Avoiding Direct Exposure

or: I am the way I am and sometimes that really sucks!

The deeper I think, the deeper I seem to sink

AFI The Last Kiss

My body is scarred from my shoulders to my fingertips. Under my clothes, over my chest, my stomach and my legs, all support a tracery of scars inflicted through deliberate self-harm. None of them have been life-threatening, and none of them have required emergency medical care. Of that, I have become an expert.

And it’s not all random slashes, there’s ‘art’ too: the word FAG is scarred onto the back of my right hand. It was branded at four o’clock one morning with a candle and a wire coat hanger. I traced the Slipknot ‘S’ meticulously onto my calf with a razorblade when I was sixteen; the alchemical symbol for Sulphur (or ‘Leviathan Cross’) soon followed, by skin removal; I have a pentagram, and seemingly endless song lyrics scored into my flesh. Amid the chaos, a word stands out, a word that’s repeated again and again. This word: hate. Why (and, who?) do I hate so bad?

Self-harm was a way to release my emotional pain and stress. It was the only way I could feel in control. It made me feel alive, feel something, not just numb. Although I don’t self-harm anymore, I still feel this ‘numbness’[1].

If you could see under my shirt, you’d see other scars too: surgical scars that helped salvage my life. I have two identical scars curving from my armpits to my sternum – double bilateral mastectomy with chest reconstruction; and, a horizontal 20cm scar underneath my belly, just above my pubic line – total hysterectomy with bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy.

My favourite tool for self-harm was a razorblade, and I have been a cutter since I was twelve years old, but now I wonder if it was a consequence of my latent gender dysphoria?

You want them to see you

like they see any other girl

They just see a faggot

They hold their breath

not to catch the sick

AGAINST ME! Transgender Dysphoria Blues[2]

Ten years ago I had a completely different life. I was bordering my 21st birthday, working with the elderly in an aged care hostel, and, at the beginning of what would become a five year relationship of relative heteronormativity. I was also a girl.

I was carrying around a secret that I’m sure rings familiar with any closeted kid. I was male on the inside. It was a feeling I hadn’t come to accept, or believe could be fact. My ‘closet’ was an identity I had been taught, not one that was true. The hormones were wrong, my body was wrong; it had bits I couldn’t associate with, it did things that terrified and disgusted me.

Coming out was a challenge. I have always been shy. I don’t often speak up, even if I have something worthwhile to contribute, so, to come forward to the people in my life with something so personal, was a terrifying prospect. When you come out as transgender, it immediately cultivates all sorts of unwanted and personal intrusions: Is it a sexual thing? Does it mean you’re gay, or straight? Do you like boys or girls now? Are you pre-op or post-op? What have you got ‘downstairs’? And my favourite response: If you don’t have a penis, you’ll never be a real guy.

I shouldn’t have worried. My family have always been supportive, my sisters – amazing. I don’t often give people a chance to be anything else, if they want me in their life, they will respect my choices. Strangers are harder. Historically gays have been persecuted by just as much misunderstanding and judgment as the transgender community, but a lot of trans people feel ostracised in queer safe spaces, as if we don’t belong. A lot of the discrimination I have had has come directly from the gay community: My choosing to be male didn’t make it so because I would never have a penis.

It was never a choice. I did not one day decide to be a boy. One day I simply allowed my true self to come into being. I would never choose to become a second class citizen (in the eyes of many); to open myself to discrimination and hate, possible abandonment and rejection from family and friends; to jeopardise my job security; to lose the right to marry; or, risk ever finding a partner who could accept me… None of this is anything I would willingly choose. It was the next step of my existence, and it was always going to happen…

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[1] I have since been diagnosed with clinical depression and anxiety.

[2] Transgender Dysphoria Blues is the sixth studio album from Against Me! (one of my favourite bands). It was released on January 21, 2014 following the coming out of Laura Jane Grace (founder, lead singer, songwriter and guitarist) in May 2012. The album deals with gender dysphoria.