most times, but sometimes

these days,
most times, I am happy and know that life is good
most times, I wear a natural smile -
most times, I am confident in who I am and where I am going
most times, I am surprised but elated to see pretty in the mirror
most times, I care less what others think about me
most times, I love me more than I ever have and
most times, I am optimistic about the future
                         But then, occasionally, . . . 
sometimes, I am overfilled with doubt
sometimes, anxiety, my old nemesis, creeps back in
sometimes, I sit in quiet introspection that is so loud it hurts
sometimes, I question myself, interrogate myself, torture myself to find answers
sometimes, I blame myself for the rejection
sometimes, I know it is my fault I am banned from my nephew's life
sometimes, I sob knowing he probably thinks I stopped loving him
sometimes, I think about him too long and cry for hours
sometimes, I think that if I had just tried a little harder, a little longer, I could be normal
sometimes, I think I should try again
sometimes, I hate me - again
sometimes, I feel utterly alone
sometimes, I am
sometimes, I fear that sometimes wont end, that sometimes will become most times
sometimes are extremely difficult for me
              but
most times are still far better and more frequent than sometimes
most times, these days, I am happy and know that life is good
most times, I love me more than I ever have
most times are good

Who I was, in Memorandum on Memorial Day

If the title confuses you, read or re-read The Catcher in the Rye

Disclaimer (if you didn't read it, well . . .)

Today is Memorial Day; it is supposed to be a day of memory. Although originally celebrated almost exclusively as a day to remember the sacrifices of American Soldiers (that is still the official reason for the Holiday), it is also a day to remember lost loved ones (and for many to recover from a hangover). So, on my first memorial day since I stopped pretending/living as The Pretender), I want to lay a proverbial wreath at the memory of the pretender in the hopes that the people I love can do so with me in order to let go of that idea of who I am,  and more importantly, so that I and hopefully you can move forward with me, with Livi (the true me). I understand that my transition has/is effected/ing those who love me ( there are/will be some who loved an idea of me, or who possibly loved The Pretender, but who absolutely do not love me ~ to them I suppose this is a goodbye letter or a eulogy). But, even in that case, this is intended to be a positive look back, and we should all be happy for The Pretender (if he had known that I would be actually seeing pretty in the mirror ~i just had happy tears for him).  
I know that my coming out and the beginnings of my transition could (no one has said this)  essentially mean that I killed your son, brother, uncle, and friend -at least the idea you had of him (appropriate, but still seems so odd to type). But I promise I liberated your daughter, sister, aunt and friend from what was almost a life sentence in the, for lack of a better word, closet. It was so dark in that closet, and it is so warm and sunny out here, please try to be happy for The Pretender (it's nice to be out of the dark).

Still, that shit head had to go  . . .

 For me, it was stop pretending or be successful at suicide (not that I didn't do my best nearly a year ago).

No, I am not proud of my attempted suicide, but just because some jackass says/thinks I am, I will not stop talking about it. It helps me to not forget where I was in comparison to where I am, and I hope, in the near future, to be able to use my story to promote/help suicide prevention. Mine was not solely about pretending to be something I wasn't, there were numerous contributing factors to the ideation in my irrational state. However, the cornerstone of my depression (a depression I battled for so long, almost certainly even as a child) was the fact that I was not being who I knew I was. BUT ENOUGH of that, I want this to be a positive post, a happy remembrance of the goofy fucker so many people loved ( the party has never started until I walked in).

Contrary to the ex-wife's beliefs, nothing was a lie. There was definitely a big secret kept form everyone, and the personas shifted quite often in an attempt to find a masculinity that was comfortable enough ( there wasn't one). But if are someone who was important to The Pretender, someone he loved, I still carry the same feelings for you ~that was all real and truthful - - Not all of them. There are those who I no longer love, but the love was real. And though The Pretender's proclivity to hold grudges is alive and well. I am trying and have let go of a few really old ones ( I no longer hate N.L. mom, crazy right?), but they have unfortunately been replaced. I would lie if I said I thought I could let go of those feelings - -  . but,

Livi (~side note on my name and nickname) still loves you, she just needs you to see past him and begin to see her. I have almost all of the same likes and interests, and though I appear to have new ones, they were always there hidden form view. I can still tell you the hot fashion trends of the decades gone by, and when they changed (I hope some come back I wanted to be a part). The Pretender even had quite a few of the hottest trend items of clothing (at least once there were my own funds and vehicle). There was always a girly girl dying to come out of there. I can also still talk Star Wars, like quoting Wookiepedia kind of Star Wars nerd conversations, The Cubs won the Fucking World Series last year ( I agree with Kurtis Rogers, if there really is a reason I survived that has to be it). I am actually listening to Ten as I type this (Pearl Jam's first album) and I cried when i saw that Chris Cornell died (and again when I read how he died), but I like to think he and Andy are roommates somewhere (Google it, but if you know, see I'm still musically and in part culturally stuck in the early 90's).

