually he taught me how to play AD&D for real.

I used to run to his house first thing every Saturday as soon as I was awake. We would ride our bikes to the park and play D&D adventures. Sometimes the other guys would join us and we would reenact Mortal Kombat fights. We were nerds after all. But our favorite game to role play was X-Men. Daniel was the kid who introduced me to comic books and comics collecting. He also started my trading card obsession. That first day, I don’t know if it was penance, a sacrifice or a gesture of good will but he gave me a binder with all his loose duplicates. Just gave it to me no strings attached.

I still wake up in the middle of the night and cry tears for how I behaved that first day. I will never forgive myself for violently attacking the first person in my life to ever be kind to me up front without a motivation other than a genuine good soul. This is why even my fond memories of my life are tainted with the sting of my early trauma. To this day I often go back in time in my mind and relive those fond memories. It’s been 26 years since I saw this guy. I will never forget the kindness he showed me even when I truly didn’t deserve it.

Breasts are complicated. Guys are into boobs there’s no doubt about it. So are lesbian women I discovered. Women are often judged by their breasts. This is nothing new.

What is new, to me, is having breasts. I started HRT a little over a year ago. Since then my breast development has been subtle but steady. I spent the first several months excitedly waiting to see what my boobs were going to be like once they grew in. But, I had an issue. I am very much overweight. I had so-called man boobs most of my life. This was by design mostly as I needed to fit into the bras I was secretly wearing when nobody was around.

I lived a very unhealthy lifestyle for many years trying to find a balance between exercising enough to stay sorta fit while remaining fatty enough to maintain those man boobs. I knew if I ever transitioned someday I would want the fatty tissue there to help out. So far it’s not gone as planned.

The first several months I couldn’t even tell I was growing. I could feel the stretching, burning and itching often described with breast development. I would secretly, and discretely, ask my female associates if this was normal to get an idea of what I was getting into. This, unfortunately got me into trouble at work thus I started to withdraw from breast discussions, even from those safely taking place online among friends.

Fear is a powerful emotion. Once it gets a hold of us it can be nearly impossible to break free from it’s grip. I realized that fear of talking about breasts had extended into other areas of my psyche the day a trans friend of mine showed me her fake boobs and I cringed, became quite squeamish and left the room in disgust. I nearly made a scene. It was terrible.

I didn’t start to really notice good development until this summer, almost a whole year into HRT. By then I had started to come to terms with the reality I was going to have boobs as a part of my life. A few months ago this led me to have a very awkward conversation with my female family members about breast cancer. Fortunately said disease does not run in our family therefore I am less concerned than I was before.

Yesterday I had my first experience of breast shame. All my life I’d see girls pulling up their shirts to cover their boobs whenever guys were around. I suspected this had to do with them no wanting to be ogled by men in social settings. My stomach was hurting more than normal and my bra became unbearably uncomfortable to wear. So I snuck into the bathroom, removed said garment then returned to my desk. I was very self aware my breasts were noticeably present the remainder of the day. This left me very uncomfortable for the rest of the work shift. I had never felt so exposed before in my life. It was raining outside so my nipples were also very hard, a relatively new sensation for me as well. This compounded the shame I felt as my male co-worker was visibly uncomfortable sitting next to me.

This was the first time in my life my breasts had embarrassed me in public. Before that moment I just took them for granted. Now I am more aware of how important it is to take care of my girls as they are going to be a fixture of my life going forward. I said my relationship with them is complicated. Despite the shame I felt, underneath it all was a subtle twinge of joy knowing they were finally “real” enough to get a guys attention. That secretly felt good. My mom told me most woman hate having boobs. I am not sure if that is true or not but I can tell you what I am learning about having them. They certainly change things in ways I wasn’t quite prepared for. Despite it all, I am quite thrilled my girls have finally decided to join the party.

It’s one of those all-American towns. It’s hard to put into words the mark this small town has left on my psyche. I can honestly say I’ve dreamt of it. I have longed to return there. I have spent countless hours in Sim City, the Sims, Minecraft and the like trying to recreate it in some digital form that would suffice to satiate my longing for a simpler time.

