Today is National Coming Out Day. Every year, people of all stripes of the queer family come out, whether it be to the world, or to a select few. Others come out to themselves, acknowledging something that has been there a long time, possibly their whole lives. For some people, it maybe happens after a few years. The length of time does not matter. What matters is that these people (we) get the gears moving on living what we would consider an authentic life, one where we come out of the proverbial closet, and admit to ourselves, and possibly others, who we really are, and have really have been all this time. Yes, one could say that our lives lived before was one made of lies. But most queer people who come out later, consistently say some of the same things: I was scared of losing family, job, friends, etc…
In the case of trans people, transition can be, and usually is, a life-saver. Really, I have heard the same story over and over from my trans sisters - it was either transition or die. There have been multiple suicide attempts, a lot of trauma, and a boat load of shame. There is the very real risk of losing friends, family, and jobs. And financial stability. Now stop and ask yourself - why would anyone transition, knowing that they could lose everything? Marriages, kids, friends, working relationships, jobs - everything, to be their trueselves? Simply put, we know who we are, we know who our brain tells us we are.
I was one of those transition-or-die trans women. I knew something was different about my in my late teens, but couldn’t put my finger on it. I thought maybe I was a gay man, but no, that didn’t fit. I thought I was bigender, but no, that didn’t work either. I had been asking myself how can I, with this outer shell looking like a guy, with my deep, sexy voice (that’s what I tell people on the phone because they will immediately question me because my name and how my voice sounds.) I had been scouring the net, kind of wild to think that was in like 2008. I started just by thinking why do I feel like I should be a lesbian, and as strange as it may sound to some of you, it was my reality. Then, I saw something about a male lesbian on The L Word. It has been years since I have seen it, so it is kind of foggy in my memory. I do remember, however, that I starting searching in earnest for something like male lesbians on the internet. I found one or two sites, but nothing like I knew myself to be. So, like others, I shoved those feelings and all that shit so far down, and tried to muster all the manliness I could. I hopped in and out of the closet twice. In 2010, on this day, National Coming Out Day, I acknowledged all the information that had coalesced into an understanding - I was transsexual. Back then, there was transvestite and transsexual. As far as I know, transgender was not in use. After, coming out to myself…I did nothing, except hop back in the closet. I had been married for some years now. I was sure that if I came out, that marriage would be destroyed. So, I sucked it up, and tried to be a man again. But, once again, I took to the web. I found this bulletin board. It was for transsexual women. And I immediately signed up under a name that is a variation of my first name (OnyxRose is not my first name, but it is one of my names lol.) I had found a group of like-minded women. To say the board was a vicious way to enter womanhood would be an understatement. There were hardcore fights, and a lot of philosophy on the nature of being transsexual. There were trans men on the board too, but it was dominated by trans women. Even though I hate to stereotype, there were cat fights everyday, almost every hour. Like some petty bullshit, lol. Those were the days. Anyway, that group gave me an entryway to a way to live authentically. That board survives to this day (as a secret group and people are vetted hardcore) and to say the friendships I have made will last a lifetime is an understatement. We are bonded.
Anyway, in 2011, yours truly went to rehab. I was a big druggie, you know, anything to keep the trans bottled up. Then, I had a manic episode, and a lot of the drug use began to make sense. I was medicating the way I knew how, but it became an addiction. They ended up putting me in dual diagnosis group - addiction caused by bipolar disorder, but that is a story for another day. What happened next will blow your mind, because it sure as hell did mine!!
As part of rehab, we had individual therapy, group therapy, and family therapy. I loved group therapy. Individual therapy was okay. But family therapy - that was a doosie. Me and Egg are sitting in a room, and this motherfucker comes in and says, “Let’s talk about the transsexual thing.” FUCK!!! I looked at Egg, panicked. Egg screamed, “The what”???????? I was embarrassed an absolutely lived and scared, with all the emotions clattering and clanging in my mind. How do I get out of this? What can I do? Should I molly whop this fucker? I was sooooooo angry. Egg was so confused. The therapist looked at Egg, then me, clearly understanding the implications of what had just occurred. The look of horror and disgust on Egg’s face was enough to put me right back in the closet. I grew a pretty rad long goatee. I was THAT guy again. But inside, a war raged on. I was depressed, and my anxiety was through the roof. I was scared, and confused. Why did I feel this way? Was I dirty in some way, shape, or form? What made my brain think this? None of this mattered, because I shoved my true feelings down so deep. I was broken, but I had to be THAT guy again, so I got on with it. Not very well, apparently, because Egg started questioning our marriage, as I had feared, if my secret was revealed. For two-three years, she thought about divorcing me. One night, at the pub we would always go to, we had a heart to heart, where she said that she didn’t understand, but that she loved me anyway, and we could try to work this out together. Even though those were the words I wanted to hear, I wasn’t ready, and I went back into the closet. Me and Egg didn’t talk about it. My symptoms were getting worse. Mix in my bipolar disorder, and Crohn’s disease, which were both flaring, I learned about gender dysphoria. And it clicked. It all clicked. Still, I couldn’t make that leap out of the closet for good ugh!!
I was 37, so I made myself a promise. I would give myself five years to come out of the closet for good, or I would just kill myself, because I could not keep living like I was. Five years put me at age 42, and if you know anything about works of fiction, you know 42 is the number. Anyway, to make a longer story short, at the age of 42 , I started my transition, by coming out again to Egg, and this time for good. We had the hard, but great conversations. What people may not understand is that, if the partner intends to stay with the person transitioning, they, too, will undergo a transition of sorts. There is always some sort of grief, whether explicitly expressed or not.. Either way, Egg did her own work, and came out as queer to me. That is another story that hopefully will be made into a video (if I can convince the notoriously introverted Egg.)
I got my first gender therapist, a trans man, and after several sessions in 2015, started HRT in 2016. I have been transitioning on and off, rapidly, then slowly, ever since then. I have been completely out since then. I told my siblings, and got some kudos, but some hesitation too. I told my parents via a long letter. They were not happy, and as a result, we did not talk for a long time. Recently, things have gotten better. I am still constantly misgendered and deadnamed, which I have come to accept. Oh well, you win some, you lose some. But, my dad, on his 80th birthday, used my name for the first time since I came out. I saved the text lol.
I really tried to condense this narrative because I can go on for hours more about this very subject and the events that unfolded around it. I am stopping here because some of it is painful, and a lot of it I have written elsewhere,
That is my coming out story on this National Coming Out Day. I am proud to be who I am. I am clockable. I will be having FFS, but I may still be clockable. As long as my face has not been butchered, I will be happy. I am happy, but as always, I am looking for a little more. So, FFS, voice training and possibly surgery next year, continuing the painful process of electrolysis so I never have to shave again (yuck!! The worst thing is the fucking hair, and my bad skin if I shave every day.) I have had a lot of electro, and recently asked my electrologist about how long they think I have left, and she broke my heart when they said about a year and a half. I internally screamed, as an opossum would, and took the pain like the trans femme enby woman that I know I am. And that is all, folx. Come back to OnyxRose - A Trans Voice - to check on my updates on living a trans life in this fucking cruel world.
