Friday, October 28, 2011

trauma and gender identity disorder

The genders physically possess enough skeletal similarity to result in a degree of interchangeability in maintenance of the sounds of the other gender's role in adaptation. At an early age trauma has unpredictable bearing here. Deconstructing trauma is not done.

Denial of gender identity disorder persists after embracement of it. The structure of support for denial is extensive but is not logical. It marks its progress on points of ambiguity, all of which are invalidated by deeper logic.

Denial support cloaks itself in sympathy. No sympathy was extended in the travail of living the birth gender so this sympathy has ulterior motives.

Suspected cause of my turn to female as a child.

It is possible that my childhood development of transvestic fetishism, and with it gender identity disorder, has an origin in a traumatic event that dislodged me from my beginning in the male identity enough to bring on the disorder. This is something of a speculation. It involves my stepping on a board with a rusty nail sticking out that was on the border between our house lot and the prairie in back of the row of houses on Lexington Street. The origin I hypothesize here is that the incident caused me to pull back from the aggressive exploration of outside worlds typical of young males given such a large almost wild territory so ready at hand.

That being said, and acknowledging that it is entirely speculation, there would seem to be no way to avoid the consequence in gender identity disorder, and the decision I made to become trans gender will have to stand unless my female identity decides, after further review and analysis, to abandon the conversion to female.

If the incident is to blame, then there is nothing about my father that produced the disorder.

Monday, October 24, 2011

What I discern in the decision of the Mafia concerning my status review in light of my new gender.

The world is full of examples of female rulers. From that standpoint there is plenty of precedent for me. The different role of help for men and women is one possible concern an overlord might have about it. I have a history of ambivalence about being helped. On one hand it is easy. That's my male history. On the other hand it has to be clear and lasting without further comment, a stable economy being the large scale image. The stable economy is based on a female ruler's knowledge of her power relationships. Mine have been difficult, but rest on a foundation no longer active--a male foundation--but a false one based on fear of reprisals for being a female. It was not power that got me out the door into public crossdressing. It was truth and logic. Certainly a good place for a leader to be.

I will see what response there is. My environment is no less the universe. My writing on this does not specify that I am asking for permission to court. It specifies only the existence of such an entity as an equal periodicity with the statement that the universe is mine. There is plenty of room for interpretation here. One example would be that the statement offers the permission on unspecified conditions.

The departure from the Edgewater Branch of the Chicago Public Library, with the statement secure, revealed, from the outburst reaction of a young black man passing me, one of cheer, proved that my writing was being read in full, to some degree of absolute, by the black Mafia hierarchy, certainly a favorable development that bears reminder now. Ownership of the universe is a wild task set. But coterminous permission to court gives the set definition. As a partnership this is a keynote for unlimited development of power in the universe.

What a woman thinks of getting help.

My mother was a tough cookie. War nurse, mother of five, outspoken opponent of racism, the list goes on. But I believe there was always a confusion about what amount of help a woman should properly expect or ask for in any given situation. She rarely asked for help. She was able-bodied. But the term "weaker sex" is not apparently for nought. As a female now I can note that I feel a huge sphere of dependence on help all around me, that in almost any situation there can come about a margin by mmy routine ways come up short of some objective. This was never apparent when I was a male.

My mother made light of her needs for help. She had a little French phrase she repeated in mock desperation whenever she seemed to be at such a point in her routine as I mention above. It was, "au secours!" I may not be spelling it right. It means, I believe, "oh, help!"

Because she made light of needing help I always thought of this as an indication that she really didn't ever need help. It was a quickly drawn conclusion that I never gave a second thought to.

