I think the problem I have with conflict and/or exchange letters is not necessarily just the emotional aspects, the obsessive part is the intellectual end. I don’t read/open those communications until I know I have braintime to spare, because I know I will invariably spend the next week or more trying to go about my daily routine and instead find my mind deflecting back into the Conflict du Jour, dragged into a running dialog in my head of a web of responses to this point and that.

And it doesn’t end, that’s the hard part. Every open moment not inhabitated by another idea gets sucked in the maelstrom, and I have to keep catching myself and kicking myself back out of the twisting, turning loop. It happens even if I try to sleep — another frustration.

So the whole thing with my in-laws is still creeping into my mind and putting fingers in the cracks. I’m leaping from one argument to the next, one idea to another, and write whole iterations of letters in my head before realizing I’ve been zoning for five minutes and need to get back to coding my software.

But it is not always a waste.

Based on past experience with myself, I promised myself not to respond for about a month, and I won’t… but at least I have an idea now how to approach it, after my mind leaping down either dangerous or unproductive pathways.

There is always so much in someone else’s comments that could be responded to, that I might feel impassioned to respond to, and yet would not contribute to the sort of direction I would like things to go even if on some level it would feel fulfilling — whether challenging inconsistencies, clarifying mistaken information, slapping back for a slap, being positive where positive strokes were given.

My question to myself: Why? Why engage at all? many people just let go and move on. Why can’t ii.

I realize in myself that I primarily want to be understood, and I did not feel like I was (and I know for sure now that I wasn’t). I already realize the futility of trying to convince someone to agree, but at least to have had a voice and been heard even if denied… maybe that’s what I really wanted, since these are people I see again from time to time, and they are intimately connected to people I *do* love.

The biggest realization I had was just how they do NOT see anything underneath. For so many years, I fought with Rose over her inability to see under the surface, and she’s far better than them. I can’t believe I was really that blind. The whole trans thing aside, they just don’t see what I see. They don’t know it’s there. They just see what is in front of them… and most of what they saw during my marriage was a withdrawn, unhelpful, unparticipating son-in-law… someone they did not understand but who certainly did not measure up to their way of doing things. I realize now they had lots of trouble with me before but it was all hidden under civility.

If they can’t see it, it doesn’t exist.
Which sucks, because with me, it’s always been about what lies beneath.

Rose loves me and still has faith in me as a person, my kids love me, because they knew what lies beneath inside of me. It just took Rose a lot of years to really see it, since it did not match her expectations. And nowadays, what lies beneath actually comes out a lot on the surface, which is why I have lots of people in my life who want me in theirs… but my in-laws would of course not have experienced that.

If I didn’t cry, I didn’t care.
If I didn’t help, I was being unhelpful.
If I didn’t express thanks appropriately, I was unthankful.
I’m left now wondering sometimes how much they were upset with me earlier but just found forebearance somehow.

So I already know how to approach it. it’s a matter of giving myself a few weeks to work out the details.

…And after that, I think I’m done.
It will be time to move on.

On the way home from electrolysis, I was mulling over it again, and finding myself frustrated. There might have been things in our relationship they did for me over the years, without me realizing; but in this situation, they’re utterly clueless and because I can “see,” because I am the better commuinicator, it’s up to me to take ownership and lead and carry communication burdens and meanwhile ignore some of the mistakes on their part… Why me, God? is what I found myself asking.

And then I started crying. Because it hurt.

I don’t WANT to do this for them.

Honestly?
I want to take care of me.
Protect myself.
Explain myself.
Make *them* understand me.
Do this to make *my* position better.

None of them are looking out for me.
Or even give a damn what my perspective is.
Why am I trying so hard to understand theirs enough to communicate?

I don’t *want* to do this for them.

But… that’s why I cried.

Because I can’t be doing this for me if it’s going to work.
Doing things for myself, my own self-interest, in a situation like this invariably ends up spoiling things.
Everything gets sidetracked.

There is no point in doing this
unless ultimately it’s for them,
to expose them to a bit of the world they’ve never allowed themselves to see.
To challenge the ideas that have been held for so long.

Not in argumentative way, but simply to have it out there and available.

I want them to have in front of them what my experience actually has been
so that later, when they get used to the idea that my children see something different in me,
and that the end of the world hasn’t come,
that they have something to fall back on.

If I don’t speak to them, who would?
Nothing ever changes unless something at least momentarily stands against it.

Disagreement is not prefererable,
but it’s the only way that ideas and beliefs are honed and challenged.
And maybe if I voice myself to them, there will be a chance that they’ll find something of value in it
later.

What lies beneath
them
is what has to lie beneath
me
motivating me to engage.

If I am just doing this to get something for me…
it’s not going to be productive.

I finally got to my doctor today. I apparently haven’t seen her since last March. I made the appt because my scripts were running out, finally.

Part of the reason for the time lapse is because she closed her local office, so I had to drive about 30 minutes to the neighboring city to reach her. It wasn’t a bad drive… just inconvenient. I couldn’t find it right away, it’s sort of tucked away, and their sign had blown away last week in the storms and they had not put it back up yet.

She had an intern there today from Hershey Med. I wasn’t sure if she “knew” my background, but when Lorraine started things off by asking about my kids, I figured it was all fair game.  She was happy to hear that things had changed with my kids. The intern was very nice.

My blood pressure was good, despite not exercising for the bulk of the year — 118/63. I’ve noticed my blood pressure has gotten better on estrogen. I also noticed an issue at the dentist, where I had bad gums for a few years to the point of them giving me daily treatments to do (swishing stuff in my mouth) to strengthen then… and the last time, I had not done it for six months and they said my gums looked better. (I’ve been talking calcium supplements for two years too, so…)

Besides discussing the joys and pains of my current life, we reviewed my med list because I’m in dire need of renewals. I got one year scripts for estradiol and spiro, for starters. The intern wasn’t sure why I was taking spiro, so Lorraine had me explain it to her. I also found out that spiro actually reduces facial hair and is prescribed to deal with facial hair growth experienced by some women with gland problems — that was something I did not know that spiro specifically did.

Aside from the two main hormones, she thought she’d give me a progesterone cream and see if insurance would pay, since prometrium didn’t get through their hoops.

Aside from that, I got a script for my sleeping pills, vicodin (for electro), numbing cream (for electro), and a new environmentally friendly inhaler… wheee.

Also, I did say I had never had a blood test for my hormone levels, only an initial baseline that didn’t even really check hormones. It’s been almost two years. While they did a complete physical on me, and I had no symptoms of issues with estrogen (e.g., I had no ankle swelling and had good circulation in my ankles), she agreed we should get one done… so she took a few vials of blood. (Of course I didn’t watch, I didn’t want to pass out.) They’ll check a few other things too.

