Dysphoric Days

Hey people!
There's a lot that has been going through my mind lately about myself and my gender.

Not too long ago, I was happy for the most part with my body.  I was born female, for those of you who haven't figured that out already.  For the most part, I just assumed I was a tomboy.  Growing up, I was never really into overly girly clothes and makeup.  I always kept things neutral.  Sure, I had my girly interests, but my day to day was more of a tomboy kind of thing.  From time to time, I felt uncomfortable in my own body, but I always chalked it up to puberty-related awkwardness.

However, I always have been uncomfortable with my boobs.  When they were a lot smaller than they are now, it was easier to deal with.  Throw on a tight sports bra and it felt like they weren't there anymore.  Happy Jonah, happy life.  As the years went on, my boobs got bigger - a lot bigger.  Suddenly, instead of just one sports bra, I was having to wear two to even work out.

Cue dysphoria.

Recently, within the past two years or so, I have come to realize that I really don't identify as a woman.  I don't identify as a man either.  It's not that I'm both, I'm either neither or in some dark corner of the gender spectrum that nobody but myself has found.  Basically what I'm trying to say is that my gender is something I'm really not sure about.  That's something that's really hard for me because I'm typically a Type A who likes labels and neat little boxes for things to fit into.  It's almost as if my label maker is broken and I don't have the right size or shape of box to put my gender into.

Having large boobs doesn't help with this.  On days that I feel more masculine, like today, I want to cry because my whole entire body just feels wrong.  One of the few ways I can describe it to people is feeling like you want to puke, but you can't.  Every time I feel my boobs shift, bump up against something, or just feel heavy, I'm reminded that my body isn't right.  The gender that I feel like isn't what my body looks like.  And that hurts - BADLY.  On my man days, I usually become so depressed and angry with myself that I lash out at others.  It's not ok.  If I can't bind and put on my boy clothes right at that moment (which helps with my dysphoria), I start to feel like I want to rip my boobs from my chest and my brain from my skull.  It literally drives me crazy.  I hate myself and I hate my boobs because I can't feel comfortable in my own skin.

Guess what, though.  My female days are fantastic.  It's like, "Hey girl, show off those tits!"  Lower cut tops, actual Victoria's Secret bras, make up, dresses, cute flats.  I'm SO down for all of that!  I finally feel ok in my own body.  I live for my super girly days because I don't get to look in the mirror and hate myself and my body.  Instead, I look in the mirror and think to myself "you sexy bitch".  (Ok so I'm a little vain on those days, but I spend the rest of my time wanting to die because of my appearance, so I guess it balances out).

What is comes down to is that I wish I had smaller boobs again.  I don't think full top surgery would be in my best interest because I do have girly days where I want to be as feminine as possible.  I wouldn't want to go whole hog and end up having reverse dysphoric issues where I cry because I don't have enough boobs.

I've thought about getting breast reduction surgery, but I'm scared of people in my family that don't understand asking me why I'm getting this done.  I'm scared of people finding out that I'm genderqueer at all.  Well, at least people that I know in person.  I seem to be a little bit braver over the Internet.  Ah, the power of the keyboard!  At least I have some outlet to talk about all of this.

I Work in Hell Sometimes

Last night was one of the roughest nights I've had in awhile.  I'm not talking about emotionally, but mentally and physically it was like a marathon with no perceived finish line.  I'm a nurse, and I usually work 12 hour shifts from 6pm to 6am on the weekends.  Overnights are tough as it is, but I'm slowly becoming accustomed to the work.  Although, I have to admit, twelve hours is my limit.  I start dragging that last half hour and struggle getting home.

Last night I worked just over 15 hours.  UNPLANNED.

As a nurse, it's part of the job that you have to stay on shift and wait until your relief gets there.  You cannot abandon your patients, it's just unethical.  Well, my relief had the balls to pull a no-call no-show.  So there I was, at 6am on a Saturday, STUCK AT WORK.  And no one bothered to answer the damn phone.  I ended up waiting almost another 3 and a half hours for someone to finally show up to relieve me.  Those last three and a half hours were beyond difficult, and not because I was starting to fall asleep on the job either.  No, this morning just about everyone decided to either have a seizure or code.  Some idiot must have said the Q word.  So here I am, with no help since everyone else was busy, trying to control my assigned patients and not let anyone die on my watch.  Thank God I was successful.  No one died.  Yay....

