Daya in Transition

States of dis(grace)...angry voices from the (possible) past...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Sun, 31 Jan 2010 16:02:00 +0000

I just received a comment posted to one of my "Across The Abyss" posts.

I decided when I started this blog to moderate posts, so I would have control over any spam or negative energy flowing my way. I guess I should probably just delete this comment and ignore it. But...I have decided to post this rant (edited a little for language) here. The writer of this anonymous message fascinates me. I will try to turn their words into a healing lesson.

"What a disgrace you are to the TG community everywhere. You are a f*#$%ng wanna-be c$%t, C$%T. I hope you treat others with love and grace because you are totally engrossed with yourself and don't know when you find the time to do so. Think about the people you have hurt in your past from your selfishness and the karma you are living now. During high school I knew you were a basketful. Now I know why. I hope your hormones (or lack of) don't implode on you. But I guess you will never see the harm and evil you have transferred to those around you."

It's signed "R". Just an "R". I'm not even sure that stray letter is supposed to represent a signature. I'm not going to comb through my high school yearbook trying to figure out who "R' is, so we'll just have to consider this an anonymous message.

Let's pull it apart:

"What a disgrace you are to the TG community everywhere."

The writer uses the term "TG community". Either they are part of that community themselves or they picked up the language.

When I was in high school I was told I was a disgrace to the gay community because I was too effeminate. Now I'm told I'm a disgrace to the TG community. Without specifics I can't begin to answer to this accusation. I admire all TG people...and I strive to be a good example and a teacher. Perhaps I'm going about it the wrong way. I know for sure I handled myself poorly on the ship when I was called "sir" by those waiters. That's regrettable, but all I can do is learn from it and not do that again.

"You are a f*#$%ng wanna-be c$%&, C$%&."

This next line already degenerates into name calling. That's sad, because it takes the power away from the first line. I guess it's true...I guess I am a bit of a "wanna-be", whatever that means. If I'm honest with myself I have never really found my groove, and I'm still on a quest for that. I'm not sure how NOT to be a wanna-be. Perhaps this "R" person could point me in the right direction. Can people never improve "R"? Was I doomed at birth in your humble opinion to forever be a terrible person?

"I hope you treat others with love and grace because you are totally engrossed with yourself and don't know when you find the time to do so."

Engrossed with myself? I guess that's true. I'm also engrossed with the Love of my Life Mark, my incredible parents, all our wonderful friends, all the inspiring women and men in Saturday dance class, my amazing electrologist (who is also a trans woman, has become a very good friend, and with whom I love spending those hours each week), my clever web clients, Sirius Satellite Radio (to which I listen every day, bringing me music, laughs and interesting personalities), movies, nutrition and exercise, cooking, television, theatre...

When I was performing, being engrossed in myself was a job responsibility. Now, I try to be more well-rounded. I know many people can become very one-note when they start gender transition. I recognized that possibility in me so I tried hard to retain balance. At the beginning of transition I was lucky in a very awful way. My dear sister was diagnosed with Leukemia. It was impossible for me to put my transition center stage. That became the template. I can't speak to any self-engrossing behavior back in high school. If you can fill me in, "R", I would appreciate the snapshot.

"Think about the people you have hurt in your past from your selfishness and the karma you are living now."

I believe in Karma...and I do think about it, I promise you that. If I don't know I hurt someone in the past how can I think about it? If you're not willing to tell me what I did to you, how can I atone in my heart? I take your words seriously. I do. And I will continue to move through the remainder of my life in a more loving way. We can all use more love, yes?

"During high school I knew you were a basketful. Now I know why."

I'm not sure if you and I really attended school together, of if you're just saying that for convenience to make a point. Either way, the term "basketful" is hilarious, and I'll use it myself sometime if you don't mind. I'm sure I was a basketful in high school, I can't even stand the thought of me MYSELF! If I am still like that it's not because I strive to be like that. I just don't know any other way to be in the world. I'm trying. Thankfully I'm surrounded by people who are a little more patient with me than you appear to be. I'm insanely lucky and grateful.

I spent the entire 12 years of school in terror, of others and of myself. I didn't know how to conduct myself, I was beat and mocked and ignored like so many others were and are. I remember at the beginning of high school, all I wanted was to be in the drama club, to be accepted. I was so shy that I sat in a corner and didn't speak to anyone. No one spoke to me. Later I was told that "everyone thought you were arrogant".

I never had the tools to be comfortable in the world. I'm still not quite there...but I'm getting closer.

There are many things I regret from my earlier life. There are many things I regret from my not-so-earlier life. I've made lots of mistakes...and maybe I've mishandled (consciously and unconsciously) the feelings of others. In fact, I'm sure of it.

I don't quite get the "Now I know why." part. Is this supposed to mean I'm a tool because I'm trans? Doesn't that mean "R" is bad for the TG community too?

"I hope your hormones (or lack of) don't implode on you."

I hope not too...!!! It's a delicate balance...but I have a great doctor and so far so good. I'm healthier than I've ever been. I'm connected to my body in a way I couldn't dream. So yes, I also hope nothing goes wrong!

"But I guess you will never see the harm and evil you have transferred to those around you."

Unfortunately, without your help "R" I feel you're right about this. But I will tell you, I WANT to know. I want to know about and accept it without ego and try to atone for any pain I might have caused. I don't think I did any of it on purpose. If you can bring yourself to give me more details I would be sincerely grateful. If you ever want to really reach out and let me know what I did to you to hurt you so badly, I will accept your thoughts with love and understanding. I can't take it back without a time machine, but I can apologize. And most importantly I can learn.

I am humbled by your message even though I don't agree with your methods. You must feel passionately or you would not have taken the time to write. I will attempt to be more selfless in my life...a good goal for which all of us should constantly strive. It will be hard to not appear self-centered here on this blog since this forum is, in its rawest form, about me. So don't expect any changes here. But I will take your reminder and apply it in my dealings with the world.

In a weird way, a message like yours is a gift. It's all in how we take it. And even though it's wrapped in pain and strong language, I take it with love. Thank you...

Impressions of the trip...from Mark...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Fri, 29 Jan 2010 14:48:00 +0000

Mark wrote a very succinct and funny note to a friend describing our trip in a nutshell, so I thought I would post it here:

Cruise Decent - not spectacular. Food was white bread, fiberless and average unless you paid another up charge (and very few vegetarian choices). A couple waiters calling Daya 'Sir' and all of that. I wrote a complaint about the dining service and it took someone 40 hours to get back to me. The "smoking room" (in the ship’s main atrium) had a single small ionizer to scrub the air and that was broken the first three days so an invisible cloud would hit us sitting in Crooners Bar and we'd have to leave. We never even considered the on-board casino due to smoke. Every drink and service had a 15% Gratuity automatically tacked on and if I left something extra, I later found the entire price of the drink with the extra gratuity charged again. They were also very anxious to convince us that our livers (ship wide) needed detoxing - snake oil. If they really wanted to help us, they wouldn't try to sell us a mai tai when we were clearly finishing our wine and daiquiris, one in each hand. A slippery up-charge slope but we were a captive audience and their only business.

Other things they tried to sell you - I mentioned the detox, which went with an ab strengthening lecture that slid seamlessly into up-selling the on-board spa and acupuncture sessions; a wide variety of mostly horrible art (we found one piece of the Statue of Liberty we liked, more to be kind than anything); Swarovski crystal jewelry; a ton of colognes in a very smelly shop off the atrium; purse knock-offs and lladros; t-shirts and Hawaiian prints next to Princess line cookies; a jewelry shop that featured fire opals with a too chatty clerk; emeralds and diamonds were best bought offshore in Jamaica (or so they told us); and they never stopped taking pictures to sell you. Conga lines, formal nights - there is a hilarious photo of Daya and I as we were embarking that we still laugh about. Three photographers even got off the boat at a Panama lock and shot video and stills up at the suite balconies, filled with passengers watching the sides of a 106' wide ship go through a 110' slot. It took a lot of restraint not to flip them off or flash them, but they'd publish those photos, I'm sure.