The core of who I am has not changed, but things are different. I understand that in my writing I seem in constant anger (writing is a therapeutic outlet healthier than punching things), but I am so, so, so, so much happier now. It literally hurts and makes m tear up to remember the sorrow I/he carried for so long. I am proud, very proud, to say that I am my mother's daughter and very much like her, but in reality that isn't new,. I have always been like my mother (and always been proud of that). The Pretender always wanted to change the world, to make it a better place. That desire found a cause in college and he worked hard to effect positive change and make things better for current and future Oklahoma College Students. I still want to change the world, not only for current and future trans people (although that is personal so yeah), but also to make it a nicer place in general. A place where all people can, through open dialogue, understand each other and be cool with our differences. (If you tell me I can't or won't change the world, I will tell you to fuck off I have proof) (also, I am a strong proponent of of open dialogue and healthy debate, so if I wont argue civilly, if I seem unreasonable, and if you are my friend, you might consider trying to find out what happened or what else is wrong - things might be different if someone had the other day). That has not changed, if Kurtis is reading this he can tell you that although the Pretender was always too fucking sensitive (I think you'd at least have said that when we were both much younger Rex), something was wrong when he was unreasonable ~ok, unless he was drunk then unreasonable was best case scenario - thanks for always taking care of drunk pretender Kurtis sincerely thank you). Speaking of drunk, I still no longer drink, haven't except on a few occasions, for a while now. My nephew is still my all-time favorite person . . . I had to stop for a bit, and I nearly deleted that last sentence as this is supposed to be positive, but I have to say that Jayden actually gave the Pretender, gave me, something to live for at a time when I/he was done with it all (there were many of those times, but only the one attempt). The proudest moments of the Pretender's life, they might sound silly and will definitely piss of the ex-wife, were when the kid wouldn't let hardly anyone but his favorite Uncle hold him at his first birthday party, the first time he said (Owaf, it was Christmas day and that;s the only time you'll oversee me type that name) , and seeing the joy when the favorite Uncle (sorrynotsorry Nick) was able to give him a power wheel truck on his second birthday

 

Look at that smile . . . those are still my proudest moment of all time and the kid will always be my very most favorite person.  This is a positive Post, but I just finished crying harder that I can remember, so maybe in another Post - probably not. (I stand by the assertion that I am still infinitely happier than I have ever been (put that into perspective),

If you are holding onto the/a memory of The Pretender he isn't really gone. He isn't even hidden away the part, the idea, that made him, well him, was always a facade. The Pretender was always She, she was just too afraid to tell you . . .  what if she lost someone important because she did? But I share those memories with you, even with the secret, and the depression, the Pretender had some great times. I am actually surprised Kurtis and I lived through the tail end of the 90's, but fucking A we had some fun gettin our kicks in before the whole shithouse went up in flames. Jason, same sentiment, just the next decease Summer 06, I would relive that in heartbeat, but if nothing else, and something else should have, that summer should have killed us. 

He was, most of the time, a fun-loving (on the surface, but at times completely, menace to sobriety who was just along for the ride. If he loved you, he would do anything for you, he would stand an defend you even if he thought or knew you were wrong.  He truly believed that he could never be herself, never be pretty, and never truly be happy. There have been a few, a handful, of people who say they think he did die out on the Illinois river last June, and that Olivia or Livi got a chance to live. I'm not really sure, how I feel about it, but it seemed to help them embrace me. He could be a real asshole, a grade A dick, but even when he meant it, even hen it was called for, it still made him feel terrible. She still is most of those things. She's just more than that now. But she still carries the spirit of who we memorialize here today. 

He was more passive that she has become, but he would tell you to look past the idea of him and to see her. To see her for who she always has been, the same old friend slightly modified (ok a little more than slightly), and he would ask you to be happy for him, to be happy with her. He would ask you to be happy that after so long the hiding is over and it's not dark anymore. He would threaten to kick your ass if your weren't patient with her during these early stages of transition, and he wold say, "for fuck same use the right name and pronouns, it can be the difference between a good and a shitty day". and is it was a true memorial he would be super pissed off that no one remembered to play The Doors' version of Adagio in G minor and Shine on You Crazy Diamond (yes the whole fucking thing!) 

But this is not a true memorial because I am typing this, and I have always been the person this is about - I was just afraid to say to anyone' "hey I'm really a girl, If I were to be myself could we still be friends, would you still love me?" So lets end with the real positives - you my friends and family who answered yes. I suffered both surprising (cant explain the level of shock still kind of surprising) losses because I finally had to say what is in quotes above. There really was no choice. But, I am so fortunate, I know too many trans people both MTF and FTM (if you have to Google it, really? you oldness learn just a little to understand me a tiny bit? He would be so disappointed), too many who lost not one or two, but their entire families, the majority of trier friends. I was recently told by someone without a clue how hard,that I have  hard road ahead - that is without doubt, but I have support (I need it with what I got going on) and I have a lot of support from all directions. My typically non-confrontational miter loudly asserted that her daughter would use the women room the Kyle Tx, Kohls, and that she "better not hear a damn word." That was my favorite Christmas present last year. I have a multitude of friends who stand with me, who answered yes, even almost all the real assholes I a Friends with. Don't be sad and mourn the loss of The Pretender, I didn't go anywhere (unless we were married, then yeah, I left), but otherwise, I am right here, I just stopped pretending. I can usually still take a joke at my expense (If I dont, it was poor taste, or something else is wrong). I am also way more open without the whole hiding thing, sometimes, and for some, I am far too open. DO NOT WALK ON FUCKING EGGSHELLS, IT WILL NOT IN THE LEAST FLICKING BUT BENEFIT EITHER OF US. Just be prepared if you as a question, because I'm not embarrassed about any part of what makes me me, the very few things I do hold back are for our mutual benefit, but they are very, very few. 

So, if you stuck with me (shit this one was long), I ask you to celebrate your memory of The Pretender by simply not fucking going anywhere and creating new memories with the woman he always was anyway. 

