Male Violence; Dysphoria.

A single incident of male violence has gripped me emotionally the past few days. There are so many instances like this one, happening all over the world, to men and women, boys and girls. Maybe the fact this brutal attack occurred within an hour of where I live  and maybe the details of the attack itself, made this story have a greater impact on me.

Maybe it just comes at a time when my own journey is making me face related fears, and I’m feeling more emotional at the same time due to shifting biochemistry from halting HRT.

A 15-year-old boy was viciously raped while alone in a cabin with older boys, members of a basketball team notorious for hazing, casual beatings, and sexual abuse. The adults knew about this. They knew the boys were alone in that cabin in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, and they knew that 15-year-old boy had told on the other, older boys for beating another teammate. The same boys he was with. He had told on them. They knew this.

The boy was alone with the boys he’d told on.

Now he’s in the hospital, traumatized in a way I understand, but to such a greater degree that no, I don’t fucking understand. His body will never be the same. His mind has been injected with an unwanted, horrible experience. Authorities are looking into the “culture of violence” that was woven into the Ooltewah High School’s basketball and football male sports teams. This is, of course, an isolated incident. Despite it being some sort of large-scale conspiracy within this high school to institute a “culture of violence.”

They didn’t make this up. The culture of violence is already there, and it’s plain as day in the way boys are indoctrinated to become men. The culture of violence is masculinity. I know, because I was brought up in it – boys see it around them, and they either participate or become victims of the game. What happened to that poor boy is not an isolated incident – it’s the inevitable end-result of a larger impulse to mold boys into certain kinds of men. This kind of shit happens in high schools across the country.

“Don’t want no pussies, now…this is what we do to freaks around here.”

Random convo with random dude the other night, he’s talking about one cellphone service versus another, like service A “bends you over and fucks you in the ass like once a month but [service B] bends you over every week” and I’m like “well if I’d known that I mighta stayed with [service B],” and he pauses for a long moment then suddenly nods and says “took me a second.” Silence.

Ok, maybe a bad joke…but I simply can’t ignore it when I hear other men using anal sex as a general description for something terrible and coercive. It’s a perversion they’re creating… something that to me is the most physically intimate way I can connect with another man, is flipped inside-out to become a symbol of violent male dominance over another human being.

I just want to scream at them, “but it’s not supposed to be like that!”

Its ideal is an expression of love to me, not a horribly violent act used to teach compliance. Like what happened to that boy for speaking out about abuse…and like what I heard when I was growing up happens to gay or feminine boys in order to turn their bodies and minds against them. And what happens with especial frequency to women and girls the world over. The bad men will violently pervert you. The “good” men will stand by and brag about not being the bad men, but will still spread the same sickness because they do not confront the roots of male violence. Mind is subjected to images and experiences of violent men; mind is told to become like those men; mind balks at finding myself a member of the class of violent people; mind hates them; mind hates self for being them.

Maybe it’s not a surprise that I’d hate being a man. What also doesn’t surprise me is the realization that the forced programming of masculinity, the violence it teaches, simply cannot be a separated from my physical dysphoria. The influence of violent masculine expression cannot be separated in our culture from the idea of male love. Maybe it’s not a surprise that even though I can critically analyze the ways growing up male under patriarchy has influenced my physical dysphoria, I still have a fucked-up relationship with my body.

Not that this is something other people don’t experience. Don’t let all this talk about dysphoria let you think that people with body issues of all sort don’t have it comparably bad or way worse. Society molds us in many ways and it makes us hate ourselves for who we are, and this feeling can get projected onto the body. Especially if society is literally telling you to hate your body, as is the case for women and girls.

Thirteen days since stopping hormones and this morning that male part was awake when I woke up, active and waiting for me. It’s a normal part of having a penis. You wake up relaxed, and so is that organ, but for it “relaxed” means erect. I dealt with the fact of it since puberty because I had no choice in the matter. Aside from forcefully removing the organs, of course. Which had occurred to me, and became a more pressing idea over the years.

Those thoughts were still there throughout transition, but goddamn have they cropped up something fierce today. I once employed dissociation and other techniques to deal with it, but I let go of those tactics after realizing the harm they’d done. Now, it’s like I’m raw with these feels, no protection. But it’s just a feel, and I’ve come this far by force of trying and not by accident. I’m not the same person I was two years ago. I can find a better answer to dysphoria than something violent.

