#I don’t like the handwringing approach either guys

[grandwitchbird]

This is as much as I’m going to say on the debacle at the moment.

Veilguard as a text worries the audience is at least a bit racist on the whole. It wants to somehow prevent this from playing out in gameplay this time and also avoid the whole issue altogether maybe thankyouverymuch. This is in no way an actual ethical shift from previous BioWare games. They’ve just finally said ‘oppression bad’ in the text instead of hoping you’d know that and added some extra weight and consequence just in case you really wanted to kill the black dude or side with the fascists for noreasonatall.

To contrast. Disco Elysium knows most people are quite racist. It has zero interest in the audience’s response to its approach. And its approach is to call racists clowns right out the gate.

I know which approach I prefer, and I know I prefer it because it’s ethically stronger and not built on a codependent relationship with the audience. I also know why Veilguard did things the way it did. If you’re mad about it, maybe just check in the mirror for greasepaint first. And at least consider acknowledging that BioWare’s audience holds stock in the clown shoe factory.

[scramblednoodle]

Day 1

So here we are.  Last we talked, I was contemplating the concept of death, and the way I approached it.  That was...2019?  My friend with ALS died.  Bean died.  And then J and I had the most amazing trip of our lives, a distraction we sorely needed, a trip across the country over 30 days and 8500 miles, camper trailer in tow.  Amazing time, amazing trip.  Did we do Burning Man?  I think we did Burning Man.  Then CFT, then the holidays, then 2020 came around, and we did Further Confusion, with Vardaman gigs interspersed between.

And then Covid19 happened.

I don’t want to talk about all of the things that have happened since then.  I’ll give a summary, though.  We found VR and found a whole new dimension of socializing.  We’ve made a TON of friends, more than we have ever made at any con, and maybe more than we’ve made at many of those cons combined, and we’ve gotten closer to some of our existing friends.  I’ve lost a ton of weight.  We got a kitten.  We’ve stayed home, we don’t eat out, save for the occasional Taco Bell/Papa Murphy’s take-out.  A lot of stuff has been done at home and with the house.  We got a 3d printer, a kegerator, and a freeze dryer.  Life has slowed down, but time has sped forward, and the two are oddly disjunct.

But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.

See, sitting at home, doing things, and not being distracted by going out all the time has caused a certain amount of reflection.  A LOT of reflection.  I’ve had to face some things, and as a result, I’ve realized some things.  Last year I started having a gender identity crisis.  This mulled around in my head, until I slowed down, until life calmed down and I was forced to delve deep and explore this.  Early this year, shortly after FC, I admitted that I was trans, to myself, and to those that know me.  I came out on Twitter, to massive amounts of support.  I mean, folks who knew me well probably weren’t all that surprised, except that it took me so long.  To others, maybe it broadsided them, but I have thought of myself as “she” for so long, and been called “She” or “Lady” or “Her” or “Mistress” or whatever for so long, maybe it got taken for granted.

I was undecided on transitioning, but always kept the option open.  Since I’d been losing weight, I set a goal:  if I could hit 220, I would “consider” transitioning.

Let’s go back to the cross-country trip.  I stopped shaving during that trip.  I grew a great, big, Pacific NorthWest beard.  MANLY beard.  Bushy in all the right ways.  I got complimented on my beard.

I started to hate my beard.

Denial-beard, it’s called, amongst some transgender folks.  For my birthday this year I bought the nicest electric razor I have ever in my life owned, and was more expensive than my last 4 electric razors combined.  For my birthday, I shaved my denial beard.  It was the first time I had entirely removed my facial hair in years, and certainly the first time without it AND embracing my transgender self.

I loved what I saw in the mirror.  I loved her so much that I decided that my goal of hitting a weight and then transitioning was purely a projection of my continued belief that in order to physically become the woman I am inside, that I had to be svelte.  Thinner.  Sleeker.  Beautiful.