XOXO ~Livi

 

How I Got a New Name at 40

originally posted on 5/29/17
 
So, I really do hate to admit the circumstances around the "when" part of my name, but the nickname that has become standard is so great  . . . .
You may or may not be aware that my already shaky marriage deteriorated quickly (honestly for me almost immediately, as I began looking for stage within 48 hours) after I came out to the ex-wife.  FYI, the reasons for the lack of her name ore multiple, but the kind a respectful reason is that there will be readers of this who do not know who she is, let's maintain that for her. But, yes, I have some residual emotions I try to avoid.  Anyway, when I told her, she asked what my female name was and I had to admit I had never chosen one, _ I had tried a few times, way more than a few actually in the 36 years of hiding, but each time I would settle on one it would turn out to be the name of some scandalous ho or worse.

The fact that I didn't have one made ex-wife happy and she told me that. The next day I worried all day about her coming home and asking me to leave, but that night instead of asking me to leave she went to a friends place (incidentally, fucking leaving me there with her mother who, yes, is fucking crazy and who immediacy joined the hate (inert old name) team, becoming team captain in a few short hours). And because I hold nothing back, I will share here with the world that ex-wife outed me without my consent for the first time (yes it happened more than once more) that night to her friend_ Let me admit that I was a very,very, shitty husband but she . . . another post? maybe not).
Anyway, from that night forward I was done, if  YOU are reading this, yes that did it (that and a few of the things you said repeatedly to me, but that more than anything else, you outed mew multiple times less than a month after I attempted suicide, and you couldn't trust me????? really????? (See I'm still not over it, not sure I can be) So the day after she first outed me, and I was angrier with her than I'd ever been with anyone, I decided the best way to spite her was to pick a name.

I decided to keep my initials (they are tattooed on my left forearm in Norse Runes) so I started looking for names starting with O, later, ex-wife would suggest I choose another nordic name, she thought maybe Olga. What the actual fuck?, you really didn't know me. I digress
I almost immediately settled on Olivia. First, it is a really pretty name and that made me happy, and second, I kept hearing the little girl (on an episode of Law and Order SVU, I used to watch TV) say Olivia and be comforted that the character Olivia would save her. I liked that too, so Olivia I am. And, yeah its very fucked up that my name is, in part, born of spite, but just the first name, and only when not shortened into a nickname, and that like my middle name is born of love, the purest, and in the wizarding world, most protective love - a mother's love.

So, mom was struggling with Olivia last Christmas, came up it Livi, dad (my stepfather more than deserves to be called dad and I am honored to call him that) started saying it, and it stuck with them. I told a few people, they picked it up, and to many I am now Livi. So, when you think about it (I actually just thought about it this way and started to cry, happy tears) my momma named me after all. (6/4/2017 while editing, this made me cry happy again).

To anyone who teared alLittle at that , I am sorry in advance for this next bit.

I did not keep my initials. I know, I know I was the fourth - Jonhn Bobb - (I leave a scrap of anonymity) even chastised me for changing my first name as it was a family name, but he can fuck off anyway because he wasn't upset by that, he just couldn't accept his friend and continue loving her (yes I feel that way, no I dont think some people just need time to adjust, I think some people are jus- and the initials are tattooed  (unless you read runes, however, they look more like my new initials.  So, if you remember the part about ex-psycho-in law and her hatred of me, (ex-wife insisted we tell her (she had been there since my attempt) immediately after reacting horribly to my telling her. I was alone and it was the hardest time in recent history (they literally made me consider attempt number two in those first 48hours (yeah, residual anger stirs). I have never ever felt that alone, and would not wish it upon anyone (and I try to use Avada Kedavra, the killing curse, quite frequently in traffic. BUT Sometimes there are much worse things than being the by yourself definition of alone.

I was not ready for anyone else to know, I feared a bad reaction, but not nearly as bad as the reaction ex-wife had, and had planned to tel ex-wife and then think about where it would take me (I really never thought I would be me full-time, but I am so happy to be here). But I was too alone, so who does any girl (even one who has always pretended to be a boy) turn to in crisis? Indeed,  I called my momma. I never thought she would abandon me, but was worried because my momma is a devout Christian. She is not, however,the kind of christian (intentional small c) who judges, I mean she gets the point (if you don't love everyone without judgment and hell is real, you are totally fucked _ it is a paraphrase, but I think that was the crux of how Jesus wanted people to treat each other) and doesn't use it to justify bigotry like some of my other relatives. But she is devout in her belief, and well- how would she react? (as an FYI, I am not a believer, but I know scripture pretty well and use that to my advantage when I feel attacked on the basis of misunderstood biblical messages).

She told me it would be ok, that she would always be there for me, and that although she really didn't understand and needed to read and learn, I would always be her child. (be there she has more than anyone, especially me, deserves)

Mom sometimes struggles with my name and with pronouns, but she is the first Ally I found, and she is still one of my strongest my allies (see the part about the restroom in the Post this linked from) I am, more than the word can describe, proud that my name is Olivia Cynthia Standley and I am named, in part, after my mother Cynthia (Cindy). If you have met her you liked her and she was as sweet as she could be to you, and she actually meant it. She never met a stranger and she loves her daughter regardless of what any other stupid fucker, relative or not, thinks (she'd never say that word, and when reading this, is not I happy I just did by the way) .

So, that's how I got a new name when I was 40 years old

Side Note 1 ~ Here Lies The Pretender

People who have attempted suicide will understand when I say it wasn't about dying, but instead about of getting away from were I was. Although it was the worst one, it appeared the only viable option. And, i do talk about the attempt and have a tattoo that symbolizes the way I feel that I bloomed out of the experience. and here is where the disclaimer comes in - if you think that means I am proud that I attempted suicide, you are very wrong and you are an asshole, nay a stupid motherfucker (yep, went there) .

