![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cabbitzilla... continues to dance tauntingly, just beyond my reach. My average has dropped back to a two hour catnap each night, leaving what's left of my mind torn and fluttering on the breeze that only I seem to feel. Night passes and leaves in its' wake another cluster of tangled, painkiller addled dreams, slowly stripping away what remains of my abilities... slowly enough that each and every loss is perceptible, leaving another set or reasons to quietly mourn my failing health.
A different tone from normal? Yes, actually, it is. In the course of about four hours of activity online yesterday, I was told by no less than six people that I 'hide my true feelings' and don't talk enough to my friends. In the past I've simply shrugged off such comments; it's something I do quite intentionally. The people I consider 'family', several of which at least cursory monitor this journal, are all very precious and dear to me. It's long been my intent to spare them the true nature of my thoughts, and by 'failing' to put them down sparing myself as well.
I'm not sure why, but this morning I'm feeling a chill in my bones. It's either the tendrils of another of my imfamous 'black funks', or simply the weight of time pressing down on me. So instead of the half-mocking wisecracks and such that generally fill my journal, this morning is a bit... different. With a bit of luck, the folks who tsk at me about not opening up enough won't give a universally terrified bleat of horror and run screaming for the hills. And while I'm composing my thoughts and trying to keep myself from being totally incomprehensible, I'm trying to puzzle out LJ's cut tag... otherwise this post is going to be highly annoying on my friends' pages... but it looks simple enough.
I've pulled up my 'friends' list, and given it a quick scan. There're a couple of names on it that I'm unable to dredge up from my mind, so let me summarize before I continue. My reality finds me standing just a shade under 6'3", weighing in at around the 345# mark, and routinely having my weight guessed at about 270#. I was blessed with full, thick eyelashes, decently high cheekbones, and curly brown hair that's currently below shoulder length. I was also 'blessed' with enough body hair to make Sasquatch turn green with envy and two sets of genitalia... only -one- of which is visible without surgical/X-ray/ultra sound techniques. And in the course of my efforts to 'be good and obedient', I did what was expected of a 'single male' and got married. And then, quite literally, all hell broke loose.
There have been gender presentation issues for nearly my entire life. When I was five, I managed to utterly freak my mother out by announcing that 'something was wrong, I'm supposed to be a -girl-', and asking her point blank why she didn't help me fix it. That little confession earned me a world class screaming at, and then I was drug bodily to see our Pastor so that he could cast the demons out of me. From a woman that was raised Seventh Day Adventist, and later in life converted to Baptist, I probably should have expected it. That fall saw my first attempted suicide; the psychiatrist brushed off my sobbing pleas to help with mom, help me, somehow fix things... and simply ordered antidepresants for me. To him I was just another problem child, and nothing I said or did made any difference beyond that. The harshness of the reactions from the people who were supposed to be helping me began my pattern of hiding my trueself from view; it was patently obvious to me, even as a child, that no one cared. Of all my patterns, it's been the one hardest to break, and the one that's caused me the most pain. Looking back... there really wasn't another option. 1972 was not a 'good year' for such things; transsexuals and hermaphrodites were virtually unseen.
Down through the years, I've gone through the binge and purge cycles that are so often labeled 'self destructive'. The truth of who and what I am would break out of the box I'd mercilessly stuffed it into, rampage through my life and destabilize everything. Each time it broke free, it proved that much harder to lock it down; the truth is simply the truth, and even the most talented self-deceiver will eventually fail in the face of it. Being wanted and accepted are extremely important to me, hallmarks of a Service mentality and need for a Guide, and the things that the truth required threatened to rip away what little usefullness I saw for myself. So each cycle ended with me rather brutally slicing away a portion of myself, and locking it away again. The most recent breakout of these things occured a year and a half into my marriage... and inside of six months had nearly destroyed me with my wife being none the wiser. I'd gotten so good at deceiving myself that doing so to others was almost effortless.
The marriage still exists on paper. We share the house, sleep in separate beds, and share minimal emotional ties.... at least from my end. It's a complex maze of needs, wants, and motivations at best. She's unable emotionally to be on her own, and continues to use me as a foundation of sorts. And that's essentially where things sit at the moment.
