LGBTAitP #28: Come Taste the Rainbow!

[Laser Frog]

I vaguely remember that pic. That was a while ago.
Yeah, that was in response to this.

I remember that post. I love how awkwardly worded it is.

And yeah, that pic was a while back. Like three threads ago, or something like that, so that goes to show how long I've been gone. Been too busy moving all over the place (which I may have to do again soon...ugh...), and I got back into forum roleplaying too. So there have been many distractions with this poor soul.

[the_druid_droid]

Well we have one of those as well, but you have to be invited to learn the secret knock.

*Begins trying to figure out potential knocking combinations*

I used to work in neuropsychiatry, and I hope to do so again. At the moment I am too sick to be able to hold down a job.

Ah, I'm sorry to hear it.

No I'm not. Unless there is another secret massage parlor here I am unaware of.
Just remember the knock. Two hard knocks, three soft, and one at the top of the door. You didn't hear it from me.

Well, that makes things easier...

You look nothing like I imagined :P

It's strange how we picture people as their avatars, isn't it? I honestly expected you to be petite and blonde.

Yeah, I am fairly bad about this. I was actually semi-surprised to learn SiuiS was not in fact a pony >.>

[SiuiS]

I imagined pigtails. Did anyone else imagine pigtails?

Also, like, stereotypical young-Irish-cusp-of-womanhood features.

So an elf with pigtails.

You can tell I never really spent much time on it, no?

I particularly liked the photo on the train. Think her hair was nicer in that one, but she's just as pretty all around.

Yeah, I am fairly bad about this. I was actually semi-surprised to learn SiuiS was not in fact a pony >.>

changeling: 1
Hominid dominated planet: 0

;D

[Arachu]

*Hugs Phee, Lucy and Lea*

Reminds me of the pain chart, which could also possibly be helpful:

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I think both my depression and my dysphoria are usually about 1 or maybe 2... But sometimes I get flashbacks that can raise the former to about 4, and if I haven't been shaving the dysphoria can raise to maybe 3 (it can occasionally get worse, but isn't likely to unless I've missed a lot of days and happen to get depressed for some other reason). They tend to get worse right when I'm going to bed, though sometimes they don't.

Getting them both at once is... Unpleasant. I'm not sure where to rate them, considering that I can't really speak or move for a while when it's at its worst. >.>

Fortunately, I just got a new (cordless!) razor... It should be a lot easier to keep from getting overwhelmed now.

Hello again!

This time, I vanished because I was at a con. Well, first I was in that pre-con costume frenzy, at my friend's house, then I was at a con, and then I was sick/exhausted for a day. Anyway, I cosplayed as Lady Thor, and my friend was Loki, and it was AWESOME.

Me as Lady Thor:

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What you can't see very well is my make-up, I did crazy eye art. I haven't worn make up in ages, it was fun. I like doing eye art. I even glued silver-grey studs to my face! Also, I modded a pair of earrings to be silver wings that went up along my ears. And I made my Mjolnir! I made everything except dress, tights and shoes.

X3

In other news, our Tainiste (second to the Taoiseach, who is like our Prime Minister) has started to make pro-marriage noises, and apparently the public is now something like 73% in favour of marriage for same-sex couples, so I'm hoping we'll make progress on this soon!

Yay~

I had a dream about this thread last night, so I figured I'd stop by and see how everyone's doing. And I see a lot of new everyones, so I include them when I say "hi!"

I don't have much else to say than that, so I'll probably just lurk. That way I'm less of a nuisance.

Welcome back~! ^_^

Yeah, I am fairly bad about this. I was actually semi-surprised to learn SiuiS was not in fact a pony >.>

SiuiS isn't a pony?


~Bianca

[Astrella]

Sorry if I missed anyone, I didn't really keep track of the thread that well the last few days.

I think I'm now really part of the 'Q'. Q like Questioning.

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I have really no idea what my gender identity is. It is so confusing, especially the last few days. I don't feel completely neutral-unfeminine, but also not entirely female. One moment, I'm unhappy when I look into the mirror and see my female body, the next moment I don't care at all, and then again I'm happy to be a girl. But most of the time it is just really confusing.
The mental image I have of myself is constantly changing. Actually, it's more than one image. I have two or three "main images" and some other that only pop up from time to time. Most of these are clearly female, but one of the main images is one of the genderless elves from my stories...
I have no idea, who I am, what I am, and what I want. I find myself making stupid "that's so typically male, women are far superior"-jokes when I'm talking with my father, and then I'm angry at myself, because how can I make these jokes if I'm not a woman (or don't want to be one?). Then I think that maybe I'm just making all that stuff up and I'm completely 'normal', I think that if I hadn't started reading this thread (oh, and writing my stories) that I would never have thought about being anything else than cis, just because I didn't know that there was something else. But then I wouldn't sometimes see the need to dress as androgynous as possible and wouldn't feel uncomfortable in tight clothes. I wouldn't have been so rediciolously happy when my mother called me her "androgynous elf". Meh. I'm confused.

I don't think it's that odd that you hadn't really thought about it before reading this thread. A lot of my gender stuff was very subconscious before I met a genderqueer friend of mine and just blurted out that I was confused about my gender one evening.

I hope you manage to figure out stuff, but don't pressure yourself about it, take your time to work it all out. And just remember, we're here to help you out if you need us.

Hello again!

This time, I vanished because I was at a con. Well, first I was in that pre-con costume frenzy, at my friend's house, then I was at a con, and then I was sick/exhausted for a day. Anyway, I cosplayed as Lady Thor, and my friend was Loki, and it was AWESOME.

Me as Lady Thor:

Spoiler

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What you can't see very well is my make-up, I did crazy eye art. I haven't worn make up in ages, it was fun. I like doing eye art. I even glued silver-grey studs to my face! Also, I modded a pair of earrings to be silver wings that went up along my ears. And I made my Mjolnir! I made everything except dress, tights and shoes.

In other news, our Tainiste (second to the Taoiseach, who is like our Prime Minister) has started to make pro-marriage noises, and apparently the public is now something like 73% in favour of marriage for same-sex couples, so I'm hoping we'll make progress on this soon!

Neat costume! Sounds like you had a great time.

It's story time everyone. As we approach the worst time of year for me, I am reminded of a project I did for an English class two years ago. It is nonfiction. Every word in it is true, and I wish you to know the story. Thank you all in advance for taking the time to read it, though I know it is really long.

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A Requiem for Aria

“We long for what we cannot have, a sad, unbroken chain,
Of lovers who yearn for others, and loved who love in vain.” -Aria.

I stand before the grave, the windswept rain slashing the ends of my coat out behind me.
The grass and flowers bend over, as if in deference to the woman buried beneath the stone marker. My head bows in respect. The memories drift through my mind like water. A tear leaks from my eye, running down my face, and then is swept away, lost to the winds. The school dance ten years ago now, the waning light of dusk glimmering off her dress, sparkling and dazzling my eyes like the sun off a calm sea at sunset. Aria always was elegant in blue. Royal. Divine. I had eyes for no other. Alone we danced amidst the crowd of couples, the calm eye in a storm of teen angst. She sang softly, her voice barely a whisper heard over the din of couples dancing around the gym. Her voice touched me as it always has, reaching down to the hidden recesses of my heart, and gently caressing my spirit. Softly she sings, her breathtaking voice an angelic whisper over the tumult of the other couples. “I wish this song were pixie dust that I blow into your eyes.
To make you see the loveliness beneath my sad disguise.” Even today as I sing the words, my soul soars, reaching from the darkness of the abyss I live in, stretching its wings and, even if only for a moment, basks in the light of her love.

Chuck, Cathy’s father, drunk as always spoke to me before the wedding. “You’ll never amount to anything, you worthless bum.” He wants me to fail. He tries to make me regret everything. I began to shake. I stood before the altar, my knees shaking like the branches of the winter-bare trees outside. I was positive, as surely as the trees go bare in winter, that anyone could see the shaking. I could feel the congregation, feel their sneers, their laughing. I can still imagine my soon to be father-in-law, waiting with baited breath to see me collapse, or run, or do something to embarrass myself. I quickly stole a glance around the church, saw the faces gathered. The corner of my eye caught on a blue dress. Her blue dress. She was there. As she smiled, I could feel the warmth of her love, and my shakes vanished. My heart was steeled. I stood ready.

