We're all mad here

These are the days

When I realise that my teenage nightmares will not win

I have not been kicked out of my house

I have friends who care about me

A partner who loves me

These are the days

When I discover how to let the anchors of my past go

So they no longer hold me back

Leaving me to struggle, drowning, for the surface

These are the days

When I want a time machine

So I could go back to February, 2006

And show my suicidal 13-year-old self what life has to offer him

These are the days

When I am thankful more than anything

That I didn’t have the guts to take those pills

Or use that knife

These are the days

When I adventure into a world I had always known about

But never dreamed I could live in

The world of happiness

These are the days

Worth living for 

A year ago today

Or thereabouts, I don’t remember,

I stood where I do now

And explained myself for all to see

Who I thought I was

Back then.

Of course, as time goes on, we change

We learn about ourselves

Are honest with ourselves

And come to terms

With difficult realities.

I said to you,

At least, the You of a year ago,

That I was seventeen

Female

Gay

That was who I thought I was, who I had accepted

Then time wandered on

As it tends to do

And the pieces began to come together

Not yet forming a picture

But at least all in the same pile

The mental double takes

Cringes

Hesitations

The twinge of unease in my stomach

When I referred to myself

As my parents’ “lesbian daughter”

Why that L word never seemed right

In reference to myself

All began to make sense

Denial

Overcompensation

Began to fall away

As I learned that there are more than two ways

In which to be yourself

And that not only did I not have to be one or the other

I could be one who became another

There is no “the” other

Because there are infinite possibilities

Discussions

Workshops

Heart-to-heart chats

All at “gay camp”

A magical place that taught me more about myself

Than I could ever have hoped to learn alone

Support

Understanding

Love

What all my dear friends gave to me

As I asked them, over Facebook a month later, to call me a different name

And different pronouns

Than those they had been using

It took some longer than others

There were a few bumps along the way

“You can’t use ‘they’ as a singular pronoun, it’s not grammatically correct!”

Well, my newly evolved gender was not societally correct

So I said, they could stuff it

And yet still there were discrepancies

The days I wore a tight sports bra under an extra-large t-shirt and boxers under baggy jeans

And felt more comfortable and attractive than I ever had in a skirt and low-cut blouse

Delighted when the barista in the BiblioCafe called me Sir

I thought

I read

I discussed

I thought some more

I read some more

I panicked

What if…?

No, it couldn’t be…

But it is, it has to be

I’m not a girl, I told myself, that I’ve accepted and that I know

But am I a boy?

I thought even more

I read even more

I talked to friends, mentors, myself…

I am.

I stand on this same stage

Perhaps speaking to the same audience

And tell you now

That THIS

Is where I stand

Eighteen

Male

Pansexual

Flaming, flamboyant, queer-as-fuck transdude for the world to deal with

And to deal with the world

As the MAN I now know I am

Along my journey, I have realized many things

That I don’t know as much as I thought I did.

That I have amazing friends who love me for who I am, no matter who that is

That I hate Calculus with a passion

And that I am more fluid than I thought.

When I thought I was a girl, I also thought I was gay.

Even though jokingly, or so I thought, I had a list

Of celebrities (and a few schoolmates) I would “go straight for”

After a while I realized,

That even though there’s an exception to every rule

Once there are THAT many exceptions, the rule is null and void.

I thought about it,

And I realized, partly thanks to an amazingly brilliant, kind, caring, not to mention attractive person

(You know who you are)

That gender was not a deciding factor to me

As long as I find someone interesting,

Kind

Intelligent

Beautiful

I don’t really care

Whether they’re male, female, genderqueer, agender…

Any of these terms I have learned in the last year.

I learned that I could fall for anyone,

Though not JUST anyone

I’ve also learned to take care of myself

At least, I am learning

It’s a steep curve, but it’s one we all have to deal with

Finding out how to put ourselves first

I’m not good at it

Maybe I never will be

But I try

And I’m doing what I need to do

To live the happy, safe, and healthy life

That no one should have to go without

Especially those of us

Who live on the outside of societal norms

Those of us who need the safety most

Though so often lack it

I’ve taken the first step down several different paths in the past year

All I can do now is see where they take me

It’s exquisite

The joy on your face

The noises you’re making

Every involuntary tremor

I am doing this to you

The way your hands clutch at the sheets

And move against me

Is nothing short of beautiful

Yet

The taste of the moment sours on my tongue,

When you come undone and praise my movements, sounds, existence

The sweetness of your words and touches

The bitterness of my own mind

That despite my best efforts

Thoughts

And wishes

I am not enough.