The irony of utilizing male violence – self-castration – to de-masculinize myself in an attempt to become physically separate from the culture of male violence is not lost on me. Blood being injected into my penis to make it hard without my control brings images of male coercion to my mind. The two became connected. The body itself becomes a catalyst of male coercion, inseparable from its social programming.

I’m trying to separate them.



Mister Natalie

I told myself I’d wait longer to write another post since I’m doing this too frequently I feel. My preference would be every other week or something like that. But I’ve been musing on something for a while now, and have still not reached a definite conclusion. However, I did have a small realization which resulted in me being gripped by laughter for a solid five minutes.

Got my AAA card in, and it said “Ms.” before my name. Because Natalie is a woman’s name, and everyone will assume that I am a woman. I’m trying to re-affirm myself as male, at least in some form or fashion (well, fashion-wise I’ve just been getting weirder). Presumably this means I need to change my name to something less associated with women, like Nat. Which is what most people call me anyway, and is how I introduce myself now (often to the confusion of other people).

Yet, I like my name. It has personal meaning to me, both on its own as well as in the context of the full name. My previous name was all sharp edges, phonetically speaking, and I prefer the softer flow which most often comes with names that are coded female. The other possibility that occurred to me was to make a point of having a “Mr.” before my name, in those contexts in which a gendered title prior to one’s name is required.

That’s when I started laughing.

Life just seems really absurd to me. Maybe my own thoughts and behavior contribute to that absurdity, but still…the feeling is there. I react to this absurdity with humor and irony. Putting a “Mr.” before my name would just be too good of a joke to pass up, even though my desire to keep my chosen name is entirely serious, and has meaning to me.

Natalie might be a “woman’s name,” but I know of at least one man called that! Why should I be reverent to gender norms? I don’t want to modify myself to fit other people’s expectations. If that makes me selfish, so be it.

Trying to be normal just feels wrong.

Politeness to balance the testy

About a week has passed since cessation of HRT, and some stronger effects of my shifting biochemistry are being felt. There are positive emotions and difficult ones, too; but I find I’ve learned a few skills over the past couple years that are likely to help me adapt.

Working in customer service in a retail environment has honed my patience, and I use that to cut through the aggravation I’ve been experiencing. But first some positives! My motivation has increased measurably, my energy at a constant high state. Unfortunately, I haven’t felt the need to eat much lately, what with the high energy. Libido is definitely increasing with ups and starts, and seems to be generated from deep within because the visceral, full-body sexual attraction has yet to fully express itself through the catalyst of my male genitalia. Or is waiting for the right stimuli.

Now to the negatives. Testiness. Really, that’s the best word for it. My testicles are waking up, and it’s fucking obvious at this point, and now I just feel pissed off at nothing and everything at completely random times.

No, this is not a new thing. I have thousands of memories of that mood. However, I am experiencing it in a different way this time – coming back to it after a long break. Since starting HRT, the calm I felt served to strengthen my patience. Socially transitioning five months before even starting HRT, in a retail environment, in the American South, taught me quite a lot about humility and confidence. The secret is, they go together.

So when I feel these intrusive emotions that I remember having a particular and negative reaction to my entire post-puberty life, I instead choose a different reaction. Nippin’ that shit in the bud. Start this at the onset, and use this one and only opportunity to modify my emotional programming. Make healthy response to these emotions a habit – this is a chance I never had before.

When I started “passing,” I experienced some aspects of social misogyny that acted as a sort of mirror – I was able to see the similarities between how men started to treat me, and ways that I had interacted with women in the past. I became aware that I did indeed interrupt women more than men, that I had other subtle expressions of male socialization which resulted in me being, basically, a dick.

Further experience as a sortof-passing transwoman taught me even more reasons to fear other men.

This isn’t something I’m likely to forget.

Segue into an incident that occurred last night in the men’s locker room: went to Planet Fitness (because I know they can’t do shit to me) and started putting stuff into the locker I chose in the corner. Being obsequious and small, avoiding notice. I hear “ma’am, ma’am, ma’am…”

My headspace had received a chill mellow, so I wasn’t feeling the whole “answering to random strangers” thing. I’m just here to change. So, he stands behind me and says it and I can’t ignore him anymore, so I turn around and he says, just as politely as he can,

“Ma’am, so you know there’s a female changing room you can use…”

“I’m not a woman,” I say lightly.

“Oh! I’m sorry!”

“Oh, it’s no problem, it happens all the time!” I laugh gently, nervously.

My hands are shaking slightly. I turn around and start to undress. I hear male voices talking somewhat hushed, but clearly audible.

