The World of the Avatar

A couple of weeks ago I downloaded this program called IMVU.  Who knows where I found it... I just came across it, downloaded it, and had to figure out the whole thing from scratch.  (God help me if I ever read the directions for something.)  Anyway, this particular program allows you to create an avatar, and go into whatever weird ass chat room you can imagine.  (And as you might imagine, I tend to frequent the supernatural LGBT rooms... there are a such thing as "vampire kisses".)  Oh, and thanks to computer generated images of ourselves, EVERYONE is gorgeous.  How do I describe it?  The computer geek by day becomes the charming, suave gentleman in the evening.  Donned in the latest fashions and the wittiest lines, boys sit in his lap (yes, the avatars can actually be arranged in a number of exciting positions!) and whisper flirtatiously in the chat room.  Demure lesbians become dominatrix goddesses, complete with leather surrounding their cleavage and tall boots high up their thighs.  Even underpaid trannys "pass" 100%, with the Adam's apples vanished from the ladies, and masectomy scars erased from the men--completely transformed into princes and princesses of their domains.  

And what is most fascinating is that no matter how beautiful (read: aesthetically pleasing, sexually enticing, etc.) the avatar may appear in contrast to the user's real self, the avatar still is, in essence, the user.  The personality has developed an audacity that no longer has a reason to hide and nothing to hide behind when speaking with others. In the real world, the price for being yourself is extremely expensive (fiscally, emotionally, career-wise, etc.)  but dressing up for the evening and going into a dimly light night club to seduce and be seduced by other avatars: priceless.  I feel like the avatars are our 'Tyler Durdan's: the semi-physical manifestations of our subconsciousness.  I suppose they're really only bad when someone gets hurt. And then again, how badly can a computer-generated image feel rejection?  

Do I feel like a complete loser that the greatest extent of my social interaction is through my 4 inch tall projection of myself?  Eh... sure.  LOL.  It's Friday night, I just got paid (a lot, since I've been working over time a lot lately), I'm 23 (so I can get into bars and clubs) and I'm single.  So why am I not dressed up and out at some trendy queer establishment downtown?  Well, because really: why spend money, gas, and time driving downtown only to feel incredibly self-conscious around the hypermasculine (and the hyper-queeny) gay men I find myself surrounded by, feeling as if I'm constantly being sized-up and judged, and incapable of having fun for fearing constant rejection?  I can't imagine why not...  Anyway, I will concede that while I am a natural casanova in a world dependent on my own creative assemblage of body features and dressing and on my writing (I'm much more charming in the cyberworld?) I can't make up for the lack of social life in the real world.  LOL. Maybe someday I won't have to work two jobs to pay bills.  I'll have time to work out and money to buy awesome clothes.  Until that day comes, I'll let mini-me do all the work...

I just found this pic of me...

So, I was digging around my computer and I found this picture of me (on the left) and I compared it to the picture of me taken a day ago (on the right.)  What I've found is that the picture of me on the left is much cuter, more charming, and is *ominous music playing* wearing make up?!?  The picture on the right looks like the dude who raped and murdered the girl on the left.  WTF?  

401 days.

In the past 401 days, I have learned one thing about life: "no one gives you anything, you have to take it."

Yes, this was one of the opening lines of The Departed, but like any line in any movie, it's easy to dismiss as merely poetic and largely inapplicable to one's own life.  But no, Jack Nicholson was on to something here.

In my previous life, let's just say, life before 401 days ago, I had more issues than Vogue and more problems than the math SATs.  I hated school, I hated my life, I was absolutely miserable, and I couldn't figure out why.  Or I could, but I just didn't want to acknowledge it.  It seemed that if I wasn't battling this demon or that, it was my issues with food, my latest skin regime, my trying to acquire the mindset of those around me (and always failing), or my trying to gain inner peace while secretly wanting to destroy every cell in my body.  So, if I'm doing all this, how in the hell was I supposed to be able to look out at the world around me, see the much bigger problems that faced humanity, and shape myself into a creature that would work to benefit all?  It was increasingly hard for me to give a damn about starving kids in Africa if I was counting my own calories.

So what happened 401 days ago?  I got kicked out of my college.  No, it wasn't for anything behavior related... essentially, while I was busy trying not to kill myself, I had let my grades and others measures of success fall by the wayside.  I also had several differences of opinion than those in higher positions of power.  I won't go into details... but it was a poisonous relationship from the beginning that I only miraculously kept going for 4 1/2 years.  