A scream pierced the beeps and trills of the operating room. I stood beside Cathy as she laid stretched out, a curtain blocking my view of anything below her breasts. Through the window I saw the trees, some of the branches dead, their leaves strewn across the ground, leaving the branches barren. She screamed again. I turned to the anesthesiologist, who merely shrugged and pushed a button and dispensed more medicine into my wife. When I turned, there was another sound. A gasping, struggle of a scream. Elizabeth came into the world, born in blood and fluids. Her struggle begins. She was placed in an incubator, to keep her warm in her newfound cold, bright world. More monitors added my daughters erratic tattoo of life to the din of the operating room. Then a sharp trill as her heart stopped. My heart ceased to beat as nurses tried to revive her. Her touch rested against my chest, and my heart began to beat stronger, as though to tell me that by pumping my blood faster, harder, it would start hers a-beating again. I feel her caress upon my heart, and the monitors beeped once more.

Once more, I stand at the grave. It has been so long that there is a crack there, looming through the name like the Grand Canyon, separating me from the one laying beneath the ground. Has it truly been four years since I last stood here? Leaves are strewn across the ground, skittering across my vision as the wind picks them up. I always felt naked standing here, defenseless. This place was the only one I dared let down the armor around my heart. “Aria, my love, I’m sorry I haven’t been here often. It’s just…. I…” I cannot find the words to express what I wanted to tell her. I feel the first drops of rain on my face as I stand there, lost in memories. Or were they tears? I cannot say. Why was it always rain? Fat rain, wet rain, soft, hard, slashing, tearing, cutting. Why was it always raining? It is impossible to tell what are tears and what is rain. They are the same now. When it rains, it is because I am crying. When I cry, it is because it is raining.
Through my choking sobs, I managed to speak my feelings. “I miss you, my love. Not a day passes where you are not the first thing in my mind when I wake. How do I keep going, love? ” The winds breezes almost lazily through my hair, casting strands about, even as they are flattened by the fat wet drops of rain. The wind carries her voice to me again, as though she were standing beside me, singing that same sad song. “I wish I could weave these words into a magic spell, That I could utter anytime, to make you love me well.”

I could feel a chill against my chest. A spot of utter cold against my warm flesh. The priest droned on about the union of souls. I hardly paid attention, my thoughts drifting to the band of metal, the two twists of silver on its chain about my neck resting next to my dog tags. “I do.” My reply to the priest as he asks me that one incredibly long question about opposites. The heat of my chest, the cool of the metal, fought as my emotions did. Lifetimes flashed before my eyes. I saw things that may yet come. I saw lives I will never be able to live.

Aria and I went camping after we graduated from high school before I moved to college for the fall semester. I broached the idea as last minute, though I had planned the weekend for months. The soft earth was damp from the last nights rain. The cold mud seeped through my pants, leeching the warmth from my leg as I knelt before her. My sword glimmered in the first true light of dawn shining through the trees as I held it up to her. That red-orange light reflected from the blade onto my face as I swore my oath to the queen of my heart. “To eternity, my love, till the end of time, I am yours. Everything I have, my love, my devotion, my life.” She blushed and turned away. I had planned that, counted on it. I knew when she would turn back, and was ready for it. I rammed the blade into the ground, the hilt swaying in the breeze as I grasped in my coat. When she did turn, instead of seeing my naked steel, she gazed upon a small, black box. She slowly lifted it up, opened it. She gasped as she saw what lay within. Her lips pressed together into that tight, thin-lipped smile she gave to no other. Her special smile. Again I spoke, my throat constricted as my emotions rose up within me, my rehearsed speech gone in the heat of the moment. “Everything I have, everything I am, it is yours. Will you take me as I am?”

“I do.” Cathy’s response to that same question. I saw a ghost of that special smile on her face. We are wed and Chuck’s sneer is gone. I feel her smile from the back of the church.

I stand in the graveyard, the memories flowing through my head, past my eyes, in my ears, as the water flows down my face. I had failed. I swore my oath to her, and now I am left as she lies there before me. She was gone, and I had failed. My world has fallen apart. My darkness eternal, no end in sight. I would have given anything at that moment to see her face one last time. To hold her, and tell her, one last time, that I loved her. I stand before her grave, the rain dripping softly off of the leaves of the trees. Everyone else had gone, the cemetery workers had finished replacing the soil over her casket and had left, and now the rain slowly began turning it to mud. The air, filled with the sounds of rain, now heralded the ring of steel arriving in the cool, wet twilight. The blade was cold as I kissed the bare steel.

The doors to the Emergency Room slid open with a boom of thunder. Lightning tore the heavens apart, as the deadly bolts sought out victims. My heart was pounding so fast, I could hear my blood rushing through my ears. I found her there, lying on the gurney. Doctors frantically tried to put things aright in her body. Strange, I thought, that the beds would have red sheets. But then I could see a stripe of pure white as the fabric was pulled taut, and I realized what was truly happening. The truth crashed into me, a wave on a stormy sea that threatened to drown me in its sorrow. The tan-tiled floor was colored with the same bright red that stain the sheet. I rushed to her side. She reached out with her hand, the fingers curled into a fist so tight that her knuckles were white. I took her hand, uncurled her fingers and held her hand in both of mine, my fear forgotten as my beloved lay there. Something hard pressed between our hands. She tried to shape words, struggled to speak three words that still today echo in my ears. I kissed her. The lights flickered. Thunder rolled through the room. Her hand fell from mine to dangle slack, lifelessly beside the gurney. I held my beloved Aria to me and wept, the rain and tears and sweat and blood running down my face.

I held her to me, gazing down at her little face scrunched up as she bawls that she is cold and hungry. Elizabeth. We named her Elizabeth Evelyn. I held my daughter to my chest and grieved tears that dripped onto her little face like rain. As my tears flowed, I passed it off as happiness, but in truth, I grieved for what could have been. The child I might have had. The child we would have had together.

No one knew of our engagement. People would have objected, especially as we had both just graduated from high school four months ago. Perhaps if they knew, they would have understood my intent. Maybe. I had to wait for everyone to leave, and as the day was moved on to twilight. I went back into the cemetery after everyone had left, carrying only my sword and the stone marker I would place there as my personal memorial. I didn’t plan on leaving the cemetery.

I am still on bent knee as she removes the ring, and she doesn’t even hesitate as she puts it on her finger. I tell her there is an inscription on the inside of the band. She asks me to tell her what it says.

I sink down to my knees. I lift the blade, press its tip against my heart. I wonder, briefly, if I would even die. After all, my heart, my soul was already dead and buried just in front of me,
wasn’t it? I begin to push the sword.

I lifted my hand up, still covered in her now extinguished lifeforce, it flowed down my fingers, tributaries to the river running down my arm to drip, a red waterfall to the ocean of ichor on the floor. There in my hand, was her ring. I gazed down at the words I had engraved there, now highlighted in the bright red of her blood. The lights in the ER flickered again.

Instead of the sword’s point, I feel the ring press against my chest. The sword thumps softly down on the mud as I pulled the ring from its place around my neck. I raise my head to the heavens. A solitary streak of light shines through the clouds, illuminating me. I feel the warmth, the power of her love, her devotion, her undying divinity. I feel warm as her caress brushes my face. The tears stream down as I cry uncontrollably. My body is wracked by spasms from the pain. I hear her voice drift from the sky, the stars. She sings the same song to me, as she did the night of the dance. “But alas my simple words are like a summer rain, that beats on far off hills then vanishes again.”

I place the stone in front of the one her parents bought.

I read the words. I knew them, felt them, believed them.

The same words are on the ring, the stone, my mind, and always on my heart.

I left the graveyard. The rain ended, and the sun shone from behind a vanishing cloud, its light illuminating my path. She smiles at me as I rise. The sword still lay upon the ground. I picked up the blade, sheathing it as I turned. The ring hung about my neck, a solemn reminder of my oath.