This girl that ended up showing up was supposed to be on medical leave.  I swear.... this girl is my favorite coworker.  I felt so bad for her because she had surgery only a few days prior.  But none of the pool staff wanted to answer the phone.  I felt bad for my boss, because she ended up scrambling as well.

The worst part.... I'm back at work and we have no idea who is going to show up in the morning.  Again.

I need to find a new job.  This is not how a business should be run.

Gender Unicorns?

Well this is the post I have been putting off for awhile to be honest.  I'm not sure it's because I'm scared of finally talking about this stuff out in the open, or I don't know how to talk about it, or how it will be received, or a combination of the above.  Would it be better to just come out with a statement and then discuss it, or resort to my usual anecdotal antics?  Maybe it would be better to do something different since I'm talking about something different.

Guys, I'm genderfluid/genderqueer.

Basically, I have boy days and I have girl days.  It's not a split personality thing.  It's more of a dysphoria thing (for me at least).  For those of you reading that aren't well versed in the whole alternative gender thing, let me try to back up and explain exactly what gender fluidity is and the myth of the gender binary.

Traditionally, gender has been seen as a coin with two sides.  You are born either a girl or a boy and that's what your gender was.  Amen. End of story.

WRONG!!!!!!!!

There have been a plethora of different studies that have come out that show the parts you were born with don't necessarily define your gender.  For most people, their gender identity matches up with the biological parts that they have.  The term  for that is called cisgender.  Lucky bastards.

For the rest of us, where there's some sort of weird mismatch or misalignment, things get a little wonky.

Most people reading this blog are well aware of the term transgender, or transsexual.  Basically, these are people who identify with the opposite gender of the parts that they were born with.  Usually they end up transitioning their bodies to match the gender that they truly identify with.

I'm not transgender.  Well, at least I'm pretty sure I'm not.

So here's the crazy part.  There aren't just two genders, two options, and "either, or" kind of thing.  Nope.  Life is not that simple, aimgos.  No.

Besides the cisgenders and the transgenders, there are the genderqueer.  Yep, you read that right.  QUEER.

We are the magical fucking unicorns of gender.  Because, NEWSFLASH.....

GENDER IS NOT BINARY!!!  

GENDER IS A FREAKING RAINBOW SPECTRUM OF WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!!!!!

(Well at least, that's what it feels like to me because it gets confusing from time to time.)

And to make matters even crazier, "genderqueer" is actually an umbrella term for people that fit somewhere into the middle of the gender spectrum.  There are gender fluid people, like myself, that kinda bounce in between genders depending on the day.  There are people who identify are a third gender.  There are even people who are all like "fuck this whole gender thing" and identify as gender neutral.

It's really just a big game of Guess Who.

..... And my struggle of trying to figure out who I am is starting to finally wind down.  I think I finally figured that out.  But that's for the next post.  Stay tuned, kids!

Catch up, slowpokes!

Hey guys!

Sorry I haven't posted in a bit things have gone postal around here.  Quick sum-up.

I got in a car accident.  Nothing major, I sneezed and accelerated into someone's back bumper.  I messed up my back a little bit, but all's well that ends well.

I got cut down on my shifts at work - due to my back and my boss was also worried that I was "too tired" because I had bags under my eyes.  Thanks.... just an FYI, I was born with them.  I'm not tired, that's literally just my face.  Thanks for caring??
(Looks like I'm going to need to get a second job - which means trying to impress people, something I SUCK at.  Yay.)

The girlfriend and I are fighting apparently.  I have no clue why.  When I find out, I will let you guys know.  Until then, "I'm sorry" seems to be working just fine-ish???

School:  the never-ending project because I like to abuse my brain.  It starts in two weeks.  Let the games begin.

Family: WE HAVE GOTTEN RID OF THE PLAGUE!!!!  Side note, I'm obsessively deep cleaning the house every week now.

Oh!  I got my first written warning ever from a cop!  I really need to get my headlight fixed.  Oops..... Anyone want to donate to rehabbing the chariot of fire?

Well that's pretty much it!  Deeper post next time, I swear. 

Next up:  Gender issues.  Again.  Am I a boy?  Am I a girl?  Am I a unicorn?

Never Half-Ass Two Things: Whole-Ass One Thing

There have been a lot of times in my life where I have no idea what the hell I'm doing. I half-ass eating right.  I half-ass working out - here's looking at you four year beginner's yoga veterans.  I even half-ass it at work.  Yep, I am a professional bare-minimum kind of person.  Why?