My weight was sucky… 236. I don’t look it. But yup, that’s what it is. She said my BMI says I’m officially obese now, yay! I think BMI is a crock, I’ve always had thick bones and frame, and I still wasn’t “normal” in guy mode at 192lbs, and at that point my family was calling people behind my back and asking me if “i was okay” as if I had an eating disorder or cancer… so… really? BMI is a joke as a universal standard… but I still want to get my weight down to the 200 range if possible. The problem is that I lose weight on areas I want it, when I lose weight.

Why oh why can’t it collect in my boobs and hips, instead of in my thighs and lower ab? Sigh.

Question on  a forum I’m on:

How do we get across to our loved ones that transsexualism is not a choice, is not a sin, and that transsexuals do not deliberately seek to hurt loved ones?

.

My basic response:

You are not going to convince anyone of anything they do not want to already believe

and you will not unconvince people of things they believe upon which the meaning of their lives is based.

The corollaries of that:

• Do not waste energy trying to convert naysayers.
• Do spend time sharing your story with those who might be open, but don’t get into arguments — let your story and life speak for itself.
• Expend energy creating a positive and fulfilling life for yourself.

Be positive, not negative. Build and connect, do not try to argue or destroy.

.

Someone else disagree with the question and suggested that transition IS a choice.

I agreed with that person.

.

Even the conservative Christians do not seem to have an issue with GID per se; it’s a matter of how we have chosen to resolve the issue that they disagree with (even if I believe their response to be inadequate or unrealistic).

We chose to transition. It was a foundational move on my part when I realized my life was in my hands and I had to choose to move forward and embrace my choice, not try to avoid it.

To me, my choices were (1) suffer in a life of meaningless and numbness and isolation, (2) kill myself, or (3) see what level of transition I needed to be happy. Originally, one of my choices was (4) try to be a man, TRULY commit to being a man, and see if I could find happiness… and that choice did not work despite my varied efforts. It’s unfortunate that many of the religious folk naively believe #4 to be an ongoing option, since I tested it for 18 years of adulthood, but I’m not going to convince them otherwise.

My deciding that #3 was the best option remaining to me was my choice.

I knew my choice would cause other people in my life discomfort and pain. I had spent my adulthood avoiding imposing ANYTHING on them or ASKING for anything from them; now I would require more. Some have had a very hard time. My kids have had to deal with the loss of a “male figure” in some ways. Lots of changes for people besides me. (Then again, IMO, choices #1 and #2 were far worse in terms of their impact on others and myself.)

That is the result of my choice.

Not only do I think it’s necessary to embrace it as a choice, but I think if one tries to hedge out from acknowledging it to be a choice, the naysayers will just dig in further.

Religion is a choice too. I find it amusing that many of them do not think so: “I just believe it because it’s true! That’s why I can’t change!” It’s funny how the double standard plays out. I had lost a lot of respect over the years for some religious people because they refused to embrace their faith as a choice — it’s a choice to believe in the face of ambiguity or lack of evidence. I think one of the most glaring aspects of the religious crowd I have the worst time with is their unwillingness to accept that their faith is a choice, not an obvious truth.

The religious crowd that accepts me sees their faith as choices of belief on their part.

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Anyway, I think we can “argue” with social forces, to get our stories and valid information out… but on the personal level, arguing is counter-productive. I finally have an engaged dialogue with my in-laws, and I’m facing it once again: They’re religious and think I must have been “subverted” somehow, to agree to do this, and I threw my wonderful life away because of it (which to them entailed my religious participation, my gifts used in a church setting, etc.)

I already see what their standard is for judging the validity of something and judging the worth of something.

To argue with them will not be effective and I have to connect with them in other ways.

My mom’s faith is what enabled her to survive her marriage to my alcoholic father for 42 years. There is no way at this juncture that I can ever think it possible to convince her to change her religious beliefs — she’s invested too much in them.

Do you know what my options are?

Living a life of integrity, honesty, and beauty.

Treat them as I would like to be treated.

Letting them live their lives, and me living mine.

That’s the only evidence that would get through.

It also seems pretty clear that conservative thought has reached a place where higher levels of education, intellectualism, and “science” are distrusted as “part of the world.” Science suggests a lot of evolutionary thought makes sense, and the Bible preaches creationism (to them), so they’ve stopped trusting studies and science fact. No one in my family cares about genetics, biochemistry, brain wiring, etc; bringing up science immediately gets you shut out, they just say they don’t want to hear it and assume my experts are products of worldly godless mentality.

You can’t argue with people who don’t accept the foundations of your arguments, experience, or proof.

Looks like I do not have plans today.

I’m disappointed a bit, although I made choices to leave the day open and knew the risks, so… not overly upset. Just am not sure at this point what I’d like to do.

Yesterday Arwen mentioned inviting me over (on her own) to do things, like we’ve always done. I told her she needed to ask Rose about it, since I’d like to come but wasn’t going to invite myself, and told her she could decide whether she wanted to ask or not. (The last thing I want to do is make it seem like I’m trying to get the kids to ask for me, I want it to be a choice and a no-pressure one.) I could have hung out today with Jase but I wanted to leave the day open for my kids, so we got together last night and watched Pride and Prejudice.

Today Faramir called me around 2pm, when I was watching a movie my landlord got on pay-per-view for 24 hours yesterday — “Drag Me to Hell” lol… that Sam Raimi is a complete nutjob, it was a typical gypsy-curse-summons-demons-of-hell horror flick which was enjoyable in a campy and occasionally skin-crawly way, with a ridiculously dreadful ending (note: I should have seen it coming) — so I called him back after it was over.

He has to do a speech on black holes and wanted me to explain them to him. I wish I’d read about them recently, I read a lot when I was his age and throughout my 20’s, but I think I gave him the best “working view” of black hole physics and overview that I could, along with relativity, gravitational pull, sound waves, orbits, and a bunch of other cool things. It’s nice to be able to talk science with him since he’s old enough to understand and comment / ask good questions now. After an hour of that, we talked for a bit longer just about life, school, and stuff.

Positive: I’m going over on Thursday at 5:30pm. That’s cool, I’ll see my kids on a school night and be part of the routine again a bit.

Negative: Well, Rose has the TV turned off for a month, so was not going to let the kids watch the SuperBowl tonight. They were just going to do the traditional nachos dinner (with meat, veggies, and whatever else), then do family stuff. Her out for them was that they could watch the game if they got invited to another friend’s house. Lo and behold, guess what? Faramir found one friend to visit, Pip found another… and Rose is taking Arwen to the house of the friend I meet with on Friday’s for breakfast.

