I’m unusual, not so typical… way too smart to be waiting around!

Just a few hours can make a big difference in my mood, it seems.  My last entry I actually wrote down on paper — yep, the pressed wood pulp stuff I seem to always avoid! — at the time, and just before posting this entry I typed it up and submitted it.

Looking at what I wrote, and remembering how I felt, I wasn’t feeling bad, but I certainly wasn’t cheery and bouncy.  All it takes is a little effort and a little smile and you can pull yourself out of pretty much anything — so a bit of a nap, a little “playtime,” and then of course hearing from Pouf, turning on some FUN music, and I feel great again!

Oh yeah, the chocolate didn’t hurt things either.  Dove dark chocolate squares, and they all have a little message or thought inside the wrapper.  Ate two squares, and inside the first it said, “Life is precious and an opportunity for you to make every moment count.”  The second one was just “Close your eyes and relax.”  Sure, they could sound kinda cheesy, but at the time they were just what I needed!

I know this post is rather disjointed and random, but whatever.  I was looking back over some of the things I’ve written down over the past few days (damn, it’s crazy, but this “paper” concept is actually useful!) and I came across this note:

Phia says: Fear is not a weakness.  It is normal.  It is natural.  But we need not embrace it!  Fear is a very understandable and a very natural first response to many things.  But true happiness requires us to step beyond fear, through reluctant acceptance, past promises and resolutions, to firm decisions, and from those decisions, direct and purposeful actions.

Sometimes I wonder where I come up with these things — they make so much sense, but damn, I sound so SERIOUS and DEEP!  Anyway, I guess it’s just part of who I am.

Other things I’ve been thinking about lately:

I miss Anne.

Let me back up a little bit here, because I doubt anyone here knows who Anne was… When I was maybe 12 or 13, I somehow ended up with a stuffed bear.  It was styled as a panda, and between its hands it held a heart.  I think — not positive, it’s been a very long time — that my grandma on my mom’s side had given it to the family as a kind if “Here, I don’t want this — find someplace to get rid of it.”  I wasn’t about to let that darling little bear get thrown away, or even donated to Goodwill, so I stepped in and asked to have it.  Anyway, this was the same time that I had picked up the unabridged copy of The Diary Of Anne Frank from the library.  I very clearly remember asking what I thought was a rather innocent question of the hypnotherapist I’d been seeing at the time about the phrase “…finding a bit of seed in my panties…” that I’d encountered in reading Anne Frank.  Of course, that launched a flurry of skittering around and my therapist very clearly expressing to my folks that it was time for me to have “The Talk” and she recommended a couple of books — both available at the local library — both versions of “What’s Happening To My Body?”  She quite wisely pointed out that for any guy or any girl, it was vital to understand what happens to both sexes at puberty, and the format of the books was suitable for answering any questions I might have.  My parents agreed to check them out from the library, and they did, but they insisted on reading anything in them before I did, and assigning specific chapters that I was to read, and others I needed to skip, and yet others that they must present “The Truth” quite clearly before I was allowed to read “What the rest of the sinning world falsely claims.”

Of course, I managed to read the whole thing after all, and not surprisingly, the sections they had forbidden entirely were regarding safe sex being an option, rather than “the only SAFE sex is abstinence until marriage and exclusive partnership thereafter,” and the parts they wanted to “correct” were regarding masturbation being sinful and evil.  I know they meant the best, and I don’t fault them for it.  It just makes me laugh a bit now to think back to how even then I didn’t particularly believe them on those subjects.

Right!  So, I was talking about Anne.  Gotta love those long tangental sidenotes… So, Anne had a heart between her hands; the back of the heart had been stitched together at one point, but the stitching had long since come apart.  It was, I soon found, the perfect place to put my rings when I took them off to masturbate, and there was always a conspiritorial feeling in doing that… Anne was much more than just a stuffed toy to me.  She was a friend, a confidante, and really almost the only “person” I talked with about things that were difficult for me at the time.  I kept Anne by my bed and slept with her for years — in fact, right up the the time that I shipped off to Utah and the [note: name of residential facility].  I was allowed to bring her with me, which really surprises me even now, but she was required to sit in a little basket of “personal items that you don’t get to touch.”  Well, after a year and a half without her regular company, she managed to end up someplace other than the top of the “must take this home with me!” list… and she got left behind.