Because I whole-ass it at living life.  I'm not talking about the day-to-day grind.  That's just frivolous, yet necessary BS.  No, I'm talking about taking each second and making the most out of it.  My main goal isn't the task at hand, but embracing the joy and contentedness found in each action, thought, and movement.

I know what you're probably thinking: "What the fuck Jonah".  Yeah, I'm thinking it too.  I first thought the idea was totally crazy when I first came across the whole "being in the present thing" when I first started in AA.  All I could think about was the road ahead and the road behind.  I was beyond ashamed of where my choices had brought me.  I thought the only way that I could move forward was to run away from my past as fast and a far as I could.  Running like that is a stupid idea.  It doesn't work.  Running towards an image of a "perfected self" doesn't work either because that person doesn't exist.

I found that a bulk of my problems originated from not accepting myself - my strengths, my flaws, my everything.  I could not move forward if I did not accept my past.  But more importantly, I could not create the person I wanted to be if I didn't focus on being mindfully present in each moment of the day.

It took a lot of work at first.  I'm naturally a worry wort.  Relaxation doesn't come easily to me.  Hell, over five years later I still work on it.  I have come to the conclusion that I am meant to always be a work in progress, a masterpiece in the making.  I am not done growing and learning until my final breath leaves my body.

So if I look like I'm half-assing everything on the outside, know that it's because I'm whole-assing my soul.

I Changed the Title of My Blog

This used to be for creative writing - for silly story telling - an outlet for my imagination.  So, of course, I blandly named this blog "Creative Writing" originally as a working title.  It stuck for awhile until I found this blog again.

Things have changed since then.  I've changed.  My world isn't as it once was.  Instead, I realize that I have experiences to share and a lot about myself that I still need to explore and define.

I guess I re-named this blog "Fluidity of Life" for a few varying reasons.

One, I have since come out as gender-fluid, even though I still mainly identify as a female more out of habit than anything else.  I'm still exploring my sexuality.  I'm currently very happy in a lesbian relationship, but I'm not sure that exactly makes me a lesbian.  We will have to see on that one.

Two, things and people change so frequently that I am really starting to question whether there is permanence in anything at all.

Three, it sounded cool.  Yes, that's a shallow reason, but the whole new point of this blog is to be completely honest about everything.  So much so, in fact, that I'm probably going to be very picky about who in my personal life I even share this blog with.  Then again, if this blog really IS about honesty...  Yeah, who knows.  I probably just need to grow some balls to be honest.  I am still a little fragile since coming out and that's been a tough thing to accept for me.

Rising From the Ashes of a Broken Soul

It's not like I forgot about you guys or anything....

Ok well shit.  Yes, I did.  Sorry.

I guess I should start out by saying that the tone of this blog is probably going to completely change because, to be honest, I'm not sure there's much left of the old me anymore.  Good or bad thing?  I guess I'm letting you guys be the judge of that.

What sparked the change?
I guess a lot of things:  my own screw-ups, my own accomplishments, sickness, health, and the fact that my closet got entirely too small.

Where to even begin?

I guess I should start at the part where I royally fucked up two years ago.

It's 2012.  I'm pregnant.  My "asshole" of a husband decided to get me pregnant, cheat on me with a bunch of hookers, go crazy suicidal, and leave me.  Isn't that just a novella in the making?  Needless to say, we were getting a divorce and things were getting pretty nasty.  I wanted solace.  I wanted love.  I wanted to not feel like a beached whale. I just wanted to feel alive.  I was desperate and hormonal and lonely.  Not a good combination.

"GET TO THE POINT"

Right.  Sorry.
Anyways, in waltzes my best friend.  My confidant.  The guy I could count on for anything and everything.
Stupid little me falls in love.  Of course.  He knew my secrets.  He didn't care that I was the human pregnancy blimp.  He saw how broken I was, and his hero complex made him want to put me back together.  So I let him.

Mistake number one.

Lesson learned:  Put your own damn self back together.  There is nothing sexy about someone who is so codependent on another person that they cannot have a shred of self-love without verification from someone else.  It's not ok.

Well needless to say, my heart ran away with my head and I got in too deep.  I was making assumptions and presuming things that weren't the case.  I thought we were going to be a happy little family - to replace the one that was torn from me.

Mistake number two.

Lesson learned: YOU CANNOT REPLACE PEOPLE.