We were amazed that shipboard printing was filled with grammar and spelling errors. Maybe Daya can download the detox flyer that was left on our beds at some point. A lecture by Dr. Dean (and I should put Dr. in parenthesis) used a PowerPoint that was so full of errors, even strangers were seething that they felt they were being talked down to or worse, that no one cared to check the simplest of spelling problems.

Island Princess was of the Love Boat line, and entertainment there was a cruise line cliché - cheesy, flat and completely unnecessary. It could have been right off the Love Boat series (which aired two or three different episodes each day in our cabins). Some people must like stage shows that way - not Daya and I. We each picked out a dancer or two from the chorus and one singer from all of them, but the crowds applauded and cheered. Perhaps ten percent of the total civvy population was under 50, and they were, for the most part, shell-shocked, like an oil painting. The winky-pointy cruise director, Frank, would schedule things like trivia or LGBT get togethers and we'd show up with no staff member attending. Another contestant and I mocked him when I was waiting for my on video karaoke interview by pointing and winking at the camera behind the host. The cruise staff was mostly on auto pilot, although I managed to have a real word with several just once.

A few decent atrium pianists balanced the nasal British Crooners Bar performer who pounded the keys so hard, he broke three strings in his desperation to entertain. He was much nicer in person, quietly playing scrabble in the corner with his NY girlfriend. The other singer, Jean Mac, an older East Indian woman, played in a trio from The Great American Songbook with her husband George on piano and a bald bassist that would stare at you while he played; they were talented but were on breaks more often than not. She knew songs I would request, trilling and cooing the first line to prove I couldn't surprise her but wouldn't sing any but “Embraceable You” for Daya and “How Deep Is The Ocean” for me. She loved to chat with us during breaks and we know most of her back-story now by rote.

Daya's room was near a consistent smoker and located 50 yards or so from mine. My stateroom had a water reclamation station right behind my headboard wall which was active any time we weren't docked. One of the ship de-stabilizers thrummed along on another, rattling a Holiday Inn lobby quality landscape print as it passed back and forth. In addition, it was adjacent to an inner crew corridor so I would hear drills or announcements and dash into the hallway, realizing too late it was for crew. Needless to say, we won't be using a third party travel agent in Michigan again:>

Another cruise...hmmmm...would need to be with a group of people we liked and could do things with, perhaps on a charter that was focused on unusual food. Roger Ebert used to do a cruise that showed movies and they were discussed afterward, often reflecting where the ship had been. If it was a French cruise, they'd look at select Goddard films, if Italy, Fellini, etc. THAT sounded like a blast but now Roger can't even talk - he does all of his reviews via written word. The two guys who finally took over At the Movies got his blessing and we watch them weekly now.

On the brighter side, Daya exercised and maintained 90% of her weight loss. I'm not as heavy as I thought I was but am back watching what I eat as well. Fruit could be requested for rooms at no charge so we got kiwis, bananas, oranges, apples, pears and would secret the occasional cookie from the buffet. I did get myself into a karaoke contest and came in second place (one of the contestants brought 40 fellow Canadians in to tip the voting) on the last night. It was really nice to sing on a stage again. The crew was international and the best waiters were Romanian, the best staff member was Bryan, a blond Canadian, and the rest blended into the night. I'm sure shipload after shipload of people trying to recharge must be draining to serve.

The pastor and his wife, Dave and Linnea, who traveled with us, were a delight - they ate with us a few times featuring interesting conversation and laughs each occasion. We all weathered the huge waves with Uno and Hearts in the game room. Dave's a Harvard graduate who has written a book and only broached the 'preachy' side once when addressing mortgage primes and real estate blah de blah. His wife is a pistol that liked to laugh and Daya and I loved her. Good sports, both of them, and they were excellent traveling companions. Both Dave and Harvey came down with something in Acapulco that hit poor Harv several days longer. That's when we learned the on-board drugstore carried nothing. You had to call the shipboard doctor for Advil or an anti-diarrheal, which was $80 plus cost for medicine AND you got quarantined 24 hours in your ship cabin. The Doctor remarked that every time they docked at Acapulco, 15 to 30 cases of Montezuma's Revenge were guaranteed but out of Florida, nothing.

We had two serious storms while at sea, one of which had 70 knot winds and we later found was a category 11 gale, so two ports wouldn't even let us dock! At one point, Daya and I sat on two lounge chairs, just inside of some serious ocean spray and everyone who stepped outside for air smiled at us and understood our sea discomfort. One chatty man filled us in on his life as an engineer in South Dakota, Minnesota and Michigan backwaters - he only left when we decided we could stand no more, nice and deathly boring as he was.

The seriously polluted port at Guatemala created a fiery red sunset, but our excursion there was canceled due to "lack of interest"; The Scarlet Macaw sanctuary in Costa Rica was spectacular, both its people and entertainment; Panama Canal was interesting (although the best thing about the port of call was the cheap beer and sunset:>) but we hit the jackpot with Jamaica, which had just finished a run of 12 days straight with rain. We rode the Jamaican bobsled three times and had our breath taken away by the canopy ski lift! Daya and I were really giggly there, more than anywhere else, and Harv & Carole were all smiles. We managed to get to the Disney park in time to do Animal Kingdom and then woke up to do the Hollywood studios the next day so. We all did the Expedition Everest roly coaster (poor Harv at 72yrs gritting his teeth), the safari ride, Tower of Terror (Daya screamed, I held my breath), Aerosmith Rockin' Roller Coaster (a quick spaghetti bowl dark ride), Toy Story game in 3D (SO much fun with Daya being high score and me most accurate), the American Idol experience and a few others before we drove to Tampa to visit Harvey's Sister(Daya's Aunt), Pat, and her wily husband CJ. Their kids came and went in a blur and Pat cooked up two dinner meals, each featuring meat and dairy (sigh). We visited the Keel & Curley winery (blueberry and strawberry wines are their specialty and I ordered a mixed case!) & continued our pattern of binge drinking. Evidently the Key lime wine, freeze mix and a little tequila will create something special!! I admire Joe Keel for the hard work it takes to create and run something like that.

I was able to sneak off and visit a few nearby antique stores on my own and that was nice. Picked up 4 different sized purple amethyst glass bottles for Daya, a few 45s to slake my thirst, two Comics Illustrated with suggestive covers and a handsome Italian desk set, all shipped home in its own box with some spare shoes - that helped the luggage stay under airline weight restrictions. Finally, we got everyone dropped off at the airport and in our planes for the bumpy ride home. Except it wasn't - a few bumps in and out of Houston but with all of the nationwide storms, we were amazingly lucky. Continental had satellite TV on the back of every headrest so we paid up and watched two movies (Cloudy with a chance of Meatballs and All About Steve), half a Biography and were home! Did some food shopping that night and fell into our apartment with sighs of relief:>

Did four giant loads of laundry & all of the shopping on Saturday - caught up on backlogged TiVo shows and saw Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus Sunday. Two weeks later, we're back at work. I think it's nice that it's stormy here - kind of completes the changes that we were looking forward to:>

I think it was put together well as a whole - we had trouble navigating the Mexico City airport, touched in Acapulco, endured rough seas and cruise ship woes that we either got used to or the trip got better the more we could get off the damn boat, then hit pay-dirt with Jamaica, enjoyed Disney and a van ride to Tampa, really enjoyed the winery and wound up happy to hit Terra firma.

Pronouns, customer service and unwelcome reminders...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 17:54:00 +0000

Mark and I both find ourselves crazy busy again already.

I really intend...intended...to write long and detailed trip reports of our journey...but I find that hard to do right now. Not enough time to tackle the whole trip at once.

So...in an effort to not let it all fall by the wayside, I will post thoughts as they strike me.

One of the issues I was most curious/concerned about before the trip was how I would be perceived by a range of people from other states and countries. I needn't have worried. For the most part people were supremely polite and respectful. I was gawked at a few times, but I learned to play chicken and if I started back long enough it put an end to the intrusion.

I had only two instances of discomfort...both in the dining room on the ship...both at lunch...and both with different waiters (both from Latin countries).

Situation 1:

I ordered lunch...and the waiter said "thank you sir".

I was wearing a tight t-shirt...full makeup...dangling earrings...hair up...

I used a line I've always wanted to use.

"What, are my boobs not big enough?"

That's all he needed. He was sufficiently sorry...apologized...and corrected himself.