When I say All-American town I mean it. They had a farmers CO-OP where the railroad cars would stop and deposit or pick up grain. It had a single, family-owned grocery store. The same family that owned the bank, also owned the newspaper, furniture store and the funeral home. There was one of those old style barber shops. A tiny little mini dinner called the Cabin Inn downtown. Up the street was the only Café in town, the Kountry Café. And across the street, adjacent to the Post Office, was the only bar in town. It also housed the video arcade. There was a tiny little shed-sized video rental store owned by a local family who’s sons were close friends of mine growing up. There was a little community college on the far end of town just before you hit the exit to the country side. There was a local lumber shop, telephone company and cable company all housed downtown. You had two gas stations in town, one pump at the CO-OP and another on the very outskirts of town right on the highway. There was a single grade school and a combined Jr/Sr. high. Not much else. There was a nursing home in the thick of the residential area. And a single doctor office on the main downtown strip. You couldn’t get more All-American than that. Heck their sports team was called the Warriors, an allusion to Native American imagery we know all to well in this country.

Surrounded by corn, wheat and cattle farmers the town sat smack in the middle of nowhere. Quite peaceful indeed. It could have been mistaken for the town the Ingles lived near on Little House on the Prairie or Sarah Plain and Tall, two major pieces of media every Kansan were quite familiar with.

As you walked down the streets you could smell the wheat and barley in the air. Farmers sons driving their Ford pickup trucks through town blowing smog out of their rear exhausts provided a typical small town atmosphere. There was even a community swimming pool right by the public park, a staple in every small American town.

I distinctly remember visiting this town a lot over the years. It wasn’t a place we lived for very long. We moved there when I was 5, left before my 6th birthday. Didn’t return until mere months before I turned 12. Left again before the end of my 7th grade year. Yet, despite only living there such a short time it left an amazing impact on my brain. I can still visualize every street. I can walk up and down the roads in my mind any day or night I choose. I can recall the names of the street signs. I can remember which roads had lamps on them and which ones were too dark to traverse after sundown. I even remember the single 4-Way stop sign right by my house that was the subject of much controversy.

There was an old man my dad hung out with by the name of Pop-A-Top. I never knew his real name. Mom never told me much more about him other than he wasn’t a good guy in her eyes. Dad avoided the subject in later years following the mans death. I just remember he had a black dog and lived on a junk yard near the edge of town.

Much of the reason the place stands out in my mind stems from the year I lived there. It was my most formative year. It began in summer 1994. We moved there mid-July. Just in time for back-to-school. It was my 6th grade year. I remember it well.

I started the year off the new kid. I had a couple of friends from those years visiting the town. My uncle Walt and his daughters, my cousins Angie and Cassie, always lived there, so we did spend most weekends around town. Once Uncle Walt remarried I’d spend weekends with his new kids. That happened more than once.

I had two friends left over from hanging around town on weekends so I wasn’t completely new without friends. First up was Brandon Tate. He was the trouble maker. He liked to persuade me to do the things a kid weren’t oughta do. His best friend, my former cousin via marriage/divorce was Nathan Willard. I remember him vividly. Especially for the brief time we spent as cousins before the divorce. His mother gave my uncle another baby so he was kinda locked into the family as such. He had a younger brother I dare not say his name. Fool can rot in prison where he landed for all I care. ‘Nuff said. Moving on.

I had one more friend from the early childhood days. His name was Danny Knowles. His parents were the ones who owned the video store. He became friends with the boys who saw fit to become my bullies, having failed to stand up for me I drifted away from him. There was one other kid from back then. His name was also Brandon. Brandon Haye. He was a year older so he already made it up to Junior High. He would be a protector once I too entered those halls, but not yet, that’s getting ahead of the story.

The rest of the class stand out as clear as day. AJ Richards. He was the teachers pet. Jon Fuller. His mother was a teacher so he was one of those straight-A students as well. There was Corey (sic) Hertzfeld? Never did learn the correct spelling of his name. Although I spent many an hour day dreaming about his lovely sister, the blond goddess named Ashley. Again getting ahead of ourselves. She was a grade below. But damn was she able to haunt my dreams. Then there was April and her brother James. They were sorta family in roundabout way. They were cousins to a former cousin by way of my aforementioned dog of an uncle. There was another girl named Caroline who’s last name eludes me. She wasn’t there long sorry to say. Then we had Brook Fosdick. She was cute. She also was friends with my sister so she used hang out at my house. Her older sister was a life guard at the pool so we used to drool over her too. There was one more kid of note from the other side. His name was Jared Guy. The MoFo who made my life miserable. The man who would top my list of those to hurt had I been one to have such a list.