I left the cemetery that day, but never did I set a foot on the muddy earth, nor one of the rain-slicked paths.

Her smile comforted me in the church, even as her arms held me up to face my future.

She delivered me from the darkness of having to bury my child by the grace of her love.

I smile up at her now as she carries me from my battlefield of emotion.

Those two simple words, now immutable in steel, stone and flesh shall never be far from my mind, ever at the ready to be spoken aloud.

“My angel.”

*hugs for everyone*

That was really beautiful. I'm not sure what to say, but tons of hugs for you, Lentrax.

Not really. The concept of an avatar is to represent a person visually, so one usually assumes (if only subconsciously) that people choose an avatar that looks like them to serve as their representation, and are taken aback when that's not the case. And of course every person who does have an avatar that looks like them in real life just reinforces that assumption.

That discrepancy can certainly make talking about transgender issues interesting. I must admit, I've gotten a bit confused before by people talking about gender dysphoria when I haven't checked the thread in a while--it's like, "Why are you talking about having issues with a male body? You have a female body, I'm looking at your avatar and I can see that--ohhhhh, right."

Things would be so much easier if people just chose avatars matching their appearance. I mean, obviously I did, why can't you people do the same?

Well, for me having a female avatar comes with a good feeling. Even before I figured stuff out I used female avatars all the time and played female characters cause I just felt more comfortable with that. Having a female avatar just means I can feel a bit more me and can forget about the whole body thing a bit more.

[the_druid_droid]

changeling: 1
Hominid dominated planet: 0

;D

SiuiS isn't a pony?

SiuiS is bestchangeling

Still jealous they didn't have shirts my size...

[golentan]

Well, for me having a female avatar comes with a good feeling. Even before I figured stuff out I used female avatars all the time and played female characters cause I just felt more comfortable with that. Having a female avatar just means I can feel a bit more me and can forget about the whole body thing a bit more.

Huh. Gender identity just couldn't matter less to me, especially when it comes to avatars or characters. Unless the person's (yes, characters I create become separate people in my head) gender identity matters to them as part of their character, I usually flip a coin or roll a die to determine their sex and or sexual preferences.

Raises an interesting question. I don't understand dysmorphia, gendered behavior, certain romantic concepts (only romantically interested in potential sexual partners, only romantically interested in one person, some others which I'm not sure how to describe). These ideas, which seem extremely common in the general population, just fail to stick. Like trying to grab a bead of mercury with chopsticks. I've learned to mouth the motions, identify the pattern, but I can't claim to understand them. But the people I create in my head understand them just fine, to the point they're frequently important parts of the person's identity. And I ask them to explain it to me, because after all they are a part of me so they should be compatible with the rest of my brain, and they can't. What does that say about me?

[Socratov]

Huh. Gender identity just couldn't matter less to me, especially when it comes to avatars or characters. Unless the person's (yes, characters I create become separate people in my head) gender identity matters to them as part of their character, I usually flip a coin or roll a die to determine their sex and or sexual preferences.

Raises an interesting question. I don't understand dysmorphia, gendered behavior, certain romantic concepts (only romantically interested in potential sexual partners, only romantically interested in one person, some others which I'm not sure how to describe). These ideas, which seem extremely common in the general population, just fail to stick. Like trying to grab a bead of mercury with chopsticks. I've learned to mouth the motions, identify the pattern, but I can't claim to understand them. But the people I create in my head understand them just fine, to the point they're frequently important parts of the person's identity. And I ask them to explain it to me, because after all they are a part of me so they should be compatible with the rest of my brain, and they can't. What does that say about me?

I think it says about you that you are not omniscient and thus (seeing your ability to grasp grammar and language) that you are a human being. the fact that you don't understand them becuase you haven't experienced them is normal. I too don't really understand genderdysphoria, but that is because I look upon my dangling bits with a love bordering on narcissism (ok, slight hyperbole) and I feel quite comfortable in my role as man as endorsed by society. As long as you try to understand someone's motives and behavioral patterns you can still do the whole 'i can imagine trick'. when people talk about bad cases of genderdysphoria I don't understand it, but I can imagine that it bothers them. Do I really understand? No. Do I understand enough to care and express supporting sentiments? Yes. Will I ever really understand? Maybe, when the phenomenon happens to me, but not with any certainty. And it's the same for any other behavior that isn't part of my own. I think that ultimately all you can ask another for is to understand enough to be able to care, nothing more.

[Lady Serpentine]

Not really. The concept of an avatar is to represent a person visually, so one usually assumes (if only subconsciously) that people choose an avatar that looks like them to serve as their representation, and are taken aback when that's not the case. And of course every person who does have an avatar that looks like them in real life just reinforces that assumption.

What about those whose avatars include more than one person? For instance, the avatar I had before this one had two people of different genders in it, so how would that have been read?

[Lentrax]

I have not had something touch my soul like that in a long time. I cannot thank you enough for sharing it with me, and us. Anything else I say will pale in comparison to your beautiful words and take away their great weight, so I will leave it at that. Thank you.

~Matthew~

You are welcome. This is something I live with every day, but having shared it with others helps a lot more than I ever thought it would. Everyone who read it, thank you. It is a testament to the love and understanding everyone finds here, that you are so amazing, that I felt comfortable sharing this with you.

Thank you.

I think my friend got a photo of my eye art, if she did, I'll post it! Also, thank you!

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But, like, two seconds before that photo got taken, it was looking good. That was the friend with the camera going "Now kiss!" but Loki wasn't into it.



... I am blonde ... and not enormous ... I suppose my hair looks kind of dark in that first photo. I'm a kind of dusty blonde but not quite on the brown spectrum, not KenderWizard-yellow!



I'm pretty sure you're a solid black cube.

Well, Kender, I agree you are blonde, and IMO, the exact right size.

Huh. Gender identity just couldn't matter less to me, especially when it comes to avatars or characters. Unless the person's (yes, characters I create become separate people in my head) gender identity matters to them as part of their character, I usually flip a coin or roll a die to determine their sex and or sexual preferences.

Raises an interesting question. I don't understand dysmorphia, gendered behavior, certain romantic concepts (only romantically interested in potential sexual partners, only romantically interested in one person, some others which I'm not sure how to describe). These ideas, which seem extremely common in the general population, just fail to stick. Like trying to grab a bead of mercury with chopsticks. I've learned to mouth the motions, identify the pattern, but I can't claim to understand them. But the people I create in my head understand them just fine, to the point they're frequently important parts of the person's identity. And I ask them to explain it to me, because after all they are a part of me so they should be compatible with the rest of my brain, and they can't. What does that say about me?

I think it says about you that you are not omniscient and thus (seeing your ability to grasp grammar and language) that you are a human being. the fact that you don't understand them becuase you haven't experienced them is normal. I too don't really understand genderdysphoria, but that is because I look upon my dangling bits with a love bordering on narcissism (ok, slight hyperbole) and I feel quite comfortable in my role as man as endorsed by society. As long as you try to understand someone's motives and behavioral patterns you can still do the whole 'i can imagine trick'. when people talk about bad cases of genderdysphoria I don't understand it, but I can imagine that it bothers them. Do I really understand? No. Do I understand enough to care and express supporting sentiments? Yes. Will I ever really understand? Maybe, when the phenomenon happens to me, but not with any certainty. And it's the same for any other behavior that isn't part of my own. I think that ultimately all you can ask another for is to understand enough to be able to care, nothing more.

And the fact that both of you care enough to try and understand what they are and what they mean to many of us who do experience those kinds of feelings, means that you are both incredible human beings. People who care about how others feel. People who believe that people are people, and it doesn't matter how or who they are, they are amazing people of their own, and you like them despite or because of it.

[golentan]

I think it says about you that you are not omniscient and thus (seeing your ability to grasp grammar and language) that you are a human being. the fact that you don't understand them becuase you haven't experienced them is normal. I too don't really understand genderdysphoria, but that is because I look upon my dangling bits with a love bordering on narcissism (ok, slight hyperbole) and I feel quite comfortable in my role as man as endorsed by society. As long as you try to understand someone's motives and behavioral patterns you can still do the whole 'i can imagine trick'. when people talk about bad cases of genderdysphoria I don't understand it, but I can imagine that it bothers them. Do I really understand? No. Do I understand enough to care and express supporting sentiments? Yes. Will I ever really understand? Maybe, when the phenomenon happens to me, but not with any certainty. And it's the same for any other behavior that isn't part of my own. I think that ultimately all you can ask another for is to understand enough to be able to care, nothing more.