I’m sitting here typing online, wondering if I should even bother watching the game, if I should call other friends and try to invite myself somewhere, or if I should just blow it off. I’d consider going to Lia’s but she’s been sick. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go. It’s just 40 minutes away… sigh.

I mean, like I said, I was aware this could happen and maybe likely would. Just as much chance they would have all stayed at home and never considered inviting me. It’s such an odd situation to be in… I’m part of the family but not, now. I’m not sure what my place is, I’m not sure how much I should push, I’m not sure how much just to “move on” and live my life.

I think my life would be happier if I just asked up front or made decisions up front, then lived my life as if it were separate. I have my own life now; why do I make it harder for me by trying to always reforge ties and connection that not everyone wants or is interested in?

The adults want me to “go guy” and return home, whereupon I’ll be included; meanwhile, I’m not considered part of their lives; I guess their view of how things work is as unrealistic as how I would like to view things, which is that they would either accept me or not accept me in totality, rather than this “facet-based” approach.

So… what to do? I don’t know. If I don’t watch the game with friends and laugh at the commercials, I’ll be bummed. If I do, I’ll be pooped and the rest of my evening is blocked out for me and I don’t know if I like that either.

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah!

EDIT: Oh joy. Mom called tonight. I had already resolved to talk to her. Forgot she had been snowed in at my sister’s house, where she had gone earlier in the week. I was mentally prepared to talk to her tonight, and her name slip-up didn’t really faze me. Then she said, “Your sister wants to talk to you.”

I wasn’t really ready to do that anymore, but couldn’t really say no.

So I ended up talking to my sister a bit. I just shut down a lot of the angst and related to her on a totally surface level and we got along just fine. It was funny when I mentioned my old roommate, and when she responded she specifically called him “him” … and while instinctively I usually adjust to the person I’m with, I called my ex-roomie “her” and “she” the whole time instead, casually.  She didn’t say anything about that.

I’m reading this and thinking it’s stupid of me to confine my recollection of our conversation totally around trans-related incidents. I guess that’s why I don’t much want to build on those relationships, I don’t think we can get around the issue.

So she and I talked for a good twenty minutes, then I had to beg off to go pick up my pizza. She actually did confirm my e-mail account (which is my female one) and will send me mail when she has time. She did send birth announcements in the mail, I should get mine Monday or Tuesday; I’m pretty sure of what the front will look like.

Just… meh. I don’t know if I should be able to deal with this or not. I just don’t feel engaged to them, there’s a fundamental break there. I wish her well, but … I think this it is the best I will do, sticking with cards and occasional calls/emails.

I wonder what my dad did with all the snow, home alone.

I got out of bed at 12:30pm today.  (I had trouble going to sleep at a decent hour and didn’t crash until about 3am, while watching War of the Worlds.) I had nothing to do today and nowhere I *could* go…. and I was tired from the stresses of the week.. so I just let myself zonk.

I looked out the window. Couldn’t even see the road itself, everything was just white. My car was a mound. Decided to worry about that later.

I called the house a bit later, once my voice wasn’t so rusty, and talked to Rose briefly and two of the kids. I talked to my daughter first and for the longest time… until Rose kicked her off so that her brother could talk to me and then go shovel. (They had hoped to go sledding later, at a place I used to take the kids and we had gone occasionally as a family.)

She and I really talk well, and she tells me stuff… like yesterday she went to a friend’s and ate zebra cakes (“the wrapped cakes with the black stripes”), popcorn, chocolate, and something else dreadfully delicious — although she was quick to note she did still eat all of her dinner – and when I joked about what her mom might have said, she said, “oh, I didn’t tell her.”

As long as she eats her dinner and doesn’t do it all the time, I’m not overly concerned at the moment. We also had this hilarious conversation where she said something, I said, “Oh, THAT’s not dainty,” and she was like, “You’re not dainty!” Whereupon I laughed, and then she said, “Neither am I, I don’t WANT to be,” and brought up her belching. I mean, it’s just very funny — she’s like a string, one of the slightest and slimmest girls you’ll ever see (her Asian heritage, in part), and yet she has one of the loudest, deepest belches I’ve ever heard in my life.  I told her she was cool because she looks delicate and elegant, but she’s actually one of the toughest girls I know and can handle anything and do anything she needs to do… and I really enjoyed that aspect of her (and we went on to discuss that topic a bit more)

You know, I am just really proud of my kids when they talk about having a sense of themselves, a sense that might fly in the face of what is expected of them, but they cling to who they know themselves to be and refuse to feel shame because of it. I see that in all of them and am going to do my best to encourage it. Yes, there are some times where behavior must be tailored for a particular situation (there’s no point in being abrasive), but I am thrilled to see them capable of being themselves.

As far as Thursday goes, Arwen mentioned they had discussed it (and I told her I might be there this Thursday), and she’s like, “Then you can help me with my homework”… a running joke, since we always used to fight when we worked on math together, although she also sounded sincere about it. And then she mentioned about me coming every Thursday, so I asked her about them settling on twice a month (every other) and then she said, “Oh, yes, that was it, that’s what I meant.” At it doesn’t seem like she has an issue with me being there more.

And then this other thing, where we were talking about my plane flight and she blurted out, “And you didn’t call us at all last weekend!” and I told her what happened that week, and then she asked what I was up to the rest of the week, so I told her, and then how last night was the first time I really had en masse to try to get a hold of them… and I said, “Did you miss me not calling?” And she said, “I had just not realized you hadn’t until now. I was okay. I mean, I missed you some, but I wasn’t sitting around thinking about it.” All said casually.

What’s weird is that when I talk to my kids, I feel like I get very honest answers from them… mature ones. (“Sure, I missed you, but I’m okay too.”) Their responses sound pretty reasonable for things at this stage… and healthy.

But then I get stuff from my parent-in-laws, like in their letter when they harp on me not being with my children and how much the miss having me there.  I really am hearing different stories, and I’m more inclined to think it’s the adults who are seeing (1) “we don’t like this situation, we think it will be bad for the kids” and thus (2) “The kids are doing badly,” whereas if you talk to the kids in casual conversation, they give pretty moderate, casual, mature responses  (“yes, we miss you / love you and like talking to you; okay, gotta go now!”)

It’s so hard dealing with the ADULTS’ overlay based on their expectations for the relatonship, versus having a decent handle on my kids and what they are ACTUALLY experiencing.

When I mentioned they weren’t doing the SuperBowl, Arwen mentioned me coming over and playing games with them. I told her I was keen on that, actually, but that she knew the rule — “No inviting yourself to other people’s houses” — so she would have to talk to her mom, to get permission, IF she wanted me to come over… because I didn’t have plans and would love to, if they wanted me there.