It was empowering. And I immediately felt my anxiety diffuse and disappear.

Situation 2:

Same dining room. Same meal time a few days later. Different waiter.

After ordering our server referred, for some reason I can't remember, to my mother and myself. When he pointed at my mom he said "she" and when he indicated me he said "he".

I pointed to myself and said "she"

He said "no"

I said "yes"

He said "whatever"

I said "No, not 'whatever'. This is my life."

He walked away with a look of confusion.

It's possible we had a misunderstanding based on the language barrier...but I don't think so.

Again, I didn't hang on to the event. I think I learned that saying what's on my mind is sometimes OK. Imagine.

I related the story of these interactions to a friend yesterday. She chastised me for my reactions. She commented that I may not realize that some people don't see me as a woman.

I'm not sure exactly what she intended to say (and I don't think she meant to hurt my feelings). I don't agree with her insinuation that I should simply accept incorrect pronouns because I may not match an individual's template for femininity.

I believe that a person in a customer service position has a responsibility to use their eyes and judgment. If a person is not sure of my gender, it's best to use NO pronouns or titles. They should certainly recognize cues. And, in those cases where a person simply doesn't handle it correctly, I feel it's my duty to myself and other trans people to let them know. The WAY I let them know is my business and my privilege, and if I feel later I went too far, that's for me deal with.

I am the first person to feel insecurity about my gender presentation. It's depressing for a friend to suggest I should remain dubious about it. Much of my transition up to this point has relied on feedback from people around me. At this point in my life, that's much less important. The reaction I get from most people is that I look natural in my current presentation. The conversation yesterday felt like an old school slap to be reminded of my genetic heritage.

Ah well...

I press on...and I know in my core who and what I am. If nothing else, the experience of existing in so many different parts of the world as my current self has helped me feel settled in a way I didn't expect.

While not dangerously blazing and out of control, I walked through some milder form of fire...and I'm stronger on the other side.

Somtimes an hour is only an hour...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Sat, 23 Jan 2010 15:06:00 +0000

Our 1 hour delay at Houston was only an hour...and we headed back to SFO.

The plane even had DirecTV on-board...so the 4+ hours flew by. We got our luggage and truck with no problems...did some grocery shopping and came home to eat and collapse.

The only surprise was the cold. Oh...my...

I did not expect the bone-chilling cold.

I wonder how long it will take to get used to it again.

Almost...almost...DOH!...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Fri, 22 Jan 2010 20:32:00 +0000

I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor at the Houston airport. There are no seats near the only outlet and I'm trying to recharge my laptop before getting on the final leg of our trip.

And of course, the weather waits until now to pour rain in SF...

And of course our flight is already 1 hour late....due to that damn rain. We're supposed to leave at 1:35pm (about an hour from now)...but I'm worried.

The trip was EPIC.

I'm fat...and exhausted...and I'm really looking forward to being home. I hope this glitch in the very last step doesn't put a pall over the proceedings.

I'm very uncomfortable. My back hurts sitting here...so I'll post again as soon as I can put some thoughts together.

And we're off...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 21:44:00 +0000

Tomorrow morning...at dark-o-clock...Mark and I head for San Francisco International. We board a plane to Mexico and get on the Island Princess for a 10-day journey to points in Central America and the Panama Canal.

I'm excited, obviously...although I don't travel well. I'll be happy when we finally open the door to our stateroom.

Your browser does not accept inline frames. To view this content select Bon Voyage Bugs Bunny
I have no idea what to expect from the trip. I hope to have pics and video when we return.

I will not have Internet access on the ship, which I think will represent the largest block of time without access for me since...well...um...maybe 1995...!! I've got a couple good books and I'll have my laptop for writing.

Trip reports to come!!

Hungover New Year...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 17:17:00 +0000

I've become such a lightweight. A couple glasses of wine and some cookies and I feel toxic for 2 days.

We attended a small party last night. Loads of fun.

There was a consensus that 2009 was a bad year for most people. I found my experience in stark contrast. Last year was a very important and transformative time for me. Money woes aside, I wouldn't trade 2009 for anything!!

I'm floating into 2010 with a very hopeful spirit...

Across the Abyss #5...Spinnin' right round, like a record, baby, right round round round...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 22:58:00 +0000

As 1989 ended things were plodding and swinging same as always. Even though 1990 started with a "seems like old times feeling", it would end in ways I wished for and feared at the same time.

This part of the journal is hard to get through. Lots of wheel-spinning. Not much movement. But a couple key moments.

By this time my journal entries become less frequent....or at least less consistent. I believe I was probably at the point in my cycle where I chose once again to "move on" from the trans thing. The last post of 1989 seems to suggest this, but also leaves a door ajar:

Wednesday December 20, 1989
5:10pm

The Roberta Thing hasn't come back. I still have a strong desire to dress up, though. I don't know...

Until 3 years ago I always had a talent for missing what was right in front of me. I "still had a strong desire to dress up", but I somehow put that in a separate category, unconnected with the main trans issue. In general, the angst level of this post is low. Whenever I wasn't tormented I thought I was ok. I ran at two speeds...two extremes...with no real gray areas in between.

Monday April 23rd, 1990
1:20am

Went to Crissy Field to celebrate Earth Day. We saw The English Beat perform.

Most everything that has happened before 1/1/90 feels like a past life. At the very least, it's like a dream.

Can't write anymore. Too mind-boggling.

When I wasn't obsessed with my gender identity confusion, I tended to distance myself from myself. I even claim I can't put any thoughts together. If I tried I might open that Pandora's Box again.

Thursday August 23rd, 1990
5:09pm

Gosh! What do I say? It's been way too long.

I'm now living on Page Street. Gordie is my absent roommate. He spends all of his time at his boyfriend's place.

I have this 3-song record but I'm not getting anywhere with it.

I'm not surprised I had abandoned the journal during this time. Between producing and recording the vinyl record...and moving...I had no time for hand wringing. Keeping busy always buffered me from Roberta.

I went to L.A. and fell in love with a guy named Nick. It's just the Tom thing all over again.

Of course my search for love...or sex...or whatever the hell it was I thought I needed...led to yet another mildly humiliating experience. This time, at least, the object of my affection was gay...and for some reason he liked me. But Roberta was too near...and while I was powerfully attracted to him, once I traveled to his home I froze like Cindy Brady on that TV quiz show. It was a failure...but I misread my feelings as infatuation. I came back to San Francisco after a weekend in L.A. and I wrote a song "for him". The fact is, I had the music kicking around for years...and the angst of my interaction with him pushed me to finally create a song out of those musical ideas.

I only have a bad recording from my 4-track, recorded in my apartment.

I sent Nick a cassette of the song. He was polite. And that was that.

I'm actually too depressed to do this right now. Sorry.I'll try again someday.

Sunday September 23rd, 1990
1:00am

The Roberta thing has come on quite differently this time. It all started right after I came back from L.A. I was pretty out of my mind about Nick. I thought I was in love with him. I was depressed about it but it didn't paralyze me.

Every day I'm changing, growing. The main problem is no new problem at all. It's the same as always:

- I'm too fat
- My face is not feminine enough to pull it off
- I should be talking to a therapist

In general, I am very happy these days. I am finally FINALLY going beyond the wall to see where my destiny lies.

Apparently that failed interaction with Nick was enough to push me to a new place. Even though I start out saying there's nothing new I immediately proclaim I'm actually making progress.

I've got major support from Dawn, Teresa and Janet. They know I'm thinking of the change-over.

I notice the term "change-over" starting to appear. I guess I had not heard of or become comfortable with the term "transition".

They are so calm, helpful and nonchalant about it that it works on me as a calming influence.

I still get skittish and depressed about it but now the turmoil is not nearly so intense and it lasts only a fraction of what it used to.

I'm not saying anymore that a gender reassignment is the ONLY answer for me. I'm taking it one step at a time, getting as much enjoyment as I can from each step and not putting unreasonable demands on myself.

I'm finally starting to accept myself and BOY is it great!

I seem to be healing in leaps and bounds. It sounds great. Unfortunately I know there are more storms to come. I wonder why I could never hold on to solid feelings of self worth.