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Except that I can't even seem to manage that level of understanding. I can confirm that someone is being bothered, but I can't even grasp the foundations of why. I can visualize pain, coming from a physical or mental injury, but if I can't visualize something as an injury I can't understand why or how it would cause that pain, even as I recognize it as pain and want to stop it. It makes me feel like a doctor before modern medicine. A man comes in complaining of pain, yet to all senses and examination is whole and well. You can't deny that he's in pain, because he clearly is, and it is your job to ameliorate the pain, but he responds to none of the treatments you have studied and continues to show no evidence of injury or disease, even to the point of causing himself injury that you can see by trying to dig out the root of his suffering. What do you do? Send him on his way with commiserations, strap him down to prevent him doing to himself what he clearly believes to be the best option, teach him to live with the pain?

And when I encounter a new case that falls under the auspices of that-which-I-do-not-understand, I am woefully unprepared to deal with it. My prediction rate for how someone will react, or how they'll expect me to react, or what is and isn't appropriate based on previous experience using my models drops to a third of its normal value. I file away the incident, and analyze it later to try and fit it into my model of human behavior. Or... alternatively, I can draw up one of the characters I've modeled from storage in the back of my mind who seems to have relevant beliefs and ask their opinion. And their predictions are many times better than mine. So clearly some part of me understands it, but whatever part of my brain responsible for the insight doesn't talk to my "central mind" when I need it.

And this is why I hate English. I'm pretty sure I just failed to say what I'm trying to say *again,* but I can't think of a better way to say it. The structure of the thought seems so elegant in my head, and when I put it in english to share... It's like a jellyfish. In its natural element, it's a beautiful, dynamic, and delicate thing, and when it's pulled out of that element it's a big, ugly, shapeless, gooey blob that smells bad and can sting you.

Apologies, I'm on a weird kick at the moment. I'm pondering a lot of the way I feel alienated from normal society. Some of it, I at least have in common with others. Non-heteronormative attitudes, for example. I can come here and soak up the love and support whenever I start feeling targeted and ostracized by certain parts of society. Other things I've never met anyone who I can communicate the ideas to, or vice versa, so even if thousands of other people go through it I have no way of knowing. So when I started worrying about gender and sexuality with the characters I make to send out into games or the online world, I start thinking about mental partitioning and sorting, and consciousness shaping, and how I don't have words which adequately describe these and the existential issues they raise for me. I've occasionally toyed with the concept of "neutering" my mind down to my "Richard" persona which I use for most of my interactions with other people, but I'm not sure I could make it stick and the idea of limiting myself to a single, fixed partition is... not scary, but bad. An option of last resort.

I'm a sick puppy.

[Socratov]

And the fact that both of you care enough to try and understand what they are and what they mean to many of us who do experience those kinds of feelings, means that you are both incredible human beings. People who care about how others feel. People who believe that people are people, and it doesn't matter how or who they are, they are amazing people of their own, and you like them despite or because of it.

thank you, this is a great compliment.

Ok, removing the spoilers, since a part by part reaction is coming in 3.. 2.. 1..

Except that I can't even seem to manage that level of understanding. I can confirm that someone is being bothered, but I can't even grasp the foundations of why. I can visualize pain, coming from a physical or mental injury, but if I can't visualize something as an injury I can't understand why or how it would cause that pain, even as I recognize it as pain and want to stop it. It makes me feel like a doctor before modern medicine. A man comes in complaining of pain, yet to all senses and examination is whole and well. You can't deny that he's in pain, because he clearly is, and it is your job to ameliorate the pain, but he responds to none of the treatments you have studied and continues to show no evidence of injury or disease, even to the point of causing himself injury that you can see by trying to dig out the root of his suffering. What do you do? Send him on his way with commiserations, strap him down to prevent him doing to himself what he clearly believes to be the best option, teach him to live with the pain?

and that's what I try to tell you. You udnerstand the fact that there is a pain, you have a vague idea of where it could come form, but you don't really understand. and when you see it in people you care for you are at a loss of words and start, for lack of a better explanation, experimenting with things you can do, hoping to find something that you can do/use to help. I would like to refer to Lentrax' post that the acknowlegement of the phenomenon is what helps (and the subsequent treatment of a human being which I find only logical, though apparently this isn't the way the rest of the world works for some alien reason).

And when I encounter a new case that falls under the auspices of that-which-I-do-not-understand, I am woefully unprepared to deal with it. My prediction rate for how someone will react, or how they'll expect me to react, or what is and isn't appropriate based on previous experience using my models drops to a third of its normal value. I file away the incident, and analyze it later to try and fit it into my model of human behavior. Or... alternatively, I can draw up one of the characters I've modeled from storage in the back of my mind who seems to have relevant beliefs and ask their opinion. And their predictions are many times better than mine. So clearly some part of me understands it, but whatever part of my brain responsible for the insight doesn't talk to my "central mind" when I need it.

even this is only normal. If we understood everything at first sight, Science would be a piece of cake (yes, even rocket science). The fact that you employ such a methodical thought train is only logical and natural. You encounter something you don't know. Previous experiences may count for something but they arent validated as a working method for this new case, which again is only logical, since it's a new experience.

a few years ago we had a commercial saying the in the past gained results guarantee nothing for future. Back then it was aimed at financial products (stocks, futures, etc.), but it is very applicable to your situation.

Besides: You can't always do things right the first time. teh fact that you make mistakes and learn form them makes you a good person. it marks you as a person who is looking for growth and wants to do good.

And this is why I hate English. I'm pretty sure I just failed to say what I'm trying to say *again,* but I can't think of a better way to say it. The structure of the thought seems so elegant in my head, and when I put it in english to share... It's like a jellyfish. In its natural element, it's a beautiful, dynamic, and delicate thing, and when it's pulled out of that element it's a big, ugly, shapeless, gooey blob that smells bad and can sting you.

yeah language can be both a restriction and a tool when it comes to communicating thoughts. I agree with you, if only becuase English is not my native language.

Apologies, I'm on a weird kick at the moment. I'm pondering a lot of the way I feel alienated from normal society. Some of it, I at least have in common with others. Non-heteronormative attitudes, for example. I can come here and soak up the love and support whenever I start feeling targeted and ostracized by certain parts of society. Other things I've never met anyone who I can communicate the ideas to, or vice versa, so even if thousands of other people go through it I have no way of knowing. So when I started worrying about gender and sexuality with the characters I make to send out into games or the online world, I start thinking about mental partitioning and sorting, and consciousness shaping, and how I don't have words which adequately describe these and the existential issues they raise for me. I've occasionally toyed with the concept of "neutering" my mind down to my "Richard" persona which I use for most of my interactions with other people, but I'm not sure I could make it stick and the idea of limiting myself to a single, fixed partition is... not scary, but bad. An option of last resort.

have you tried making art? If language is not an option, try painting or drawing or whatever takes your fancy. someone it bound to understand what you mean and by publishing your art he/she/what-have-you will find you and contact you. I know it's scary, but it might just work.

I'm a sick puppy.

no you're not, you are a wonderful person who might just have a bit of need of support once in a while. Just you hang in there, and don't let life get you down!
*brohug*

[Mina Kobold]

Hello again!

This time, I vanished because I was at a con. Well, first I was in that pre-con costume frenzy, at my friend's house, then I was at a con, and then I was sick/exhausted for a day. Anyway, I cosplayed as Lady Thor, and my friend was Loki, and it was AWESOME.

Me as Lady Thor:

Spoiler

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What you can't see very well is my make-up, I did crazy eye art. I haven't worn make up in ages, it was fun. I like doing eye art. I even glued silver-grey studs to my face! Also, I modded a pair of earrings to be silver wings that went up along my ears. And I made my Mjolnir! I made everything except dress, tights and shoes.