That first day of school I walked in scared as a pig on its way to the grinder. No clue what to expect. Our teacher was an odd ball. He set us up at tables instead of desks. He also gave us lockers to prepare us for junior high next year.

The table I sat at determined my fate. Even to this day it continues to influence my decisions in many respects. That table, as you can guess, was the nerd table. I sat at the end closest to the door, nearest the exit. Going around to my immediate right was Jacob Lundholm. Curly haired, Sega boy. Power Ranger geek. Comic book fan. Eventually best friend. Next to him was Danial Beals. He was another fat kid like me. Chubby, long floppy hair, weird as all get out. Into D&D, computers, magic (the religion not cards) and also Power Rangers. Next up was the black haired, Goodie kid, slick and polish Pat. I can’t say his last name. It was one we fudged because we thought it was funny so truthfully I forget what it was, just the joke one and that’s not fair to him. Sorry man. Memories fade, what can I say. Last but not least you had our self-proclaimed leader of the group. His name was Treff Alexander. He was another chubby kid also into Sega, Power Rangers and comics. He was like me in that he also had a love for Transformers. But he was slightly different. He also was into sports. So he was the cool nerd if you can believe such a thing exists. Hey it was 6th grade our young impressionable minds created these notions that stuck with us.

Then there was her. The girl next door. The long, black hair beauty by name of Laura Trickle. Silky smooth skin. Mesmerizing smile. Enticing yet friendly eyes. Soft spoken but very friendly. She didn’t sit at our table. Why would she? She was the girl every boy wanted, every girl wanted to be and every teacher admired. She was the typical all-American girl. She was into sports, band, choir, the school paper, theater, everything. If there was a club she was in it. She moved at the end of the year.

Due to a series of fights I may have had a hand in, the tables were replaced with normal desks, of which the other kids grew to hate me for as I was to blame. Which in turn made them pick on me even more, leading to further aggression on my part, and the cycle repeated until I moved town.

After school was used riding our bikes to the park. There I would sit on the swings trying to impress the girl who called me her boyfriend at the time, Kimberly Rightmire. A young lady I will never forget. You’ll notice she was left off my series of what is love articles. That was by design. Kimberly was not a girl I loved, I was 12. If I said I had loved her you’d call me stupid. But She was a girl I spent many days trying to earn her affection. I did so on more than one occasion. Not to say things were perfect between us. I went a little too far a couple times and she called it off. I admit I made a mistake, apologized later to which she forgave me and we remained friends for a spell.

I freely admit, without shame, much of the mystery, one of the reasons this town haunts me to this day stems from those days before 6th grade and those last days before the town drifted into a memory.

It went from a warm comforting dream you revisit when you need a reminder how simple life can be. To a cold, empty nightmare filled with ghosts long gone. Memories faded as the town fell apart piece by piece.

First casualty was the college. Moved along with the movie theater into Concordia when the highway moved from the middle of town to the outskirts. It took with it many of those small shops I described earlier. Before long the grocery store was closing shop. The same very store my dad had worked years ago as bagger. The restaurants gone. The clinic, gone. One by one the towns businesses closed their doors. The townsfolk left for greener pastures. The school dried up. The houses began to rot from wear and lack of care. The streets, cracked, covered in dust. The sidewalks upheaved by tree roots, no city maintenance funds to fix them. The town lives on, a corpse infested with the bacteria known as the townies who refuse to move on. Including my uncle and his ex-wives.

I have stories to tell surrounding Miltonvale, Kansas. Stories of joining the marching band. Stories of being involved in the school newspaper. Getting into a physical fight with my best friend Jacob in a vain attempt to impress the so-called cool kids. Stories of meeting my first real girlfriend, Sarah Ferguson. I got my first Sega Genesis in that town. Had my first kiss. Got into some tough fights in that town. Discovered my crossdressing while I was there.

I have faded, dusty memories cluttered with cob-webs and termites chirping at my soul. Now is as good of a time as ever to unpack some of these dusty old memories. See where they lead me. Who knows, maybe as I revisit this once mysterious place, long forgotten by nearly all who passed through, I can find myself buried deep inside. Maybe I will uncover the missing pieces of who I am. See if I can find a roadmap to where I am going. Maybe, just maybe, find some forgiveness for those who hurt me, and those whom I hurt, during my time there.