Friday September 28th, 1990
12:20am

Earlier I had twinges of feeling foolish for wanting a sex change. Feeling fat and unattractive doesn't help much either.

Now? Oh shit, I don't know. You know what I'm doing? Just what I said I wouldn't. I'm at that point I always reach just before I say forget it and repress it again.

I've done a lot of big talking about going beyond the wall but I'm finding myself once again too chickenshit to call a therapist. I have to make that effort.

Why can't I just say "screw that" and worry about what I find important, what I believe in? Why the ongoing paranoia? There are plenty of transsexuals in the world. Why do I think that other people are not supposed to see me as that? I wasn't pressured to "be a man" as a child. I was allowed to cry allowed to discover my "homosexual" self. If this paranoia doesn't come out of my upbringing where is it created? Am I afraid of the truth? Or am I afraid of my fantasy self taking too much control, lest she force me into something that just shouldn't be?

I'm stumped!

...and that's the exact place this cycle always, always, always takes me!

Tuesday October 2nd, 1990
10:16pm

I talked to Petyr about The Roberta Thing today. I didn't realize until then how worried I was about what his reaction would be. It felt a little off...uncomfortable...embarrassing, but I was honest and open about my ideas and desires.

I don't get what's going on. I feel that strong "forget it" state of mind that ends each TS cycle. Is it really ending again? If it's really ending again, what the hell has been all this work for?

I used to become distressed when my obsessive interest in my trans feelings would wane. It seems I felt that if it wasn't all-consuming, then it wasn't true. I was quite a little drama queen, which would be amusing if it hadn't been so self-destructive.

Friday October 5th, 1990
5:37pm

I'm starting to feel so shitty and depressed. Is it the beer? The cigarettes? My eating habits?

...or am I just a freak?

My whole life had been a struggle to curb hedonistic habits. I smoked (which I always loathed), I ate more than I needed...and I imbibed more than I should have in alcohol. I blamed my Irish heritage for the last one, but that became not so cute in later years. At the moment I write this, I am free from the prison I created for myself. I quit smoking, FINALLY, 13 years ago...and recently I've somehow found the strength to help myself break the food and drink cycles that stumped me for so long.

6:14pm

Why is it that I feel I've lost control? I felt so in control for the first 6 months of this year.

6:32pm

I'm so scared at this point in the cycle. I was just reading some of this journal from a year and 1/2 ago. Even though I feel over it now, it will come back strong again. The only possible answer is, YES it will! So it's very VERY important that I don't push it all away this time. I can't just give it up because I'll be back at square one when it starts again. I can't live the rest of my fucking life at square one.

And besides...what would be so bad about living the 2nd half of my life as the other gender? Who the hell is going to really care?

I really have to see a therapist!

Wow...there it is. This is a concept that carried through with me and is still present today. "What would be so bad about living the 2nd half of my life as the other gender?" That says it all. What's odd about this to me now is that I was only 28 years old. I wasn't yet at an age that anyone would normally call "halfway". But I am that age now.

It's almost as if I knew even then that I WOULD transition...but I needed to wait. And maybe in the end, the waiting was the frustration. When I think of all the life I would not have had if I had transitioned in my twenties I shudder. Especially in the last 8 years, the experience I've had made me strong enough and confident enough to be the kind of person I want to be. If I hadn't had these experiences I think I might have made a mess of things.

Tuesday October 9th, 1990
7:29pm

My emotional life is quickly sinking into a murky blackness that I am at a loss to explain.

The TS cycle has completed. At this point I can't imagine ever feeling positive about it again.

I hate living alone. I am so bored and lonely on days like this.

TV, food, cigarettes...on & on & on & on & on & on & on...

Thursday October 25th, 1990
6:40pm

I still haven't called a therapist, but I HAVE written ETVC for current info and I found out my insurance would cover $25 a week for therapy. That would help anyway.

My life is proof, therefore I am frustrated and depressed because I am not living up to myself, my capabilities. I must be able to look at life, my life, squarely and say "I welcome you. I love you."

It's MY life! It's ME!

But...

As superficial as it may be, the physical reality of my world is a wall that I constantly attempt to scale. The wall seems endlessly impenetrable.

I imagine these are feelings common to many trans people. For my 28 year-old self it felt revelatory. At least I finally started the information-gathering process. This is the sign of things to come. And even now it makes me sigh with relief.

Saturday November 3rd, 1990
12:13am

Just 2 things...

- The ONLY way I'm going to get over this weight thing is through exercise.

and

- The ONLY way I'm going to get over this TS thing is through therapy.

...There's the facts. If I choose to continue ignoring these things I'm going to go crazy and/or die!

The choice is mine...

THE RESPONSIBILITY IS MINE!!!!

Fucking CHOOSE, David!

1:04am

I'm so confused...

If all I am is a transvestite, how can that possibly relate to a relationship with a gay man?

If I AM actually transsexual, how could I ever hope for a relationship with a man?

I look at myself in the mirror and I hate what I see. Is that because I don't like seeing a man, or I don't like seeing ME?

This just goes around and around.

Right round, baby, right round, like a record, baby, right round round round.

All I can feel when I read this is that I'm so RELIEVED to be the me I am today!!! I wish I could reach back to 28 year-old David and say:

You WILL quit smoking...
You WILL lose weight...
You ARE a transsexual...
And you finally LOVE yourself.

Next installment: The holiday season holds a welcome gift.

Baby Jesus please pass the beef...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 13:47:00 +0000

This evening we're headed out to a Dickensian Xmas Eve dinner at House Of Prime Rib in San Francisco.

As a vegetarian I will not be eating chunks of rare beef...but I do look forward to a huge baked potato, possibly with the sinful addition of sour cream and other fixin's. The baby Jesus is happiest, I hear, when we're stuffed to the gills.

Done...and done...!!

Across The Abyss #4...Fear and (Self) Loathing in San Francisco...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 22:16:00 +0000

I suppose I should circle back and try to encapsulate the content of the first journal. This was my original intent, to analyze these diaries in chronological order. But the scope of that first book was so narrow I now think perhaps a few sentences will suffice.

I was 24 years old. I was naive...and immature and very insecure (a theme that would continue with gusto until about 8 years ago). Most of that first tome was dedicated to just two primary issues:

My weight: Up and down
The boys with whom I was infatuated

The entirety of my self-worth seemed to rely all too heavily on these two issues...especially the second one.

It is certainly a challenge for me to read that first diary. It's a time machine back to a place where I was making silly mistakes and drawing very broad assumptions about life. It's a challenge to remember...but it doesn't hurt a lot. Little did I know, the big blow was just around the corner...in journal #2...soon after the move to San Francisco.

Once I took the lid off the trans thing...set that monster loose...it threatened to tear me limb from limb.

This is the mindspace I'm about to enter.

At the time, a cliché horror film sign saying "Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here" would hang precariously on a rusted gate. My decision to ignore that sign could be my undoing. Despite this I dove headlong into the depths.

Looking at it from here I'm safe.
With my current spirit, I can handle it.

Embarrassment will not kill me. Let's see if it makes me stronger.

Please be aware that the language gets a little harsh from here on. I've decided to not censor my younger self. My commentary will be in pink.

Sunday November 6th, 1988
Afternoon

The Roberta Thing is on me heavy. I don't understand. I've talked about it with so many friends. The usual response is "stay the way you are". So what's the alternative? Being a transvestite? I would rather be real.

I know I need help but I'm too scared to get it. I've been at this point so many times now. It never amounts to anything but embarrassment after the fact.

Would just being a woman be enough? Could I live without romantic involvement? Because, let's face it, I wouldn't be very attractive and I have to be honest. A lot of men (99.999%) would not be able to deal with that kind of truth.

What would happen to friends & family? The people closest could deal with it. The satellite friends would freak, I guess, and then I would freak.

Could I afford it?

What kind of work could I do? People might not react to me very positively. I will look either ugly (and ugly people aren't treated as well as good looking people) or people would suspect me immediately of being transsexual.

But I'm caught in the middle of it again and I want so badly to be a woman.

I always have.

And I guess I always will...

So shouldn't I do something about it?

Yes I should seek therapy.

It's a circle that keeps happening. I'm sick of traumatizing over it but I don't know how to stop it.