In other news, our Tainiste (second to the Taoiseach, who is like our Prime Minister) has started to make pro-marriage noises, and apparently the public is now something like 73% in favour of marriage for same-sex couples, so I'm hoping we'll make progress on this soon!

Thorrific! You look amazing as the Thunderer.^_^

I hope your hope proves true! It would be grand to see Ireland get ahead.

It's story time everyone. As we approach the worst time of year for me, I am reminded of a project I did for an English class two years ago. It is nonfiction. Every word in it is true, and I wish you to know the story. Thank you all in advance for taking the time to read it, though I know it is really long.

Spoiler

Show

A Requiem for Aria

“We long for what we cannot have, a sad, unbroken chain,
Of lovers who yearn for others, and loved who love in vain.” -Aria.

I stand before the grave, the windswept rain slashing the ends of my coat out behind me.
The grass and flowers bend over, as if in deference to the woman buried beneath the stone marker. My head bows in respect. The memories drift through my mind like water. A tear leaks from my eye, running down my face, and then is swept away, lost to the winds. The school dance ten years ago now, the waning light of dusk glimmering off her dress, sparkling and dazzling my eyes like the sun off a calm sea at sunset. Aria always was elegant in blue. Royal. Divine. I had eyes for no other. Alone we danced amidst the crowd of couples, the calm eye in a storm of teen angst. She sang softly, her voice barely a whisper heard over the din of couples dancing around the gym. Her voice touched me as it always has, reaching down to the hidden recesses of my heart, and gently caressing my spirit. Softly she sings, her breathtaking voice an angelic whisper over the tumult of the other couples. “I wish this song were pixie dust that I blow into your eyes.
To make you see the loveliness beneath my sad disguise.” Even today as I sing the words, my soul soars, reaching from the darkness of the abyss I live in, stretching its wings and, even if only for a moment, basks in the light of her love.

Chuck, Cathy’s father, drunk as always spoke to me before the wedding. “You’ll never amount to anything, you worthless bum.” He wants me to fail. He tries to make me regret everything. I began to shake. I stood before the altar, my knees shaking like the branches of the winter-bare trees outside. I was positive, as surely as the trees go bare in winter, that anyone could see the shaking. I could feel the congregation, feel their sneers, their laughing. I can still imagine my soon to be father-in-law, waiting with baited breath to see me collapse, or run, or do something to embarrass myself. I quickly stole a glance around the church, saw the faces gathered. The corner of my eye caught on a blue dress. Her blue dress. She was there. As she smiled, I could feel the warmth of her love, and my shakes vanished. My heart was steeled. I stood ready.

A scream pierced the beeps and trills of the operating room. I stood beside Cathy as she laid stretched out, a curtain blocking my view of anything below her breasts. Through the window I saw the trees, some of the branches dead, their leaves strewn across the ground, leaving the branches barren. She screamed again. I turned to the anesthesiologist, who merely shrugged and pushed a button and dispensed more medicine into my wife. When I turned, there was another sound. A gasping, struggle of a scream. Elizabeth came into the world, born in blood and fluids. Her struggle begins. She was placed in an incubator, to keep her warm in her newfound cold, bright world. More monitors added my daughters erratic tattoo of life to the din of the operating room. Then a sharp trill as her heart stopped. My heart ceased to beat as nurses tried to revive her. Her touch rested against my chest, and my heart began to beat stronger, as though to tell me that by pumping my blood faster, harder, it would start hers a-beating again. I feel her caress upon my heart, and the monitors beeped once more.

Once more, I stand at the grave. It has been so long that there is a crack there, looming through the name like the Grand Canyon, separating me from the one laying beneath the ground. Has it truly been four years since I last stood here? Leaves are strewn across the ground, skittering across my vision as the wind picks them up. I always felt naked standing here, defenseless. This place was the only one I dared let down the armor around my heart. “Aria, my love, I’m sorry I haven’t been here often. It’s just…. I…” I cannot find the words to express what I wanted to tell her. I feel the first drops of rain on my face as I stand there, lost in memories. Or were they tears? I cannot say. Why was it always rain? Fat rain, wet rain, soft, hard, slashing, tearing, cutting. Why was it always raining? It is impossible to tell what are tears and what is rain. They are the same now. When it rains, it is because I am crying. When I cry, it is because it is raining.
Through my choking sobs, I managed to speak my feelings. “I miss you, my love. Not a day passes where you are not the first thing in my mind when I wake. How do I keep going, love? ” The winds breezes almost lazily through my hair, casting strands about, even as they are flattened by the fat wet drops of rain. The wind carries her voice to me again, as though she were standing beside me, singing that same sad song. “I wish I could weave these words into a magic spell, That I could utter anytime, to make you love me well.”

I could feel a chill against my chest. A spot of utter cold against my warm flesh. The priest droned on about the union of souls. I hardly paid attention, my thoughts drifting to the band of metal, the two twists of silver on its chain about my neck resting next to my dog tags. “I do.” My reply to the priest as he asks me that one incredibly long question about opposites. The heat of my chest, the cool of the metal, fought as my emotions did. Lifetimes flashed before my eyes. I saw things that may yet come. I saw lives I will never be able to live.

Aria and I went camping after we graduated from high school before I moved to college for the fall semester. I broached the idea as last minute, though I had planned the weekend for months. The soft earth was damp from the last nights rain. The cold mud seeped through my pants, leeching the warmth from my leg as I knelt before her. My sword glimmered in the first true light of dawn shining through the trees as I held it up to her. That red-orange light reflected from the blade onto my face as I swore my oath to the queen of my heart. “To eternity, my love, till the end of time, I am yours. Everything I have, my love, my devotion, my life.” She blushed and turned away. I had planned that, counted on it. I knew when she would turn back, and was ready for it. I rammed the blade into the ground, the hilt swaying in the breeze as I grasped in my coat. When she did turn, instead of seeing my naked steel, she gazed upon a small, black box. She slowly lifted it up, opened it. She gasped as she saw what lay within. Her lips pressed together into that tight, thin-lipped smile she gave to no other. Her special smile. Again I spoke, my throat constricted as my emotions rose up within me, my rehearsed speech gone in the heat of the moment. “Everything I have, everything I am, it is yours. Will you take me as I am?”

“I do.” Cathy’s response to that same question. I saw a ghost of that special smile on her face. We are wed and Chuck’s sneer is gone. I feel her smile from the back of the church.

I stand in the graveyard, the memories flowing through my head, past my eyes, in my ears, as the water flows down my face. I had failed. I swore my oath to her, and now I am left as she lies there before me. She was gone, and I had failed. My world has fallen apart. My darkness eternal, no end in sight. I would have given anything at that moment to see her face one last time. To hold her, and tell her, one last time, that I loved her. I stand before her grave, the rain dripping softly off of the leaves of the trees. Everyone else had gone, the cemetery workers had finished replacing the soil over her casket and had left, and now the rain slowly began turning it to mud. The air, filled with the sounds of rain, now heralded the ring of steel arriving in the cool, wet twilight. The blade was cold as I kissed the bare steel.

The doors to the Emergency Room slid open with a boom of thunder. Lightning tore the heavens apart, as the deadly bolts sought out victims. My heart was pounding so fast, I could hear my blood rushing through my ears. I found her there, lying on the gurney. Doctors frantically tried to put things aright in her body. Strange, I thought, that the beds would have red sheets. But then I could see a stripe of pure white as the fabric was pulled taut, and I realized what was truly happening. The truth crashed into me, a wave on a stormy sea that threatened to drown me in its sorrow. The tan-tiled floor was colored with the same bright red that stain the sheet. I rushed to her side. She reached out with her hand, the fingers curled into a fist so tight that her knuckles were white. I took her hand, uncurled her fingers and held her hand in both of mine, my fear forgotten as my beloved lay there. Something hard pressed between our hands. She tried to shape words, struggled to speak three words that still today echo in my ears. I kissed her. The lights flickered. Thunder rolled through the room. Her hand fell from mine to dangle slack, lifelessly beside the gurney. I held my beloved Aria to me and wept, the rain and tears and sweat and blood running down my face.