I think one of the most common questions I'm asked is ~Why do you stay where you are if things are so bad.~ Frances, bless her heart, generally leads the charge on this one. But the answer's not that complex, really, though the motivations behind it might be a bit stranger than most suspect... and the answer will itself be rather long and rambling. Service Mentality. It ... runs very deep. When I'm asked what my 'dream' is, I generally give some sort of socially acceptable answer and try and dodge any followup questions. Most folks who ask such things would utterly freak at the revelation that my ideal position would be that of 'devoted lady in waiting', or some other attendant-type position. Think personal maid, if the other's too mindbending. Wanted and loved by the one(s) I Served, safe and content and happy because I get to help. It's /far/ more complex than that, but that's what it boils down to. If I try to explain a doll's mentalitity we'll all be here till spring trying to sort it out. Maybe I'll try that one next time, though. The upshot of this is that I simply can NOT leave; she needs me, and regardless of the pain the situation causes me personally I must stay.
Yes, pain. I'm unable to transition or seek further medical assistance to attempt to repair myself while she and I are together. There are other factors involved that further complicate things, but that's the basis. She won't leave, and can't function on her own, which pins me in place both in the marriage and in perceived gender. And as difficult as it is for me to do, it leaves me trying desperately to bolster her up until she -can- stand on her own... essentially making myself superfluous via Service. I try not to think about the full ramifications of deliberately trying to work myself out of a 'job'; it makes my head hurt and my soul ache. I must remain, I must Serve. Even if it leaves me alone in the end.
On top of everything else, there's my deteriorating health. It was mentioned way back in the begining, and some know the full scope of the issues. About two and a half years ago, while on vacation, I was 'fortunate' enough to pass a kidney stone and destroy everyone's chances of going back to Faire. The physical trauma of this triggered what the doctors call a 'genetic predisposition' to a neural disorder called Fibromyalgia (FMS). Traditional cases tend to establish a 'maximum pain threshhold' fairly early on... while mine kept rising. Consistently. The onset folded me up completely for nearly two months while the doctors tried to figure out the cause. Medications were prescribed, and I lumbered back to work. My hours suffered, and I wasn't as mobile as I had been, but it was mostly manageable. November of that year brought a trio of 'micro' strokes, and put me out of work completely. Stress, they said. The ~What do you have to stress about?~ questions came from all directions, and generally went unanswered. I'd long ago realized that nobody seemed able to comprehend me, and simply hid deeper. But the strokes also unlocked the box-o-mayhem that is the gender issues.
Over time, the FMS diagnosis was expanded to include osteo arthritis. And recently my doctor has given me a tentative diagnosis of Myasthenia Gravis. It's as yet unconfirmed; I simply don't have the money/insurance needed for the neural function tests. The financial woes that swarmed me in the wake of the loss of my salary have had the house on the verge of foreclosure for nearly two years; there's no cash for anything else, really. And sadly, that includes alterations to myself to make things a bit more bearable. Another friend, Ethan, seems immensely puzzled by the fact that there's noone stepping up to help... he commented that the roughly $20k needed to 'switch me over' seemed a small investment if it got me up and mostly mobile again. I've tried to explain how my priorities work, but I don't think he understands, bless his heart. He lives in a very different mental world, but he's a good friend and I cherish him.
I've a small list of people that I treasure. Ethan's one of many... a list that includes /most/ of the 'regular readers' of my ramblings here, and a few others besides. These people are the ones that have made my continued existence somewhat bearable... without them I'm fairly certain I would have packed it in completely. Some of them are rather militant about not being worthy of my attentions or love, which is (pardon the expression) complete and utter bullshit. One of them is a writer, a very talented writer, whom I would fly to in a heartbeat were things differently. *soft chuckle* Maybe if things change on this end, they'll want a maid. It's a lovely dream, at the very least... and I think they'd like my cooking. :)
So what was the point of all this? *sigh* I... don't know. There was simply a rather pressing sense of urgency to put down my thoughts, to put down the truth. Maybe it's simply my rather elevated sense of my own mortality. I've hidden myself away for so long that I wonder if the bulk of my 'friends' truly know who I am... perhaps this is just a long supressed need to set the record straight. There are things here that I've glossed over or only touched upon that probably need to be elaborated on, but they will have to wait. Megan's up now, and... well, she has zero patience with me trying to sit and write. I don't mind conversation, but it chafes the hell out of me to be -pushed- into it when I'm trying to think and write. As wrong as it seems to me, sometimes I just want to be left to the murkiness of my own mind.