Is it a sin against nature?
Is it a sin against Karma?

I had started studying New Age thought in the early 80s. I did then and still do believe in Karma. I also believed then in reincarnation (I don’t have a strong feeling about it one way or another anymore).

My theory back then about why transsexuality might be wrong was this: If I purposefully reincarnated into this body, there must be something I need to learn on a soul level. If I change my gender I may be thwarting that growth. To “give in” to the desire to live as a woman might cheat my spirit out of the opportunity to learn some important lessons.

I don’t feel that anymore. Instead I actually feel like I have the opportunity to learn the kinds of lessons that most people will never experience.

I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know.

But I want it.
I want it so bad.
I want to do it, and live it.
I want to be who I am and fuck everyone else.
I want to be the woman that I know I can be.

Doesn't anyone out there know what I mean? I'm sure you people exist but how do I find you?

Can someone please show me the way?

I always felt so alone. I’m glad that with the advent of the Internet, young people do not have to feel this kind of alienation anymore.

Tuesday November 8th, 1988
9:50am

Talked to Dawn last night about The Roberta Thing. It’s still playing heavily on my mind. I know I have to find some therapy but I’m procrastinating. Could it be that I talk about it just to get attention? If not then why haven’t I gotten any help?

Embarrassing?

Was Wendy Carlos embarrassed?

If this is truly what I want wouldn’t I search intensely until I found it? What’s stopping me?

Back to the beginning of the loop:
These questions will only be answered in therapy. So what am I waiting for? Do I fear the answers? Do I fear they’ll make my pronouncements false? I don’t fucking know!!!

I’m really down today.

Wednesday November 9th, 1988
2:00pm

Still really freaking out.

Talked to Ed last night. Made me feel better…then.

More questions:

Would it look like a real vagina?
What would sex feel like?
How much does all this cost?
How long does it take for hormones to start noticeably affecting you?
Would electrolysis be necessary? If so, on my entire body?

Sunday November 13th, 1988
1:40pm

Boring, rainy day.

Still depressed about Roberta.

For the first time in a long time thoughts of suicide are entering my mind.

Attention-getter?
True chemical depression?
Here I am again!! Fat & unhappy. And it’s no one’s damn fault but my own…

Monday November 14th, 1988
9:00am

Hard night last night. Hard day.

I spent some time in a fetal position, crying. Everyone (Janet, Gordie, Dawn) ignored me. I decided that since I can’t really kill the body, I would kill David. I resolved to let everyone know I don’t want to be called David anymore.

I have to get to know who “Dallon” is. I do know this about him: He’s brave and confident. He’s in great shape and healthy. And most of all, he doesn’t take shit from no one.

Dallon has to protect David. David is too sensitive to survive in this world. He should back off and let Dallon take over.

Goodbye David.

Stick around quietly if you’d like. Dallon’s going to take a lot of heat but he can handle it.

This is really hard stuff to read and to share. I’m obviously terribly upset and I don’t think I mean much of this. I go from saying I will kill David...to saying I need to protect him. Crazy.

There are many pages following this passage that become even weirder. I just can’t write it all out here, and I don’t think that’s the point of it anyway.

I’m stunned by the idea that I felt transgender, desiring a change of name and outlook about myself. But because of fear I blocked myself...and it looks like the construct of "Dallon" was some kind of odd compromise. One way or another I couldn’t be David...but since my real heart’s desire seemed out of reach, I gravitated toward some other drama in which I was truly a separate personality.

I should say that "Dallon" lasted about 48 hours. He was false. He was the one that couldn’t survive. And I hurt my friends along the way, especially Janet. Here's how it went:

12:32am

I went to the 9th Inning Tavern. Played pool. Drank. It was fun.

I was confronted about the change by Janet:

Dallon "I don’t know what you want me to say."
Janet: "I guess I’m doing something I never do, which is confront you."

David was screaming "Oh Yeah? Where were you last night?!?"

I need to say here that I’m mortified about my selfishness. Janet was an angel in my life.

When I first moved to California I was incapable of taking care of myself financially. I had never developed the tools. I could have easily fallen through the cracks. Janet supported me and protected me.

It’s hard to see how ungrateful I was just a short year or so later.

She says she guesses Dallon is just going to be a cold and callous person because when I got home she was crying on the porch about the fact that her parent’s dog and cat were put to sleep. She demanded an explanation that “her friend” did nothing more than say “oh” when she told him about it.

Mortified mortified mortified.

Janet never asked anything of me. She gave and gave and then gave some more. She finally needed something from me and I failed.

But I’ll say this: Janet having the strength to confront me that night seems to have made an impact. I continued however to alienate my housemates for the next 2 days.

Wednesday November 16th, 1988
Sometime after work

I’m truly a psychopath!

I just got home from work and no one is home. The house (& gate) is locked up and I don’t have my keys. So here I sit on the steps.

I really don’t understand relationships at all. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel right now. It’s my fault for not bringing my keys and why should I expect anyone to let me know anything with the way I’ve been acting?

Why can’t I just accept things? What is it about me that makes me react the way I do? Why does this have to happen to me? Why?

In the safe hindsight of today, I can see clearly that my anxiety was about my trans feelings. That “Why God? Why me?!” attitude permeated the first 40 or so years of my life.

Saturday December 10th, 1988
8:00pm

Here I am again, feeling enormous and out of control!

All in all I’m doing ok emotionally.

It’s almost as if I believe being so manic depressive is a legitimate way to live.

Wednesday January 11th, 1989
11:18pm

The Roberta Thing is on me again. I saw a transsexual on “2 @ Noon” on Monday and the old juices got flowing again. It’s a little more complicated now because I’m dating John. Gordie told me tonight that he sees me as the “masculine” one in the relationship. Oy vay! I’m really confused!!

I’m existing day to day with no real plan in mind.

John was yet one more failed attempt at intimacy. I always ended up feeling like I couldn’t deliver as a man.

Thursday January 12th, 1989
11:08pm

I try, I try, I try...

I try to convince myself it's stupid.

But it all boils down to the same thing, again and again.

GODDAMN! Why do I have to deal with this torment?

Sunday April 23rd, 1989
1:00pm

There was this fucking article in the paper today about someone going through a sex change. I'm not even gonna start. I can’t! STOP IT!

Of course instead of ignoring it I wrote about it. Thoughts of my theoretical feminine self were never out of mind…never far from the surface, although I became adept at pretending so sometimes.

Thursday May 4th, 1989
10:00am

It’s back on top of me, fucking with me again.

Alex Bennett had TVs & TSs on; Christine Jorgenson died yesterday. She had said "Follow my example." The TS on Bennett said "Do it young."

I know it is what I need, what I have to do. I've always known. I'm just so embarrassed. Money aside, I just can't see myself waltzing into Penney’s to pick up a bra.

The clothing issue had always been a sticking point. My deep belief that I was transgender was about my body, not clothing, and I wrongly assumed the two were connected and often let that block me.

They gave a PO Box to ETVC, which can connect me to the people I need to see. But I can’t afford it! That shouldn’t stop me, though.

Oh my GOD, is it really going to happen?

Friday May 5th, 1989
5:00pm

Well I woke this morning thinking "Oh god, how stupid of me! It’s so ridiculous! What a joke of a goal to have in life. Forget it. It’s so stupid!"

And, as always, as the day progressed, I became more and more sure that’s it’s exactly what has to happen.

This is such a stupid thing, not being happy with my gender. God! Why do I have to deal with this?

I have to get some help.

6:55pm

It’s ridiculous!

How could I possibly think for a microsecond that I could pull it off?

Note that under 2 hours had gone by between pronouncing it my destiny and rebuking it forever once again.

I’m exhausted just reading this!!

Saturday May 6th, 1989
2:15pm

I sent a request to ETVC for information today. I hope they respond. I’ve got to be strong, and not be afraid to make the call once I know who to call.

I’m so embarrassed.

It’s soooo weird that this keeps happening to me. It just PISSES ME OFF!!

3:33pm

It seems no matter what I do, how I act, what situation I’m in, what decisions I make, what my weight is, what length of hair I have, what amount of drugs are in me, what my prospects are, what friends I have, how much money I have, how lazy or devoted I am, what I’m eating, what the weather is like…

...I just can't get beyond it.