In this regard, if not in others

I am not complete

This is for Erin’s Love Letters To Your Body project.

Dear body, 
Even though you do not match my mind, and even though there are many things about you I wish to change, in a way, I love you.
I love the brilliant blue of your eyes, and the way they captivate many people, including myself when I catch a glimpse of them in a mirror.
I love the strength and power of your legs, and how they have carried me faithfully in my journey through the world. 
I love your short stature, because it gives you character and allows you to not hit your head on things.
I love your size, even though we both sometimes think it’s too large, because it fits your personality and gives you something to advocate for, the acceptance and love of others of your size. Even though it gives you manboobs that you hate, and hips too wide for most men to posess, its positive qualities outweigh those.
I love your courage to undergo the changes that will happen when we transition, the hair growing places you never knew it could, the dropping of your brilliant voice, which will allow you to sing stronger than before, the growth of muscle, redistribution of adipose tissue, the inevitable acne, and of course the removal of these frontal tumors you have learned to live with, which will give you more scars to tell more stories.
I forgot to mention that, body. I love your scars, even though most of them tell tales of a troubled past. They make you who you are, and tell your stories for you when you do not wish to speak. More will join you soon, larger and more conspicuous than ever before, but they too will tell their tales of battle.
I love your piercings, carefully selected and placed, 3 in each ear and one in your right eyebrow. They accentuate you beautifully.
I love your tattoo, the beautiful meaning of music, pride and love being our core values. 
I love your hair, the varieties of red it displays over time, though most are artificial. The shine, the brilliant crimson shades, serve to accent your brilliant eyes fantastically, making them sparkle more than ever before.
Thank you, dear body, for supporting me and holding me up as I walk through the world and discover myself. 
I love you.

I can hardly believe it.
I did it.
I told them.
I said it out loud.
I came out to my parents.
About being trans
It went better than I expected
Though the reactions were no surprise.
My mother “need[s] time to absorb the information”
My father thinks I’m “making a bad decision,
And [I’ll] have to deal with the consequences,
But [I] know [his] opinion on all that crap anyway”
And then there’s my sister,
Declaring for all of Facebook to see,
That she “is super proud of her brother, Dylyn”
The support my parents fail to provide
Is given in droves by my friends
“May the force be with you!”
“Courage <3”
“Pride and hugs!”
“Proudness for you!”
“Good luck, I love you!”
And many more sentiments of love and support.
Their care gives me strength
And the confidence I need
To go ahead with my “bad decision”
My transition.
The bits I’ve started:
The haircut - short
The binding - proper compression shirts
The pronouns - male, or neutral
The name - Dylyn James
The mannerisms - attempting to pass
The clothing - more masculine
And the bits I have yet to:
The hormones - I’ll probably start T in the next few months
The top surgery - I have to be on T for a year before I can get it, but then it’s covered
The prosthetic - I don’t think I want bottom surgery, but I want a dick, even if it’s not -really- mine
The happiness - it will come in time, when my outside closer matches my inside
In the meantime,
I am thankful for supportive friends
The best ally possible in my little sister
And the enthusiastically loving support and confidence
That comes from my love and all he does for me

Some may worry
About what will happen to me because of this
I say to them:
Firstly, we are lucky enough
To live in a city
Where the queer community is,
On the whole, accepted
If not adored
Second:
Even if Some idiotic, ignorant bastard
Decides to insult or yell at me
I can take it
If they get physical I can and will defend myself
Especially since it’s for the cause
Which I believe in above all others
Equality.
The right for everyone
To be themselves
Without fear of oppression, ridicule or violence
I fight for it by doing it
Living my life
Being myself
Being honest with others about myself
And spreading the message
That we are not something to be hated or feared.
We are simply people
Whose brains don’t quite match their bodies
And are trying to make them line up.
We’re nothing to be afraid of
We are your friends
Your family
Your coworkers
Your classmates
You.

