This blog contains 1000 posts. Posting to Blogger with such a large archive has become unwieldy. Also, your blogista, who is sewing a kesa, is not writing much at present. She has ceased adding new posts. Still-active links are here.

Saturday, January 22, 2005

She screened me out ...

You may remember that a couple of posts ago, I was celebrating a milestone. It turned out I misunderstood. I'm out in the cold again, and I have no idea why.

Everyone else I know has had the experience of having a counselor in their corner and the world against them. With me, it seems like it's always the opposite. Why?? It would seem like it would be a professional kindness, by this time, to at least help me with my driver's license. Because I'm already in danger from my next traffic stop. And go back three spaces is no longer a viable option. I have been living as a woman full time since October 15th. And I will never live as a man again. Yet, she doesn't see me as really trans ....

When she screened me out, I cried, some, and pulled it together and thanked her and went down to my car, but in the car I fell apart. I would sob, lean my head on the wheel, then lean back in my seat, muscles tightening all over my body, and scream. This went on for about half an hour.

The counselor came out, carrying a rake, presumably on her way to garden somewhere. She saw me, parked behind her, red-faced, blowing my nose, and shaking.

She came over, knocked on the window. "Are you all right?"

WHAT? Do I look like I look all right to you? I mouthed.

She opened the door. "I have to make sure you're going to be ok."

"I'm a strong girl; I'll get through this. You should go on with whatever it is you're doing, because you have washed your hands of me."

After she drove away, I spent another half hour alternately crying and screaming. When I saw one of the neighbors in my rear-view mirror, watching the car, I figured it was time to move on, and somehow got the car running and drove over the mountain and down onto the freeway, alternately crying and shrieking.

When I made it home, Beloved, who was busy refurnishing Daughter's old bedroom, took one look at me and dropped everything to help me to a chair. I was shaking, colorless, and red-eyed. I told her what had happened and then started shrieking again.

"Thee is a wounded animal; let's get thee to bed." She helped me off with my things, and brought hot apple juice.

I had cried for six hours.

Called in sick yesterday and stayed in bed. Took antidepressants and stresstabs. Slept 13 hours last night. Talked with Beloved all morning. She came up with a plan of action while I was sleeping in, and I like it. More later.

She left for a walk, and I got ready to go to work (I was working Saturdays to have a weekday for counseling and doctors). Still a little shaky. Opened a letter from the lab. So, I have osteoporosis. That's nice. Least of my worries!

Back to square one. I've lost two years on bad counseling.

What to wear today? Guy stuff?

No. I am still and will always be Risa, and no one will ever take that away from me.

Because I know that I am not "a boy in a dress." I gave away the guy stuff, and I don't miss it. I couldn't go in drab now if I wanted to, and I don't want to! If you hear the sound of scissors on my wings, all I can tell you is it's not me snipping, nor any of the usual suspects. It's been wall-to-wall kindness out there.

So, it's the usual cami, turtleneck, garnet ear studs, Bill Blass slacks and top-stitched Mary Janes. A hint of foundation, lip-liner and eyeliner. Wave to the neighbors, buzz past the sheep, the cows and horses, admire the scenery.

Pull over and cry.

Redo face.

Drive on.

Not gonna let this be more than a bump in the road, unh-unh.


A letter about me went out from the university administration yesterday, asking everyone to show support. That's like, 4500 staffers, and 20,000 students. I got some really nice emails and an online greeting card from someone I barely know, but whom I've always admired from a distance. It was really sweet... And the voice clinic on campus has agreed to do a consultation with me, and they were really warm and welcoming in their correspondence.

My student workers, bless 'em, were at work in droves today and getting a lot done. We're building an online version of the card index to the major newspaper, and my crew has entered 398,600 records since February 15th of last year. Every 100,000 we reach means a party, so we'll be discussing if should do the usual table at the pizza place or something else. I'm so proud of them!

--risa b


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