“…I didn’t see a package…”

“…probably has it tucked away…”

Chuckles, no hatred I can detect, simply laughter at me for being one of those odd freaks you encounter occasionally, and pity and ridicule for amusement. C’mon, do it…it’s fun.

After getting dressed in my workout clothes, I walk to the toilet and hear a few more voices from men who just walked in: “is there a girl in here?”…”hahaha whatever, man”…

Nothing happened, though. The reactions I received are ones I’ve fully expected, given a realistic view of my situation. This was the first time I’ve been confronted by a man questioning my right to be in male sex-segregated spaces. I responded with lightheartedness, and this served me well.

By choosing to respond in a decidedly non male-socialized way to confrontations by other men, I think I can both avoid physical conflict and possibly have a chance to alter some men’s thinking on gender itself – on what a man is supposed to be.

Just in case though, I’ve started using my newfound physical goddamn this feels powerful to re-train my body in the martial arts techniques I still know, but have not been practicing. The intention of doing so is not to be able to hurt people who attack me more, but rather to be skillful enough to hurt them less, while also preventing them from hurting me.

One step at a time, though.

All in all a relatively eventful first week of retransition.

The Re-Transing of Male Miriam

So I decided to stop being a transwoman. I wasn’t wanting to write about this at first, but a friend expressed his feeling that others may find my narrative helpful. At the very least, writing it is helpful to me. My reasons for this, and the goals this alludes to, are complex. A further problem is, I’m not sure exactly what “de/retransition” as a concept entails.

One step at a time, I say. First step was to stop thinking of myself as a kind of woman, including the idea of myself as a transwoman. Second step meant not going into women’s spaces. As a male, I shouldn’t be invading women’s sex-segregated spaces, and fear of reprisal by other men if I don’t is simply shifting responsibility for male problems onto women. Third step is telling people I’m a man, and don’t identify as trans. The first one was easy since I had been building up to it for a while anyhow; the second was/is difficult, but the emotions involved are comparatively simple (fear, embarrassment, anxiety) and have straightforward resolutions.

The third, telling people I’m a man, has proven tricky, because it is connected to the degree with which others perceive me as feminine. Clearly they do, since people literally argue with me about my “identity” and have a habit of just sticking me in the Woman Box for convenience. That many of these people have been LGBTQ just shows the investment in notions of biological essentialism within the queer framework of “trans.”

Feminine = female, because the alternative of being a man who displays femininity as a man is too horrible to contemplate. Like the friend who told me that going into the men’s restroom would be demeaning to me. I can already see from reactions of my customers that I’m more socially acceptable as a man who’s tryin reel hard to be a women rather than as some weirdo dude with a feminine self-expression.

I suspect affirming myself as male is something I’ll get better at doing once I become more comfortable with it – the end goal for this one is to project a lightheartedness about the absurdity of gender roles, and use my self-expression to poke at the sanctity of patriarchal norms, as described by the following quote from an article titled “Lesbian Feminism and the Gay Rights Movement:”

“There is a gentler politic which lies behind some gay men’s affectation of the feminine. It can be a kind of fun which involves mockery not of women or of straight men but of the whole institution of gender–a deliberately irreverent fooling around with one of the most sacred foolishnesses of phallocratic culture. This may be the necessarily lighthearted political action of a gender rebel rather than an exercise of masculinity. Certain kinds of lightheartedness in connection with what is, after all, the paraphernalia of women’s oppression can become a rather bad joke. But when the silliness stays put as a good joke on patriarchy it betrays a potentially revolutionary levity about the serious matter of manhood and thus may express a politics more congenial to feminism than most gay politics.”

Easier said than done, certainly – but I think keeping this concept in mind may help me navigate the relationship between self-expression and social perception/judgement. However, there is a caveat here: the quote is speaking of feminine “affectation” – clearly, all aspects of a man that are considered feminine by society are not affectations. Many or most, depending upon the man, could simply be personality traits, some of which are rooted in culture and some which may not be. There were many behaviors I censored in childhood when I learned they invoked negative reactions in others – such as wearing jewelry, and trying to be physically/sexually intimate with other boys. Wanting other men to fuck me is hardly an affectation, although it is certainly associated with the oppressive social role that women are forced into.