So keep an open mind
And mind your pronouns.

“Is this to do with the name change?”
“I so called that”
“No offense dude, I kinda figured”
“Did Dylyn come out?”

How is it possible that so many people around me
Or even dispersed as far as Tennessee
Were aware of this before I was?
Am I that glaringly obvious?
Am I that oblivious to myself?
I suppose I must be.

When each “Miss” or “Ma’am”
Is like a paper cut
When wearing bikini underwear
And a normal bra
Even under my work uniform
Makes me feel exposed
It only serves to assure me
Of what I’d already begun to think

I
Might
Be
Transgendered

It feels more comfortable too bind
It looks wrong to see breasts
When I glance downwards
…But only recently
Which is why I wonder
Because I didn’t feel ‘wrong’
As soon as they appeared
And I didn’t hate them immediately
But now they seem alien
Almost unnatural
And thoroughly unwanted

I’ve always been
‘one of the guys’
I guess I never really knew to what extent
This just makes sense

But I feel like I might be a hypochondriac
I may just be feeling this way temporarily
What if this isn’t for me?

But I want these damn things off my chest
And I want to be called Sir
And I want a deeper voice

M.K. Wilkinson, female
Died long ago
D.J. Wilkinson, girly-boy in a female body
Rises from the ashes
And advances
Through the trials faced
By those of us who do not
Queer it down
And will be master
Of their?
Zir?
His?
Own fate.

Hey, life?
Bring it on.

So I’ve realized I can’t do it anymore

I can’t be the strong one for everyone else when my own sanity is fleeing out the window
I can feel myself about to snap

I’m sorry I can’t help you

I’m sorry I can’t support you right now

But, you know what?
I’m not fucking sorry

I need to take some time and take care of myself

Screw what anyone else needs.
Once I figure out what I need, I’ll do it

And then, maybe, I’ll be okay

I just need to focus on myself for now

Maybe that makes me look like a selfish bitch
But fuck it.

Think what you want.

I need this.

Get over it
Get past it
Move beyond this ridiculous infatuation
Friendship is all that will
Or even can
Come of this
So suck it up
Deal with it
MOVE THE FUCK ON
But, he makes it so difficult
His stunning eyes
His dazzling intelligence
His wit, charm
His grin and infectious laugh
And every nerdy analogy or reference
The very things that drew me to him
Are constantly in play
And his amusement
At my every blush
And inability to stop myself from staring
Only serves to add
To my frustration
My emotional brain:
“He could change his mind!”
My logical brain:
“No he won’t, deal with it”
My hormones:
“WANT. NOW.”
Naturally they can’t agree
And naturally they all are scheming
To make me miserable
The hormonal needs
Are easiest to satisfy
Fuck propriety
Society can suck my dick
Double standards
Studs and sluts
I’m estrogen-based and female-bodied
So of course,
I MUST be the latter.
Ignore my masculinity
Ignore the stupidity of that assumption.
Own your pleasure
Own your identity
Own yourself.
Most will see me as
“Just a girl”
Which would hurt
If our interactions
Were to continue
For any significant length of time
But, in the short term,
As long as I get what I want
I don’t give a shit.
Let them think what they want.
If my needs are met
It doesn’t matter.
We’re aces regardless
Of whether they see me
As a chick
A dyke
A tomboy
A tranny
A dude
Anything
I could be any and all or none of the above.
But that’s their (your) interpretation
And it won’t (can’t) define me
Only I define myself.
Even if I don’t know precisely what to call it
Even when dysphoria crushed my self esteem
Because this stupid fucking switch in my brain
Gives no indication of when it will shift
And therefore, on occasion
Leaves me high and dry and fucking uncomfortable.
One day, I wear a skirt, a blouse
Then BAM- it changes
And I feel exposed
Another, I bind, and wear a collared shirt and tie
Then BAM- the switch is flicked
And I feel confined
Though none of this explains
Why I “femme it up”
When trying to attract attention
No matter whose I intend to attract
Or why I feel like
I identify so much
With those making more extreme transitions than I
For transition it is
Though from one end to halfway
As opposed to one to the other
Which, in some ways, may be harder
Because most don’t realize
The middle doesn’t have to just be temporary
Just a step in the process
You don’t have to live at one end or the other
It’s called a spectrum for a reason
Binary is for computers, dontcha know
I’m gender confusing, not gender confused
And credit for both of those lines
Goes to he who has captured my heart
It’s all a fucking cycle
One thing leads to another
And another
And back to the beginning
The same bloody topic I started with
Is this all my mind contains these days?
Sometimes I think so
Sometimes I wonder
If this lovely little spiral
Or, rather, Mobius strip,
Of thoughts
Is going to consume me entirely
“Just get it out of your system”
Well, I tried that
And enjoyable though it was
It didn’t fucking work.
And I don’t know if it will
Knowing each time
(If any more occur)
That it isn’t me
It’s never me
But the act itself
The sensation and pleasure
The hormonal release
That they desire
Of course, I’m no different
For example, the other night,
I intended one target
Ended up with another
And didn’t really care
Yet somehow it bothers me
That no one ever pursues me in this way
Am I not desireable?
Am I not attractive, sexy even?
Of course I am.
So why don’t they see it?
No.
Shut up.
Fuck that noise.
As long as I get what I want
Nothing Else Matters.
So shut up, logic.
Go fuck yourself
And die in a hole.
Thank you.
That is all.