But the whole matter rests squarely on the commitment of this civilization to a strict division of labor in marriage between husband and wife. If a partner has been raised to keep a certain such division of labor as a good agreement through every up and down, that partner will be able to mind his own part of the marriage without having to speak about unexpected variances of the division, that is, ask for help. I don't believe I can recall a single incident of my mother asking for help from my father. With men it seems to be a llittle different. They are expected to become a part of the industrial world where division of labor is a vast enterprise itself, and one in which innovations, which lead very easily to new divisions of labor, are of the utmost importance at the larger, or outer, levels of that world. So men have evolved an easy familiarity with unexpected needs for help, and know how to ask for it without distracting hesitation. In my family this has led to disaster, as my father expected my mother to adapt to his changing role in the industrial world as political developments led to new feelings in the world about types of people, in particular African Americans, and my mother was hard pressed to jump when he said to on such matters. Instead, she got on a soap box at the dinner table to bolster her defensive position that she knew would not fly with my father, but her need for maintaining a comfortable home environment required this soap boxing to prevent a gradual erosion of that comfort. Perhaps it was wise. What happened instead of gradual erosion was sudden death. My father blew up one day, when family circular paths of political leaning brought everything to a focus, and left the house for good.

But my mother's and father's habits of help both suffered no ill effects and they both lived out the divorce that followed in relative comfort.

But as a trans gender female I have a great amount of groundwork to do to open myself up to the female way with help. I must learn that my immediate impulse in speech, which carries the ease of asking for help without fuss, is in need of repair. The male world has wrecked the achievements of my female impusles, more valuable impulses, for me, than the male ones I trumped up to meet the muster. If I don't listen to voices as crying out for help I can never hear my own doing the same.

My early life with gender identity disorder.

At the beginning of my life, having for unknown reasons a potential of living like a girl and no potential for living like a boy, I didn't enter into the search for a career. Every activity was shortened because the only life work I was destined for was being a full-time housewife. This was my legacy from my mother. I was the ultimate Yale female student, there only to look for a husband and not intending to use my education in a career. My high ambition was not moderated by an integral life view and got blown up way out of proportion. I scattered my interests all over and repeatedly went off the deep end in career-like ventures, scoring some remarkable victories but none of it adding up to a basic understanding of the male contract with civilization.

Now that I acknowledge being trans gender I have to ferret through the maze of thoughts, memories, and impressions from my childhood to arrive at a logically sound female contract with civilization. The greatest puzzle at the present time is my breasts. With an x and a y chromosome my breasts are vestigal. My life with gender identity disorder provides me with a sensitivity for large breasts and no sensitivity for small. Without estrogen therapy or surgical augmentation I will have small and yearn for large, forcing me to mollify myself by wearing a large cup bra with water balloons in it. It's a bizarre solution but sure feels a lot better than living without it. My mother had large breasts and living her legacy puts me into a position of naturally looking for large breasts to be there at every turn. The water balloons provide something to bear off of in that natural expectation. I believe it is not uncommon for women to stuff their bra to get a larger appearance there, so it is not absolutely correct to say that this practice is illegitimate or dishonest.

Now that I can go about in public with the stuffed bra I can relax and wear it all day every day and get used to the feeling of satiation it gives to me. Giving satisfaction to a male partner is another part of the matter as yet not a priority.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

Most fundamental reason I think I am GID.

The most fundamental reason I think I am GID is that when I fall back on female taxis as I sit at the computer and work I no longer experience lapses of logical process when confronting snafus.

found a forum on transgender and posted there

I found a forum on gender identity disorder and joined and posted my story, asking for suggestions.

For my post, click here.

Illinois has laws in my favor as a transgender female.

I found a document that identifies Illinois as a jurisdiction that has laws which prohibit discrimination or harrassment on the basis of gender identity or expression. To see it, click here.

Some of the new problems as a woman.

Quite obviously everything I ever understood about men came about in a state of false presumption regarding the polarity of my devotion. The things I developed among them, speaking of any group solely of men, were foundationless.