Sometimes it seems the only alternative is no alternative.

I don’t want to be fat
I don’t want to be unhealthy
I don’t want to be smoking
I don’t want to be irresponsible
I don’t want to be obnoxious
I don’t want to be horny
I don’t want to be unappreciated
I don’t want to be lazy
I don’t want to be hairy
I don’t want to have a penis

And most of all, I don't want to feel this way.

I'm tired...of dealing with this...

Sunday May 7th, 1989
9:14am

Yeah, it’s still on me.
Yeah, I’m still confused.
Yeah, I’m still smoking.
Yeah, I’m still lazy.
Yeah, I’m still hairy.
Yeah, I’m still obnoxious.
Yeah, I still want to be a woman!

8:21pm

Really drunk.

I cut off my nails a couple hours ago. I was going to write:

"I give up..."

But now I don’t know...

NOW...

Why am I such a freak?
Why do I have to be so different?

I just want to fit in!

All I keep doing is ignoring it, putting it on the back burner, because there’s no place in my life for this kind of drama.

But...where does it go?

Where does it end...?...

Saturday May 13th, 1989
4:00pm

Back & forth / back & forth…

4:59pm

I’m still depressed about Roberta and I haven’t heard anything from ETVC. Damn it! Why won’t anyone HELP ME?

I need therapy –
I want therapy –
I’m afraid of therapy –

Why couldn’t I have just been born a girl? Would things REALLY have been ok?

Sunday July 16th, 1989
4:12pm

Just finished Bodyshock.

I don’t know what to think.

On one hand I feel more educated as to the reality. One the other I feel it’s a lost cause.

I feel somewhat cleansed after reading the book. I honestly don’t think my friends would react adversely to me during or after change-over.

I think the term that helped me was "male-to-constructed-female". It’s an honest term that seems to take the pressure off.

Interesting. The first real information and it immediately seems to calm me.

Monday July 24th, 1989
4:42pm

I don’t know what's happening. Saturday night I feel so confident. Then Sunday I had done a complete about face. Now again today I realize it has to be. Then tomorrow I’ll probably change my mind again. Oy vay oy vay OY VAY!!

Oy vay is RIGHT!!

And finally:

Sunday September 10th, 1989
1:35am

OK! Here it is...

I’m completely over the sex change thing and I think it’s possibly forever.

No information about why. No logic. Just sheer force of will. I declare "I am no longer transsexual" for the billionth time in my young life. It was a blip...an anomaly. And...it's "OVER".

We know better.

I don't think a young person should have to feel such angst about their own body...their own soul. I think things are changing.

I sure hope they are.

A song I love...that I hate to hear...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 15:42:00 +0000

In dance class on Saturday, the cool-down song was "Falling Slowly", the Oscar-winning song from the movie ONCE. This song was also used in class about two months ago. Back then, when the song burst forth from the speakers I burst into tears and ran out of the studio, crying in the parking lot.

The movie ONCE was released sometime in the late spring or early summer of 2007. Mark and I loved it...and I immediately knew my sister Victoria had to see it. Victoria and I saw many many movies together over our 40+ years...but adult life had a way of slowing that down and we had not had that opportunity in a long time.

At that point, my sister was in treatment for leukemia. I can't quite remember the timeline of her ups and downs...but I do remember she had been on a downswing for quite a while, unable to go out or exert too much energy. But at that moment, not only was she on an upswing, she was well enough to travel down the peninsula and spend the day with me, a very rare occurrence indeed. We were able to see the film together, the last theatrical experience we had together (the next and last film we ever watched together was THE MUSIC MAN on DVD at her home when she was on her final long downswing).

Victoria loved the movie ONCE as much as I knew she would...more if that's possible. We cried and cried about it. The movie delivers a message about remaining true to yourself and letting your emotional self live large despite any odds and obstacles you perceive.

After the movie we had lunch together. It was an infrequent and wonderful day with my sister. And the last such day I would ever have with her.

After seeing the film, Victoria told all her friends about it, encouraging them to see it, making copies of the soundtrack to help them fall in love with it too. She ordered them to see it, making a lot of noise about how she felt.

The song "Falling Slowly" was nominated for and won the Oscar for best song. It was a triumph that seemed to mirror the hope in the film.

When Victoria passed away I made a video for her memorial, attempting to encompass a life snuffed out way too soon. As background music I ended up with 2 songs. "Forever Young" by Alphaville was an 80s dance anthem that always drew she and I to the dance floor as if in a trance. Our friends would mock us, saying if that song was playing you could always find the Curley kids on the dance floor with huge smiles plastered on their faces. The second song was the obvious choice...but even when I inserted it into the video editor I didn't yet understand how appropriate the choice was. At first it was just a second song that meant something very important to both me and sister.

But once I saw the song in the context of Victoria's fight against cancer the meaning of the words completely changed.

You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you had a choice
You've made it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I'll sing along

Even writing this now is too much for me. I have trouble seeing the keyboard through the tears that wake in Pavlovian response to this lyric and all the wonderful, horrible memories attached to it.

For context, here is the video I made for Victoria. The song in question starts about 1/3 of the way into the 11.5 minute presentation. Click on a flower to start the video...

Your browser does not accept inline frames. To view this content select &amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.dayacurley.com/video/victoriasvideomemorial.htm"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Victoria Wallach Video Memorial&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

So...a few weeks back...after a vigorous exercise class...the last thing I expected to hear were the mournful strains of that ballad which has such heavy meaning attached. When it started I gasped...and I grabbed my belongings and ran out...crying hard...and changed into my street shoes just outside the studio door. The windows were open and I was only able to achieve the silence I craved when I finally got in my car and closed the door.

Last Saturday in dance class...like another surprising left hook...the song came on again.

I had 2 choices:

Run and cry

Stand and face the feelings, and try to make a place in my world to hear the song...let it flow over me...let the memories happen...and try to remember that glorious day when Victoria and I were able to laugh and cry together and have a profound experience appreciating this amazing piece of music.

I chose #2, obviously, and for the first time since my sister died, I was able to hear that song without crying.

I suppose the act of not crying seems like a small accomplishment, but for me it was a Battle Royale for the entire 3:20 length.

I miss my sister. The pain is so fresh that it makes me angry.

But at least she and I had that moment in 2007...the whole time assuming she was on the mend...not knowing it was our last opportunity for this kind of outing and therefore enjoying it with the fullness of our passion for the film and that song.

A popular entertainment with a solid message...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 15:06:00 +0000

We saw AVATAR yesterday. I was dubious going in, as I was not impressed with the story as I saw it played out in the ubiquitous trailers. Even as far as halfway through the film I imagined rating it low, perhaps including a dictionary definition for the word "trite".

Some of the film's dialog is indeed corny...some groan-inducingly so...

But I realize a day later that the story, which centers around respecting the natural world and remaining in tune with nature, is so in keeping with my own spirituality that I'm thrilled this message will get to such a wide audience. Children will memorize and discuss this film, like my generation did with STAR WARS, and in doing so, they will be indoctrinated to concepts that they don't get in other aspects of their life.

It's a beautiful film with a beautiful message...and if the delivery isn't always perfect, it deserves props for boldness of philosophy.

Across The Abyss #3..."The Roberta Thing"...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 16:16:00 +0000

I've always known I was transgender. Always. Way before I had words to name it.

I remember these feelings as far back as age 4 or 5. I didn't insist I was a girl...but I always felt that I wanted to be a girl. Like so many trans people, I hoped and prayed that some magic would happen while I slept and I would wake up female.

But alas...

I could not accept it. I assumed I was gay...again very early on...because I was attracted to boys. That was bad enough...but it was the less complicated and least devastating answer.

Nothing like this was simple while living in a suburb of Detroit in the 1970s...

I was able to come out to my family as gay when I was 15 years old. To this day, people tell me how brave I was to do that. But, while I was sharing something very important and controversial with them, I still wasn't telling them the REAL truth, which was that I wanted to be female. That, I couldn't say.

I never quite got the hang of being gay. Although I love gay people to this day, I never felt like I fit in with them, especially in places like a bar.