A potential rescue appears on the horizon
Though at this distance
It is impossible to tell
Whether I will be brought to friendly
Or enemy
Shores
The mother ship is nowhere to be seen
Instead another vessel
Approaches from the mist
Appealing but unfamiliar
And not as comforting
As the proud tall ship I know
Will I allow myself to be rescued?
To run the risk of
Fortune’s hand
Pulling me to such a fate
That I would been better off
Had I remained within the sea’s embrace
I weigh the choice on the finest balance
And it seems
As I somehow knew it would
That my desire for rescue
Outweighs the risk of harm
And so I sail onward
On an unexpected route
With an unfamiliar crew
And a cold, intimidating mistress
Though over time I may come to love her
I suppose
Only time
Can truly tell

Hope
Naïve stupidity
Aimless, gainless faith.
These are my afflictions
These which cloud
My already addled mind
Reeling with infatuation
Lust
Awe
Admiration
And maybe, just maybe
Love
But, no I mustn’t let it consume me
Lead me down a path of false hope
That only leads to misery
“I definitely want to be your friend”
I guess that will have to do
Unless?
Until?
A mind is changed
Although, “I didn’t change my mind,
So chances are neither will he”
So says someone
In an attempt to comfort.
Really?
Is pessimism the way
To console someone
Who is already doubting their worth?
Though I suppose it doesn’t matter to you, does it?
You’ve toyed with me already and I’m done with it.
Friends, we can and shall be
As long as you stop alluding
To your lingering “guilt”
In the meantime,
While I wait for the change of heart
That would fill my own with happiness
I leave all the doors open
I will not close my mind to that possibility
Or to any other.
For other opportunities
Seem to present themselves
Subtly, in small doses
Perhaps mere figments
Of my desperate imagination
But I will cling to them all
As lifelines thrown to the drowning
To keep me above the surface
Of my unreasonable and illogical misery
Because that ocean is always stormy
And rogue waves attempt to capsize more and more
And I need someone
To call “man overboard!”
To row the dory through the swells
And haul me over the gunnels
And row me to the mother ship
Whose sturdy hull and solid keel
Will keep me sailing

“Self care is important,
I promise I’ll try my best
Not to be a hypocrite”

What is “trying my best”
When urges sneak up
From nowhere and everywhere at once?