I held her to me, gazing down at her little face scrunched up as she bawls that she is cold and hungry. Elizabeth. We named her Elizabeth Evelyn. I held my daughter to my chest and grieved tears that dripped onto her little face like rain. As my tears flowed, I passed it off as happiness, but in truth, I grieved for what could have been. The child I might have had. The child we would have had together.

No one knew of our engagement. People would have objected, especially as we had both just graduated from high school four months ago. Perhaps if they knew, they would have understood my intent. Maybe. I had to wait for everyone to leave, and as the day was moved on to twilight. I went back into the cemetery after everyone had left, carrying only my sword and the stone marker I would place there as my personal memorial. I didn’t plan on leaving the cemetery.

I am still on bent knee as she removes the ring, and she doesn’t even hesitate as she puts it on her finger. I tell her there is an inscription on the inside of the band. She asks me to tell her what it says.

I sink down to my knees. I lift the blade, press its tip against my heart. I wonder, briefly, if I would even die. After all, my heart, my soul was already dead and buried just in front of me,
wasn’t it? I begin to push the sword.

I lifted my hand up, still covered in her now extinguished lifeforce, it flowed down my fingers, tributaries to the river running down my arm to drip, a red waterfall to the ocean of ichor on the floor. There in my hand, was her ring. I gazed down at the words I had engraved there, now highlighted in the bright red of her blood. The lights in the ER flickered again.

Instead of the sword’s point, I feel the ring press against my chest. The sword thumps softly down on the mud as I pulled the ring from its place around my neck. I raise my head to the heavens. A solitary streak of light shines through the clouds, illuminating me. I feel the warmth, the power of her love, her devotion, her undying divinity. I feel warm as her caress brushes my face. The tears stream down as I cry uncontrollably. My body is wracked by spasms from the pain. I hear her voice drift from the sky, the stars. She sings the same song to me, as she did the night of the dance. “But alas my simple words are like a summer rain, that beats on far off hills then vanishes again.”

I place the stone in front of the one her parents bought.

I read the words. I knew them, felt them, believed them.

The same words are on the ring, the stone, my mind, and always on my heart.

I left the graveyard. The rain ended, and the sun shone from behind a vanishing cloud, its light illuminating my path. She smiles at me as I rise. The sword still lay upon the ground. I picked up the blade, sheathing it as I turned. The ring hung about my neck, a solemn reminder of my oath.

I left the cemetery that day, but never did I set a foot on the muddy earth, nor one of the rain-slicked paths.

Her smile comforted me in the church, even as her arms held me up to face my future.

She delivered me from the darkness of having to bury my child by the grace of her love.

I smile up at her now as she carries me from my battlefield of emotion.

Those two simple words, now immutable in steel, stone and flesh shall never be far from my mind, ever at the ready to be spoken aloud.

“My angel.”

*hugs for everyone*

That is the saddest and most beautiful thing I have read in a long time.

*HUGS*

Things would be so much easier if people just chose avatars matching their appearance. I mean, obviously I did, why can't you people do the same?

No idea, I certainly do it. :3

@Golentan: I think that sounds very normal. Sentient beings may be much similar, but we are vastly different too. To some, what seems insignificant to me is more important than all the history and art in human experience. In fact, just me saying that may confuse someone who has little interest in those. To understand everybody is an enormous task, so do not fear because you cannot overcome it just yet.

You might even understand others more than you think, the targeting and ostracising is a huge part of what makes dysphoria painful, in my experience. The constant and often unintentional enforcement of you being someone else makes it much harder to examine one's identity than it should. Perhaps looking at it like that may get you closer to understanding it? ^_^

Also, you are not a sick puppy. You are a hopefully-not-having-a-cold-or-worse Golentan. :3

[noparlpf]

Well, for me having a female avatar comes with a good feeling. Even before I figured stuff out I used female avatars all the time and played female characters cause I just felt more comfortable with that. Having a female avatar just means I can feel a bit more me and can forget about the whole body thing a bit more.

The weird thing is, when I'm scrolling down and haven't gotten all the way to the post yet, and I see the avatar before reading the name, I mistake you for Helio a lot. It's the hat.

Huh. Gender identity just couldn't matter less to me, especially when it comes to avatars or characters. Unless the person's (yes, characters I create become separate people in my head) gender identity matters to them as part of their character, I usually flip a coin or roll a die to determine their sex and or sexual preferences.

Raises an interesting question. I don't understand dysmorphia, gendered behavior, certain romantic concepts (only romantically interested in potential sexual partners, only romantically interested in one person, some others which I'm not sure how to describe). These ideas, which seem extremely common in the general population, just fail to stick. Like trying to grab a bead of mercury with chopsticks. I've learned to mouth the motions, identify the pattern, but I can't claim to understand them. But the people I create in my head understand them just fine, to the point they're frequently important parts of the person's identity. And I ask them to explain it to me, because after all they are a part of me so they should be compatible with the rest of my brain, and they can't. What does that say about me?

Try again at 230K?
(Mercury is solid at that temperature.) Which is to say, I don't really know. I have a lot of trouble understanding other people too, but I don't have characters in my head who do seem to understand. Seems like an odd experience.
(Oh--I have a friend who's asexual, but many of her characters are sexual, and they seem to get it but she doesn't. Sounds like a similar situation.)

[Beacon of Chaos]

Found another article people might be interested in; it's about Sweedish schools de-emphasising gender roles.

[Absol197]

Hey guys! Sorry I haven't been posting as much recently; I've still been here, honest!

I'm just dropping in to give *hugs* to Lentrax, Golly, Kender, Lena, and anyone else who asks for some.

Okay, I'll be back! *Flies away is a rush of flame*


~Phoenix~

[Lentrax]

Hey guys! Sorry I haven't been posting as much recently; I've still been here, honest!

I'm just dropping in to give *hugs* to Lentrax, Golly, Kender, Lena, and anyone else who asks for some.

Okay, I'll be back! *Flies away is a rush of flame*


~Phoenix~

Thanks Phee. Hope all is well with you and yours. *hugs back*

[Lycunadari]

*Hugs*

Spoiler

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That sounds terribly confusing, but I hope it will clear up soon.

You may never have thought of yourself as anything but cis, but you might still not have fit in the mould. I certainly would be much more confused without the knowledge gained here. But I may just be weird that way. ^_^'

I cannot say anything with expertise, but I think one could make jokes like that without being a woman. I do not think you are doing them to overcompensate for the doubt, though I think that happens sometimes, but maybe it is just habit? Growing up with an assigned gender can leave some strange reflexory acts even if you completely throw off that gender or the binary entirely. It could also be that you are fluid and fit the Female label when you say so, but the Androgynous label when you are happy to be called so. You could also be both, and you are happy that a normally ignored part of you is recognised. Or you could be female entirely, and just confused. In the end, you are the only one who can know.

I hope some of that was helpful, I am terrible at cheering anyone up. ^_^'

I don't think it's that odd that you hadn't really thought about it before reading this thread. A lot of my gender stuff was very subconscious before I met a genderqueer friend of mine and just blurted out that I was confused about my gender one evening.

I hope you manage to figure out stuff, but don't pressure yourself about it, take your time to work it all out. And just remember, we're here to help you out if you need us.

Thank you both for your kind words. I guess I just need more time till I feel like I actually know who or what I am. Normally I wouldn't care that much and just say "I'm me, everything else doesn't matter", but sometimes my mind goes crazy and then I wish I had a nice fitting label to hold on to. But it certainly helps to have an other place than my diary where I can express my confusing thoughts, and get answers other than the ones the voices in my head give me.
(I could of course talk to my parents, I'm sure they'd be supportive and everything, but I don't like talking about things when I'm not completely sure myself. )

It's story time everyone. As we approach the worst time of year for me, I am reminded of a project I did for an English class two years ago. It is nonfiction. Every word in it is true, and I wish you to know the story. Thank you all in advance for taking the time to read it, though I know it is really long.

Spoiler

Show

A Requiem for Aria

“We long for what we cannot have, a sad, unbroken chain,
Of lovers who yearn for others, and loved who love in vain.” -Aria.