The In Between is Mine

I have posted this on Facebook few trims, but I want to apply it to something:

I do not ask or seek your approval to be true to myself;

I do ask for your acceptance of me, but I will not demand it;

I demand kindness and respect, but I will not beg for it;

I am a Human Being above all other labels;

Treat me like one, or leave me be.

That third line is important, and if you cannot do what is demands then please do what the last words direct. This life, this one in which my decisions produce for me either reward or consequence, this one in which my decisions bring me joy or sorrow, this one in which my decisions lead me to pain or ecstasy, this one in which my decisions impact me far more than anyone else, this one in which my decisions are independent of unsolicited advice, this one is mine, and to partially quote Mouth "I'm taking it back." My decisions directly effect me more than anyone else and my dog Tucker more than the rest. My decisions should rarely effect you directly and infrequently indirectly. I did not decide to be transgender, but I did decide to stop hiding that from others. I acknowledge that my transition does effect my friends and family (some more than others .

Less than a year ago I decided to stop letting anyone else make decisions for me. Anything I do now, I do for me. I consider the effect any decision will have on those close to me, and how they present the transgender community to the cisigender (Google it) people around me. Ultimately, however, all my decisions are based on whether they will for me reap either reward or consequence, bring me joy or sorrow, lead me to pain or ecstasy, and etc. I am mine, and so are my decisions. I very rarely take unsolicited advice, and if any of my decisions about anything are not ok with you, I will remind you that:

I do not ask or seek your approval to be true to myself;

I do ask for your acceptance of me, but I will not demand it;

I demand kindness and respect, but I will not beg for it;

I am a Human Being above all other labels;

Treat me like one, or leave me be.

~My name is Livi and I expect and deserve

feminine pronouns

The Pretender

The Pretender

The Pretender: is the person who I pretended to be for so long. I, as most trans people, do not like to say or hear my former name, so when in reading something I have written (thank you or taking the time) anytime you read something referencing the pretender, this is who I am referencing

I'm Too Alone to be Proud

disclaimer available here 

If you are wondering about the title of this post, or worried that I am lonely (don't be, I am no lonelier tan anyone else). It is a line from one of Tom Petty’s best tunes “You Don’t Know How it Feels.” I heard it on the radio today (originally written on May14, 2017) and before I could do my usual quick change when Tom Petty starts (I love(d) Tom Petty and the Heart breakers, but as the ex-wife’s favorite band I - sadly - still have some trouble listening to him/them). But this time my attention peaked and I waited for the last lines of the chorus and sang/screamed along as loud as I could “ You don't know how it feels -NO! You don't know how it feels to be me.” It started me thinking that you dont know how it feels to be me, nor I you, but if we could attempt to understand how it might feel to walk in the shoes of one another, maybe we could more easily love each other without judgement (that kind of love - although most try very hard -  is very, very rare and so hard to find).  hope that the ramblings this paragraph precedes can provide a small understanding of how it feels to be me and, more importantly, I hope this can open some more hearts and "normalize" your perceptions of trans people. So, let me run with you tonight, and I'll take you on a moonlight ride . . .

For far too long it feels so uncomfortable, trapped, alone because no one knows. It is as if you are in the middle seat on an airline that was made for hobbits, and you just do not fit, very uncomfortable for a regular sized human. You protested upon arrival that you were a human not a hobbit, but you were scolded and reprimanded before being told to act like a hobbit and never say you were human again. The discomfort has gone on too long and there is no arrival time, not ever. So, it feels like, at the time it did, that the best way to escape the discomfort is to medicate, until that stops working , then it feels like a great idea to jump out of the plane.

Almost immediately after that does not work, it feels like it was a bad idea and something you might want to work to prevent others from doing. But the discomfort hasn't stopped, it isn't going to unless you take a step to the front and as some others have done demand to be treated like and accepted as the human you are. It has always felt like there would/will be serious repercussions for this. You make a decision, the only decision about your humanity (or your gender if you haven't caught on) that you make, I mean you didn't decide to be human, why would you when you feel so afraid of how you will be treated or mistreated and judged for being human. No, you didn't decide that you were human, you always were. You just decided to stop pretending to be a hobbit so that you might not feel like jumping out of a plane again. 

It feels, as you first begin to tell others your oldest, deepest, and most closely guarded secret, more terrifying than you ever imagined and so much more terrifying than words have the power to describe. When the second person you tell, the person you are supposed to be able to count on most (she was at the time), says you are a liar for not telling your secret sooner and then tells your secret to other people without your approval or even knowledge, it honestly feels like a combination of the deepest sorrow and most fiery rage inside you have procreated. It feels confusing, it feels like it is the end of your time with that person, and it feels like nothing can fix the damage done. (It still feels like this and feels like it always will). 

As you tell more of the other people on whom you can supposedly rely, and they react differently, saying “ok, I still love you, be yourself,” the feeling of terror (about telling people) diminishes and a feeling of liberation when telling people takes over. It feels like if you dont watch yourself you'll begin to tell anyone who will listen. Still, it frequently feels like the beginning of a panic attack (something you have felt or haven't, explanations are insufficient) when you think about telling certain people, people you know are going to judge you and abandon you, and atypically, it feels good to be wrong about the few of those you are. It feels almost indescribably crushing to be wrong in the other way - to be abandoned by people you never thought would do that, people you thought loved you, people you will sadly find out, do not love you, but only loved an image of you created by the Pretender (the Pretender is how I have begun to refer to myself while I was pretending to be male). But, . . .