It was a devastating blow when I first got home, but time seemed to heal the pain, and though there have been a few times I’d thought of her, it was always just a bit of “hmm, there was that bear, wasn’t there?”  Well, as I was going through all my things here recently, I found a plush toy version of Babar The Elephant that my dad gave me several years ago, and got one for himself and I think both of my sisters… I never really liked the elephant as something to cuddle with, but now I find that it’s not so bad to hug and hold — but of course it reminded me of how I used to sleep with Anne, and I realized that I really do miss her still.

Ohhhh-kay!  Been writing here for an hour now, and although there’s probably a lot more I could say, I really ought to just take a break and post this now!


Everybody has those days; nobody’s perfect!

Yesterday was supposed to be the day.  I spent quite some time that morning as I lay in bed, rehearsing… practicing… trying to prepare myself to be able to finally say to my mom, in person, to her face what I had never directly expressed.

I wanted to say simply, “Mom, I love you.  I am a woman.  I have taken the name Sophia.”  That’s it — all I wanted to say… but when I saw her again, and everything was happy and friendly and kind… and she even wanted to take me to pay the last bit of my phone bill AND take me to get food, and even pay for me… we talked for quite a while about family and all the things going on — I just couldn’t.

I love her.  And I know that I’ve hurt her.  Causing her pain is something I never want to do, but it’s so hard to find a balance between my own freedom and my own wishes, and what I’m willing to give up to keep her happy.  Yesterday I kept silent.  I think — I hope — that my silence has kept her from at least a little sorrow.  At least for now.

A chance to smile, a smile at chance.

For the first time in a very long time, perhaps in as long as I can remember, I’m okay with my figure.  I’m not stressed because everybody laughs and jokes at the “twig” that might blow away in a gust.  I’m not irritated at being a bloated, tubby sausage ready to pop out of its skin.  I’m not perfect; there are a lot of things I’d love to change and improve, but right now I really am okay with the build of my body.

It’s not just my body, either.  I’m okay with my personality.  I’m comfortable with my likes, my dislikes, my opinions, feelings, and all the little quirks that make me who I am.

I don’t hate my voice!  Sure, I’ve always been able to sing decently, but I was always “too high” for what I wanted at the time, and you can only get by so long as a guy singing Alto with the girls in your church’s youth choir before things get awkward.  Beyond that though, hearing myself speak — when not through my own ears as it comes out, but recorded, something like what others must hear — has always made me cringe.  I was so obnoxious, so irritating, and I always wondered how anyone could be around me and put up with hearing that… no longer so.

Most importantly, though, I’m okay with my gender.  Sure, when life is tough, when everything seems to be going wrong, when there’s no hope for any future, no matter what the rest of the world sees — yeah, anyone will doubt themselves.  Anyone will question whether they really are doing what they want, what they thought they knew was right.  It’s a part of being human.  It’s part of who we all are.  But as much as I thought I’d made a mistake, as much as I thought there was no right answer, no decision that could make me happy, I know — I really, very truly know — that I am doing what I should.  I am doing what I need to do to be happy.  That for better or for worse, I am Sophia.  It’s not a matter of deciding whether or not I like being Scott more than Phia, or being Phia more than Scott.  It’s not like picking what fast food combo meal you feel like eating for lunch on a given day; hell, it’s not even an issue of selection at all.  It is a decision, though.  It’s a decision to be okay with who I am.  It’s a decision to accept that I am a woman, regardless of the physical aspects of the body to which I was born.  It’s a decision to live my life, my way — to be me no matter what anyone else thinks I ought to be.

It takes a lot from anyone to be able to stop and say “I am a good person.  I can be happy with who I am, with where I am and where I’m going, and with what I do.”  I think it takes much more from someone who has been told throughout life, not always directly, but from so many angles and by so many close and trusted people, “You don’t measure up.  You are a disappointment.  You can’t like those things; that’s not okay.  You’re not okay.”

