Different versions of the same recurring dreams. Dreams I spend the entire dream proving it's not a dream. Then it's a dream. So every night I sacrifice bits of my sanity in exchange for not questioning my "happiness". I "lean in", I accept. Then I wake up and I cry.
She's not real. My happiness is not real. My FUCKING HAIR is not real. And how much of a mess am I that I'm just as upset about not really finding the love of my life, as I am that my long beautiful wavy purple hair I dreamed about was not growing from my head when I woke up? I cried.
Wednesday, October 16, 2019
Thursday, June 27, 2019
I know
I know. I've missed two updates, according to the schedule that I myself created.
The smart thing would have probably been not to point out how well I was feeling last week, because things fell apart less than 12 hours later. I got disheartening news that I'm still trying to deal with, and things spiraled a bit after that.
When I know my daughter can't hear, I cry a little. I try to think of anyone I know who'd maybe have input on my situation, but I'm drawing blanks.
To be clear:
- I do not have cancer
- I am not HIV+
I have a support system, but the last thing I want to hear is "I'm here for you" from someone who doesn't know anything about how I currently feel. I also hope that if anyone actually reads this they'll understand that I'm probably making more of this than its worth.
But what I do know is that this likely isn't temporary. And I'm scared to death.
Thursday, June 20, 2019
Silent Night
I thought it was important to point out that tonight, I'm content... like, I still have a multitude of issues waiting on queue in my subconscious, but I'm tuning them out for today, at least.
Maybe it's good that once in a while, even with anxiety and depression weighing on us, to tune it out and spend a day attempting to be a normal person. Especially considering that doing that every day is probably a lot to blame for me being riddled with them to begin with. So maybe a day off, once in a while, is a good thing.
My daughter is here with me for a few weeks, and that's good on many levels. The most important is that I'm happy around her; I'm happy for the so many things I feel I need to teach her about me, about life itself, and about going through this life being LGBTQ. Because if you didn't know, she's out too. So it's my privilege to pass what I know to her.
Many things to be happy for. If just for today.
Maybe it's good that once in a while, even with anxiety and depression weighing on us, to tune it out and spend a day attempting to be a normal person. Especially considering that doing that every day is probably a lot to blame for me being riddled with them to begin with. So maybe a day off, once in a while, is a good thing.
My daughter is here with me for a few weeks, and that's good on many levels. The most important is that I'm happy around her; I'm happy for the so many things I feel I need to teach her about me, about life itself, and about going through this life being LGBTQ. Because if you didn't know, she's out too. So it's my privilege to pass what I know to her.
Many things to be happy for. If just for today.
Tuesday, June 18, 2019
Gatekeeping the Trans Community
A friend of mine was derided recently in a public Facebook forum for "not being Trans enough". When I found out after the fact, a mild way to put it was that I was LIVID. This is not what our community is about. Many of us feel that the T is mostly silent in LGBT, on our best day. Do we really need to form our own circular firing squad and beat down on people who aren't same as being somehow lesser?
Is there some magical checklist for the gateway to "Trans", which I can only assume is ripped in two pieces and stored for safety on an alter and locked inside two vaults - one hidden within the women's restroom at the Stonewall Inn and the other half buried beneath the ruins of the old Queen Mary's notorious back bar? Or could it just be that there are people among us who only feel "Trans enough" themselves by blocking the gate on someone in their own community?
This is not only outdated, it shows a genuine lack of knowledge and understanding of your own gay community as a whole.
The path of what would eventually lead me to Today started really in the late 90's. The gay community back I remember wasn't even LGBTQ+... wasn't even LGBT, yet... I actually remember it referred to in the San Diego Reader as "GLBT", I guess because we still didn't know our manners and lesbians shouldn't go first? I dunno. But I digress...
It was also very confusing, for me at least, what the T actually stood for. Nobody used the term "transgender" then. They were "transsexuals", but you were only a transsexual (it was always "a transsexual", not just simply "transsexual" for some reason) if you were on hormones and were started transitioning . Drag queens were part of the "G" because they were gay men. "Crossdressers" were guys that dressed like girls when their wives were out of town; if you got off sexually by doing that, then you were a "Transvestite". CDs and TVs weren't transsexuals.
I was dressing fully, buying wigs, learning make up, practicing walking in heels that I had no right to wear. But I didn't know who I was. I wasn't a transsexual; I wasn't just throwing on a few things out of curiosity, so I felt more than a CD, and sexual gratification wasn't the driving force so I was no TV. Who the fuck was I and why was I like this? What was "this"?