I like beautiful things. Jewelry made by my own hands out of natural wood and shell beads, sometimes silver metal twisted into odd spirals…although of course I don’t always wear my own. Basically every human likes jewelry in some form or fashion, whether on themselves or other people, or both. Where is the line between affectation and self-expression here? I don’t see this as an affectation of the feminine – yet, I cannot ignore that the rest of society does see it that way, and gender is coded based upon the perceptions of other people, not my self-identity. Given that I know how my behaviors are perceived by others (in general) I cannot help but feel a responsibility to question my motivations for expressing myself in a decidedly feminine manner.

However, not caring about “passing” and going into men’s spaces has led to the culling of certain behaviors that were not there for my benefit or self-expression, but rather were intended to convince others that I was female. As one example, I’ve dropped my voice to a range that is somewhat androgynous, although I have a habit of using “male” and “female” voices in a single sentence if I’m feeling expressive. Or if I’ve been drinking! Depending on how my mood influences my manner of speech, I can be gendered either male or female.

Although the difference now is when I get gendered male, it’s not because they call me “sir.” They don’t call me anything. I know because they often get uneasy, like they don’t know what I’m supposed to be. It’s an uncanny experience.

“The voice” posed an interesting question for me. In the context of “detransition” (assuming that’s even what I’m doing or trying to do, hell if I know) the traditional idea of “goin’ back to bein a dude” would involve using my natural male voice. Well, hold up a second – my “natural” voice includes pitches and resonances that are read as “female” if used persistently, as well as all those rumbly read-as-male pitches. Depending on the context and what I’m trying to express, I will use different pitch and resonance to convey the emotional content of my words. Using my full range of vocal expression is my natural male voice! I’m simply choosing not to limit myself based on notions of what a man or woman is “supposed” to sound like. If I’m trying to keep true to the intent of the quote from above, I think this qualifies as a “good joke on patriarchy,” especially because it’s simply me, being me. A more expressive me.

Limiting my self-expression based upon some obligation to represent myself as someone easily understood to be a man by others is antithetical to my goals. It would involve falling back on conservative notions of gender. Seriously, fuck that. I transitioned not only because of a desire to not be physically male, but also because I felt unable (unwilling?) to express myself as a man in this society. Two years of transition, and I realize that being a man trying to be a woman was limiting in simply a different way. I went from one box to another, because I was still operating within the framework of the gender straightjacket.

Not that I’m somehow operating outside it just by force of wishing…but I’m trying to find a more honest way of living within a gendered society, a better answer. I don’t know quite yet what that “better answer” is, but I know it doesn’t involve conforming to a gender identity of some sort – or even to the incredible claim of being a transsexual (which of course, of course, clearly isn’t an identity).

Detransition: cut my hair, stop wearing jewelry, change my name to a “male” one, only wear clothes that are either coded androgynous or male, stop taking hormone replacement therapy.

So, I stopped taking HRT about four or five days ago.

The other “requirements” for detransition seem useful in helping re-integrate a person firmly into their birth sex role (which is probably the best choice for most transwoman detransitioners to lead a healthy social life), but that isn’t my goal. I am happy being a gender non-conforming weirdo of a man. More so, I am unhappy being what society considers to be a “man.” 

About seven or eight months ago, I began to have these intense “flashbacks.” They were like memories of another life, me from a parallel dimension where I made peace at an early age with my attraction to men (maybe I didn’t grow up as religious, or severely isolated, or sexually abused) and went on to have rich years of experience sharing emotional and physical intimacy with other men, instead of dissolving myself in drug use, pornography and dissociation. These weren’t even idealistic fantasies – just a reasonable expectation of good and bad, joy and sorrow, of me really living as myself instead of the ghost I made myself become. These flashbacks made my real life’s history seem dark and bleak by comparison. They also showed me, by comparison, the many people I’ve unintentionally hurt by lying to myself about who I am.

I experienced them again starting about a month ago. It starts with a feeling, then a vision, then the painful pulling away from the daydream once it’s done. Now, though, it ends with a feeling of hope. I’m trying to find some semblance of balance in my life, and these experiences are my mind’s equivalent of shouting at me that the answer is right in front of my face. The overwhelming regret these hallucinations bring me is meant to transform into an impetus. Which it has, in a big fucking way.

A huge part of my motivation to transition stemmed from being ashamed of sex in general, and especially ashamed/disgusted with myself for being attracted to men. That I found myself most attracted to the idea of being fucked by men was horrifying to me, maybe because of its association with the sexual abuse I experienced in childhood. When I was still married (to a woman) and was basically having sex as a sort of obligation of the relationship rather than out of physical desire (yes, I was an asshole, I’m fully aware of this), I made an oh-so-masculine vow to myself that I’d kill myself if I “turned out to be gay.” I still remember a small voice saying, after the first time I voiced this idea to myself, “this is going to cause serious problems in the future.” Which it did.