Four hundred and one days ago, I realized that I was free for the first time in my life.  I would never allow myself to be influenced by the wishes my parents projected onto me and I would never allow a superficial world dictate who I was.  But before I could do any of this, I had to figure out why I was still miserable and making everyone around me feel the same.  So I came out to my family as being transsexual.  I continued to see the therapist I had begun seeing in college and I sought out top surgery options.  Thirty-six days after being kicked out of school, I was with my best friend having top surgery in Timonium, MD.  How do I explain the experience?  I was only mildly nervous before I went in... I guess of all the spiders, plane crashes, poisonous milipedes, rapists, and murders out there, I never bothered to consider surgery as something I should be afraid of.  The last thing I heard before I went to sleep was, "I'm going to give you a little something to help you relax," from the anasthesiologist... to which I replied, "I thought you were just gonna give me a LITTLE someth---" *Out.*  I dreamt of a giant party on a beautiful beach in Mexico surrounded by the operating staff and family and friends.  As I was regaining consciousness, I was so elated that before I opened my eyes, I was offering to buy the surgeon, anasthesiologist, and the nurses Coronas and margaritas!  LOL.  

Recovery was amazing.  In the history of that particular surgery, I think I hold the record for the fastest recovery time.  And there are a couple of reasons for this.  The minor reasons: 

1) I've never smoked. 

2) I hadn't had a drink in weeks. 

3) I wasn't on testosterone at the time. 

4) I'm stubborn. 

5) I am a vegan (vegetarian at the time).  

But I'm sure it was the major reasons that matter: 

1) I had an incredibly supportive best friend who drove me to and from there, who waited 2 hours in the waiting room for me, who made sure I had everything I needed to eat and drink, who let me stay at her apartment for the week since my parents would have created too much stress, and who gave me a chanting device to listen to sort of as a lullaby when I was tired and had to drug myself back to sleep.  I heart you, R!  

2) It was spring, and while the weather was still cold, R took me on walks to get fresh air while she attempted to fish in the nearby lake.  The calm, coolness of the park was incredibly refreshing... she didn't encourage me to stay in bed and 'rest' all week cause she knew how restless I am.

3) Because I had absolutely no regrets before or after, I felt no guilt, and because my mind knew that this was as my body should be, it healed itself accordingly.

Today I celebrate my one year anniversary, post-op. :)

Now, between surgery and now, I had to do a few things.  I was living at home, which both of my parents didn't particularly like (well, my dad didn't/doesn't) which meant that I couldn't ask either of them for anything.  Not even support after surgery.  So, for the next couple of weeks I contently sat at home and used the pain pills which I didn't need during recovery (yeah, recovery was THAT quick and painless!) Then I got a job, then two more after the first job ended.  I would never ask them for money, and if I wanted to get my degree, I'd pay for it myself.  Unfortunately, after surgery and having my own money, I still wasn't happy.  

In November I began hormones.  Now, I'm kind of ambivalent about my experience so far.  Today also marks me being on testosterone for 20 weeks.  In that time, I have grown minimal body hair (get a magnifying glass, you'll see it!) and my voice has really, barely changed.  I look incredibly androgynous, and not in a 'good' way (more of in a "I can't decide if that's a boy or a girl, so I'm just going to call 'it' a girl..." sort of way).  Oh, and my face is breaking out like it's job and  I've gained weight cause being on T is like perpetually having the munchies.  So all in all, I'd give it two thumbs down.  Maybe this November, one year later, my feelings will be different.

So, I think my recap of the past year has been pretty extensive (read: word, long-winded) but I did want to end on one personal observation.  In my past life, I never really did anything about things that bothered me or things I wanted to improve on because I felt like they were things that would never change.  Beginning transitioning, I realize just how much I control everything in my life.  I have just finished and mailed 3 of my 4 college transfer applications, I have finally seen a dermatologist about my skin and gotten on a very expensive (though I guess effective?) plan, and now that the weather's getting warmer, I guess I'll start running and shedding this newly acquired flab (in addition to the old, latent flab...) 

Geez, and who would have thought that all it took for me to be independent and to make things happen was for me to finally just be myself?

Christine, the Psychic (Part Two)

Ah.  Today was a nice Saturday.  After fighting my way through nearly 2 hours of Cherry Blossom festival traffic, I made it for the better part of a Buddhist book club meeting.  I think that a lot of our discussion revolved around self-protection, an interesting topic that I'll probably explore later in the week because it'll require more insight and understanding than memory skills.  No, today's post is actually about much later in the day when I met with Christine, the psychic.