Going out, when I finally did, was the same minefield. There was a Yahoo group that had a "Gurls Night Out" close by to me, between Downtown San Diego and Hillcrest (Gay San Diego). Now suddenly we had another term, "gurl". I've always hated "gurl". Anyway, It was one night a month, first Saturday I believe. Tons of these "gurls", anywhere from 50-100 in this tiny bar. I liked the atmosphere because most were like me, somewhere in that gray area we didn't have a name for. It was there at GNO that some others laid out the rules of the road for me:
Is there some magical checklist for the gateway to "Trans", which I can only assume is ripped in two pieces and stored for safety on an alter and locked inside two vaults - one hidden within the women's restroom at the Stonewall Inn and the other half buried beneath the ruins of the old Queen Mary's notorious back bar? Or could it just be that there are people among us who only feel "Trans enough" themselves by blocking the gate on someone in their own community?
This is not only outdated, it shows a genuine lack of knowledge and understanding of your own gay community as a whole.
The path of what would eventually lead me to Today started really in the late 90's. The gay community back I remember wasn't even LGBTQ+... wasn't even LGBT, yet... I actually remember it referred to in the San Diego Reader as "GLBT", I guess because we still didn't know our manners and lesbians shouldn't go first? I dunno. But I digress...
It was also very confusing, for me at least, what the T actually stood for. Nobody used the term "transgender" then. They were "transsexuals", but you were only a transsexual (it was always "a transsexual", not just simply "transsexual" for some reason) if you were on hormones and were started transitioning . Drag queens were part of the "G" because they were gay men. "Crossdressers" were guys that dressed like girls when their wives were out of town; if you got off sexually by doing that, then you were a "Transvestite". CDs and TVs weren't transsexuals.
I was dressing fully, buying wigs, learning make up, practicing walking in heels that I had no right to wear. But I didn't know who I was. I wasn't a transsexual; I wasn't just throwing on a few things out of curiosity, so I felt more than a CD, and sexual gratification wasn't the driving force so I was no TV. Who the fuck was I and why was I like this? What was "this"?
Going out, when I finally did, was the same minefield. There was a Yahoo group that had a "Gurls Night Out" close by to me, between Downtown San Diego and Hillcrest (Gay San Diego). Now suddenly we had another term, "gurl". I've always hated "gurl". Anyway, It was one night a month, first Saturday I believe. Tons of these "gurls", anywhere from 50-100 in this tiny bar. I liked the atmosphere because most were like me, somewhere in that gray area we didn't have a name for. It was there at GNO that some others laid out the rules of the road for me:
- "Gurls" was basically synonymous with CD/TV
- Gays do not play well with the others. They feel that Drag Queens and Transsexuals give them a bad name because they enforce a bad stereotype to the mainstream, that gays are not just "normal people"
- Gay bars in SD are for Gays. Not L, or B, or T. Going into a gay bar when it wasn't a night specifically set aside for T's, or CD/TV, would get you harassed and possibly hurt
- Furthermore, transsexuals do not like to mingle with CD/TV because, again, they feel that CD/TV people give them a bad name because they enforce a bad stereotype to the mainstream, that Transsexuals are just men in drag.
Now I'm not saying it's like this now. I club hopped in San Diego as recently as a few weeks ago. I feel I can go anywhere, and so should anyone else. This was 1999-2003.
At that point I relocated to Denver and found the absolute greatest term I've ever learned of. I was a "Tgirl". I had Tgirl friends. Soon, a Tgirl roommate, eventually a Tgirl best friend. This was such a paradigm shift for me personally. I had a "T" to call my own. The community was truly LGBT, and the T was no longer silent. We had an online presence so large that Tgirls from other parts of the country could come to us to be shown this jewel in the Rockies.
I eventually was lucky enough that I traveled to the largest Transgender convention in the U.S., Southern Comfort Conference. I've attended twice, and learned what the T was supposed to be about. I saw the multitudes of initials interacting. Laughing, drinking, doing umm, other stuff... But everyone was on the same page with each other. We weren't initials at all, we were Transgender. Finally, I'd learned an all-inclusive term for all those initials and acronyms. We were a spectrum. And you know what? If you're brave enough to delve into murky depths of your own self, sort out the clutter, pass GO, and land on that space marked "I think I am/maybe/might/could be Trans" then Congratulations. YOU ARE. Now be safe and carry extra shoes in your car.