I am doubting it will happen, honestly; I mean, even if the kids want me there, maybe Rose doesn’t. She has to work so much and maybe just wants the kids on her own sometimes. I need to accommodate that.  (Another point from her parents’ note was about how tired she was all the time because I wasn’t there… and I just was left thinking, “Well, I would be there a lot more if I was allowed.” It’s funny how people limit the outcomes in the situation beyond what is necessary; a lot of the situation is bad not because of me, but because people just have certain restrictions on what they accept.)

Rose mentioned that next week she has been screwed working ALL weekend — it’s a 3-day for the kids and yet she got signed to work all weekend, including VDay until 5pm or later. Arwen said she’s making chocolate chip pancakes for them in the morning, to eat later. I’m thinking Rose isn’t planning on anything for Vday with me, despite my keeping the night open , so I guess I’m free to make my own plans that night now. I don’t know what we’d do anyway, or even if we should; it’s just weird, being married, yet not even talking about Vday and accepting it’s over.

I talked to Arwen about 45 minutes, then Pip about 15 minutes until he decided he wanted to get going with shoveling, so he could get chore money and also out sledding later. He’s reading Twilight right now — over 100 pages in two days, amazing for him — and Rose said she’s not sure if he should be reading it but doesn’t want to slow him down either. (Again, parenting styles are different here; I’d rather read it myself, then talk to him after he reads it if I think there is a problem with it… at least for stuff not obviously horrible.)

He was supposed to go to a hockey game tonight with his Big Brother, instead it got postponed until tomorrow.

He was okay, and laughed and answered questions when I asked; he just didn’t seem very chatty today and his mind elsewhere. It happens.

Once I hung up, I showered, got my hair on, then bit the bullet and went out to shovel.

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First I dug out my car, which had been parked along the street.
(I’m renting a room, so I don’t get driveway privileges.)

It took me about 45 minutes. I did not feel cold out there after a little, but when I came in, I went into a deep sweat and had to change into shorts and remove my socks. I was still sweating a little 20 minutes later. Funny how the body just kicks in like a machine.

My car had two feet of snow two feet deep on the road side, and snow was piled up on the curb side right against the passenger windows. The plow put about three feet of snow behind it, then cut around leaving a taper of 2 feet snow in front. I had to shovel out the whole road side, stuff in back, stuff in front (for room to move), and also the foot of snow ON my car.

Right as I was finishing, two young men in jackets and slacks and button shirts came up the street. I already had a hunch but did not make eye contact. When they started to pass me, I heard them stop and smiled to myself as they warred on what to do.

“Do you need any help?” one said finally. (after all it was the “right” thing to do.) I turned and took a good look at them. Young guys, mid-20’s? One was a few inches taller than me. They were kind. They had badges on.

After some small talk, they clarified which one of my two guesses they were: “Have you ever heard of the Mormon church?”

It actually has been one of the most decent conversations (short but sweet) I’ve had with these roving missionary types. We bantered about church a little, I told them the bare basics of my church and professional background. I had no intention of getting into a religious discussion with them but had no issues with being friendly to someone; I just had to keep the boundaries firm.

When they asked if they could help dig me out, I smiled and “Darn, I wish you had been here 30 minutes ago.” I really was just about done. One suggested I see if i could pull out my car and he would push… and I did need a push to clear a bit of snow, so I’m glad they stopped by and volunteered.

A big Protestant neighborhood, but it was the Mormons who actually stopped to help me. Since my in-laws are most in my mind right this second, I couldn’t help but think they did not offer me their snowblower but these guys of a religion other than my MIL — whether as part of their witnessing or whatever else — were the ones who actually treated me like another fellow human being… and I think even if they knew I was trans and didn’t approve, they would have helped. I didn’t get that from my family, and I’m thinking no one from my old church would have volunteered except for my final remaining friends.

It’s just … weird and a bit disappointing. In the end, after all religious arguments are set aside, the bottom line to me is how we relate to each other as people.

When I came in, the guy who I am renting a room from said, “You’re not going to bring your Mormon boyfriends in here, are you?” I just laughed, I knew he’d freak if I did bring them in, so I didn’t… plus I wouldn’t have anyway, I didn’t feel like doing the religious debate thing today. (And I think now I could actually bring them in, talk, and ask lots of questions about their faith… without feeling defensive or allowing them to “convert” me. Yay, I’m human — finally!) Bill apparently has had run-in’s with them in the past and apparently just them to hit the road as soon as they stop by.

Looking out the window again: This is pretty amazing.
This is literally the most snow I’ve seen in Harrisburg at one time for probably 3-4 years, if not more.

Today has been one depth charge after another going off.

I woke up late, with only 20 minutes to be out the door in order to make breakfast. Somehow I managed it, then checked my phone and saw that ten minutes before, my friend left me a message saying he couldn’t come because of conferences and wants to get together another time… I wish I had known that in advance…

I struggled with code and focus all morning and still couldn’t get it to work.

…. Late in the morning I saw I had an email from the gov agency I applied to last week. I had hoped as long as i made the cut from HR, I would have a good chance at getting the job since the people in charge of that area knew me. I didn’t make the cut. I was qualified for the position, which is a positive; I had just been competing against someone else(s) more qualified and their material(s) got sent on instead, for the first round of hiring. It was sort of like a death knell.

I have no other tangible options right now in regards to getting money to pay for surgery.
If I don’t get surgery, I can’t my gender marker changed… which means legal gender hell, indefinitely.
It means I can never get remarried to a guy… not in PA, at least.
It also means continually dealing with all the other garbage involved when your nether reasons do not match, whether it’s changing rooms, locker rooms, swimsuits, and whatever else.
Fear of being hospitalized or jailed and categorized improperly.
Lack of peace of mind just because things are not right.

….Shortly after, my coworker texted me and said, “I don’t know how to say this, so I will just say it. Someone say you doing something today that looked like messaging software and there are concerns about you getting your project done on time. I don’t really care what it is or what you were doing, if anything, and I don’t know if anyone will talk to you… I just didn’t want you to be blind-sided.”

I told I had been really stressed and foruming this week. (And it’s all true. I was so stuck on my code, which used to work and suddenly got screwed up by the system with some of my changes in the last two months being dumped, that I just couldn’t even focus well anymore and was stressed.) So of course, there’s terror at possibly getting in trouble, possibly getting fired (right on the heels of not getting the job that might have been a sure bet)… and if that happens, I’ve got REALLY bad money issues. And still not knowing how to fix my code.

