Saturday, July 7, 2012

My Brief Delusional Time As A Lesbian


This morning I was lying in bed considering what to wear. I sleep naked these days, because I've enjoyed the new found freedom that being physically female brings. 

What I was wondering was, what to clothe my body with once I got out of bed, and despite the personal style I've developed over the past few years, I'm now totally at a loss for what to pick in my closet.

Being female, albeit a transgender female now 6 years post-op, the choice should have been clear to me. The reason for this dilemma is that I was told last night by a person of some prominence in the local lesbian community, that I "dress like a drag queen".


I thought I left being compared to a drag queen behind ten years ago. I love wearing black and always have. Doesn't mean I'm a "satanist", even if I am a witch. This revelation caused all sorts of questions to float up to the surface of my mind. I had up till then been enjoying my time out with a few friends, and all seemed right with the world. Apparently I was wrong.

Is there a dress code for tranny freaks? Why can lesbians - even physically feminine ones, wear butch attire - but when I don't wear a dress or skirt, I am "dressed like a drag queen"?

Why the double standards?

I have nothing against drag queens, you understand, and at one time I wouldn't have objected to the comparison, but having gone the distance at great expense and effort, to be called so is a slap in the face, a sobering realization and a disappointment. It means that for the past 12 years I have been lost in a delusion in which I was passable as female, complimented for being pretty and thought I was even liked and maybe a little popular within the community. It was a rather rude awakening. 
 
On the other hand, I suppose I can only blame myself for not taking note of the signs, such as every other girl I spoke to in the club over the years twenty-questioning me about my voice, am I or was I a man before, have I got a dick down there, or a vagina etc? Silly little me. Looks like I might have wasted my money.

And the other questions I was asked just double-tapped me as I sat there, reeling. What is my sexuality really? Am I into girls? Guys? If so, what am I doing here? And what is with that "asexual" shit anyway? You're not interested in sex? No wonder you're single. What kind of freak wouldn't be into sex? This one, apparently. And why did my religious affiliation and my "activities" need to be mentioned? What relevance did the fact that I'm not a Christian - or the detail that the person interrogating me was - have to do with the equation? But of course, no "judging" took place at all, despite the impression being created that I had already been put on trial in absentia, weighed, and found wanting. 
 
As the person in question moved off, leaving me at the center of a growing empty space in the establishment, I was left with the clear impression that I was neither hot, nor cold, and had been spat out. All that still needed to happen was for the tap to be opened so that the shit could be hosed off the front grille of the truck that I'd been run over by.

You see folks, my self-confidence has now been undermined. What do I wear today? What do I wear tomorrow? Skirt or slacks? Is this too masculine? Is this overly feminine? Is the make up too much or too little? Is my figure masculine or feminine, vagina and boobs aside, regardless of what I wear? Do I want to dress like a drag queen? A goth? Should I have any sort of style at all, or just crawl inside a cardboard box? Is there truth in the adage that clothes really do make the man? Or the woman? Or is it the body? I always thought it was the personality/soul/spirit that defined that.

Should I dress to please local lesbian society? Should I adhere to the as yet unknown and undefined universal dress-code for transexual females? Or should I dress to please myself, regardless of what groups I don't fit into on account of my looks, my tranny-freakiness, my social inappropriateness, my "radiophonic" voice that everyone assures me is "just fine", my rumored vampirism and association with "Satanists" because I am openly Pagan and identify as a Witch, my style of dress, taste in music, and whether I wear my hair up or down etc. etc. etc.

I didn't ask to be any of the things I am. I just am. You think I didn't want to be shorter, petite, feminine, prettier, to have a better voice and be more passable as a female? You think I don't have insecurities and vulnerabilities? You think some words aren't sharp enough to occasionally cut me till I bleed? You think your pain is any greater than mine? You think I don't bleed like you?

Seems I am just one of those people who just doesn't fit in anywhere, no matter what the group is, or is about - I am just one of those freaks that will never fit in and feel part of it, or totally accepted or welcome or included. 
 
Oh well, c'est la vie. Shit happens. This is where my skin thickens yet again.

So now let me make it perfectly clear, darlings: I don't need your validation. I don't want your acceptance. I am what I am. If that makes me a monster, then gee - I guess it's just too bad. If you don't like me, or any part of me which makes up the whole of who I am, then I don't give a shit, and you and yours can go fuck yourselves.

If my being trans or not a Christian gets in the way of us being friends or more, then perhaps you should go look long and hard in a mirror and decide what the fuck makes you so fucking special. 
 
And if in future you sidle up to me saying "I'm not judging you, but..." while doing exactly that, be prepared for the consequences.

You may be the one to discover first hand whether any of those rumors might actually be true.

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If you would like to know more about Christina Engela and her writing, please feel free to browse her website.


If you’d like to send Christina Engela a question about her life as a writer or transactivist, please send an email to christinaengela@gmail.com or use the Contact form.

All material copyright © Christina Engela, 2019.
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