It’s too early to tell how going off hormones will affect me. I feel reasonably confident that my issues surrounding being attracted to men have been largely resolved, and I also feel confident that a large portion of my physical dysphoria about my genitalia stems from this internalized homophobia (the “other” issue of past sex abuse, I am still unsure how to resolve). What I do know is that I am no longer disgusted by the idea of being a man in a relationship with another man, and find myself surprisingly, satisfyingly, excited.

The male parts haven’t woken up yet. There are slow, casual signs of increased…vigor. I’m not looking forward to a lack of control over my penis, it just…doing its own thing…regardless of anything I have to say on the subject. Just to continue this dip into TMI, the testicles come alive too…seriously, they move around on their own and it’s disturbing. Writing this paragraph reminds me I have a practical reason for taking HRT, and makes me reconsider my motivations for stopping their usage. But I still get the same scrips so if things go south I can restart hormones at any time, and attempt to re-evaluate the problem.

There have been some emotional alterations so far, subtle but important – small hints of complex mental experiences I forgot I used to have on a regular basis. It’s hard to describe them quite yet, since it has been a long while since I felt them – but one example is an anxious motivation. Another is the fear-spiral where my thoughts devolve into paranoid fantasies about dangers I am unlikely to face.

Trying to find a balance between physical dysphoria and being in a sexual relationship with another man is going to be tricky. There may be a minimum dosage of HRT that allows for both. I decided I’d start with the lowest dosage: zero. See what happens, work my way back up in dosage if necessary. Ultimately though, my view of the role of HRT in my life has shifted from that of “a necessary medicine” to more of “a temporary crutch until I can figure out what to heal and how.”

My attempt with this blog is now to simply document my current journey, whatever the hell that may entail. I can’t help but realize that other transwomen will see this is me “failing at transition.” Which is totally fine, I’m no longer invested in the trans community in the sense that I need their validation – and validation has faded as a desirable goal for myself anyhow. What’s ironic is that I see my transition as quite successful: taking off the pressure of physical dysphoria, and removing myself temporarily from the programmed mayhem that my natural biochemistry invoked has allowed me to take a few steps back and evaluate myself in a more critical manner.

Transitioning set in motion a chain of events that led to me enriching my worldview with feminist thought, encouraged me to observe, analyze, and engage my history of male socialization and privilege, and change my behavior to become a person that other people actually enjoyed being around. Transitioning in a completely public customer-service environment stilled much of my social anxiety to the point where I feel comfortable expressing myself as a gender non-conforming man – or as other people see me, a non-passing transwoman or some weird effeminate dude (or both).

I don’t see how the personal and the political can be separate when it comes to my relationship with the gender hierarchy. I must ask myself questions such as: “do my behaviors reinforce or challenge gender norms?”; “to what degree am I obligated to make my physical sex obvious to others, and in what contexts?”; “can my brazenness and indifference about public opinion of me be used somehow to weaken the gender hierarchy?”; “is my brazenness/indifference an extension of my male privilege, and if so, does that necessitate changing this behavior?”

Most of all, I am asking myself a very self-centered but essential question: “how much of my self-expression is me doing my own thing, and how much of it is me trying to fit into a social box?” The question can be worded many different ways. Regardless, it is the primary reason I am “retransitioning.”

Whatever that means! Maybe I’ll figure it out someday.

(Note: So I had someone ask about autogynephilia, and the fact that I used to identify as such. Considering that this is the same blog I used to explore those experiences, this is a topic I feel obligated to address.

I was planning on writing a post about it in a week or so when my libido increases, just to have a final piece of evidence to justify my assertions.

In short, I believe that the use of fantasy in order to imagine my physical body as female during the context of sexual intimacy was caused by dissociation surrounding my male body (itself a combination of physical dysphoria and a willingness to fit into any role but that of a dude who likes dick), as well as pornography, which aided the dissociation, made it come to life in a sense.

It’s been nearly two years since I last consumed any form of pornography, and over a year since I can remember having an experience that could be described as autogynephilic. As my libido increases, I should theoretically be experiencing these fantasies, but that hasn’t happened yet.

Again, I am waiting until my sex drive increases before making a final judgement. As far as I can tell, I once experienced autogynephilia, or an analogue of it, and now I no longer have those experiences/fantasies.

Hope that helps in lieu of the forthcoming post about AGP.)