I felt sick at that point, just wanted to go home and cry. Hating my job, hating life. I’ve gotten such little sleep this week and just feel overwhelmed.

The positive is that I focused for a few hours, got some help, and cleared things up; and my code is back on track again. So by the time I left I felt okay about that.

…. Meanwhile, I haven’t seen my kids and need to call them shortly. Nothing is getting scheduled. I’m so frustrated. I suck at schedules, and I suck at pushing on people, and I’m getting no response, and this whole week I’ve been either stuck at work or prior commitments and unable to call the house even if my kids are there. I was hoping to see them on Sunday for SuperBowl but chances are they’re going somewhere too then, I’d bet. My natural tendency is just to quit, feeling like no one cares; but they’re my kids, so I need to keep trying.

… So I finally left work after dealing with the final trickling remains of what began as tense forum messaging, maybe things are finally pulling together. I got a beautiful note from one friend there I don’t know, it made me cry when I read it. I stopped at the bank and the grocery on the way home, the snow had already sent many people packing inside.  It’s Friday night. I can rest now, for a bit. Sigh of relief, I don’t have to think about these things anymore.

…and then I came inside and saw a letter addressed to me.
From my in-laws.
With the initials “D.J. <last name>” on the outside.

My dad’s initials are DJ. Did they just confuse his middle name with mine and are still using male initials?
Or does the J stand for Jennifer?
I already know what the D stands for.
(Unless it means daughter. Yeah, right!)

I’m trying to be accepting.
They wrote back, that’s a good thing.
They communicate better than my parents.

But the whole name/initial thing is horrific.
I even talked about it last night, how I didn’t know what to do with my mom and sis because I just can’t handle much longer their inability to use my name… and now this.
After all the other crap I’ve dealt with here.

I put the letter aside and decided to open it later, after I had prepared myself for inevitable disappointment.
Prayed a bit. Asked for love and grace.
Cried on and off and tried to feel brave.
Asked why I have to go this — why everyone loves me but the few people whose opinion I shouldn’t even care about at this point?
…Will this day never end?

EDIT:

Called the house. Rose was home. Only two kids were home, one was away.

Rose started talking to me as if I had called primarily to talk to her. I like talking to her anyway so I did. For an hour. Both of the kids went to bed in the meanwhile. I’ll have to call them later this weekend.

It seems that she and kids agreed that they want me to come over twice a month, on Thursdays. I’m okay with that. Rose was afraid Sundays would be too hard to remain consistent on, since she and I haven’t kept up on our bimonthly Sunday visits. Part of me’s happy to have a date, part of me is just thinking it’s sort of nutty… Twice a month, for four  hours? I really have lost my family connections in a lot of ways. My transition made me into an occasional aunt.

But at least I’ll get to make them dinner, and help with homework, and do natural stuff. That is what I really want. I don’t have to do anything special with them per se all the time… I just want to have some “normal life” time with them again. I can talk to Rose after, too, I’m sure… and it gives her time to get out of the house.

Pip is going to help shovel tomorrow. Rose will shovel with him, to make it easier. He hates work but needs money badly after buying an iPod. I almost volunteer to go help but I’m pretty sure of the answer.

They’re not doing anything on Sunday. I forgot Rose had  a month-long moratorium on the TV. It’s off. She wants the kids and her to spend more time together. So much for Superbowl Sunday. We always used to watch it together as a family and have a really good time. They’re all going to be home… unless they can find a way to get to a friend’s house to watch the game, as my eldest is potentially trying to do… and never once did it come up as “let’s do SuperBowl together.” It’s just funny. I’m torn between pushing on things and just accepting what is; I mean, forcing people to do things they don’t want to do is just stupid, it never works. So I’m torn — I need to be able to pick my battles wisely. I wonder what I’ll do on Sunday now. Jason mentioned coming over, since support group meeting is cancelled tomorrow due to snow and he won’t be here; I guess I am now free on Sunday.

Rose mentions conversations with her parents. I wonder if she knows I wrote them. (Did I tell her?) I wonder if she knows they wrote me back. Probably not, they are discrete. I don’t mention it either. It’s surreal to hear her talk about them on a daily basis, and yet have only talked to them once in a year and now have a magic envelope nearby. All these connections, yet boundaries are still drawn.

Rose goes to Focus Group at church by herself now. I guess she is adjusting to what really is a “divorced woman’s life” in many ways too. We don’t say “I love you” anymore at the end of phone conversations. It feels awkward. I know she is so socially conscious, so right now I’ve been looking to her for cues to get a feel for what she wants, and sometimes I wonder if she is looking at me. I really hate that way of relating, I realize. I’m tired of social games that are played, where everyone approaches the relationship conservatively so as to not overextend — how many opportunities are missed because of no one wanting to make a mistake?

I’m having a hard time. I still want what I had, I still think we could have a lot if we really wanted it, and it hurts that no one else seems to want it and/or doesn’t know they can have it. What do I do? When do I push and when do I flex? I’m good at flexing, not good at pushing. I wish I was better. I might have to be better. I am happy and jealous of Gwen for still having her family; every night, she spends time with her kids and spouse. They still have a family. I was willing, despite the cost, but my family wasn’t.

My fork in the road was a wide fork indeed.

I’m going to open the letter from my in-laws. I’ve been hurting so bad today, so finally i broke out the whiskey sour. Not a great way to always approach life, but… we all take Tylenol for chronic pain, if there’s no point in suffering. At this point, I’ve hurt enough today, thank you. I’ll hurt bright and early tomorrow, but right now I’m alone… and I really just want to be a bit numb as I read this.

EDIT EDIT:

My MIL’s handwriting. That was expected. It was postmarked yesterday.

I open it.

It’s addressed to Dear “D. J.”. That’s better than what I get from my mom. I keep reading.

…okay. Done.

It’s interesting with them.

They said some things that were harsh. In the second page.

For some reason it doesn’t bother me as much as it has with others. With family. With my uncle-in-law. Maybe it is because they actually communicate… then listen? Is that what it is? That I can feel that I could write them back… and they would actually read it… even if they do not agree or do not have the capacity to agree? Maybe that is all I want… to be heard and understood, even if not approved of? And the reason I am so frustrated with these other people is because it’s like talking in Swahili when conversation occurs, and they don’t hear  anything?

Another thing I appreciate about them — they step right in and state the rules of what they feel and expect. They will not call me “D” because I would find it offensive; they will not call me Jennifer because they find it offensive. They also state that they would prefer to have me call them by their first names, and not “Mom and Dad”… and will refer to me as my male self around Rose and the kids. Whether or not I agree with it, I appreciate their forthrightness.

The rest of the first page is more explaining their feelings.