I moved away mid school year 7th grade. In a lot of ways, I stopped growing when I did so. I keep my brain, my heart, my world in a time loop stuck between 1994 and 1995. Setting, Miltonvale, Kansas. This is my story. I hope you join me for the ride. I might even tell the tale of how at age 18 my sister and I, living in Nevada at the time, quit our jobs, packed my car and moved back to that old town to start our adult lives, free from our parents. Someday, soon.

How a transwoman found her way even when she had to keep it mostly from her family

Transwoman Tori sitting in a car trying to find her bliss. (courtesy photo)

“Just let yourself explore who you are the way you are comfortable with,” –Tori

Tori is an example of a transwoman trying desperately to hold her family together at the same time trying to live her true self. She’s been fighting depression, anxiety and gender dysphoria for several years all while she keeps much of it from her family. Two years after she discovered she was trans she told her wife and things have been rocky for them ever since. 

Tori has been married for 11 years. She has two children both under the age of ten. During that time she has built herself a life as the “man” of the household. She has a job where she provides for her family. She lives and healthy an athletic lifestyle. 

Her journey has taken a different path than a lot of trans individuals. She was already in her early 30’s before she had what she called an epiphany discovering her gender was not what she thought it was. It took her two more years before she came to terms with it and from there several months before she told her wife

“For me though, it really was a shock discovery that made perfect sense,” Tori said.

She said it came about during an extended period of feeling down and borderline depressed. She had a chat partner she became close friends with online that helped her crack her egg.

“I remember sitting in my office at work. Chatting with them like I had done pretty much every day for over a year,” Tori said. “And just talking through how I was feeling unmotivated and down about things. She at the time identified as as closet crossdresser who has since come to realize she is trans as well.”

Transwoman Tori smiling for her followers. (courtesy photo)

Tori said when her friend told her she had some suppressed feminine feelings it blew her mind. She described it as though the inner Tori could finally breath a sigh of relief. She found herself and now she had to decide what to do next.

“But, we talked more and the more we talked through it, the more right it felt,” Tori said. “Like there was this peace washing over me.”

Despite those early moments of euphoria, she quickly began to suppress her femme feelings. She was afraid to move forward and so retreated back into her life. After several months Tori finally bubbled over. She couldn’t stay inside any longer. 

It was Trans Day of Visibility in 2019 she decided to change her Twitter profile to Tori so she could connect with other members of the trans community.

“I was coming to terms with that revelation there were still many bumps in the road of acceptance,” Tori said.

She said finding her community on Trans Twitter was the best thing that happened to her. It helped her find her support network. She said it also gave her a place she could express herself as the real her.

“Without meeting and connecting with so many amazing people here, I don’t think I would be where I am right now,” Tori said. “The encouragement, the love, the support, the pushes forward. All have helped me explore who I am and come to accept myself.”

Transwoman Tori doing her thing at home (courtesy photo)

Things weren’t so smooth after that. While she was building a network of friends she was also facing a personal dilemma she didn’t have a solution for. How did she break the news to her family?

She said she started by telling her wife about her crossdressing first. She knew she was going to have to explain why she suddenly decided to grow her hair long. After a close encounter where her wife nearly discovered her secret Twitter account, she decided to break the news to her.

Tori said her wife caught her sending private massages to another trans woman on Twitter. Tori wasn’t ready to reveal her secret Twitter world yet so she told her wife she was chatting with a fellow crossdresser.

It was Thanksgiving week she finally told her wife she was a crossdresser. She said her wife didn’t accept it at first and the marriage nearly ended in that moment. But the love the two had held them together. In an effort to keep her marriage together she compromised. She told her wife she was trans but still figuring things out. She would have her secret Tori world online and could explore crossdressing but she would be the husband and father in public. 

“She is very supportive and accepting of it,” Tori said. “(she) told me from the moment I told her I was trans, that she would support me no matter what and I need to do what I need to do.”

It wasn’t that simple however. Tori said they drew an invisible red line in the sand that if she ever crossed it, the marriage would end. 

“It’s been hell,” Tori said.

She said it isn’t her wife forcing her to walk the line but her desire to keep her family together.  It’s that pain she suffers with to this day. Even now, after COVID-19 has turned the world inside out, she hasn’t had a conversation with her wife on the subject in over a year. 

“It’s this thing that’s hanging over us, over our marriage, our family, our entire life structure,” Tori said. “both of us are afraid to unpack it. (Because) unpacking it could mean a major life decision. 