My manner of writng is fractured and unserving me. Cycles of action begin and end on a note of misplaced identity. My notion of what I can hope to accomplish in life needs to be reset to what I can realistically hope to accomplish in a world which does not readily acknowledge the potential for mastery in women. My own accomplishments in the field of art to date need a nonlinear bridge to those to come. I have a duty to put myself in a proper interior position with women, and share their struggle. Even though I have not yet advanced into physical reassignment of my sex I am as much a woman in spirit now as I ever will be after reaching physical reassignment, or so it seems, though I would certainly welcome even higher degrees of my womanhood. My present state is rather like that of a girl entering puberty, in some ways, and yet also more familiar with coitus than that, since I have had such experiences, and my memory of the female's behavior at those times is quite active.

The overwhelming assurance I possess is that a woman can be a great person in history, and so I need not despair of precedent for good deeds in my new role. I also put my trust in my body as a register on which the greatest joys of sex can be entered, specifically as a woman, through the depth of human imagination--and a promise that as in anything, persistence, regarding the ideal of sexual rewards, pays off, for man or woman, and so I needn't expect less sexual reward as a woman than I did as a man. What lies behind the face shaped by the wrong DNA? Perhaps only time can tell.

A female mafia kingpin?

Once the diagnosis is officially GID my status as Chicago Italian./Roman Mafia First will certainly  come up for review.

Friday, October 21, 2011

Why my condition went undiagnosed

I think the reason no one ever diagnosed my condition properly is that individuals with transvestic fetishism almost all do not identify as the other gender, so this would be assumed to show that my condition is not one of GID, or gender identity disorder. I am a rare transvestic fetishist in that I have GID.

My current thinking is that now that wanting to be female is something I have to consider a part of my identity, I can relax about the fetish element of crossdressing, even not play it out anymore at all. We will see.

I'm nervous about the inevitable acceptance of men as sex partners. Although my orgasm phantasies involve basic male participation, it would seem unlikely that without surgery a real partnership with a male would be at best awkward and more probably impossible. I don't imagine actual men. Just motifs.

Over the past seven days I have had 15 orgasms, six days with two and one day with three. One of these was through imaging myself in a male role. The rest were imagining myself in a female role. The male role was had just before my first order of female clothes was delivered, about half way through the seven days.

Preparing myself for becoming a transgender female is now my primary concern, and conducting a program of twice daily orgasms seems less immediate a desire. It also becomes a serious cleanliness problem, because the consumption of my thoughts by female associations leaves no time for providing for the well-ordered tending of the accompaniments of the male anatomy to orgasm.

As a female I will have no possibility of having my own children, I am guessing.

A diagnosis for my condition.

Although I have been given various diagnoses all within the mental illness category, I now believe my diagnosis is not mental illness and the mental illness I have is completely an effect of my actual condition--transvestic fetishism.

I come to this conclusion after reading the wikipedia entry on transvestic fetishism. This is not the end of the matter. This wikipedia entry says that,

"Occurrence of transvestic fetishism is uncorrelated to occurrence of gender identity disorder.[1] Most men who have transvestic fetishism do not have a problem with their assigned sex."

After long soul-searching I have come to the conclusion I do have gender identity disorder. I used to not exhibit it, but this was mostly because I was afraid to embrace my condition and live it as fully as I really wanted to.

Since beginning cross-dressing in my apartment--and never outside it--I have seen that I am picking up little cues at every turn to my preference for having female anatomy. This is difficult to a certain extent because the two genders have primary characteristics that are different. But the imagination, once it sets its mind, can make up for a lot of this.

I don't like the stories I have heard about sex change operation results and I don't have the money for one even if I did.

The wikipedia entry says that transvestic fetishism

"is categorized as a paraphilia in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of the American Psychiatric Association."

I'll have to look that up.

The entry also says that the condition

"causes clinically significant distress or impairment, whether socially, at work, or elsewhere."

This is the explanation for my diagnosis of various mental illnesses. The wording here is critical--"clinically significant."

Now I can tell my psychiatrist about it.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

More on my cross dressing.

Being a female behavior for 60 years it is not likely to change in another 60. Why deny my most fundamental taxis and not cross dress in my own home?

What plans result?

To build on the achievements of one's father is the cornerstone of a son's duty. Who was there to decree a foul for me?

--the adoption route, now too late.