I met with Christine a year ago Thursday (the 2nd) and posted a blog about the reading on my myspace (will maybe repost it over here if I remember.)  Anyway, meeting with her today, she just initially began very flustered.  She was like, "This is very strange.  I am getting very strange [vibes] from you... and I don't understand them."  I told her that we had met exactly a year ago, which surprised her a little, but she kept trying to place me.  "What's your name?" Ethan. "Was that your name a year ago?" No. "Hmmm."  I grinned.  I was really amused because I didn't know how much I should tell her and how much I should let her figure out.  Then she's like, "That smile.  Your smile haunts me. I've seen that smile before." Hehe.  Then we got started with the tarot reading.  I cut the cards and she shuffled them three times afterward.  The first, she said, was for my body.  It was healthy and strong.  The second was for my mind, very sluggish and reflective of heavy stagnant energy.  The third was for my spirit, which she was was very strong and clear.  Interesting.  But she was still very confused about what was throwing her off so much about me.  She said, "This first card in the center will tell me everything I need to know."  And she turned over the page of pentagrams.  She seemed a little shocked, and mumbled to herself for a bit, turning over a card on either side.  Things seemed to be making more sense to her (cause so far I was a page with swords on either side) and the fourth card she turned over, at the top, was the queen of swords.  Then she said, "I get it now.  The last time I read your cards, the queen was in the center.  Now the page has replaced her. This means the move from female to male."  (It really doesn't take a psychic to figure that out... but still.)

The first question she asked me once the cards were down was, "Why did you stop writing?"  I used to write short stories and essays and stuff all the time to entertain my friends.  I guess I stopped because I lost whatever was inspiring me. Anyway. So then we talked about what I was doing work wise.  I told her that I had been working with children since last summer.  And she said that I had a lot of healing that had to be done, and working with children would facilitate the healing process.  She said that the last 4 1/2 to 5 years of my life had been horrible, that I had been in a lot of stressful and degrading situations, but I was out of that now, probably because of my decision to transition last year.  (What I hadn't told her was that the last 5 years of my life had been hell, but I was only able to transition once I had left the situation.)  When I kept telling her about work, I mentioned that I wasn't out at work, so I was still 'female' as far as they were concerned... but I didn't really finish the thought.  She said immediately that the most probably cause for my stagnant energy was that I wasn't being able to fully transition (in my mind) to male, even though my body was on hormones and I already 'felt' like Ethan.  Until I could live as male, that stagnation would continue.  But she also kept searching for other possible sources.

She told me that I needed to stop worrying about love.  That I was in huge disconnect with my heart wanting to love and my mind telling me not to.  She said that I would meet my soulmate either in the middle or at the end of November (yay!) and that this person would be a bit taller than myself (5'10 or slightly taller), lighter skin, and very toned.  She said that this was the person who I was waiting for, who would treat me well.  She said I had recently been interested in someone who didn't appreciate me or return my interest, which was true.  Anyway, until I met this person, this was the year that I was supposed to be absolutely selfish and not worry about what others think. 

She asked me where I was living and I told her that I was living at home.  She said that I had to move out--and that I would in 2 months.  Eeep!  I knew I was going to move out this summer, but I was thinking more toward the end than the beginning.  And it's kind of contingent on where I'll be going to school in the fall.  She said that I'll be coming into having a lot of money at the end of the year (FAFSA?) so hopefully things will be taken care of and I'll be able to return to school and move out of the house.  

She returned to the thing about me writing and insisted that I start keeipng a diary every night in which I write about my reaction to situations, being as non-judgemental as possible, and keep it up for three months reviewing it three times a week.  She said that I had a lot of creativity in my mind and drive to write in my spirit, but once it got translated into actual writing, it didn't turn out so well because there was a disconnect there, probably because I got so bored of the actual task of writing so quickly.  Journaling, she thinks, will improve my writing skills and apparently I'm supposed to publish a book.  (That's funny, too, cause I actually do have a story I've been working on for forever now...)

What else?  She asked me if I had any questions for her, and I told her that I had very graphic, violent dreams often throughout my life (and by often, I mean several times a month) in which I would be mutilated or whatever by a group of people (usually 4-6 men with guns, knives, whatever.)  In my dreams I was also protecting some small child and sacrificing myself for them.  She said that the thing about the children was because I was meant to adopt a boy and a girl (most psychics I've spoken to have said that I was meant to have at least a boy, and probably both a boy and a girl, so I'm taking that to be true.) The violence, she said, was residual memories from my most previous life which was ended prematurely (and very violently) by a group of a few men.  She said that I was about 24 years old when this happened and so sometime after I turn 24 years old in this life, I will cease having that residual energy and the nightmares will stop.  We'll see.  She said that the reason I was having these nightmares was because my third-eye was very sharply focused and aware... so I asked wouldn't it be a bad thing if I no longer had any insight or vision into my past lives?  And she said that we need to focus on our present lives and such.  I mean, it makes sense.  I guess I always just thought that no matter how brutal my dreams where that there was a message I was supposed to get that, somehow, I never got.