I stand before the grave, the windswept rain slashing the ends of my coat out behind me.
The grass and flowers bend over, as if in deference to the woman buried beneath the stone marker. My head bows in respect. The memories drift through my mind like water. A tear leaks from my eye, running down my face, and then is swept away, lost to the winds. The school dance ten years ago now, the waning light of dusk glimmering off her dress, sparkling and dazzling my eyes like the sun off a calm sea at sunset. Aria always was elegant in blue. Royal. Divine. I had eyes for no other. Alone we danced amidst the crowd of couples, the calm eye in a storm of teen angst. She sang softly, her voice barely a whisper heard over the din of couples dancing around the gym. Her voice touched me as it always has, reaching down to the hidden recesses of my heart, and gently caressing my spirit. Softly she sings, her breathtaking voice an angelic whisper over the tumult of the other couples. “I wish this song were pixie dust that I blow into your eyes.
To make you see the loveliness beneath my sad disguise.” Even today as I sing the words, my soul soars, reaching from the darkness of the abyss I live in, stretching its wings and, even if only for a moment, basks in the light of her love.

Chuck, Cathy’s father, drunk as always spoke to me before the wedding. “You’ll never amount to anything, you worthless bum.” He wants me to fail. He tries to make me regret everything. I began to shake. I stood before the altar, my knees shaking like the branches of the winter-bare trees outside. I was positive, as surely as the trees go bare in winter, that anyone could see the shaking. I could feel the congregation, feel their sneers, their laughing. I can still imagine my soon to be father-in-law, waiting with baited breath to see me collapse, or run, or do something to embarrass myself. I quickly stole a glance around the church, saw the faces gathered. The corner of my eye caught on a blue dress. Her blue dress. She was there. As she smiled, I could feel the warmth of her love, and my shakes vanished. My heart was steeled. I stood ready.

A scream pierced the beeps and trills of the operating room. I stood beside Cathy as she laid stretched out, a curtain blocking my view of anything below her breasts. Through the window I saw the trees, some of the branches dead, their leaves strewn across the ground, leaving the branches barren. She screamed again. I turned to the anesthesiologist, who merely shrugged and pushed a button and dispensed more medicine into my wife. When I turned, there was another sound. A gasping, struggle of a scream. Elizabeth came into the world, born in blood and fluids. Her struggle begins. She was placed in an incubator, to keep her warm in her newfound cold, bright world. More monitors added my daughters erratic tattoo of life to the din of the operating room. Then a sharp trill as her heart stopped. My heart ceased to beat as nurses tried to revive her. Her touch rested against my chest, and my heart began to beat stronger, as though to tell me that by pumping my blood faster, harder, it would start hers a-beating again. I feel her caress upon my heart, and the monitors beeped once more.

Once more, I stand at the grave. It has been so long that there is a crack there, looming through the name like the Grand Canyon, separating me from the one laying beneath the ground. Has it truly been four years since I last stood here? Leaves are strewn across the ground, skittering across my vision as the wind picks them up. I always felt naked standing here, defenseless. This place was the only one I dared let down the armor around my heart. “Aria, my love, I’m sorry I haven’t been here often. It’s just…. I…” I cannot find the words to express what I wanted to tell her. I feel the first drops of rain on my face as I stand there, lost in memories. Or were they tears? I cannot say. Why was it always rain? Fat rain, wet rain, soft, hard, slashing, tearing, cutting. Why was it always raining? It is impossible to tell what are tears and what is rain. They are the same now. When it rains, it is because I am crying. When I cry, it is because it is raining.
Through my choking sobs, I managed to speak my feelings. “I miss you, my love. Not a day passes where you are not the first thing in my mind when I wake. How do I keep going, love? ” The winds breezes almost lazily through my hair, casting strands about, even as they are flattened by the fat wet drops of rain. The wind carries her voice to me again, as though she were standing beside me, singing that same sad song. “I wish I could weave these words into a magic spell, That I could utter anytime, to make you love me well.”

I could feel a chill against my chest. A spot of utter cold against my warm flesh. The priest droned on about the union of souls. I hardly paid attention, my thoughts drifting to the band of metal, the two twists of silver on its chain about my neck resting next to my dog tags. “I do.” My reply to the priest as he asks me that one incredibly long question about opposites. The heat of my chest, the cool of the metal, fought as my emotions did. Lifetimes flashed before my eyes. I saw things that may yet come. I saw lives I will never be able to live.

Aria and I went camping after we graduated from high school before I moved to college for the fall semester. I broached the idea as last minute, though I had planned the weekend for months. The soft earth was damp from the last nights rain. The cold mud seeped through my pants, leeching the warmth from my leg as I knelt before her. My sword glimmered in the first true light of dawn shining through the trees as I held it up to her. That red-orange light reflected from the blade onto my face as I swore my oath to the queen of my heart. “To eternity, my love, till the end of time, I am yours. Everything I have, my love, my devotion, my life.” She blushed and turned away. I had planned that, counted on it. I knew when she would turn back, and was ready for it. I rammed the blade into the ground, the hilt swaying in the breeze as I grasped in my coat. When she did turn, instead of seeing my naked steel, she gazed upon a small, black box. She slowly lifted it up, opened it. She gasped as she saw what lay within. Her lips pressed together into that tight, thin-lipped smile she gave to no other. Her special smile. Again I spoke, my throat constricted as my emotions rose up within me, my rehearsed speech gone in the heat of the moment. “Everything I have, everything I am, it is yours. Will you take me as I am?”

“I do.” Cathy’s response to that same question. I saw a ghost of that special smile on her face. We are wed and Chuck’s sneer is gone. I feel her smile from the back of the church.

I stand in the graveyard, the memories flowing through my head, past my eyes, in my ears, as the water flows down my face. I had failed. I swore my oath to her, and now I am left as she lies there before me. She was gone, and I had failed. My world has fallen apart. My darkness eternal, no end in sight. I would have given anything at that moment to see her face one last time. To hold her, and tell her, one last time, that I loved her. I stand before her grave, the rain dripping softly off of the leaves of the trees. Everyone else had gone, the cemetery workers had finished replacing the soil over her casket and had left, and now the rain slowly began turning it to mud. The air, filled with the sounds of rain, now heralded the ring of steel arriving in the cool, wet twilight. The blade was cold as I kissed the bare steel.

The doors to the Emergency Room slid open with a boom of thunder. Lightning tore the heavens apart, as the deadly bolts sought out victims. My heart was pounding so fast, I could hear my blood rushing through my ears. I found her there, lying on the gurney. Doctors frantically tried to put things aright in her body. Strange, I thought, that the beds would have red sheets. But then I could see a stripe of pure white as the fabric was pulled taut, and I realized what was truly happening. The truth crashed into me, a wave on a stormy sea that threatened to drown me in its sorrow. The tan-tiled floor was colored with the same bright red that stain the sheet. I rushed to her side. She reached out with her hand, the fingers curled into a fist so tight that her knuckles were white. I took her hand, uncurled her fingers and held her hand in both of mine, my fear forgotten as my beloved lay there. Something hard pressed between our hands. She tried to shape words, struggled to speak three words that still today echo in my ears. I kissed her. The lights flickered. Thunder rolled through the room. Her hand fell from mine to dangle slack, lifelessly beside the gurney. I held my beloved Aria to me and wept, the rain and tears and sweat and blood running down my face.

I held her to me, gazing down at her little face scrunched up as she bawls that she is cold and hungry. Elizabeth. We named her Elizabeth Evelyn. I held my daughter to my chest and grieved tears that dripped onto her little face like rain. As my tears flowed, I passed it off as happiness, but in truth, I grieved for what could have been. The child I might have had. The child we would have had together.

No one knew of our engagement. People would have objected, especially as we had both just graduated from high school four months ago. Perhaps if they knew, they would have understood my intent. Maybe. I had to wait for everyone to leave, and as the day was moved on to twilight. I went back into the cemetery after everyone had left, carrying only my sword and the stone marker I would place there as my personal memorial. I didn’t plan on leaving the cemetery.

I am still on bent knee as she removes the ring, and she doesn’t even hesitate as she puts it on her finger. I tell her there is an inscription on the inside of the band. She asks me to tell her what it says.