What a bunch of rubbish.

I saw myself as a woman in the mirror for the first time in my life, and I felt nothing but giddy joy.  I’m starting to tear up at the memory of it.  Do you have any fucking idea how HARD it is to look at yourself in a mirror for FORTY THREE YEARS and hate yourself?  I bet more than one of you do.

Between 2007 and 2009 I went from 308lbs to 175lbs.  I looked GOOD.  I had hot men wanting to touch me, to fuck me.  It was nice to be liked.

I hated who I saw in the mirror.  And I eventually hated what being fit and thin and desired turned me into.  A Fitness TYRANT.  My way or no way.  I started to look down on those who could not do what I did.  It was gross.

Harley died, work went to shit, and over the next 10 years or so, I put most of the weight back on.

Still hated who I saw in the mirror.

And then, thanks to Covid, I saw a woman in the mirror, and for the first time, I understood.

Fuck the weight goal.  I talked to my therapist.  I needed a head check.  Is this me?  Am I doing the right thing?  Is this a phase?  A phase, LOL.

I’ve presented as a woman online since 1997.  It started as an excuse to have cyber with straight guys; at least. that’s what I told myself.  It felt comfortable from day 1.  Over the years, my male characters either fell to the wayside, or became women themselves.  So easy, transitioning in a side reality.  Very few people would judge, and those who did would easily be blocked or ignored.  I felt comfortable.

When I started to date Kiteless, many years ago, his circles had no problems with she/her pronoun with relation to me.  After all, I was not the only dragoness with a misidentified physical body.  It was...nice.  For the first time, I felt like I could be accepted.  I WAS accepted, as who I felt I was.  That persisted, and continues to persist.  When I started dating J, he would always refer to me as “Lady”.  He never had a problem with my gender, though it took him a while to realize that it was not just a kink for me, that I was not doing it to tease him, but that I was doing it because it was how I felt comfortable.  I think he understands it now.

Speaking of understanding, it was about the time I decided to go through with HRT that the real wall started to erect itself.  Something that grew and grew, and grew strong.

My Dad.

Don’t misunderstand, it wasn’t anything he did or said.  My dad is Puerto Rican, and he’s Military.  He lives and breathes the US Army, even though he’s long retired.  I don’t think he understands how to function back in the world.  I don’t think he can handle the entropy.  Or at least, it’s not an entropy he understands.  But this makes him subject to, let’s just say, a rather blunt, lopsided, and sometimes outdated view of the world.

How in the hell would he accept that his son was going to become his daughter?

So I started to build this wall in my head.  Out of bricks that I made myself.  Bricks based on assumption and self-projection.  I have ever been my own worst enemy, and this was no exception.

There is a memory, a very NOT FOND memory I have.  Before I left home, before I escaped from under HIS roof (and he never let us forget that), my parents found out I was gay.  At one point, my dad and I got into an argument, and he said “They need to take you out like that kid in Colorado and beat you.”  He was referring to Matthew Shepard, a gay college kid who was beaten severely in Laramie, WY, and later died in Ft Collins, CO.

I’ve never forgiven my dad for that comment.  I don’t know if I ever can.  The comment came from a place of ignorance and anger, but it came from him, it came from within, and it was directed at his child.  I will never forget that moment, and that moment will forever color the way I interact with him.

SO!  You can understand, perhaps, why I was terrified of telling him.  Despite our rocky relationship over the years, I do love my dad, and he’s the person in the world that, for a long time, I most wanted approval from.  In a way, I still do, and I will probably always want his approval.  Now, my mom accepted who I was without issue.  She’s always been supportive, though there was a time when I think she was hurt that I would never give her grandkids. :P  She follows me Twitter, so it was pretty clear to her what was happening with me, though she somehow missed the big news, that I was going to transition.

It was hard to tell her, but as I expected, she was supportive.  Very supportive.  I’m blushing just thinking about it, the feeling of my mom calling me her girl.  I never would have thought I’d get to this point.