I wasn't one of those young people who was out and proud about ALL of me. People may have known I was gay, but for some reason I drew the line at sharing my trans feelings. I didn't even have verbiage for it until an epiphany at 18 years old.

Whenever I heard about a trans woman...in the news...in a movie...it was enough to send me into a tailspin that sometimes lasted months. I described the feelings as a monster climbing on my back and refusing get off. I became depressed, and thoughts of suicide would creep in, although I don't think I ever would have attempted that except as a cry for help. I don't believe I wanted to die, which made living with the monster all the more horrifying.

By 18 I was finally out of school...partaking a bit in drinking and other recreational substances...and trying to figure out what my life might be. I was cross dressing in secret when I could, but I was so lost in my own closet that it never would have occurred to me to seek therapy or share my feelings.

My sister Victoria had gone away to college at Western Michigan University. In the fall of 1982 I drove the 3 hours across Michigan to visit her and see the band Circle Jerks.

I had recently read or seen something on TV about a transsexual. I had also seen a movie the previous summer that had a huge impact on me (more about that in a moment). I don't know if I was conscious of the monster once again taking up residence on my back. Sometimes it climbed on slowly, landing one claw at a time, gingerly, stealthily. I sometimes didn't recognize what was happening until I was fully it its grasp.

It was happening again. I got depressed. I got drunk. I took some LSD. We saw the band and hung around in Victoria's dorm room. A leather-jacketed punk from her dorm was there. He probably was there to flirt with Victoria...and I know for a fact he didn't appreciate the attention he got from me...my inhibitions down and my libido up up up.

I don't remember much more about that night except one thing. At one point I suddenly came to a mental clearing and found myself in an empty dorm stairwell. Alone. I was crying. Hard.

Like Scarlet O'Hara making a pledge to the heavens I promised myself out loud: "Some day I'll get my operation."

Even through the haze of highness I surprised myself. I knew I had those feelings...and yet I had never verbalized or accept it as such. Hearing it in my own voice was a shock. And it wasn't good news. It certainly was a turning point, however. I would not be able to ignore the issue completely anymore. My carefully constructed shield was gone. I was destined to become more depressed because now I was no longer able to live in the safety of that bubble any more. I had kept myself ignorant...and now I had let the cat out of the bag.

The film Tootsie was released shortly after in December of 1982. This was enough to upset me a bit, to see a man living as a woman...but since it wasn't actually about a trans person, the effect was not detrimental.

I had a much stronger reaction to the release of another film earlier in the year. July 1982 saw the release of The World According to Garp. The week before the movie opened I read the book. I was profoundly affected by the book in general, and specifically I was stunned to find a transgender woman as a prominent character.

The character of Roberta Muldoon was and remains to this day a beacon for me, and John Lithgow's amazingly gentle and sympathetic portrayal showed me for the first time how a trans person could possibly fit into the world. Not a perfect fit, but not a disaster by any stretch. Sometimes when you're transgender one feels that "not a disaster" is the only realistic thing to hope for.

I searched for a scene with Roberta from the film, but only found the following. This is an amazing critique by a trans women named Christianne Benedict about the character and importance of Roberta:

After 1982, my emotionally destructive cycles repeated:

- Cross dress...
- Dream (turning to desire) of taking it further...
- Obsess with changing gender...
- Convinced because of insecurity I can never do that...
- Throw away all female clothing items with a promise to stop...
- Depression...
- Calmness...
- A pause and then cross dressing again...

Sometime around 1985 or 86 I made an effort to share my trans feelings with a friend for the first time. The reaction was less than supportive. I wasn't strong enough to be confident about it...so I dove back into that dank trans closet, a familiar place I assumed would be my home for the rest of my life.

In 1987 I moved to California. In my heart of hearts I was traveling as far as I could from home in order to have the room to find myself. Of course, that still takes courage and hard work...and when I finally did broach the subject with two of my closest California friends, I found myself unable to use proper terms. It was as if the news was less scary or dangerous to give it a code name.

I didn't say "I'm a transsexual"...or anything like that.

I reminded them about The World According to Garp...and I referred to my issue as "The Roberta Thing".

For many years after I was never able to call it anything but.

It seems so immature and quaint now...from this side of the abyss. But back then, my shame and fear ruled everything. I was mortified to be who I was.

This is a great example of why I'm writing this blog. It's important for me to illustrate to myself just how far I've come.

Journal #1 contains no mention of "The Robert Thing", even though I know for a fact it had reared it's head before I started writing in 1988. That was another part of the cycle. When I was overwhelmed by "The Roberta Thing" it was all-consuming. When I was "over it", I needed to pretend it never existed.

No wonder I was insane.

I was prompted to write this post now because I finally ran into the first mention of this subject in journal #2...page 57...Thursday November 3rd, 1988...

I had been living in San Francisco since August 15th. I was working at a clothing store in The Castro. One would think the excitement of a new life in that beautiful city would be enough to keep me distracted for a while. But right there on the page...out of nowhere...but right below the surface:

"I feel The Roberta thing starting to climb on top of me again. What a sick and stupid cycle."

What follows are many pages of questions and self recrimination. That will be the subject of the next installment.

It's hard to read this. It's hard to see how hard I was on myself. But...from this side of the abyss, I'm finally safe. At least from myself.

A goal...the BMI and my shrinking form...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 22:32:00 +0000

About 3 months ago I started yet another new diet. This time it wasn't really a "diet". I decided to be scientific about it for the first time in my life and actually count calories.

I was up to 195 or 192 depending on which scale I used. The doctor's scale always shows 3 to 4 pounds more.

When I started losing weight my mom asked what my goal was. I didn't have an answer except to say "I just wanted to be healthy."

A couple weeks ago...as I crept into the 170s for the first time in decades, I started wondering myself what number I was shooting for.

I've always been "dense". I've never really looked as heavy as I weigh. I've also always believed that the BMI (Body Mass Index) charts were unrealistic. I really thought in the 190s that the 170's would be pushing it for me.

But...I looked up the BMI and found that to be considered "normal weight" I would have to weigh 165 or less. As I reached the mid 170's I started realizing that I probably CAN reach that as a goal. It would be really wonderful to not be officially overweight.

I went to see my doctor today for my 3-month checkup. My blood work (taken last week) is stellar except for vitamin D, which I'll work on with supplements.

The scale at his office read 176...which means they show a 19 pound loss in 3 months. I don't know how on earth I finally got the discipline to help myself, but it feels great!

Now all I have to do is keep losing and try to maintain during a 2-week vacation.

Yikes!

My mom has been an inspiration, losing nearly 40 pounds herself. On the cruise, we'll exercise together and try to keep each other from falling into the buffet mouth first.

Across The Abyss #2...not what I expected...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 22:13:00 +0000

I've been reading the journals.

I don't know what I expected, but my reaction to them is not what I thought it might be.

I plowed through the first (and smallest) journal. At one point I was doing dishes and I pondered the story and characters. I wondered how it would turn out. I realized I was thinking of the journal!! Reading them is coming across, in some strange way, like reading a novel.

So far I've finished all of journal #1 and journal #2 up to page 57 (of 507 pages total). I assumed I would want to stop along the way and comment...and I do have comments...but I can't put it down...and I feel I need to get through it organically and then try to circle back and comment. At least that's how I feel at this point.

The first book only covers from January 23rd - May 2nd, 1988. the main focus was simply to lose weight. During this period I went from 196 pounds to 168. It was the largest weight loss I had experienced in a lifetime of Weight Watchers and Melba Toast.

Also during this brief period, I became infatuated with a series of men (boys, really). I'm embarrassed to see how naive and desperate I was. I was also blind to the signs, which were plentiful and right in front of my face.

Unrequited love is a painful thing. Lots of us can relate to it.

I made it an art form.

I had a real talent for finding guys I craved...but who were unavailable in some form (or sometimes many forms). Most of the subjects of my focus were straight. But even the ones who were not...well...they were not the proper object of my desire and/or they didn't not return my affection.

The first journal reads like it was written by a manic-depressive. I seem to flip from thrilled to devastated and back again in the space of hours or days...week after week after week.

I don't know how my friends tolerated me. I was certifiable.

But...I was learning. I was away from home for the first time...a stranger in a strange land...and while I was most certainly freaking out on a constant basis, I also managed to grow. A little.