The second page of course is my MIL’s typical religious pitch about how someone must have tickled my ears, how I sold out, how I know I’m not pleasing God, how my conscience must have been eating at me. I feel sadness. I expected that, it’s her frame of reference. I just don’t even know how to address that… I don’t know how to talk to people who don’t form their views of life from actual experience but instead impose their moral values on their perceptions of life. I don’t feel any of those things. My change was my spiritual maturation, not a spiritual flight.

They see me as a failure and as a waste. When I conformed to her spiritual image of a man, I had value; now that I did this, I do not. It’s funny; I’m still that person, and I have those gifts. What they fail to see is that it was meaningless, when I lacked integrity.  It’s funny, all the things others saw as success, I tried to see as success… but it wasn’t. It just fit their checklist. They can’t see under things, to see what they really were; as long as it matched their checklist, they were oblivious to the underlying incongruities.

Later they credit me with finances but explain how they’re hurting over the kids. That’s fine.  They are praying for D to return and have clarity again. I’m going to be disappointed to have to thwart that prayer.

They end with thanking me for being the first to break silence and for my kind words to them. They want me to understand that, however harsh the things they wrote, it was written with honesty and sincerity.

Okay. Not bad. Hard, but I feel like I have a voice.

I won’t respond quickly, I’ll give them some time… and me, time as well, to figure out where I want to go next.

Dani and I drove to York tonight, where we met Jeanine (pres of support group) at a local regular support group for LGBT youth. They wanted to educate the kids on trans issue and had us come down to sit in, talk about ourselves a bit, and answer questions.

I’m glad I went and can also be a younger voice. Dani’s in her 60’s, Jeanine her 50’s, and I’m a young 41 who easily extends way down through the 30’s and maybe even high 20’s both in my presentation and mindset. I know I’m not as able to identify as well with the Gen Y’s but otherwise I realize I’m a decent bridge between the older and younger generation of transpeople. I know I’m also good at listening to what people are asking for rather than proceeding on a self-directed speaking platform, and I’m more interested in making a connection and getting the kids invested rather than just telling them things from a top-down view.

We all had varied experiences to share, which in itself was interesting. (Both Jeanine and Dani had little help from the ‘net; I’ve got something in common with the kids since we all have had Internet capabilities to help us in our identify search.)

It’s funny how similar and different LGB vs T issues are. As expressed again tonight, the search for identity, the need to avoid leaping from one box into merely another straightjacket, dealing with religious perceptions, fitting into the world as a potential minorities in the culture and having to be accepted by society and work, safety issues, family issues — a host of things are SO similar and we could all connect on them.

Issues where things veer of course include the fact that transpeople are always out while LGB can hide their pref without real effort if they want or need to;  lots of legal and practical issues involving gender and name changes; medical procedures used to reshape the body to conform to perceived gender identity;  etc.

Got some of the kids to talk as well, which was so cool. One awesome black lesbian teen chick (who must have been close to 6′ like me, a solid girl) talked about how she felt so much pressure to conform to her friends’ images of a lesbians, where actually she really enjoys a feminine appearance and is still totally lesbian; her parents are fairly supportive, although her dad is in denial and doesn’t accept she’s truly lesbian and didn’t even recognize the pride events he went to with her as gay events. (Which made everyone laugh… Pride events are pretty, uh… gay.) Another talked about rejection by his home and needing to find a new place to live. Another asked about how to deal with religious people. Other questions were about the body, hormones, surgery, airport, dealing with police, how to find the most acceptance, whether transwomen had PMS, sexual orientation, marriage, kids, etc. One thing we stressed was that transition is not necessarily about surgery or any specific course of steps, it’s about creating congruency between your body/life and your sense of self… whatever that means. For many, this might not include surgery at all.

And best of all, a transgirl showed up halfway through… but none of us even perceived her as such. One of the directors told us after, and I can’t even picture who the girl was even after finding out where she was sitting. She never made a peep. That’s pretty cool. I’m glad the young ones can physically blend right in.

Afterward, a med clinic worker at the York campus talked to me, she’s had a strong religious background as well and identified with some things I had said, and is working hard to educate herself on trans needs so that the clinic can provide appropriate support. She described an experience with a friend that reminded me of my experience with my mom, and how she and I both had felt very judged but understood where our friend/mom was coming from and it’s more a matter of about being patient, forgive, loving, and keeping our mouths shut and exhibiting grace. Her friend came around and apologized after two years; maybe one day my mom will understand me. Meanwhile it seems the course is to be the best person you can and let others live their lives as they see fit and not resort to  anger or bitterness to people who reject you; surround yourself with people who love you and believe in you.

It will take some time but slowly things change as people learn more and more. Those who don’t want to accept won’t, not right away; the rest will carry the banner; and maybe after time and exposure, some of those in the first group will turn around. But eventually it won’t matter, they’ll be a minority.

I also got to meet one contact who I’ve talked to in e-mail and am doing the Job seminar for in a few weeks.

And the two large older men there, screening people to come inside, were also there as protectors. One walked us out to our car to make sure we got there safely.  It was different but sweet and appreciated. I’ve never really had people take care of me before like that.

This could be a controversial thing to write, but I feel I have to… and it’s really more about my own internal experience, not about the genders in general at all.

I spent a large portion of my life trying to live in a male role, and I naturally am intellectual. I like to step back, detach, and approach things from a perspective that has generally been attributed as masculine.

I had a really hard time when younger, mostly because my life felt so out of control. Sticking with rigid logic, especially in how I expressed myself to others, gave me a sense of security and safety. I was terrified if I said anything that I could not prove or show, and often found myself arguing with people just to show that my ideas were correct… since without that security blanket I had no idea what they would think of me or how they would treat me.

I remember teasing Rose incessantly when we first got married because of her emotional displays. I do not know what I was doing, if not making myself feel good about me at her expense. She eventually stopped emoting much around her. I still don’t see her very free with her emotions now; in fact, I emote more than she generally does.

Even later, throughout all the depression, the intellectualized approach with its flattened affectation is what protected me emotionally from others. No one got to see my emotions or get a clear sense of what I hated or loved, desired or rejected, by how I openly acted. I was always measured, thought out, self-restrained, controlled, able to justify anything I said or did with an intellectual explanation for why it was right.

But weird stuff started to happen in my mid-30’s. Even when I was falling into final depression, I was letting a lot of that mask go — that rigid self-control and need to be viewed as always right and respected for my intellect. I was tired of the mask I had created for myself. I felt empty and lost. It wasn’t real. Yes, I was smart. Yes, I was intellectual. Yes, I could see and understand things SOME other people could not, and articulate the ideas.