I sink down to my knees. I lift the blade, press its tip against my heart. I wonder, briefly, if I would even die. After all, my heart, my soul was already dead and buried just in front of me,
wasn’t it? I begin to push the sword.

I lifted my hand up, still covered in her now extinguished lifeforce, it flowed down my fingers, tributaries to the river running down my arm to drip, a red waterfall to the ocean of ichor on the floor. There in my hand, was her ring. I gazed down at the words I had engraved there, now highlighted in the bright red of her blood. The lights in the ER flickered again.

Instead of the sword’s point, I feel the ring press against my chest. The sword thumps softly down on the mud as I pulled the ring from its place around my neck. I raise my head to the heavens. A solitary streak of light shines through the clouds, illuminating me. I feel the warmth, the power of her love, her devotion, her undying divinity. I feel warm as her caress brushes my face. The tears stream down as I cry uncontrollably. My body is wracked by spasms from the pain. I hear her voice drift from the sky, the stars. She sings the same song to me, as she did the night of the dance. “But alas my simple words are like a summer rain, that beats on far off hills then vanishes again.”

I place the stone in front of the one her parents bought.

I read the words. I knew them, felt them, believed them.

The same words are on the ring, the stone, my mind, and always on my heart.

I left the graveyard. The rain ended, and the sun shone from behind a vanishing cloud, its light illuminating my path. She smiles at me as I rise. The sword still lay upon the ground. I picked up the blade, sheathing it as I turned. The ring hung about my neck, a solemn reminder of my oath.

I left the cemetery that day, but never did I set a foot on the muddy earth, nor one of the rain-slicked paths.

Her smile comforted me in the church, even as her arms held me up to face my future.

She delivered me from the darkness of having to bury my child by the grace of her love.

I smile up at her now as she carries me from my battlefield of emotion.

Those two simple words, now immutable in steel, stone and flesh shall never be far from my mind, ever at the ready to be spoken aloud.

“My angel.”

*hugs for everyone*

I feel honored that you trust us enough to share your story with us. It's so sad and beautifully written, I don't know what to say. *hugs*

[Lentrax]

Well opinions you can get here at little to no cost to you.

And thank you. But it is I who am honored to have a group of wonderful, caring, lovely people who care about how I feel.

Thank you all for being here for me to share my life and yours.

[KenderWizard]

I imagined pigtails. Did anyone else imagine pigtails?

Also, like, stereotypical young-Irish-cusp-of-womanhood features.

So an elf with pigtails.

You can tell I never really spent much time on it, no?

I did have pigtails once. I could do pigtails now, actually, but I plan on cutting my hair very soon, and then I won't have long enough hair for pigtails.

Kender's posted pics here before. Nobody remembers that one where she was cosplaying as Vaarsuvius? Although I rememeber her looking different in that compared to her Thor costume. Could be the makeup, and it probably is.

Probably, also the purple hair is quite the game-changer.

Alright, you got me. I only aspire to being as cool as an awakened gelatinous cube from the plane of shadow.
Also, nice costume. For some reason when I tried to multiquote your post it went missing.

Thank you!

I particularly liked the photo on the train. Think her hair was nicer in that one, but she's just as pretty all around.

Thank you! I like the train one too, actually.

Neat costume! Sounds like you had a great time.

Thank you!

Well, Kender, I agree you are blonde, and IMO, the exact right size.

Thank you! I'm having weight issues but all tangled up with general body issues and disability and illness issues and stuff. I feel pretty safe posting a photo here, I don't think anyone here is going to say "You're fat and ugly and should be ashamed", but it's really nice to get the opposite.

Thorrific! You look amazing as the Thunderer.^_^

Thank you!

Hey guys! Sorry I haven't been posting as much recently; I've still been here, honest!

I'm just dropping in to give *hugs* to Lentrax, Golly, Kender, Lena, and anyone else who asks for some.

Okay, I'll be back! *Flies away is a rush of flame*


~Phoenix~

Hugs!!



Re: Dysphoria: I try to understand it by starting with my body issues and imagining it being about parts and presentation rather than (or along with) size and shape and then putting the kind of feeling I get when that's really really bad with the kind of feeling I get when I'm really insecure and anxious, and then sort of imagining it in a different colour or flavour. Or something.

Re: Lentrax's story. I feel I should say, I'm not ignoring your story, I was going to read it but then people were saying it was really sad and I've had to stop reading or watching sad things because I get hilariously upset. Except it's not actually hilarious, it's more awkward and unpleasant and spirals into further upset, so reading something sad is just not something I feel I can do right now. (In fact, my aunt just published a novel and I can't read it for this reason... I mean, technically, I can, but I really don't like crying for aaaages. Maybe later.)

[Astrella]

*tons of hugs for Goly and seconding Keveak and Socratov*

Oh, and I really get the frustration about language. Trying to put things into words feels like I'm trying to pick up brittle leaves in autumn only to have the crumble to dust in my clumsy hands.

Found another article people might be interested in; it's about Sweedish schools de-emphasising gender roles.

That's pretty cool.

Hey guys! Sorry I haven't been posting as much recently; I've still been here, honest!

I'm just dropping in to give *hugs* to Lentrax, Golly, Kender, Lena, and anyone else who asks for some.

Okay, I'll be back! *Flies away is a rush of flame*


~Phoenix~

*hugs and waves*

Thank you both for your kind words. I guess I just need more time till I feel like I actually know who or what I am. Normally I wouldn't care that much and just say "I'm me, everything else doesn't matter", but sometimes my mind goes crazy and then I wish I had a nice fitting label to hold on to. But it certainly helps to have an other place than my diary where I can express my confusing thoughts, and get answers other than the ones the voices in my head give me.
(I could of course talk to my parents, I'm sure they'd be supportive and everything, but I don't like talking about things when I'm not completely sure myself. )

Hm hm, having a label to hold on to is a nice thing; just remember that the label is supposed to fit you and not you who has to fit the label~
One thing that helped me a ton in figuring stuff out what just talking and reading about it a lot, looking up other people's perspectives and all that.

Well opinions you can get here at little to no cost to you.

And thank you. But it is I who am honored to have a group of wonderful, caring, lovely people who care about how I feel.

Thank you all for being here for me to share my life and yours.

I'm really glad you've found a place like that here.

-----

A nice article about role models; and trans* role models in particular.

[noparlpf]

Oh yeah. Earlier I saw an email from someone--I think the Ultraviolet people?--asking people to send in holiday gift suggestions that refute the standard sparkly-pink-princesses archetype of gifts for girls.

[Asta Kask]

A chemistry set?

[noparlpf]

A chemistry set?

Sounds dangerous. My Orgo prof. told a story about his daughter playing with his modelling sets and asking him to name the fantastic compounds she came up with.

I don't remember if it was supposed to be "gender-neutral gift ideas" or "strong female lead" movies, books, &c.

[Asta Kask]

What age are we talking about?

[noparlpf]

What age are we talking about?

It had various categories, in two-year increments under ten, then 11-12 and 13+, I think. Something like that.

[Coidzor]

I did have pigtails once. I could do pigtails now, actually, but I plan on cutting my hair very soon, and then I won't have long enough hair for pigtails.

Obviously that means it's time for a last hurray then.

Probably, also the purple hair is quite the game-changer.

Also, makes it hard to remember you when confronted with a blonde you.

[KenderWizard]

A chemistry set?

I got one when I was 12, it was AWESOME!!

Obviously that means it's time for a last hurray then.


Also, makes it hard to remember you when confronted with a blonde you.

I suppose so!

[Coidzor]

I got one when I was 12, it was AWESOME!!

I wish I'd gotten one as a kid. Then again, I think my parents wisely knew I'd probably end up setting fire to the cats with it. Granted, I wouldn't have had to go out of my way to do so with how many there were around the house, about 50-50 whether it'd be a self-inflicted catfire, really.

I suppose so!

I'm sure your gedonkle would appreciate it too.

[Unbeknownst]

Back in the day, we were all like Cats Cats Cats!

I'M ON CRACK! (It's a song okay?)

I prefer short hair. Long hair is just a pain in the neck. Or scalp. Whatever.