She said when her egg first cracked, once the bliss of feeling free had settled she thought she couldn’t ever transition until her kids were out of the house. After she started figuring things out she started looking for ways she could transition slowly. That has all changed since the start of 2021.

With the realization that work-from-home was coming to an end Tori realized she was going to have to face her reality of being trapped inside her male body, male life for the time being. A feeling she said has been eating her up inside. 

Transwoman Tori while out in public. (courtesy photo)

Unfortunately for Tori she walks this path largely alone. While has has told some of her siblings she hasn’t  been able to tell all of her family Especially, her son.

“Our family is full of girls, he has 4 cousins all of which are girls,” Tori said. “There are no boy cousins in the immediate family. So it has always felt like he had me to be his dude connection at family things…. In a nutshell, the only reason I’m not out and transitioning… is to keep my family dynamic as whole for as long as possible.”

Despite everything she has been through, Tori said there are some bright spots. She finds euphoria in her hair. She also continues to enjoy being a parent to her children. She has some advice for younger trans people who’s eggs may not have cracked yet.

Transwoman Tori with her hair and makeup done. (courtesy photo)

“Be kind with yourself,” Tori said. “This journey is a marathon not a sprint. Wanting everything right now is okay. Changing your mind about who you are and what you like is okay. Don’t let anyone box you in. And above all else, your journey is unique to you, and (although) things may be similar to others, there are nuances that are specific to you. Try not to get frustrated if it feels like everything is moving at a snails pace.”

Tori can be found on #Transtwitter doing her thing. If you want to follow her story as it unfolds follow her @TorificallyTori.

Stephanie is an interesting film. I can’t say I wasn’t intrigued by the name alone. As a horror fan I knew this was a movie I had to see before it was too late.

This is one of those BlumHouse productions. It didn’t get a theatrical release, it was straight-to-video which is fine by me as the movie feels right at home on Netflix, where I watched it obviously.

It follows a little girl who’s name is Stephanie. What you get up front is she is seemingly isolated in a house by herself with no adults to be seen. It starts out creepy enough with her talking to her stuffed animals and walking around the empty house as if nothing is wrong. It doesn’t take long for the suspense. The opening scene has you cringing as she sticks her hand into a blender that is turned on. She is attempting to jam the machine. This sets the tone for the whole film. You feel afraid for this little girl the entirety of the feature.

It is immediately hinted there is a monster coming for the little girl. She hides from it when it does enter the house. She knows she has to keep quiet and think happy thoughts to make it go away. It isn’t until you find her beating the corpse of her dead brother when you realize how troubled this girl really is. She is afraid for her life and there are no adults around to protect her.

The first half of the film is very intense, very suspenseful and very scary. It isn’t until her parents show up that you start to learn of the global pandemic that is plaguing humanity. The details of which are not revealed entirely. What is known is the children are hexed in some way and the adults are terribly frightened as a result.

The dad spends the rest of the movie building what looks like a play house built into a fence around the perimeter of the house. The mother, on the other hand, spends her time communicating with members of the military or CDC, it is unclear, discussing the current research regarding whatever it is that haunts the children.

As the movie progresses the scares continue. You begin to learn what the monster is and what it is after. It is unclear the motive of the monster and it is unclear its origin. By the end of the film, what is clear is humanity is in a dire situation.

The scares are quite nice. The atmosphere is intense and exactly what I want in a horror film. As someone who thrives on living alone I can absolutely relate to the isolation the child feels. There is an ominous sense of impending doom as the monster continues to torment the child but not taking her life.

There is a scene where the little girl is holding her dead brothers hand and talking to him as if he is still alive. This scene reveals exactly what the girl is going through. She is coming to terms with her place in the world. She reads her stuffed animal a bedtime story about a unicorn that had two horns. As she finishes the story she says to her doll how sad it is because the Unicorn, although did get a friend, didn’t get what it wished for. This plays into the theme of the film. The child wants her family back, safe and sound. But she can’t have her wish in the way she wants it.

The movie was almost spoiled for me by the very last shot. It was otherwise a extremely satisfying and enjoyable experience.

The music sets the mood. The cinematography is fantastic and the girl’s acting is top notch. You believe her. As the movie nears it climax there is a moment where the monster says “You should have killed me when you had the chance,” from there the film takes a dark turn.