But that was just something I could do. It was not really “me” per se. It was just a facet of me and I had been hiding within it for years and I tired of it. I ached so much, lost in that role of sage, smart one, reasoned one, emotionless one.

By the time I crashed and then started transition, I had already been changing. And the biggest change in my transition was the connection of emotions to my physical body and expression of self. The disconnect was vanishing, the wall thinning. People finally could see what I cared about, what made me laugh, what made me cry.

Hormones only accentuated the process I had begun psychologically. Finally my body was connected straightaway to my emotions and I couldn’t really hide them easily even if I desired to. When I was happy, I beamed; when I was sad or terribly moved, I cried. It couldn’t be stopped — tears could arise spontaneously within the space of two seconds, play themselves out, then dissipate.

And I did not care.  It actually made me feel GOOD to be that connected with my emotional reservoirs for the first time in my life.

And no one looked at me oddly either. There was no shame at first involved in just living spontaneously, without constantly reining things in, filtering everything I did, said, and expressed to maintain some sort of sterile, smart, rational image.

But the weird thing is this: Because I don’t think through everything so much, because I am less controlled and less processed, because I just let myself respond emotionally to things now, because I no longer actively wear the mask of the brilliant intellectual and only let people see that part of me…

…sometimes I end up feeling like I’ve gotten stupider.

I always did have an “airhead” facet. In fact, on my high school Christian camp trip with the other teens, I was selected “male airhead of the week.” I just do have a goofy, crazy side, a spontaneous side, and since I no longer rein things in that well, I can really drop into it again. The other night, when I was with Jason, I drove by the right street literally three or four times before I finally got it right. Sure, I was tired, and I wasn’t really trying, and the signage was pretty terrible so my instincts did not trust it… but I ended up feeling really stupid because of it… especially because my response (laughing crazily at myself and trying to blow it off) was just like the airheads I’ve seen in the movies. I don’t think I would have done that before… especially when it was so important to me to never make a logic gaffe or not get something right the first time. Now that I have nothing to prove? I’m prone to doing some really goofy things, or saying things in a vague and uninformative ways that need to be clarified to make sense.

I know I’m not really stupid per se — I still can write and speak intelligently if I make the effort — but my priorities have changed. I can be more concerned about how someone feels, rather than how smart I come off, and I care about their happiness. Sometimes I portray myself as dumber than I am so that they can feel better about themselves or so that they have room in the conversation to feel smart.

I just about it sometimes by saying, “Yes, just like the cliche — estrogen made me stupid.”

I suppose that is offensive to people on some level, but it describes the internal reality I’ve been dealing with… the fear that I had to give up some of my smarts in order to become more emotionally free. Because that is really what it is, more than being male or female… it’s just that the transition to female, physically and emotionally, contributed to that freedom.

I try less hard to look smart and sometimes now end up feeling really stupid. It doesn’t help that I also feel a bit more discounted now that I am “female” in my presentation — whether it’s finding my opinions and instructions ignored at work after I was very clear (while the guys don’t ignore each other) or just feeling like I’m not expected to be immensely intelligent because I’m a woman.

So I wrestle with it. The self i knew, the old self, was very smart and wanted people to know he was smart and found self-validity and worth in being smart. As I am now, I find my validity in other ways and don’t feel as much need to come off as smart since I know I’m still intelligent… but I still feel shaken sometimes when I think I’m coming off as stupid. Not enough to make me change much or wish that things were different, no — I’m immensely happy as myself now and want and need to embrace it, I feel far more alive than I ever did before, and in relationship to others — but it can still leave me feeling bad about myself based on how I think others might be perceiving me.

Old behaviors and perceptions are so hard to change, and sometimes it takes a long time for the new clothes to be broken in and feel completely comfortable.

Talking with other transwomen, I’ve noticed a variety in the continuity of how we perceive our pasts.

I generally did not experience a discontinuity. IOW, my male self in general was not perceived as “someone else” but just as “me” at a different time in my life. I find that all those years where I did not transition, I did not really “suppress” myself on the inside. Inside I was still me, and I accepted the fact that I had gender dysphoria and tried to figure out what that meant. My life meandered about as I explored what it meant to be male and learn what I could but inside I never pushed anything away or hide from it. It was more that I just tried to  put on shoes that never ultimately fit, and it took me awhile to get through them all, be convinced that they did not fit, then accept what that meant in terms of where my life was heading.

One of my friends had an almost opposite experience, where she very much felt like she was suppressing her female self and living as her male self — in essence, trapping her female self in a tiny cage within. Her male self was very type-A, assertive, a fixer and doer. And when she transitioned (which for her incidentally was an extremely rapid process, more like a dam breaking, much quicker than my process), suddenly it was like everything had flipped around — the female now thrived, the male was trapped and compartmentalized away. In essence, someone else had come to the foreground. She still perceives it rather like this.

I wonder sometimes if situation and context has something to do with how this is approached.  In my friend’s situation, she never changed her external world. She was extremely fortunate that her family accepted her — spouse and kids — and is committed to her as a woman just as they were committed to her when she was male. She transitioned on the job. She did not move. The entire world that belonged to her male self now belongs to her female self… although this has some drawbacks (such as how hard it has been to establish herself as female and be viewed as such, since everyone kept seeing the old male; and also that for them to move on, they need space to grieve the loss of the “man” and have never really had that opportunity). In this case, it makes sense to me that a more dissociative approach would occur; my friend could not afford to let the guy self coexist/infuse the female self, in order to maintain her distinct female sense of identify, otherwise she would keep being perceived as male. Since no one else was drawing the line for her, she had to do it hard for herself in her own psyche, to keep a sense of self.

Meanwhile, I took quite a long time to make the shift… years working through it inwardly (although doing nothing outwardly) and fully accepting who I was, then close to two years to start transition and finally reach full-time… not immensely slow, but slow enough. And unlike with my friend, I was forced to leave the world that knew me as male. Aside from work, which stayed the same, I had to build my entire social network all over again… as a woman. My old world did not want Jennifer (“<male self> is part of this family, Jennifer is not” from my spouse, and my family still does not call me Jennifer, they’ve never permitted me to integrate either)… which meant that when I moved on, I was in completely new surroundings.

And I didn’t have to push my old self away — I could still very much be who I was, whatever parts were still useful, I could even very much reflect a lot of traits of my old self — and still be viewed and seen as Jennifer. Separating myself into two beings and holding myself that way was not a necessity for me. No matter how “guyish” I acted by social standards or how much of that previous me I let filter through, I’m still accepted at face value… whereas my friend will always trigger recollections of her as her guy self and maybe instigate confusion in whoever is around her if she allows facets of that male past to infuse her current presentation.