*hugs*
~Ellie-chan
A different tone from normal? Yes, actually, it is. In the course of about four hours of activity online yesterday, I was told by no less than six people that I 'hide my true feelings' and don't talk enough to my friends. In the past I've simply shrugged off such comments; it's something I do quite intentionally. The people I consider 'family', several of which at least cursory monitor this journal, are all very precious and dear to me. It's long been my intent to spare them the true nature of my thoughts, and by 'failing' to put them down sparing myself as well.
I'm not sure why, but this morning I'm feeling a chill in my bones. It's either the tendrils of another of my imfamous 'black funks', or simply the weight of time pressing down on me. So instead of the half-mocking wisecracks and such that generally fill my journal, this morning is a bit... different. With a bit of luck, the folks who tsk at me about not opening up enough won't give a universally terrified bleat of horror and run screaming for the hills. And while I'm composing my thoughts and trying to keep myself from being totally incomprehensible, I'm trying to puzzle out LJ's cut tag... otherwise this post is going to be highly annoying on my friends' pages... but it looks simple enough.
I've pulled up my 'friends' list, and given it a quick scan. There're a couple of names on it that I'm unable to dredge up from my mind, so let me summarize before I continue. My reality finds me standing just a shade under 6'3", weighing in at around the 345# mark, and routinely having my weight guessed at about 270#. I was blessed with full, thick eyelashes, decently high cheekbones, and curly brown hair that's currently below shoulder length. I was also 'blessed' with enough body hair to make Sasquatch turn green with envy and two sets of genitalia... only -one- of which is visible without surgical/X-ray/ultra sound techniques. And in the course of my efforts to 'be good and obedient', I did what was expected of a 'single male' and got married. And then, quite literally, all hell broke loose.
There have been gender presentation issues for nearly my entire life. When I was five, I managed to utterly freak my mother out by announcing that 'something was wrong, I'm supposed to be a -girl-', and asking her point blank why she didn't help me fix it. That little confession earned me a world class screaming at, and then I was drug bodily to see our Pastor so that he could cast the demons out of me. From a woman that was raised Seventh Day Adventist, and later in life converted to Baptist, I probably should have expected it. That fall saw my first attempted suicide; the psychiatrist brushed off my sobbing pleas to help with mom, help me, somehow fix things... and simply ordered antidepresants for me. To him I was just another problem child, and nothing I said or did made any difference beyond that. The harshness of the reactions from the people who were supposed to be helping me began my pattern of hiding my trueself from view; it was patently obvious to me, even as a child, that no one cared. Of all my patterns, it's been the one hardest to break, and the one that's caused me the most pain. Looking back... there really wasn't another option. 1972 was not a 'good year' for such things; transsexuals and hermaphrodites were virtually unseen.
Down through the years, I've gone through the binge and purge cycles that are so often labeled 'self destructive'. The truth of who and what I am would break out of the box I'd mercilessly stuffed it into, rampage through my life and destabilize everything. Each time it broke free, it proved that much harder to lock it down; the truth is simply the truth, and even the most talented self-deceiver will eventually fail in the face of it. Being wanted and accepted are extremely important to me, hallmarks of a Service mentality and need for a Guide, and the things that the truth required threatened to rip away what little usefullness I saw for myself. So each cycle ended with me rather brutally slicing away a portion of myself, and locking it away again. The most recent breakout of these things occured a year and a half into my marriage... and inside of six months had nearly destroyed me with my wife being none the wiser. I'd gotten so good at deceiving myself that doing so to others was almost effortless.
The marriage still exists on paper. We share the house, sleep in separate beds, and share minimal emotional ties.... at least from my end. It's a complex maze of needs, wants, and motivations at best. She's unable emotionally to be on her own, and continues to use me as a foundation of sorts. And that's essentially where things sit at the moment.