Shortly after my kiddo was born, he ghosted.  One day, he was all there.  Loving, attentive, my knight in shining armor.  Next day, gone.  Packed up and shipped off to another state too far to visit.  Once again, I fell apart.  I sunk into so deep of a depression that my family didn't recognize the person right in front of them.  But I thought I was just fine.  I was ok, right?  No big deal, right?  I could find another, right?

I should have learned from that experience.  I should have known better.  I should have realized that I needed time to myself to heal - to get back in touch with myself.  I should have realized just how far gone I was.  I should have realized that I was at a point of no return.

"Should have"

Yeah, well.... that obviously didn't go so well.  I was so deep into my pain that I thought it was joy.  I was delusionally hopeful that I could "fix" things on my own at this point.  Stupid.

Then waltzed in big, fat and stupid (BFS).  He was perfect, or so I thought.  He said all the right things at all the right times.  He was educated. He was quiet.  He was sweet. He was a knight in shining armor and I was a damsel in distress that needed saving.

In reality, I was one desperate bitch at this point.  There's no beating around that bush.  Really.

Our relationship blossomed.  We talked about getting married (my divorce was finally final).  We moved in together.  We even got drunk-married in Vegas.  (Aren't I just the queen of good decisions at this point?)  Everything was the definition of perfect... until I started getting the mysterious phone calls.

"Hi, is [BFS] available?"
"Umm yes.  May I ask who is calling?"
"Yes, this is So&So Credit Agency... we need to speak to BFS about a financial matter."
*Me feeling all self important* "This is his wife (not really).  You can speak to me."
"Ok, well he still has a balance on this account of $5,000 due next week.  Can he pay today?"
*Phone drops to floor as I have a panic attack*
"M'am?"
*click*

I really wasn't prepared to deal with that shit.

As it turns out... he owed tens of thousands of dollars in credit card bills.  As it turns out... some of those were opened in my name.

That was the beginning of the end.  He lied about his education.  He lied about his age.  He lied about so many things that by the time I uncovered the truth, I realized I was sharing a home with a stranger.

It took a year from start to finish with this guy.  I had fucked up.  I wasn't careful.  I put myself and my kid on this guy's plate as a financial dinner offering.

I fucked up big, and I finally knew it.

So I got out of there.  While he was away, I packed up everything and moved out of our house back with my mom (who is a total saint).  Everything was in my name.  Everything.  I could have kept the house and kicked him out, but I knew I wasn't strong enough for that.  I barely had the strength to leave.  I couldn't waste time thinking myself out of it.  For the sake of my kid and myself, I had to go - and I had to go fast.

I ended up turning off all the utilities and turning in the keys to the house the minute I got the last box of my stuff out of there.  I rehomed my dogs.  I turned in the truck.  Everything that tied me to him, I got rid of.

When he came home, it didn't take him long to figure out what had happened.  The threatening emails, texts, and phonecalls started.  I changed my number.  We changed addresses.  And then it suddenly stopped.

I fucked up that bad because I was afraid of being alone.  That's what it came down to.  I wanted to replace my first marriage so badly that I was willing to take the first person that seemed interested.

Going through that though, as terribly self-inflicted as it was, was probably the best thing that ever happened to me.  It taught me my biggest weakness and what leads me to my downfalls and fuckups.  If I could go back and talk to myself, would I try?  I don't know if I would.  See, the thing is is that even though I lost everything.  Even though I hit rock bottom.  In a sick way, I was learning how to be an adult.  How to put away the child that I was and to be the strong mother that I needed to be for my kid.

So I moved back home and went on a dating fast.  I got help for my demons and I realized that there was more strength in me than I ever knew.  I started to explore and discover myself as a woman and a human being.  I finished school.  I got a meaningful job.  I laughed.  I cried.  I learned.  I loved myself.

Coming back from the depths of my breakdown blossomed my soul.  I got in touch with myself again.  Slowly, but surely, I recognized the girl in the mirror again.  But this time, she wasn't a girl.  She was a woman - a fighter who bravely fought her way out of the pit she dug for herself.

I had changed.  Toughened, yet softened.  I let go of my past.  I forgave.  I rebuilt connections I had lost.  I apologized over and over again for my actions until finally, the only person's forgiveness I had yet to receive was my own.  That was the hardest part out of my recovery.  Once I had clarity to see that damage I had caused, I was consumed by the guilt so much that I almost spiraled downward again., yet I caught myself because this time I WAS DIFFERENT.  I WAS STRONG. I finally loved myself and accepted myself for who I was.  And ever since, that has made all the difference.