I think I’m writing this down because my friend’s admission caught me off-guard — and not just that her experience was SO different than mine, but that she described it as if she believed it was the standard and herself was shocked to hear at least two of us express a completely different sense of self and the positioning of past self to present. How many more experience life as she does, as compared to my experience? Is either a standard? Or is it all so variable?

* * * * *

NOTE: This is a slightly different approach to the topic… but in recent times, the more I let myself drop into who I am, embrace this body, role, and life, the more I am accepted as female, the harder it becomes to identify with who I was. That old safe was male, with different pressures, needs, and demands placed on him… coming from a different background… at a different place in his life.

Most of the time I still see him as me, but sometimes I get these odd views of him as if he were a stranger, and I am standing out of him looking at him through a window, separated, distinct, unrelated.

I have all of his memories and we are as alike as twins who grew up together, then spent our adulthood slowly separating.

But I do not remember nearly as much the intensity of the feelings he experienced. I remember being paranoid, and anxious, and depressed, and neurotic — all these rules and expectations and feelings, and all that pressure to somehow meet every obligation and being terrified over what would happen if he failed. That man was very miserable and driving by external factors. He knew who he was inside but felt he had to maintain this outer construct and the roles and masks that others expected of him, if he were to be a ‘good and successful’ person.  He was so scared of everything… fettered, trapped, bound, smothered!

I look at him now and sometimes wonder he was. I have changed so much, the cages that used to trap me no longer have any power. I don’t understand why it took him so long to step out… why he was so scared or even what he was scared of. it’s like I look as an adult at the experience of a child and not totally grasp the fears that drive that unformed spirit. What did that man go through when he finally made the decision to live — when *I* made the decision to live? I remember thinking that I was pouring out my life so that this woman, this yet unrealized woman, would live… that would be my sacrifice… and here I am, now, that woman he could sacrifice himself for but would never meet face to face… and I look back on him and love him for it and respect what he did but sometimes am troubled by the earlier lack of bravery, the groveling, the placating, the weakness, the inability to move forward and commit.

I think this is something people generally go through as they age and mature, the growth process demands we cast off old selfs like cicada husks clinging to rough bar, so we can rub our wings together and then fly… and for people like me it’s merely a far-more accentuated process. Transsexuals are representative of the extreme, and our change is not only experienced by us but visible to anyone with eyes.

This is rather unexpected… and a sign of how public/government view has been changing over the years, since just 2-3 years ago the court had ruled differently.
[quote]Tax Court: Gender Reassignment Surgery Is a Deductible Medical Expense

In a long-awaited decision, a fractured (8-5-3) Tax Court today ruled in O’Donnabhain v. Commissioner, 134 T.C. No. 4 (Feb. 2, 2010), that male-to-female gender reassignment surgery qualifies as a deductible medical expense under § 213, reversing the IRS’s position in Chief Counsel Advice 200603025.  The 8-judge majority held that:

* TP’s gender identity disorder is a “disease” within the meaning of  § 213(d)(1)(A) & (9)(B).
* TP’s hormone therapy and sex reassignment surgery were for the treatment of disease within the meaning of  § 213(d)(1)(A) & (9)(B), and thus not “cosmetic surgery” excluded from the definition of deductible “medical care” by § 213(d)(9)(A).
* TP’s breast augmentation surgery was directed at improving her appearance did not meaningfully promote the proper function of her body or treat disease within the meaning of § 213(d)(9)(B), and thus was “cosmetic surgery” excluded from the definition of deductible “medical care” by § 213(d)(9)(A). ..[/quote]

Which pretty much makes sense. I would agree too that Breast Augmentation (BA) should not count since it’s not related to the surgery but would be done for the same reasons as a natal woman.

I think the big thing, though, is the establishing of a well-known and common policy on the condition’s validity and categorization as a “disease/illness” that needs medical resolution. This can only contribute to a more favorable recognition by the insurance companies as well; it’s more leverage. (The AMA supports it, within guidelines; and the IRS accepts it as a valid non-cosmetic expense; and the insurance companies’ excuse for non-coverage has been its labeling of it as a ‘cosmetic surgery.’)

It also looks like even dissenters did not dissent in toto, there were some concurrent opinions among them. Nor was it “close.”

Ironically, the two guys who argued for the other side who I lost a lot of respect for. The first, Chester Schmidt, is the very shrink who saw me at Hopkins and treated me so unfairly/poorly. Here’s a great run-down in the official judges’ majority opinion of his credentials:

Respondent’s expert, Dr. Chester W. Schmidt, Jr. (Dr. Schmidt), is a licensed physician, board certified in psychiatry by the American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology, and a member of the American Psychiatric Association. At the time of trial Dr. Schmidt was a professor of psychiatry at the Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine, the chief medical director, Johns Hopkins Health Care, and chair of the medical board, Johns Hopkins Bayview Medical Center.

Dr. Schmidt cofounded the Sexual Behavior Consultation Unit of the Johns Hopkins Hospital, a clinical, teaching, and research program devoted to the evaluation and treatment of sexual disorders, in 1971. Since that time he has been active in the clinical and teaching aspects of transsexualism, having participated in the evaluation of approximately 12 patients per year diagnosed with GID. However, he has not directly treated or managed a patient with GID since the mid-1980s, and his current clinical activity consists of evaluating new cases of GID. Dr. Schmidt’s expert report states that he has “participated in the publication” of several peer-reviewed medical journal articles about GID, but none has been identified for which he was a listed author, and he has never written a chapter on the subject in a medical reference text.

In his expert report, Dr. Schmidt asserts that the validity of the GID diagnosis remains the subject of debate within the psychiatric profession and that he currently is undecided about its validity…

The guy also testified against Diane Shroer in her case against unfair termination by the DOJ… and lost. I hope his track record continues.

The other man for the respondents, Park Dietz, is a forensic psychologist who has made a big career for himself by testifying in trials as an expert witness; while he’s made some good calls, he also caused Andrea Yates’ trial verdict to be overturned on appeal because he claimed she based her crime on a TV episode that never actually aired.

(I’ll have to review the court declaration in more detail later, I admit to feeling some level of bias against both of these men because of my past dealings and/or reading. In any case, their opinions were rejected by the court.)

Highlights from the doc:

- Respondent attempted to tell Court how “disease” had to be defined and Dietz insisted is had to have a verifiable organic cause; however, the Court going on precedent rejected Dietz’s claim (the definition of “disease” is determined by the court, not the expert witness) and according to decades of past policy many conditions in the DSM were accepted as “diseases” without having identifiable organic roots.

(more to come)