  It feels like that first time you were stung by a bee or wasp when the two (in my case it is two) who you knew would stand by you no matter what, both of whom you call brother (importantly it is call and not called - this is subject to change, see the next blog post/Facebook note), do not stand by you, but turn away from you - abandonment, so this is how it feels - it is very rarely anger, but when it is it is a white hot rage more powerful than you have ever felt, but that rage typically lasts mere seconds before the tears start to well and the world becomes blurry, just as the screen these words appear on is beginning to do. . . 

It feels worse to lose your oldest friend, the only other person who can truly understand some of the pain you have felt throughout this life, the one person you were certain would always have your back . . . it feels so much worse than you could ever have fucking imagined, and to add to the indescribable emotional pain, it also means you lost his son - that part feels like you are starting to sob as you type the words( even when you are revising weeks later), because thinking about that loss makes you sob every fucking time ____ there is nothing with as much heartache as losing them this father and son, the most important people in your world, the other person from the above paragraph is absolutely nothing in comparison, and you lost them only because you must be you, but you know you cannot continue to pretend, you have to be you to stay alive - its not bravery its just necessity - Still,  it feels like there is a hole in your soul or your essence, not just a hole in your heart, but a hole in the very fabric of everything around you and inside you - if you think about this loss too long it feels like it would have been easier if that metaphorical jump from the  plane would have worked as intended. It feels like time to stop writing again until the tears do. 

***The above paragraph made me cry as much or more while revising this post two weeks later as it did when I originally typed it out. No one can ever know how that feels, no fucking words can ever acurtley describe it. ***

Still, overall and the majority of the time, it feels like the prison doors were opened and you have been liberated. It does feel like only some people see it that way with you. It feels like this was a good place to start over. the original post (if you want to read it, message me) turns angry at this point, turns into another rant, and although that is often how it feels, most of my readers are well aware of that feeling. So, I'll try to be more insightful and less inciting. 

It does feel like liberation; it feels like this must be what Nelson Mandela (stretch or not) moot have felt when he was finally set free. It feels so much more comfortable than any of the masculine hats (paragraph 6 of the linked blog post) I ever tried on. It finally feels like this fits. Life is so much the opposite of perfect, but facing the problems you have as yourself, not the Pretender, now that is a good feeling. It is beginning to feel natural. I am beginning to feel pretty, and that is something I truly never though I would ever get to feel in this life (happy tears for that). It has started to feel like Livi belongs in the world, and I know it feels like this is sickeningly too positive and upbeat for me. Never fear, there will be plenty of angry posts, and I will not apologize for recording/documenting the way the shitty people make me feel, but . . . since we all face them for one reason, one label they give us, or another . . .

It all to often feels that shitty excuses for human beings consist of the majority of the world. It is going to feel this way at times, it will feel this way for all of us, but it feels like this is important to say over and over and over: the judgemental assholes, the bigots, the bullies (feel free to apply those labels to people you have to deal with) are far outnumbered by the decent people of the world. The assholes are simply louder in public. It fees appropriate to mention a group of the good ones . . . 

One of my English Comp students from long days gone,  Alexis Mars, invited me to join a Facebook group called the Beauty Room, a closed group where all things beauty are discussed. I am not sure how long I was a member before I asked for advice, or paid attention,  but the night I posted a selfie and asked for tips was, I made a good decision. My look has totally changed, and yes that is based on the tips and  techniques I have learned form other members, but that is not the real reason my look has changed. In the Beauty Room, I am one of the girls, and the roomies help reinforce that, I need that in my life. None of the girls in the Beauty Room judge me, or the ones who do stay quiet about it. It is a place that feels safe, even a virtual place can feel safe. I have made several new friends through the group, and one of them is already one of the two people I can tell everything. I already had that with Becca (I am certain I could tell any of my close nit friend group everything, but it is my hangups that keep me from doing so, and they are almost all guys), and now I also have Tempie, who I am still surprised did not run screaming from the level of TMI I dished out while we talked the first time, but I was honest and got acceptance and friendship. 

It really has begun to feel normal being myself, Olivia (Livi to many), and it feels like I need to keep writing and posting selfies, and making sure to take a stand when needed so that other girls and the next generation are treated with the same respect as everyone else. The feeling is still frequently that of anger toward stupidity and mean-spiritedness. But it now feels less about who I am and more about who the haters are. It feels good to get hit on, and it feels like I am finally alive. It also feels like I do have a purpose. I will continue to unapologetically be a non-believer (in a religious sense) who offers to respect your religious views if you respect hers, but I do feel like I have a purpose. I'm not going to say there is a reason I lived through my suicide, because I dont believe that. But, I do believe that I must take this second chance and use it to, first ensure that I am happy, and second, work, fight when necessary, to build an acceptance and understanding of girls like me. It feels like that  is going to be my new career path, but it also feels like being lost without a map (how do I get there?).