My father once or more cheered:

"hus sus sah
hus sus sah
hit 'em on the head
with a club us sah"

Other examples are plentiful.

Pat Cannon's story about me walking through male aggression with aplomb, at junior high, shows I picked up something from my father... but...

A hand entered our home--Marie Smach Batek, my grandmother.

Maybe I picked it up not from my father, but from his mother.

There were two options for me:

1. no cross dressing and a two-bit gangster

2. cross dressing and a kingpin

My mother was reckless. Her behavior at the movie Lucas in California in 1996 shows it. It's the kind of thing a child wouldn't notice. I noticed it because I had arcane knowledge.

My mother got mail when I was living with her in 1996 from the Rosecrucians. I asked her if she was a member and she said she had nothing to do with them.

Why did they send her mail? They wouldn't send out mass mail, I'm sure of it.

I conclude she probably was a member and kept it secret.

Al Bowyer, our neighbor in Glen Ellyn, told me there was something wrong with my mother. It could have been her living a secret life as a Rosecrucian. When did she join?

My mother was reckless. She married a crude man. What counsel did she get from the Rosecrucians?

Wisdom judges the preference of taxis in gender. Not all of the facts can be discovered however. And some are locked into the puberty bootstrap.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

My first estimate of my self was as a female.

When I was very young I was very smart. I saw that my mother's speech was tied up with her mobility, that she talked things through as she encountered them. My father's speech was not reflective of his mobility. It was drab and slow moving by comparison with my mother's speech.

For this reason, I speculate, I was forced to select my mother's example for my sexual identity.


But I think it is true.

I got into my mother's bureau and looked longingly at her lingerie. The smell was intoxicating. Between the ages of five and sixteen I was sexually active as a female. Wearing my mother's lingerie was so powerful a stimulus that it always made me have an orgasm. I had to wrap my organ in rags to be certain not to soil the clothes and give myself away. Actually I was caught twice and my father yelled at me that if I was caught again he would parade me in her clothes out in front by the street. The second time I was caught it moved my mother to sob and plead with me not to do it again or she would tell my father.

I'm sorry, but the alternative was to accept my father as my role model. I think he proved in his life that this would have been the greater disaster than me acting out the female role. He was fine for my siblings. I needed something more sophisticated.

Of course it was impossible to pursue the complete depth that this tendency needed. I couldn't ask my mother to raise me as a girl. I suppose I knew it was futile, that there was no solution to the problem of plumbing. This combined with the fact that my parents were both outraged by what little they knew about it made it impossible to pursue.

Sex change operations were not done back then, and even now they are more expensive than my family could have afforded. I have mixed feelings about the stigma. On the one hand it leads to humiliation and no one wants that. On the other hand my choosing the female path is a true fact and all my attempts to live a male life have left me wasted and ruined. Being up front about this is the only way I can live in truth, and that means it is the only way to realize my full potential.

I have not gone at female living in any way but those associated with using female clothes to have an orgasm. I don't see myself as physically female or suited to attract men. The path into and out of the transvestite bedroom is for me gender-neutral. Within that gender-neutral path there is the pursuit of stimuli learned from cultural information, not at first a real physical sensation, of the normal male behavior. But there is in it no such solid foundation for me as that of pursuit of the female orgasm.

I am sorry, but that is the way I have become myself. There is no male role-model for me. As a result I have failed to merge into a career path, as that requires a solid foundation in one's physical gender, whether heterosexual or homosexual. I have lived a phantom existence, and it has left me without a place in the world. It is assumed by the masses that because a child is made from the genetic material of both parents that both parents will be the child's best natural role models. In my case this assumption, which I was surrounded by growing up, was a total error, and in adulthood, having passed out of the family environment, it was an assumption that failed to explain my decisions and directions, leaving one big enigma as my whole life story.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

on anti-viral software

Ever since a computer of mine was infected by a virus that tied up the computer so it would do nothing but try to sell me anti-viral software, I have had a low opinion of anti-viral software, and I currently do not carry it, nor do I ever expect to.