It may have taken a lot to get here, but all that shows is that I am strong, that I do have my own will, my own desires and my own motivation.  And I am a good person.  Sure, I still have trouble sometimes — okay, most of the time — telling someone who says otherwise that they’re wrong, and saying it to their face.  That skill will come in time, as I let the fear go, as I find courage — and of course as I practice actually doing it!

Never cry for what might have been.
Shed a tear for yesterday,
But once you weep, dry your eyes and look ahead —
Look ahead and smile at the chances that await you.
Yes, there will be tears.
Yes, sorrow will indeed darken your door.
Yes, death will visit — he may even come for those you hold most dear.
Through it all, smile…
Because every day brings chances with it.
And there are no “bad chances” —
Just the ones you don’t greet with a smile.

–Phia… For now and always!

I can’t do this.

I don’t want a huge chorus of “Oh, you’ll make it through!  Life’s tough but it all works out!  You’re not in this alone!”

It’s all the same bullshit everyone has said forever, the same fucking lines that anyone gives when there’s trouble, the same lies behind grins and pats on the back.  Nobody believes any of it — or if they do, they’re in for a rude awakening when they go through shit.

I can’t do this.  I can’t be Sophia.  I can’t even stand to look in a mirror — because the beast staring back isn’t Phia, but is sure as fuck isn’t Scott either.  There’s just this freak that doesn’t know what it is or what it wants, and I can’t live that way.

Apparently Sophia can’t get enough of herself, can’t get enough attention, can’t help but make sure everybody everywhere gets a taste of “HEY!  LOOKIT ME!  I’M A REAL GIRL!  CAN’T YOU ALL TELL?  WOW, I AM SO FEMININE!”  Apparently she gets on everybody’s nerves because she can’t stop being a little gossiping bitch.  Apparently it’s not something she’s trying to do — she’s just that irritating and annoying naturally.

I suppose it was a lot better having Scott around — at least he didn’t have any opinions of his own, or if he did he was too afraid to make them known.  Scott must have been a great friend, because everyone just loves a yes-man — whether they admit it or not.

Guess what?  Scott is dead.  Scratch that — Scott was never really alive to begin with.  But you know what?  Phia isn’t doing much better.  There’s nothing here.  Nobody here to take the wheel and drive this “body” — if you can call it that — to drive it with any personality or being.  There’s just a mask, hollow inside… no voice, no role for the mask to play and nothing for the mask to cover and hide.

Yeah, you’ll all tell me you “have my back,” that you support me, that you’re happy for me and glad I’m making “the right decision.”  It’s not the right choice.  It’s a little hard for it to be right when every choice I could make is going to end up with my life totally fucked, with no chance to really be happy… it’s not even a “lesser of two evils” deal.

To paraphrase a line from a song, “Every day’s an endless stream of music clips and TV screens…” — that’s all I have to look forward to, any day and every day.  That’s been the case for almost ten years; it wouldn’t be the slightest surprise to find that fifteen or twenty years from now I’ll still be making zero impact on the world, that I’ll still be rotting away at a computer, passively being “entertained.”  When I don’t care enough to do anything else, when I can’t stand walking outside trying to look like a girl (and failing miserably) but going out as a stupid geeky ass-faced guy isn’t any better, when I am repulsive enough to myself, regardless, that anyone else who isn’t psycho would want nothing to do with me, let alone be romantically involved… there’s not much point in making the effort to change.

Let me say again: I can’t do this.  I don’t want to do this.  I don’t care who I am, who I was, who I want to be.  About all that’s worth doing is staying asleep — at least when I’m asleep I’m not dealing with “people” and I’m not wasting money I don’t have, on stupid toys I don’t need.  I can pay rent, pay utilities, and keep on wasting the time that my body is pumping blood, wasting the time not living.

Oh, and I hope everybody is having a beautiful time with their boyfriends, girlfriends, wives, husbands, short-term flings, fuck-buddies, horses, and dogs.  Party on.

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