I think one of the most common questions I'm asked is ~Why do you stay where you are if things are so bad.~ Frances, bless her heart, generally leads the charge on this one. But the answer's not that complex, really, though the motivations behind it might be a bit stranger than most suspect... and the answer will itself be rather long and rambling. Service Mentality. It ... runs very deep. When I'm asked what my 'dream' is, I generally give some sort of socially acceptable answer and try and dodge any followup questions. Most folks who ask such things would utterly freak at the revelation that my ideal position would be that of 'devoted lady in waiting', or some other attendant-type position. Think personal maid, if the other's too mindbending. Wanted and loved by the one(s) I Served, safe and content and happy because I get to help. It's /far/ more complex than that, but that's what it boils down to. If I try to explain a doll's mentalitity we'll all be here till spring trying to sort it out. Maybe I'll try that one next time, though. The upshot of this is that I simply can NOT leave; she needs me, and regardless of the pain the situation causes me personally I must stay.
Yes, pain. I'm unable to transition or seek further medical assistance to attempt to repair myself while she and I are together. There are other factors involved that further complicate things, but that's the basis. She won't leave, and can't function on her own, which pins me in place both in the marriage and in perceived gender. And as difficult as it is for me to do, it leaves me trying desperately to bolster her up until she -can- stand on her own... essentially making myself superfluous via Service. I try not to think about the full ramifications of deliberately trying to work myself out of a 'job'; it makes my head hurt and my soul ache. I must remain, I must Serve. Even if it leaves me alone in the end.
On top of everything else, there's my deteriorating health. It was mentioned way back in the begining, and some know the full scope of the issues. About two and a half years ago, while on vacation, I was 'fortunate' enough to pass a kidney stone and destroy everyone's chances of going back to Faire. The physical trauma of this triggered what the doctors call a 'genetic predisposition' to a neural disorder called Fibromyalgia (FMS). Traditional cases tend to establish a 'maximum pain threshhold' fairly early on... while mine kept rising. Consistently. The onset folded me up completely for nearly two months while the doctors tried to figure out the cause. Medications were prescribed, and I lumbered back to work. My hours suffered, and I wasn't as mobile as I had been, but it was mostly manageable. November of that year brought a trio of 'micro' strokes, and put me out of work completely. Stress, they said. The ~What do you have to stress about?~ questions came from all directions, and generally went unanswered. I'd long ago realized that nobody seemed able to comprehend me, and simply hid deeper. But the strokes also unlocked the box-o-mayhem that is the gender issues.
Over time, the FMS diagnosis was expanded to include osteo arthritis. And recently my doctor has given me a tentative diagnosis of Myasthenia Gravis. It's as yet unconfirmed; I simply don't have the money/insurance needed for the neural function tests. The financial woes that swarmed me in the wake of the loss of my salary have had the house on the verge of foreclosure for nearly two years; there's no cash for anything else, really. And sadly, that includes alterations to myself to make things a bit more bearable. Another friend, Ethan, seems immensely puzzled by the fact that there's noone stepping up to help... he commented that the roughly $20k needed to 'switch me over' seemed a small investment if it got me up and mostly mobile again. I've tried to explain how my priorities work, but I don't think he understands, bless his heart. He lives in a very different mental world, but he's a good friend and I cherish him.
I've a small list of people that I treasure. Ethan's one of many... a list that includes /most/ of the 'regular readers' of my ramblings here, and a few others besides. These people are the ones that have made my continued existence somewhat bearable... without them I'm fairly certain I would have packed it in completely. Some of them are rather militant about not being worthy of my attentions or love, which is (pardon the expression) complete and utter bullshit. One of them is a writer, a very talented writer, whom I would fly to in a heartbeat were things differently. *soft chuckle* Maybe if things change on this end, they'll want a maid. It's a lovely dream, at the very least... and I think they'd like my cooking. :)
So what was the point of all this? *sigh* I... don't know. There was simply a rather pressing sense of urgency to put down my thoughts, to put down the truth. Maybe it's simply my rather elevated sense of my own mortality. I've hidden myself away for so long that I wonder if the bulk of my 'friends' truly know who I am... perhaps this is just a long supressed need to set the record straight. There are things here that I've glossed over or only touched upon that probably need to be elaborated on, but they will have to wait. Megan's up now, and... well, she has zero patience with me trying to sit and write. I don't mind conversation, but it chafes the hell out of me to be -pushed- into it when I'm trying to think and write. As wrong as it seems to me, sometimes I just want to be left to the murkiness of my own mind.