Among the compliments I have received recently, there are two I am still not sure I can accept, but it feels good to hear them. I am frequently complimented for being brave. I dont think I am brave. Soldiers are brave, the first responders at ground zero they defined brave. I am selfishly living life for me in order to stay alive. It does take some courage to go certain places, and I sincerely thank those of you who disagree with me, but I am not brave like the people I mentioned. It feels so scary most of the time,   I am very honored that some see me as a role model, but even though Tempie keeps telling me they are not wrong, it feels like I am simply being myself, not brave not modeling any roles, just living my truth. Besides, I am not sure I make a good role model; I ma as broken as the next person. Still, I am happy people think it because it feels really good (and sometimes, but not nearly often enough, replaces the heartache I carry or drag around for the father and son I wrote of earlier) it actually feels wonderful to have the support, love, and encouragement of so many, and it feels really good to write this shit down and hope my ramblings on help you understand, even just a little bit what it is like to be me, or maybe that other trans woman you see at the grocery store. I am certain if you said something nice to her, or even just gave her a friendly smile, it would be a pleasant change. 

So let's get to the point, let's roll another joint Let's head on down the road There's somewhere I gotta go And you don't know how it feels No, well maybe a little better than before, you don't know how it feels to be me 

XoXo ~Livi

Changes: A Long (in text as well) Overdue Update as Olivia Transitions

Olivia Standley·Wednesday, May 10, 2017

***************Disclaimer: this update is raw. It is direct and to the point; it contains new things I have discussed with on;y my therapist and sister (you’’’ see in a minute), and when it seemed appropriate to use “fowl” language, I did. Parental Discretion is advised. Seriously, if you are not ready to accept me for me, you might skip this one******************

 

I haven't updated my blog since Nov 11th, or two days after I started HRT, less than a month after I came out to the world on Facebook, before I became semi-reclusive. That was just almost 6 moths ago, and just like I asserted each time I came out to someone, I am the same person I have always been, but . . . I do realize that I may not be the same person you thought I was, and I may or may not have been that person then. The reality is that, though to myself I am the same person I have always been, I am definitely not the same person that anyone knew before I began living my truth, but only because I hid so much from everyone, even myself . **If you are confused, imagine how it has been to work all of this shit out in my head*** So then, who am I and furthermore, who and what does that effect? Well, I think I can answer the first part (I think), but the second is that constant unknown variable in life.

 

So, I am Olivia. At Christmas mom started calling me Livi so Dad did too (if you were not aware, I call Dan Benke Dad now. I don't think biological dad would be too upset, and if he is, he can get over it. Dad (new dad) never made me feel as if he thought I was weird or wrong, he never did anything different after I came out. He still loved me like I was his own, and even referred to me as his daughter.( So,yeah he is also a great dad). 

 

I am a daughter, and a sister, or I consider myself one - touchy subject for another note/blog post or two. But I am now called both little sister and big sister; I discovered a brother and a sister who are not biological, but they both call me sister, and were the two people I was with when I found out biological dad had cancer when I was 15. I hope to be a fantastic aunt someday, but that is not up to me (another note/post as well), so I wait. I am a proud girly girl, I have always been, but as it is with most of who I am, I kept that hidden (even from myself for brief periods). My religious views have not changed. I am not a believer, I tried and wanted to have faith, but never found it (and that is ok for me). If you have faith I am happy for you and will not ask you to alter your religious beliefs. What I will ask is that you show me the same respect by not asking me to alter mine. 

 

I like pop-music, and I always have. I successfully hid that for quite some time. I am currently on a Kesha kick (she has that admirable “ I don't give two fucks what you think of me attitude in her lyrics, literally in Crazy Kids "Kesha don't give two fucks") with a large side of Ariana Grande, and a sprinkling of current pop hits, but my favorite band is still Pearl Jam, followed by Mad Season who only slightly beat Alice in Chains for the number two spot, and my favorite song of the last 20ish years is till A track for Pearl Jam’s album Ten (and 100 dollars says that my best friend Jason Hart can still tell you what it is, ex-wife never could, so I would remind her that Jason could) (When I originally posted this as a Facebook note on May10, 2017, Jason was the first comment and that comment was "Porch", sadly no one had bet me). I no longer consider myself a musician, and I currently find no pleasure in playing the guitar, which has been rare in my life but could change. And, if you know someone who might want to purchase my motorcycle, I am trying to sell it (literally as you read this update) so tell them to contact me. 

 

Oh, yeah this too, I am a woman, but I do say I am a girl quite often as well. In fact, I argue that since I am going through puberty (that is what happens on HRT) that I qualify as a teenage girl, so no one can tell me I should not shop in the juniors section. In case you missed it, I left out a word that is typically used to describe me. I did not call myself a transgender woman. No, I do not pass, but I have begun to have hope that I will fit in someday soon, I don't care if I pass, and the only person whose opinion matters about me passing is, well, me. Still, I am working to not label myself transgender; I am female and have always known that I am. The only time I will use the label as I continue on my life’s journey is when it is absolutely necessary like for the purposes of dating, and I will only need to do that if I begin to “pass” (if I get to a point where other people only see woman when I walk into a room). Everyone who loves me tries to see me this way and I thank you for that, but I know that there is a lingering sense of who I pretended to be in the concept all that one or two members of my inner circle hold of me. I understand, I too struggled to let that piece of my self-concept go, but I am in a place without those self-perceptions (if only I could consistently see pretty in the mirror the same way). So, I am not the same person I have always been, not really even as I see me ( I am, however, the person I always knew I was), and almost assuredly I am not the same person to most of my closest friends and family (those family members who accept me for me and did not abandon me for whatever reason they use to justify it to themselves, not so much hurt anymore as I am disappointed in their character, well all but one _in a blog post to come?) . I will offer an apology here to the ones who have stuck with me, not for being my true self, I remain and always will be unapologetic for living my truth in order to continue living, instead I apologize for taking from you a son, a brother, an uncle, and a friend (who is similar in many ways but honestly very different from the pretender) .But I am still here (I haven't been very sociable for a few months, I am about to address that too) and if you let me I will be a better and much happier daughter, sister, aunt, and friend. And though it will seem like I have new interests, (and Katherine Woodul Rettke said this as I struggled to express it a couple of weeks ago), I have the same interests I always have, I have really just begun embracing most of the ones I hid away for so long. Speaking of hiding away . . . (terrible transition Livi, weren't you an English major?)