When I first broached transition with my therapist, after much handwringing and self-questioning, the expectation was that I was going to start a long process of approval.  I would need to go through my Primary Care physician, then see an endocrinologist, then get a letter of recommendation from my therapist, then be evaluated for medications.  My doctor was a small-town, country doctor who didn’t listen, and whose answer to everything was Flonase.  He was OBSESSED with allergies and nasal steroids.  I was really dubious he’d be on-board with helping me transition.  So, of course I changed PCPs.  J and I were already super dissatisfied with him, so it was a no-brainer.  Ended up at OHSU, with a primary care doc who specialized in gender confirming action and therapies.  We talked.  I got a lab panel done.  And then suddenly she was prescribing me estrogen and testosterone blockers.

My expectation of 6 months was suddenly obliterated, and boy did the doubt start.  Am I doing the right thing?  Oh my god, I’m not ready for this.  I was supposed to have SIX MONTHS, and it took ONE AND A HALF.

Things moved fast after that.  A few more doctor appointments.  Some medication research.  Some frozen sperm, just in case.

Yesterday was...a roller coaster.  Yesterday, the meds showed up in the mail.  Yesterday, I got the notification that my sperm was accepted into the sperm bank and was healthy and viable.  Yesterday, I called my mom, and we talked for almost 2 hours.  It was a lovely conversation.  And I asked her to help me tell my dad.

A very short while later, I received a message from my dad.  It was cryptic, but Dad is ESL, so he doesn’t really enunciate the way most folks do.  Blunt, coarse, direct, and with odd modifier choices.  Nonetheless he made one thing clear.

He loved me no matter what.

I cried for 30 minutes straight.  My paper towels were a sopping mess of tears and snot.  I was a mess.  

I also felt more free than I’ve been in a long, long time.  That wall I built got torn down, and good riddance.  *I* built that wall, out of my own fear and projected doubts.  It was a real wall.  Those fears were real feelings.  Unfounded, but REAL.  And they’ve finally crumbled.  Finally.

I took my first HRT pills this morning.  As I understand it, I’ll be on them for at least 3 years, assuming I stick with it.  I can expect a second puberty before any physical changes.  In 6 months or something, physical changes will begin to occur, but right now I’m just...Well, my head is spinning.  I still have doubts, but since yesterday, they’re quieter.  They’re less pronounced.  They’re mostly based around trying not to get shanked by a Good ‘Ol Boy.  The usual.

And now we come to today.

Today is a special day.  Today is my Day 1.  Today begins the rest of my life.

I’m scared, I’m excited, I’m nervous, I’m giddy.  I am as confused a jumble as I ever was.  But I’m pretty sure of one thing:

This is right.

My intent to is journal things now and then.  Thoughts, worries, etc.  We’ll see how it goes. )

Peace, y’all.

[dalek-thal]

This is a great post. There's more, but I'll leave a writeup for later.

This is as much as I’m going to say on the debacle at the moment.

Veilguard as a text worries the audience is at least a bit racist on the whole. It wants to somehow prevent this from playing out in gameplay this time and also avoid the whole issue altogether maybe thankyouverymuch. This is in no way an actual ethical shift from previous BioWare games. They’ve just finally said ‘oppression bad’ in the text instead of hoping you’d know that and added some extra weight and consequence just in case you really wanted to kill the black dude or side with the fascists for noreasonatall.

To contrast. Disco Elysium knows most people are quite racist. It has zero interest in the audience’s response to its approach. And its approach is to call racists clowns right out the gate.

I know which approach I prefer, and I know I prefer it because it’s ethically stronger and not built on a codependent relationship with the audience. I also know why Veilguard did things the way it did. If you’re mad about it, maybe just check in the mirror for greasepaint first. And at least consider acknowledging that BioWare’s audience holds stock in the clown shoe factory.