One interesting thing that happened was she wanted to leave the room to get a cigarette, she said something, ending with calling me "Josh."  I was a little confused, but kind of brushed it off as her just not remembering my name.  Later we talked about it, and despite me telling her that my name is Ethan, and even telling her my birthname, she kept attaching "Josh" to me.  Who knows, maybe that was my name in my previous life, or maybe that's the name of my 'soulmate' (because, wouldn't it make sense if a psychic also knew about one's soulmate if they're able to read a person's soul?)  Oh well.  Maybe we'll have some insight into this later.  

Hmmm... I'm trying to think.  Reading wise, she really didn't tell me too much more.  We talked a little bit about the actual transition process, and she asked me how long I had to be on hormones before I could have 'the surgery' (meaning bottom surgery, I guess, since I had spoken to her last spring about having top surgery and actually had it April 9th.)  I told her that I had already done the therapy part and was one hormones, and had the top surgery.  At this point, my only obstacle to bottom surgery was money.  She said that the money that I would be getting at the end of the year would be so much that I would be able to have bottom surgery early next year!!!!!  That kind of blew me away.  I was really preparing to not be able to do it for YEARS (like, maybe for my 30th birthday or something.)  Eeep.  I'm trying not to get too excited, but she said that me transitioning is a MUST.  She said that she had had another trans person who consulted with her in the past whom she helped guide through his transition.  That made me feel a lot better because, even though she definitely struck me as an open-minded person, actually being able to understand a transperson psychically was extra reassuring.

So yeah.  Long post, I think that's all.  I guess I just like keeping track of these meetings because I like to see how things change.  For instance, she completely did not recognize me, even though I came in with the same person I visited her last year with.  She didn't detect any stagnation last year (which I was living as solely female) that she did this year.  Though she did see much more growth and calm, overall, as I was coming into myself.  Of course, she also said that I would live to be in my 80s in excellent health (I say of course because she's not the first person to say that to me.)  And that's it.  I guess I can add more as I remember (as I've kind of been doing here.)  But let's wait until next April to see what else changes.  She asked if I wanted her to do a chakra reading for me.  As exciting as the idea is, I really can't afford it right now.  Maybe if I really do get this money she's talking about... oh well.  Until next time.

Good morning, friend!

So, lately I've gotten back into the habit of going to Starbucks everydaybefore work. Aside from the ethical (and fiscal) quandary I find myself in with regards to spending $4.52 on a triple tall soy latte, and the physiological effects their pseudo-separation of soy and regular milk practices have on my immune system (I am allergic to milk), there are many reasons for me not to go. But there are a couple of reasons I defy instinct and inclination and leave my house 10 minutes earlier to ensure my fix while still getting to work by 0800. (Among those reasons are: I'm easily addicted to caffeine, I love the taste of espresso and lattes, I'm too lazy to make breakfast, and... I want to.) But the number one reason why I return is the constant amusement I get with people who only see me for about 10 minutes intermittently throughout the week as they try to guess my gender. I can safely say that, after 3 weeks of going regularly, none of the baristas have figured out whether I'm a boy or a girl.

What does one do when they can't tell if their customer is a boy or a girl? I'll tell you. They do a couple of things. 1) They will say "Sir (or ma'am), can I get a drink started for you?" to every customer in front of or behind their ambiguous customer; but when they get to the customer in question, they will simply wait until that customer makes eye-contact, then ask what they want. 2) They will stare at the customer and decide they can't make up their minds, then wait until that customer tells the cashier his/her order, then wait for the cashier to relay the order. 3) They alternate their pronoun usage according to the day of the week: Monday=sir, Tuesday=ma'am, etc.

I'm glad I waited to write this post because this morning, one of the baristas I see semi-regularly surprised me with a very warm, amiable alternative. After the barista asked me my order (see situation # 1) I got up to the cashier, who smiled cheerfully and said, "Good morning, friend!" It felt as if she genuinely wanted to make me feel welcome without making either of us feel awkward per gender pronoun usage. I was extremely grateful for her kindness and wish not only that others act similarly, but that I could have thought of the best way to show my appreciation. Tipping seemed a little superficial, and I didn't want to draw attention by saying something like, "Thank you for not making me choose a gender this early in the morning," so I did the best thing I could do: I made eye-contact with her and smiled back, returning the greeting.

Thank you, Starbucks cashier, for your compassion. :-)