Month: February 2021

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Throwback Thursday: Fri, 03 Oct 2014 15:00:55 on the VerboseTerse instance, yadda yadda yadda. Notable that this was for the write31days challenge for that year; I decided to write about my non-binary gender experience. This is from the third day, about my doubts before coming out.


So far, this is the hardest entry I have to write.


I am going to be 30 years old relatively soon. And only two years ago I’ve come to terms with not being a binary gender. Late to the party– better late than never– but I still feel some type of way about it.


Fuck High School


My initial, knee-jerk response to “What the hell took you so long?!” is to cite the lack of information and representation I was able to get my hands on. I keep saying that… but I have a print out of this page still and it is largely unchanged. So I can only use that excuse for so long.


5% was bigoted asshattery.


My high school was a tiny dangerously-close-to-fern thing in the middle of central Not Progressive Ha Ha. We ran out the only decent Spanish teacher because he was a city slicker. Out of the grand total of two gay young men we managed to run off one of them within a month. And of course, kids being kids with slurs in their mouth.


You do the math.


85% was just pure denial.


Some of it can be attributed to my poor grasp of gender, even with the info laid out to me. The gist was I was still working off the binary system with the faintest understanding of transgender (and that’s being kind). Furthermore, I was still under the illusion that bi/pansexuality was merely a phase and I was going to grow out of it eventually. Nevermind that to this day I associate a Sugarcult song with my First Serious Crush on A Girl. And my favorite movie wa, and still is, But I’m A Cheerleader.


clea duvall holding a train of paper girls
FORESHADOWING THAT WAS 1/2 OR 2/3’D RIGHT


10% was fear.


Like any teen, I wanted to fit in. Just a smidge. Just enough. I also didn’t want (what I felt was at the time) the eventual heartbreak and isolation if I pursued these thoughts. So I forced contentment of something I was much more familiar with- unrequited love and alienation on my terms (and the first term was “that weird kid that walked in the rain and kicked trees”- conveniently not too alienating, just weird as fuck).


This fear was also borne of not letting down my parents. They were cool with me through my Wiccan phase and was alright with me taking my best friend to the prom, but the possibility that I was probably trans squicked my father, at least.


Moral of this story is being a teen sucked and trust no one that says otherwise.



No Longer a Teenage Dirtbag


But enough about that. Fast forward to a) finally dealing with my pansexuality and came out in college b) just ended a relationship that was another failed statistic in the mono/poly configuration, 1.5 years post college (I was the poly). So, in one of my brooding moments, I got to sitting around thinking about my gender.


Like, really think about it. In a space where I wouldn’t get shit for not shaving my sideburns and not be called somethin’ gendered every 10 minutes, even in jest. And in a place where I’m certainly more knowledgeable about Stuff. And Things. And learnin’ all the time.


I had so many doubts. Two of my entries from a particular meltdown were titled “I may not be trans enough.” And I was just a worrywart.


  • Was this just borne of frustration of being feminine-read/patriarchy?

  • Do I need hormones? / Am I still validated without needing surgery?

  • Was this because of my parents?

  • Am I trans? If I am cis, do I still get to be genderqueer?

  • Can I be genderqueer? Am I trendergrender or something?

  • Am I ready?

  • Am I sure?


The majority of these questions was when there were so many different variations of the definition of cis floating around. Not to mention the truscum gatekeepers got me fucked up- I assure you, I’ll talk about them later.


And I was finally, finally shedding the last of the fear and truly Stopped Giving Much Less of a Fuck.


So.


Yea.


I’m pretty fucking sure.


After a solid year of second guessing, and a life of little cascaded moments.

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I blame my depression/anxiety on top of current events, but lately I’ve had the urge to reread something-punk dystopian hellscapes. The Windup Girl, specifically.


When I first picked up the novel years ago, it took me some determination to get through the (what I thought was at the time) dense writing. I did not have much trouble, this time. It probably helped that I was familiar with the book.


(There’s going to be spoilers ahead.)


Continue reading →

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2015-02-27 (It was also posted to StoriesPortal, ne’e TaleVault, but as of this posting I’ve been unable to bring up the site.)

“What the hell did I just watch!?”

I shut off the television in disgust. That was it? Is that what this… Disney… had to offer me? Awful, just awful.

At least that Danish Andersen fellow had the sense to make the sea witch not give a fuck. You want the thing? Here’s the price. Steep, but fair– the price fitting for the intent. That’s how we roll.

But this?

They made her outright evil. A vindictive thing that wanted power. She was gorgeous but she outright conned those merfolk, stacking the cards against them. And for what? Shits and giggles. What a fucking shyster.

And the fact that Ursula was fat AND a bad guy was not lost on me. They ain’t even subtle.

No wonder I couldn’t get much business anymore. This drivel was dripping from the land and into my undercurrents. It pisses me off. If these landlubbers were eating this stuff up, you know the merfolk are too. The superficial stuff like looks, not so much, but my last customer was terrified I’d turn her into coral or something.

I’ve wondered why, and now I know.

Also the obligatory #NotAllSeaWitches, but damn.

Which is why I’m sitting in my seaside condo seriously considering cursing my neighbor. “Oh, you’ll like this movie!” Damn ho don’t know me at all. Because not only did they tarnish the reputation of sea witches, but there was a happy ending.

I hate contrived happy endings like this. Someone should have suffered a little more. The prince should have been struck blind, like in that other fairy tale with the thorns.

Okay, Yung. Deep breath. She only meant well.

At least the musical numbers were on point, though. Ursula had some pipes on her.

I sighed, and pop in the sequel… or prequel, whatever. Disney made a ton of these things. Another evil sea witch (sister?), probably more songs.

Business is slow, so I might as well trudge along with watching these.

BONUS: Poetry. That’s What You Get (For Walking On Land) / To Ariel

2015-02-01, which inspired the above story. If you haven’t noticed, I’m a big fan of The Little Mermaid and its fanfiction- esp. when messing with the Disney version.

Chalk it up to mere vindictiveness,
A nastiness,
Jealousy–
And every stereotype a sea witch can offer
While being impossible to scrub clean with
Disneyification
(nudity and oral sex and rough words and hedonism and technicalities,
just the sort fanfiction writers love to write about)
But:

I’m still stewing over the fact that you got away–
That, while my precious girl was happy for a while–
Her homage got a happily ever after.
For fuck’s sake,
I cursed Dumbo instead because you are out of reach.
So let me try this the old-fashioned way with illwishing
(and limericks, I guess).

It doesn’t sound too bad– if you’re naive.
You don’t know how crushing yearning can be
Unless you’ve been there,
Honey.
And we’ve all been there, haven’t we?

Yet I can’t bring myself to be too harsh.
But, this is just the flavor
Of curses
That I like.
So I hope you hear this:

I hope not that each step’ll be full of knives,
But each time someone looks at you
In longing
Your knees’ll crumble and you’ll be unable
To walk
For days.