“I still worry”
Good the fuck for you
I’m not your concern anymore
I am not your fucking responsibility
I am no one’s but my own

So if I go off the deep end
It’s my own fucking fault
You could not have saved me
And you don’t have to deal with it

Impulses towards self-destruction
Become more frequent
Subconscious and deadly

Every traffic light, I hesitate to stop
When I cross the road
I no longer look both ways
Sharp corners, blades, serrated edges
All seem to call my name
Demons of substance
Attempt to seduce
Though, at least so far,
I am mostly immune to their charms

What I crave is the sting
The pain
The blood

But I mustn’t, I mustn’t
Not with so many people watching
I would be uncovered, exposed
For the freak of nature
The slave of impulse
The courtesan of mental illness
That I am

Perhaps to languish in institutional hell
Perhaps to simply become a burden on those who care
These are my possible futures
Though which it will be, I know not
I fear that I will find out soon

I wonder if you can check yourself in to a mental hospital?
Or would the very fact that you drove yourself there
And are asking coherently to be admitted
Negate whatever insanity has made you think
You need to be there

One day I may find out,
If things become unbearable,
Because I know enough now
To realize I’d be better off
In an institution than at home
Where I would only continue to cause pain
To myself and those around me

So perhaps soon
If things do not improve
I will find out
But how can I define “improve”
When I have no idea what normality feels like?
I only know my own “normal”
And I know that it
Would have broken someone weaker
Long ago

How have I survived?

Nearly a decade of hurting myself,
Not sleeping,
Barely eating,
Or eating to excess
And all of it crap,
Mentally mutilating myself
Forcing guilt and shame
For things easily forgivable
Or not even worth maligning
Hating the most ridiculous things
Convincing myself that I am worthless
Trying to make others see me
For the monster I really am
Pushing myself
To achieve perfection
Where none is possible
Disadvantaging myself
To give everything I could and more
To others

How have I survived?
How am I able to function?
How am I alive?

I suppose there must be a reason
Some purpose I have yet to fulfill
That keeps me here
But what when I have completed it?

I’ll show you loss of self-control.
I’ll show you things that seemed like god ideas at the time,
Spurred on by hormones, emotions, the absence of logic.
To quote the Dresden Dolls,
These ugly scars are worth the momentary gain.
I’d thought it nothing significant,
I’d thought things would be alright.
But they’re not.
Of course they’re fucking not.
Because I’m a fucking idiot
And you’re too weak to suppress urges that you know will have effects.
Though the fault is not yours alone, it falls onto your shoulders more easily than mine
I thought I knew what I was getting into
I thought I would be ok with it
And with only that.
Apparently I was wrong.
Though I regret nothing
Enough of me hates what I did
To cause ripples which may or may not turn
Into a whirlpool of madness that grows by the minute.
And the only things that might placate
My unreasonably guilty conscience
Are forbidden to me by the cause of the guilt.
Perfect bloody timing for a getaway, however short it may be.
I need some time to think, to process.

One experience over
Though I look forward to next year
And the next group of fucking fantastic queers.

Things had been “off” for a time
One sort of love gives way to another
Romance returns
To the friendship it once was
Surprisingly painless
And only a little awkward.

A small part of the culprit,
At least from one side,
I am glad I no longer
Need to torture myself with guilt over.

“You get those starry eyes” Kimothy said
And so I did.
For someone who, only days before,
I would have not have thought I could fall for.
But, as camp drew amazing folks from all around
The lovely person who made my eyes twinkle
Even after such a short time
Lives three hours’ drive away.

…What to do?

They are, I believe, unaware of the fact
That my retinas have been replaced
By celestial orbs
Though I wish to make it known
I shouldn’t get their hopes up
I shouldn’t get my hopes up
Three fucking hours
Could I do it?
Really, could I?

I don’t know.

Stupid distance.
Stupid uncertainty.

I sent something
Which maybe I should not have sent
But it seemed like the right thing to do
And if they read it, they will know
But what will they say?

I don’t know.

This is the time, though, for all this shit to go down.
The summer before university,
The summer life goes fucking crazy

I don’t know which way it’s taking me anymore
I want to go to the mainland
I want to go up island
I want to go to where my new friends are

Not that I’m tired of the old ones,
I love them dearly still,
I just feel, for now,
That I need a break
From everything
And (almost) everyone

These could be my escapes
I am capable.
I have a car, I can take a bus
I know people to stay with
I can live out of a backpack for a week

I just want to see them
To reconnect
Or rather, to solidify the connection initiated
During the wonder that was CampOUT.

But, reality calls
I have to work
I have to put my room back together
I have to get ready for SALTS and school

When am I going to get my shit together?