So where are we really? Do we throw this away to start at a new jump off point where we should divide ourselves according to an imaginary list? There is NO checklist for transgender. It has taken years to understanding even within our own community to cement this in with the rest of our community. Years of personal journeys and common goals. Let's stop for a moment and ask ourselves, REALLY ask ourselves - As we find ourselves living in a time when we are literally being hunted because of who we are and as people see us to be, is this how we want to treat each other?
Saturday, June 15, 2019
First Pride
My first Pride was Summer 2004. I think that it was the first time I'd been out dressed up during the day; I just remember it feeling like such a dream, and that wasn't even the booze.
There I was, 900 miles from home, newly single, and amazing brand new friends who had always know me as trans [actually, I don't think anyone even called it "trans" then]. There was just this sense, for the first time in my life, that there was no judgement. No fear of rejection. I had an army at my back.
I don't think there was even a shadow of the utter ri-god-damn-diculousness of the madness and hijinx that would become the hallmark of the 14 Pride weekends that would follow, and I'm honestly very very happy for that. Not only did it give me benchmark for growth, but honestly if that year as my first would have gone off the rails I might have either gotten scared off or, even worse, escalated future Prides to a level that just would not have been conducive to good health and public decency.
To be honest the only thing I really remember about that Pride was Sunday at Pridefest. We all dressed in 50's style; I remember these cute heels I bought at Torrid, but they bugged the hell out of me all day. Not because my feet hurt, but the 3" heels were a LOT shorter than the heels I'd always worn (and would eventually be almost a signature of sorts for my personal style). I'd taught myself for years at home to walk in 5"-6" heels so my entire attitude and posture was based on that. Having what felt to me almost like flats just threw me off of my game.
I'm sure I went out the night before, but this point I'd been living in Denver a few months and was probably going out 3-4 nights a week. That Sunday in the park though was magical. Aside from fake hair and full make up in oppressive heat, it was similar to how I remember feeling as a kid at Disneyland. I wanna go here, let's go there, hey there's music in an hour, who needs cocktails?... okay maybe I never said that at Disneyland, but still.
I love that in retrospect Pride '04 took a new girl by the hand and gave me gay orientation day for my new life in Denver. It was like Gay Taste of Colorado, "This is your city, these are your friends, this community is here for you like California wasn't (and still isn't)... except the Wrangler, they will always suck."
There I was, 900 miles from home, newly single, and amazing brand new friends who had always know me as trans [actually, I don't think anyone even called it "trans" then]. There was just this sense, for the first time in my life, that there was no judgement. No fear of rejection. I had an army at my back.
I don't think there was even a shadow of the utter ri-god-damn-diculousness of the madness and hijinx that would become the hallmark of the 14 Pride weekends that would follow, and I'm honestly very very happy for that. Not only did it give me benchmark for growth, but honestly if that year as my first would have gone off the rails I might have either gotten scared off or, even worse, escalated future Prides to a level that just would not have been conducive to good health and public decency.
To be honest the only thing I really remember about that Pride was Sunday at Pridefest. We all dressed in 50's style; I remember these cute heels I bought at Torrid, but they bugged the hell out of me all day. Not because my feet hurt, but the 3" heels were a LOT shorter than the heels I'd always worn (and would eventually be almost a signature of sorts for my personal style). I'd taught myself for years at home to walk in 5"-6" heels so my entire attitude and posture was based on that. Having what felt to me almost like flats just threw me off of my game.
I'm sure I went out the night before, but this point I'd been living in Denver a few months and was probably going out 3-4 nights a week. That Sunday in the park though was magical. Aside from fake hair and full make up in oppressive heat, it was similar to how I remember feeling as a kid at Disneyland. I wanna go here, let's go there, hey there's music in an hour, who needs cocktails?... okay maybe I never said that at Disneyland, but still.
I love that in retrospect Pride '04 took a new girl by the hand and gave me gay orientation day for my new life in Denver. It was like Gay Taste of Colorado, "This is your city, these are your friends, this community is here for you like California wasn't (and still isn't)... except the Wrangler, they will always suck."
Thursday, May 30, 2019
Act III
Every few years it seems I start new blog... my first was around 2000. That led me most notably to a girl who warned me about 9/11. From there I've had a few more; some prolific, others just several entries to get me through a rough patch.
This will be the third in a line, my Babylon journals and my search for inner peace. This is my Third Act. My name is Tori Starr, and this is the one where I rise.
This will be the third in a line, my Babylon journals and my search for inner peace. This is my Third Act. My name is Tori Starr, and this is the one where I rise.
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