So, those of you who follow me on Twitter or have held a conversation with me in the last few days and weeks should know by now that I moved from Blythe, CA to Orlando, FL by car...again...for the third time. Needless to say, it was an interesting and unique experience, even though I've traveled pretty much the same roads for the third time in less than 5 years. Yes, there's nothing more magical than driving 3,000 miles with your senior-aged parents and your 17yr old nephew, all whilst going through the transsexual transition, which means I still have boobs and have to wear an incredibly uncomfortable "corset" type thingy called "binder" for the entire trip and have to go the men's bathroom without feeling the "safety" of having an actual penis. This brings me to my first tales from the cross-country trip. How I experienced the trip during my transition.
As I said earlier, I'm going through the stage in my transition where I must wear a binder to flatten my chest, and I also must ALWAYS go to the men's bathroom because I'm going through what they call "Real Life Experience", which means I have to live as man in every aspect of my life. I must do this for AT LEAST one full year before I can get ANY surgeries. So with that in mind, imagine basically living out of your car for 3 days and having to go to those oh-so-charming truck-stop bathrooms where you're accompanied by flies and bugs during your "nature call". Not all the bathrooms where scenes from a M. Night Shyamalan movie, but I have to admit some would scare even Freddy Krueger in HIS dreams. I feared I would inevitably get a yeast infection, especially when one of the bathrooms had EVERY SINGLE TOILET going crazy. Those were fun, for five seconds. The toilets where the ones that flush automatically when they see your ass as you pull your pants up, and boy did they take that seriously. I barely unbuttoned my pants and they were already flushing, and not just your ordinary "Here, let me take your human waste" type of flush, oh no, these were "I WILL SUCK YOU DOWN TO HELL!" type of flushes that WOULD NOT STOP. At first I panicked, but the need to pee was far greater so I went ahead and did it. What I got for my bravery was my ass soaked in toilet water, since they really NEVER stopped flushing. If I had a penis I could have peed from safety without getting my ass wet. And yet, bathrooms weren't the worst part of the trip.
The worst part of the trip, the part that keeps playing over and over in my mind, the thing that wakes me at night and gives me mental, and sometimes emotional, diarrhea, is the fact that at one gas station in Texas the store clerk, whom I shall call “Peggy” for dramatic purposes, called me..."Ma’m". I have played that scene in my mind over a hundred times and can’t seem to find that thing that gave me away. I mean, do all women in Texas wear men’s button down shirts, baggy jeans, have a less than feminine haircut, AND have facial hair? I think not. I think. Who knows, maybe it’s a Texas thing, I don’t know. Anyways, she referred to me as a female. This bothered me because up to that moment, I had the ability to pass as a male in public. Or so I thought. This made me highly insecure for the rest of the trip, and gave me tiny schizophrenic attacks whenever I need to go to the bathroom. “Is anybody going to notice?”, “Will they yell at me?”, “Are they gonna pull my pants down in front of everybody?”, “Can they see my vagina?” These were some of the things floating in my mind during my bathroom breaks. Thanks to Peggy, I now doubt myself incessantly when in public. Yes, I endured much emotional stress throughout the trip, but it doesn’t stop there. I also endured some physical abuse.
Don’t get your undies in a twist, I wasn’t raped, beaten, smacked, spit on, pepper sprayed, run over, shot, tackled, or cut by anyone. I’m talking about physical abuse from wearing the damn binder. Yes, I classify that as physical abuse. Why? Well first of all, because its my blog and I can say whatever I want. Second, because when something is dangerous enough that it comes with a “Don’t-wear-for-more-than-X-ammount-of-hours-or-you’ll-suffer-internal-damages” warning on it, AND interferes with some slightly important bodily functions, like breathing or being able to eat a complete meal, I think it should be considered physical abuse. That’s right; the thing that is supposed to help me can also hurt me. And I had to wear that motherfucker for 3 days straight, from 7 or 8am to 11pm, depending on how long it took us to get to the hotels. By the time we got to the hotel, my torso was marked with those horrible red lines that you get when something is clearly strapped on tight to your body. These things aren’t bras, not even close. Bras hold your boobs up. Binders squash them down to make them less noticeable. Bras only cover your boobs. Binders come in different lengths but even the shortest ones cover your belly, making difficult to breathe, eat and digest. See the difference? Don’t get me wrong, I’m used to it by now, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy having the life squeezed out of me slowly. Not at all. Nevertheless, they are a necessary evil and until I can have chest reconstruction surgery, I shall have to wear them. Every day. Including Holidays.
To summarize, going through the trip as a transsexual is ten times harder than going through it as a “normal” person. So the next time you go on a road trip, a vacation, or an outing of some sort, if you’re a guy, remember to value your genitals for they are a privilege some of us don’t have but want and need quite desperately. And also, take a piss in a bush in my name. But don’t blame me if you get cited or arrested.
Stay frosty.