*hugs*
~Ellie-chan
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Thank you.
Date: 2002-10-14 09:04 am (UTC)And yes, I do tend to lead the charge on that one particular question because, to be my usual blunt, honest self, she's NEVER going to 'not need you'. We've watched this situation for several years now, hon, and she's never going to grow up enough to stand on her own, she's always going to need someone and won't change, unless she's forced to do so through rather abrupt means. I know that's harsh of me to say, but it's true, and I think that you know it deep down too.
Do I want to see her hurt? No. We consider her to be a friend too, but if it comes down to watching you die a slow, miserable death wrapping yourself tighter and tighter in the cocoon you're weaving around yourself just so that she doesn't have to face the world, or having her go through a short rough growing period only to come out either stronger...or with someone else to babysit her...then I'll take the latter. Because the latter means that you would finally be free to start doing the things that YOU need to do to serve YOURSELF for a change. And yes, luv, that IS part of service. You can't serve others if you're not pulled together in and of yourself first. And I think that you know better than tell me that I don't know whereof I speak on this issue.
I push you. I know that I do. Because you've stopped pushing yourself and you're just floating in this haze of pain and medication and fading dreams. It hurts to see you like that, and if I had the money, you would be the first to get it because I would give it so very willingly to see you on the road to a happier existence.
I don't have the money. I do have a place that you can come and live and be the live in maid if that's what makes you happy until we can move on the other parts of things. I'll even turn my precious kitchen over to you (for the most part...I still wanna cook sometimes!). If that's what it takes, then that's what we are WILLING to do!!!
Keep talking, keep opening up little by little, and let your friends...your real and true friends...do what we CAN do to help you. That's how you can best serve all of us right now.
I love you very much.
Thank you
Date: 2002-10-14 02:50 pm (UTC)-Vulpin the ponyfox
Ellie, love...
First of all, what Lys wrote in reponse to this post is *VERY* wise. I know the ring of truth when I hear it.
Second, I can empathise with your situation to some degree at least. I know what you mean about having a Service mentality -- service is a *VERY* important part of my spiritual path, and that's something I constantly struggle to do justice to in my life. And because of my own past there are parts of me that have long been heavily and deeply cloaked as well. I know what it's like to live a lie, my dear.
I guess that's all I have to say. I really do hope you find a way out of the situation you're in right now -- it doesn't like like Megan's ever going to grow up and become independent unless she'e forced to (very similar to what happened and is happening with a friend of mine here).
Email me anytime if you want to share, vent, etc.
Love,
~~KT the Understanding~~
More thoughts on the Subject
As for 'why you stay' - I can't claim to understand it. I don't have that mentality. I do know that one of you is going to break soon, and it's most likely going to be you. I gave up my Sunday at Faire to take you to the Emergency Room - you can't break yourself until I give you permission.
I know it hurts. I know osme days are mostly unbearable. I know it's not going to get better until something in your life changes. It'll be better for you if you're in control of the change (Not something you need a lecture on, I know...)
Check your email for the new phone numbers. Call if you need to talk.
Love and good thoughts coming your way!
Shado
no subject
Date: 2009-10-03 01:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-03 01:52 am (UTC)*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2009-10-03 02:25 am (UTC)I read the post immediately after this one too, as well as one or two others, and they remind me that I remember you saying something similar when we first met, whenever that was (about dolls). I'd forgotten...but then, I forgot a lot of things from that time.
Is it good to have hindsight, 7 years on?
I wish there were more I could do to help, other than lend a shoulder and an ear, and do my best. I'm glad my happiness spreads to your happiness, but I still hope you shall have more happiness yourself in your own right. Which, taking me back to the beginning of this comment, means I am so happy and relieved that you have your Mistress.
Be beautiful, Ellie, because I am convinced you are.
*many hugs*
another Ellie x