 

So, starting sometime mid January, I almost entirely secluded myself, only spending face-to-face time with, and not that frequently, one of my oldest friends who, although she has known me as who I pretended to be (aka the pretender) since we were 12, she 100% only sees Olivia. In fact, she might kick your ass if you treat me like a joke or outcast, or make fun of me in front of her, or intentionally use my old name or the wrong pronouns ( and trust me, you’d lose, because though she is truly one of the most non-judgemental absolutely good-hearted people you’ll ever meet, she is also a certified badass). In fact, just the other day, sister (Becca Johnson, one of the two non-biological siblings I spoke of earlier) told me she felt for some reason that she needed to protect me, and that is something you don't stumble across everyday. As my transition has moved through its earliest stages, she has been for me a girlfriend (all girls need girlfriends), a sister, and a confidant who, for reasons I cannot explain, I am not afraid to share my most personal and embarrassing struggles and experiences in this journey, and she has never even blinked a sign of judget, thought she did laugh at me once, but I totally deserved it. (I am pretty open, however, and if a person wants to know something they should be ready to yell TMI). Still, especially for the first two months of the year, I saw her infrequently and for long periods saw only the people at the grocery store. This seclusion or what I called hermiting at the time, had nothing to do with hurt feelings or anything that in anyway relates to any of my friends and/or family, and sister is not replacing any friends, although I credit her with getting me out of not only the hermiting phase, but also out of the Pink Floyd T-shirt I wore almost everyday with no makeup and etc. I owe sister big for that. But I want to be clear that each of “the brothers, aka the horsemen” are more important to me than I can ever express.

 

Mostly hermiting was about the awkwardness of this second puberty and my need to solitarily work through who I was, who I am, and who i am becoming - like everyone I will always be working on this, but unlike most, over the last few months, I have ,with a realistic understanding of my life in the closet, been re-evaluating all of the truths and assertions I have made about me and, even right this minute, I have not yet figured it all out. This was not the intended purpose of my days and nights alone last winter. In fact, I really just did not want to be in early puberty and be around anyone. Still, as I wrote,and I wrote a lot, about myself, and how I got here, or there since I am still moving forward, I began to realize that there were/are things about me that are not true, they are things I convinced myself of, so that I could then convince others I was tough and masculine, so that no one would see the girly girl dying to be set free.

 

And this is where this post truly becomes an update ) I am going to be brutally honest now and I might get into some TMI kind of things _ I hope not to offend or shock anyone, but I warned you and if you are not ready for this bitch to get real, then turn back now:

Lets begin with a helping of TMI. if you see any of my posts on Facebook, you should be aware that Gender dysphoria has continuously gotten worse for me over the last month or two. If you struggle to understand, and why wouldn't you, what I mean when I say gender dysphoria then imagine yourself, imagine your least favorite part of your body, face, etc. imagine that not only what you just thought about was the entire shape of your face, because it caused people to assume your the opposite of your actual gender, but more important it made you see yourself either too feminine for a man or too masculine for a woman, then add to it and imagine you woke up one day and found on your body the genitals opposite your gender (that is my everyday). People joke they would never leave the house, wink wink, if they woke up like that, but unfortunately that is not how it feels to know your body is very wrong.

 

So, when I first came out, I announced some decisions to quite a few people. Among them was the decision that i would never have any type of surgeries due to the risks and costs associated. I did mean it, and I did believe it, but it was also a way to end any possibilities of discussing the topic. I say, and others do as well, that I am living my truth, so here is some raw truth. There are multiple surgeries I would/will have. They are for me, for my peace of mind, and my own concept of me. They are for no one else. Whatever you would ask at this point, the answer is 99% going to be yes. I would have SRS tomorrow if it were free or someone offered to pay for it. I would have facial feminization surgery the next day, there are several more but my point is that I was wrong before. **Please do not ask a person about their junk (transgender or not), and please do not attempt to start a discussion about the surgeries with me; if I want to talk about it with you, I will tell you.

I want to ask you to think about something at this point, but the question is rhetorical - If this shocks you or seems weird or wrong, do you truly see me as the woman I told you that I am? Do you truly accept me, or is it lip service, please do not answer in comments, or private message, or even in person. And, if my journey, and the changes it brings, is too much for you, I will be hurt but not angry when you mike the decision to walk away. I am often told that I had years to adjust to being transgendered, and that others need a little more time. No! No,that statement is total bullshit; I did not have years to adjust, I did have years to suffer through, but I have had the same amount of time to adjust to coming out transgender as anyone around me has, and although I know it effects other people, I promise it has effetd me much more. In fact, I actually had less time to adjust than I gave the inner circle before living full time, I waited 2 ½ months, but within three days of coming out, I had been outed to several people (something I made clear to the outer that I was not ready for) and unless you have come out you cannot understand how very, very deep something like that hurts~ digression over.