Why do I desire self-destruction?
Why, when there is no concrete reason?
Addiction?
Perhaps.
The illness in the mind yearns to sate itself with blood
The nightmares haunt my decaying brain
Why now, so long after their subject
Has ceased to be involved in my life

THINGS ARE GOING WELL

Apart from the fact
That nearly every sharp object I see
Seems to be screaming at me
To pick it up
And drag its point or blade across my skin

I imagine my shudder
Of simultaneous pain and relief
As the thin red line appears
And droplets form along its length
Dripping, beginning to flow
Slowly draining my essence
My flamboyance, my charm, my too-often-fake smiles
Until all that remains
Is an unexplainable hatred
Of myself
Of what I have done
Of how much it will hurt her
Even in my twisted “fantasy”
It kills me to see her cry.

Why should I force her to endure this?
Much as she loves me, she’d be better off
Without me
Without the constant negativity
Without the constant concern as to my mental state
I know she will protest.

“Promise me you’ll never do that to me!”

The only real reason I haven’t yet.
My mind screams in pain and panic daily
From some sources identified, others not.
I want it to stop.
I want the occasional voices to go away entirely.
You hear that? FUCK RIGHT OFF

…Well, they’ve shut up for now
Yet I descend further into madness.
Visions of smoke escaping my lips
While indoors in summer
I know not what to make of it
Sleep deprivation?
Insanity?
Some combination of the two?

I want to know.
Partly so I can fix it,
But mostly so I can determine
Whether or not I’m the crazy freak
Everyone always thought I was

Others are amused at my tics,
My counting,
My insistence on symmetry and order
They do not understand

Granted, neither do I

I guess I’m fucked.

I was never shy
Even as a child
I’d talk to anyone
Make friends with anyone
Regardless of
Age
Gender
Race
Sexuality
Anything
Some may say
“Because I didn’t know better”
But I believe
I knew the best
“What’s the difference,”
I would ask
“In how you look
Or who you love
If you’re a good person?”
And my parents would say
“Nevermind”
And change the topic

I am not shy
Now as I leave my childhood
I talk to anyone
Make friends with anyone
Regardless of
Anything
I do not hide who I am
Seventeen
Female
White
Gay
And do my best
To help others be comfortable enough
To do the same
Sometimes I succeed
And gratitude pours
From friends, old or new
“I could not have done
What I did without you”
In reference to
His coming out

Appreciation:
If not for me
She would not have realized
As early as she did
That nothing is wrong
Or strange
About not liking boys
And would not have begun
To share the love we do

Education:
Until I told her
I was way over the rainbow
She thought that
“Gay people are like unicorns:
You hear about them all the time
And they seem pretty cool,
But they don’t really exist”
And now her two best friends
Are the cutest lesbian couple at school
(If I do say so myself)
And she, though straight,
Is the best and most supportive ally
Our community could ask for

Do I inspire?
Maybe
Am I an activist?
Maybe
Though I do not intend either
I do not object
To filling these roles
Though I am no hero
I am no different
Than the child I was
No more a leader
Than my six-year-old self

I will not be shy
Wherever this life takes me
I’ll talk to anyone
Make friends with anyone
Regardless of
Whether I lead them
Or I follow
Whether I inspire, inform
Or am educated and given purpose
Whatever position I find myself in
I will fill
In the movement
In our movement
Of love, peace, equality,
Of happiness, tranquility
Of hope

I still have fears, doubts
To this day my parents,
When I bring certain things up,
Say “Nevermind”
And change the topic
But soon, they will understand
What they may know already
But won’t admit they do:
They have a lesbian daughter
It may not be their ideal life for me
My semi-activism may seem strange
But I’ll be damned
If I don’t make them proud
Making good decisions
Doing what’s right
Just like they said
I bet they never thought
I would make this kind of difference
But I don’t care what they think
I’m just happy that
Somehow
I’ve helped someone
Somehow
A life is better in some way
Because of me
That’s what I’m here for
It’s what I do
Give advice
Hug
Make you laugh
Comfort you
Edit your English essay
Quiz you on hormones for Biology
Drive you somewhere
Buy you a coffee
Make you smile

Your happiness
A community’s happiness
Anyone’s happiness
Is my reward
I’m here for you
Always
Whatever you may need
I’ll do all I can

Don’t be shy