I opened the first journal with a quote from a song lyric...and also a new-agey statement to myself.

The song lyric is from "This is the Day" by THE THE

I'm not sure why I added the quote on January 31st. I guess after writing regularly for a week I felt the journal idea would stick...and perhaps possibly even make some kind of philosophical difference in my life.

I have lots more to say about journal #1...but I'll leave it there today.

David was a nervous and needy person. I find myself rooting for him. But alas...he never quite made it. I believe he was the best construct I could have created for myself. He lasted 43 years before he needed to be retired. The gooey inner core...the hidden and protected part...the person I felt I actually was and am...finally gets to wake and walk around. Sigh.

David as a personality was false in many ways...the product of my perceived expectations from the world around me...and also from my own unwillingness to take this leap of faith.

There will be no surprises with the finale of this plot. I do know what happens to this character in the end...but I'm still rooting.

A note about comments...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 22:08:00 +0000

I just discovered that since some time in November...all the comments that have been posted to my blog posts by visitors are not showing up. I'm not sure if they are gone forever or not.

Google (who owns Blogger) is "aware of and working on the problem". I have no idea when I'll hear more.

So...to all of you who have left comments recently, I'm not ignoring you or dismissing you. I appreciate your comments very much. I hope they are not lost to the ether!!

Across The Abyss #1...a series of arcs...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 16:04:00 +0000

I'm starting a new series on this blog. I've been mulling this over for a long time.

I have a set of journals that I kept from January 23, 1988 through February 2, 1996. These manic and intense writings create a picture of a world full of insecurity and fear...a mind often fueled by substances. I'm not sure how forward I'll be about the substances part...but that isn't what is important here anyway.

The first journal starts innocently as a tool to keep track of what I ate in an effort to lose weight. Over the years the pages become infected with self hate as my trans feelings come racing to the front of my conscious mind.

I was 25 years old when the journals start...and I was fresh off the boat from Michigan...and I was ill prepared to deal with my feelings...although if I'm honest, this was exactly the reason I moved 2500 miles away from where I was born. I came to California to find myself.

My intent with this once-in-a-while series is to look honestly across the abyss and revisit these points in my past in an effort to remind myself how far I've come and to reassure myself how "good I have it" now. I dreamed then of being where I am now (at least in regard to my gender status)...but I didn't have the faith to leap for it.

I assume this will be painful for me. But I also assume this will help me in some therapeutic way. Otherwise I wouldn't take on the challenge.

There is a LOT to be embarrassed about in these books. I've always feared someone finding them if something happened to me. What on earth would they think of me?!?!

Maybe if I can reconnect with those injured parts of my psyche...maybe then I can throw these journals on the fire (figuratively and perhaps even literally) and move on in an even more integrated way.

I consider myself a very level-headed and emotionally healthy person. Perhaps this journey is unnecessary and possibly destructive. Not sure.

My gut tells me to try.

So...

Here goes...

Into the abyss...

Locally luscious...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 18:14:00 +0000

Ever since Mark and I saw the documentary FOOD, INC. on May 17th, we have switched as much of our food to organic and/or locally grown as possible.

FOOD, INC. trailer

If a food is not organic we at least want it locally grown. We also have been searching for a CSA to join in our area. Here is an explanation of CSA.

We found one the other day...and yesterday I picked up our first order. Each Monday we will pick up a selection of fresh, in season fruits and vegetables. Here's a view of our first bounty:

Since starting my current eating style (I won't call it a diet) I have really come to connect on a different level with food. I am filled with wonder and gratefulness when I'm handling and preparing this gorgeous food.

And now, I feel fortunate to have this kind of direct connection between the ground and our table.

Our CSA is called CSA Bay Area and it is open to everyone. I encourage everyone in the area to support this...and in turn help yourselves.

Also...please watch FOOD, INC.

Small twinkling lights...and scratchy music...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 00:31:00 +0000

Mark and I spend this afternoon putting up our little tree.

Last year we moved the tree location from a stand by the living room window...to the top of Mark's Victrola, which sits mostly silent and normally holds a lamp.

While I was putting the 3 foot tree together and stringing our strands of LEDs, Mark chose a few of his favorite 78rpm records.

Crank...hiss...pop...and glorious music!

It was truly a holiday picture out of the early 1900's. Well, except for the LEDs I suppose.

The tree is done. It never fails to calm and thrill me. I'm a sucker for Xmas pageantry.

The fruits of our afternoon of labor:

And then she contradicts herself...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 15:07:00 +0000

After writing the last post I saw my dear friend Karie Bennett of Atelier Aveda Salon Spa at Santana Row. As she was trimming my hair, we talked about her involvement in a half marathon a couple years ago.

Out of the conversation came the notion that running (or jogging) is no better for you than walking. Hmmmm...

When I got home, I did some Google research...and in fact the consensus is that running or jogging causes more stress to the body without much added benefit.

Then last night as I was relaxing, my feet kept cramping up. I had put them through some pounding with my living room jogging...and it was immediately obvious my body was rebelling. Can you blame it?

So...I would like to amend my last post and change any "running" or "jogging" references to "speed walking".

UPDATE:

My friend Teresa passed along some important info about running that potentially changes everything I've written. She informed me of this article. Thanks, T!!

The animal wants out of the cage...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 18:05:00 +0000

For a couple years I have been working out at home (in addition to the dance class I do on Saturday mornings). I started out, on the recommendation of my mom, doing a Walk at Home DVD. It's simple and it burns calories. Over time I have changed to harder Walk at Home DVDs. A while ago I also added a cardio DVD produced by The Biggest Loser. I alternate days with each video.

I use the videos as a general guide, but I tend to increase the difficulty of the moves. I have begun to spend more and more time jogging (in place)...and I have started to feel like I would prefer to be running on a track or on the street. I've been wondering if I should drive to the Stevens Creek Trail and run there.

My wondering ended yesterday when I saw this report.

I'm now trying to figure out where to run. I feel like a caged animal suddenly...but I want to be safe as well.

SIDENOTE:

This morning I found another song I love to workout to.

"Heaven Can Wait" by We The Kings

No ring around my finger...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 18:10:00 +0000

I've lost some weight recently...and a ring that Mark gave me a couple years ago has been feeling more and more loose.

I lost it yesterday. I think I lost it in my allergist's office...but I can't be sure. I've got a call into them.

I loved that ring.

Damn.

FOLLOW-UP:

The doctor's office just called. They don't have the ring. I guess it's gone forever...

(sigh)

Cardio and Sirius...a Lovely Marriage...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 19:25:00 +0000

I exercise most mornings. And when I do I listen to my Sirius satellite radio.

I usually flip between Sirius Hits 1 (which plays the new pop hits)...the 70's channel...and the 80's channel...

Yesterday, just as I finished the workout the song "Down" by Jay Sean started. I was a little disappointed because I love that song...but I needed to move on with my day. So I turned the radio off.

This morning...I got dressed for my regular workout...I turned on the Sirius radio...switched it to Hits 1...

...and guess which song was just starting...

Guess. I'll wait.

"Down" by Jay Sean.

How's THAT for synchronicity and continuity?!?!

SIDENOTE:

Some songs are better to workout to than others. Here are a couple faves that I moved to today...

"Love Drunk" by Boys Like Girls

"21 Guns" by Green Day

Lois Forletta 5/22/1918 - 11/21/2009...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 00:32:00 +0000

My maternal grandmother passed away yesterday. She was 91 years old...and she had dementia for the last 11 months. She lived with my parents for the last 4 years...and she was very well loved and cared for.

Lois Forletta was one tough broad. And funny. She made a mean spaghetti sauce.

There's been a lot of death in my family's world over the last couple years. My parents have spent most of that time care taking, first my sister and then my grandmother. It's time they got a break.

I love you, grandma...

Vaccinated...

noreply@blogger.com (Daya Curley) — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 18:39:00 +0000

After much research and debate...I decided to receive the H1N1 vaccine. Since I have asthma I am considered high risk...I'm coming down on the side of safety.

My doctor's office called this morning saying they had the vaccine...

I went right away...

The deed is done.

It's in my body.

I'm confident it was the correct choice for me.