I classify this as an instant rewatch for me. I imagine that upon a second viewing the tension might dissipate but there is so much for shadowing that I believe it bears worthy of a repeat viewing.

This movie delivered exactly what I wanted. It was a chilling and engaging enough story I watched it sans screens. That is rare for me. I even had to watch with the lights on because otherwise it might have been scarier.

It has flaws like any film. It doesn’t build up to the reveal. You kind of suspect something supernatural is taking place throughout. That’s not to say the twist isn’t a surprise, it was, but it also felt obvious once it was revealed. The nightmares also rely too much on jump scares, which I admit the film got me more than once in that regard so kudos to the filmmakers.

The movie gets a solid 4 out of five stars from me. It dragged a little. 45 minutes into the film I checked the time bar to see how much time was left because it felt like a full 90 minutes had already passed. It moves as a snails pace in order to build the tension. If not for that drag in the middle and the cheap jump scares during the dream sequence I would have rated it higher. 4.5 is pretty damn good. This is one I will get on DVD. I highly recommend. I watched it back to back with The Ring and it ad a similar feel to that movie, in some respects.

According to the website, http://www.kidshealth.org, “Cyberbullying is the use of technology to harass, threaten, embarrass, or target another person.” Furthermore they go on to say that it can only occur when the communication is between two or more minors.

This new 21st century problem is something our society is going to have to learn how to deal with in the coming years. It is a very disturbing trend in our youth culture today, one that deserves our fullest attention. Cyber-bullying can be as harmful to children as identify theft is to adults, more so in some instances.

This new type of bullying is different than anything our society has encountered before. Child psychologists say that it is not the same as normal school yard bullying and should not be treated as such. The cited reason for that is normal school yard bullying is motivated by different factors that are not present in a cyber-setting. According to http://www.stopocyberbullying.org, cyber bullying can turn deadly where either one child ends the life of another or the bullying leads to suicide. This reason alone makes it far more dangerous than normal bullying. In normal child hood bullying kids are usually asserting their status and trying to attract attention.

In the digital age things are different, motivations can be varied and difficult to pin-point. Some children see the apparent anonymity of the internet as an excuse to lash out in ways they would not normally do in a face to face situation. Other ways this behavior can be considered harmful is when students impersonate another and post hateful or harmful words in their name which can draw unwanted attention to the victim. Like identity theft, this can have damaging effects that could take the victim years to straighten out.

So what are some examples of cyber bullying? The simplest form is the sending of hateful and discriminatory messages either in a text or an IM. Other methods include posting pictures of a person without their permission either to embarrass or in some ways opening them up to be targets of predators. What makes this more dangerous than simple name calling is the stuff that is posted to the internet is available in some form or another forever.

In a school yard name calling match the children will throw insults back and forth, asserting their status amongst their peers. Once the session is over the children will grow up and normally they will forget about the incidents and not speak of them again. However in the case of cyber bullying once it is posted to the net it could conceivably be available for anyone in the world for years to come. Some other examples that are more dangerous are posting intimate details of their interpersonal lives, as well as sending floods of text messages to the victim’s phone with the intention of causing the child’s bill to go up and get their parents angry at them.

Just like we are taught to protect our personal identity and confidential information, we need to teach children to protect themselves online. One way parents can protect their kids is to make sure that they understand not to join in chat groups that are not supervised and moderated by adults. Other steps parents can take is by monitoring what their children do online, placing blocks and limits on cell phone usage, and using software to keep track of what they do online.

Another solution that is often overlooked is the simplest, talking to our children and discovering why it is they are lashing out against other individuals. Children are reflections of their parents and their surroundings so if a child is acting out in anyway, it is the responsibility of their parents and teachers to talk to them and find out what is bothering them.

What can we do as a society to prevent this from happening? For starters we can do more to educate parents of the dangers of the internet and posting personally identifying information to the web. Also we need to educate children in the reasons why these acts are harmful and dangerous and teach them how to hand the situations with dignity.

One of the solutions to fighting cyber-bullying is for schools to get involved. There are inherent problems to this though because schools have limited authority outside school hours. The other problem that arises when schools try to get involved is because parents could raise privacy issues or even free speech issues as well. These problems are what make dealing with the issues of cyber-bully especially challenging in a society that puts so much emphasis and value on personal liberty and individuality.

Cyber-bullying needs to be addressed on multiple levels not just the individual’s involved but our society as a whole needs to become more aware of the issues.