 

But wait there is more - and I cannot truly explain this one to you, because It still has me baffled and I have discussed it (at length) with myself (Lisa Cragar ,my therapist, says that a discussion of that sort does not make me crazy), with Lisa and with sister (Becca). However, nothing I asserted about this one in the past was a lie, I was being honest and believed with all my heart what I said then. But . . .

I am certain that I am a straight woman. (If this shocks you or seems weird or wrong, do you truly see me as the woman I told you that I am? Do you truly accept me, or is it lip service?) I thought that question bared repetition here. I did not hide an attraction for the opposite sex (remember my gender) when I was hiding the fact that I am female. I was always open about knowing when a guy was hot (I still argue that everyone sees beauty and attractiveness in both genders, regardless of their sexuality). I never pretended to be a straight man, I only pretended to be a man. How is that possible Livi? I have no fucking clue. Please remember, especially when talking with another trans woman or man, that gender and sexuality are not codependent, and more importantly that is is very rare for a person’s sexuality to change when they come out transgendered. I would be cute here and say I am special, but I do not see that. In fact, I do not think I was ever really attracted to women, which explains (for me) some of the issues in my failed marriage (side note~ regardless of the hurt or any other lingering emotional issues I have relating to my ex-wife, I have considered telling her all of this so that she knows some of our problems truly had nothing to do with whether or not she is attractive. It seems to me that letting her know that is the decent thing to do I do not hate her and wish her nothing but future happiness, and in her place, the knowledge would make me feel better. But, in reality, I am also not ready for this, or any discussion with her so I haven't and don't know if I will tell her any of this. She may find out from a reader of this update, but I hope that not to be the case. Yes, I feel bad for it, but no, I am in no way emotionally prepared to talk to her.)

 

This is very new to me my friends and readers. For a few months I accepted the idea/fact that I was asexual. It made the most sense. But, only about two weeks ago, while listening to “Into You” by Ariana Grande a thought ran through my mind, not about anyone specific but about guys in general. I was shocked and literally had to sit down. It was something I cannot remember thinking before. But, this does not just happen, regardless of my gender and how my birth defects caused a engendering at my birth. I am fairly well educated, sure it was NSU, but I had some very smart professors, and I used my time as a masters student to focus on gender studies (it was/is important to me). Gender and sexuality are not codependent, and people do not wake up one day with a different sexuality. People hid their true sexuality, but I know I never intentionally did that. I did consciously, however, hide anything about my true self, I hid anything that would reveal that I am female, and I hid much of it, as best I could, from me so that I could more easily hide it from others. My conclusion, and Lisa did not tell me I am wrong, is that I hid any sexual thoughts, any attractions, anything about it first from myself, and did it so well that I do not remember doing so. I know I would have thought that I needed to. But, I am, realistically, half way through this short life and I am definitely alright with myself. I refuse to be something for anyone other than me. That refusal has cost me some people, one family member that I frequently cry over losing, one friend I thought would never abandon me and whose reaction to hearing my truth still breaks my heart. I know the pain of being abandoned for being yourself, but I also know the pain of hiding yourself from even you.It will kill you, tried to kill me. So, I have, over the last two weeks, accepted the fact that I am a straight woman. If that is weird for anyone reading, refer back to the twice asked rhetorical question. If you think that makes me”gay” then you really do see me as a boy and I would ask/demeaned you keep that shit to yourself, and if this or any other part of who I am (I am a straight woman named Livi,who was mis-gendered at birth) offends you, you also need to keep that shit to yourself, because if you tell this bitch, you'll get this response, “fuck off!” Why? Because whop I am is not up for debate, and I am not ashamed of me. If I (my identity) offend you or you are ashamed of me, I do not know how we can maintain a relationship.

 

So, yeah, that has changed too. My attitude about putting me first, not much explanation of this change is needed; I have simply stopped trying to make everyone happy. Love me or don't, but I damn sure won't change for you or anyone else. I do still, literally against medical advice, put a few others ahead of me. But of course I do, I am still the same person right?

                          A note/post this long deserves an Epilogue

In the picture that goes with this post, I look quite different compared to last May (the picture is a bit older than that but an accurate image of me last May). I know that this applies to more than the way I look as well. However, if you look closely, and give me the chance, you'll see similarities (in looks and in everything else) that becoming the true version of me just doesn't change.

To the many people who support me and love me regardless of any societal labels - I love you dearly, and do not know what I would do without you, and to the several new friends I have made, thank you for not judging me on appearance or past and giving me the people (yourselves) who never knew the pretender, that is a wonderful gift and I love you all too.

 

xoxo ~ Livi

Disclaimer for all Things Livi Writes and Shares

      The views and opinions of Olivia (Livi) Standley are not representative of the views and opinions of  the _Insert label attached to me_as a whole; she does not hold anything back, if she offends you in this note, then maybe you needed to be offended; hopefully, you will asses why, and perhaps partake in civil discourse. 

There is/will be an abundance of TMI in these ramblings and rants. Livi often overshares because, at least for me, in prose itis important to take out the filters and let everything through to the page. Why else write but to let it out? And, what is the point of only letting out a portion of the shit (often it is in fact shit I have to say) you have to say. If you think you might not want to know, you may not want to read. I warned you so do not tell me you wish I hadn't said something, perhaps you should have heeded this and not read it

Finally, Yes, the language is necessary Livi has a Masters in English (was a literature major) and understands when the word “fuck” is necessary to emphases and to literature itself (just ask Brian Cowlishaw) and why everyone should remember “ Honi soit qui mal y pense" [Evil to him who thinks evil].” - Judge Clayton Horn at the conclusion of the trial against Howl *