So here I am again. New Page, New Day and new thoughts. Well, some new thoughts and a little carry over from the last time. Last time? Well, that could have been any time in my life. Good thing my thought processes are fluid and dynamic as they can be changed in an instant or with some contemplation or analysis over the weight of them. Sometimes, Thoughts are neither right or wrong, they just are. They are just my perception of certain realities. Well, this is all something to think about I guess. So, let’s stop this analysis right here for now and ponder other mysteries of my being.
I don’t mean to be so self-centered or even self-absorbed. However, this is my story. I am writing this to become a better person and to be more loving and caring about others. I do have a bit of an altruistic goal in mind. I hope, by sharing myself, that others may benefit, maybe in the way of identifying or just for shear entertainment. Maybe a person might derive hope or determination through my words. Even if that determination is to not be like me. One other thought here is, that maybe, just maybe, I can grow from seeing myself on paper. Hopefully I can unload some baggage that I’ve carried for so long. Baggage that has weighed me down and impeded my journey.
Let’s pause for a moment here so I can share a poem. Speaking of baggage, this one seems appropriate;
Got on the train that day,
My baggage with me,
some good some bad.
Wish I could travel light.
I want to let go,
trying to let go…
when I get there,
Been trying to get there,
riding this train,
for a long time now,
for a long time…
Luggage weighs me down.
Costs more than it’s worth.
sadness and joy.
Don’t need both.
I want to let go,
trying to let go…
Conductor waves me off.
Watch your step now.
Good friends wait for me.
They want to help me,
to carry this load.
I can let go now.
I will let go…
I think I’m here… Patsy 2016
Hope you liked that one.
Like all stories, we need a starting point, don’t we? Might as well start from the beginning. What better beginning than the day of my birth.
It was July 26, 1959. The end of a historical decade. The Korean war had been fought. The baby boom was still going on, but getting closer to the end of that Era. Dwight D. Eisenhower was the President of the United States. Hawaii and Alaska became the 49th and 50th states. Castro became the communist leader of Cuba. Of major cultural importance, the Barbie Doll was released that year by Mattel industries. Barbie would continue to shape how girls wanted to look for years to come. I never did get to have a Barbie Doll. There were many more historical occurrences during the 1950s and especially 1959. Just do an internet search if you’re interested.
Honestly, I was not even aware of all this. I had more important things to focus on for my first few years, like eating, sleeping, crying, then eating some more. Had to potty train, learn how to talk then walk. Then had to learn to walk and talk at the same time. Probably, my most important task was to play.
I do remember finding the most undefinable objects in our house and turning them into something that only my imagination could conjure up. Different characters like princesses and soldiers and gallant knights with swords. I remember going on great adventures in my Tupperware ship across vast oceans of a beige carpet. These journeys could last for hours. There were no limits to where my appointed heroes could go or do. One thing for certain during this time, my imaginary world was innocent. There were no boundaries or norms enforced on my imagination. The only opinions were those of a young child that had not been tainted by the realities of hatred and bigotry in the world. Everything was pure.
Perhaps that is only my perception in retrospect. I am not real sure when my first concrete memories began. Somewhere in all the activities of becoming a child, there appeared a darkness. Today I define the components of this darkness as sadness, pain, loss and rage. Yes rage. I never could figure where it came from but it showed its ugly self. Loss may be the causative factor here. It is the loss of innocence. Here is how I describe it based on some internal feelings, not memories. There is this little child, just sitting there. The child is playing, with no other care in the world. No fear, no lack of trust, no pain ever inflicted by anyone. Just like a children’s book. Out of nowhere and without warning someone as big as an adult kicks the child hard. Then does it again. No explanation. Innocence has been robbed. It has been taken away by force. It has been lost by that child forever. This poor child will never be able to trust, as there will always exist a fear of it happening again. The pain is what is remembered. Maybe the rage comes from having one’s innocence robbed from them. This child will try to trust again and every time that trust is betrayed the fear and pain become greater. Darkness is created.
The steeling of innocence does not always occur with physical blows. It can be robbed from someone through repeated emotional abuses which are severe blows to one’s inner self as we develop in life. Emotional abuse is like bullets or arrows shot right through the heart into one’s emotions, self-esteem and self-perception. These are wounds that may never heal. Personally, I think the damage caused by mental and emotional abuse was more damaging to me than anything physical. For me, it was two alcoholic parents. My father was more happy go lucky, but at our families expense. My mother was angry and abusive physically and emotionally. Violence and severe fights would erupt in our house right out of the blue. Things would go from calm and peaceful to major warfare in an instant with loud bangs, crashes and screaming. Oops, there goes another dinner against the wall. By the time I was 11 years old, I had become numb to the battles going on inside our house. Wrote this poem a long time ago. It wasn’t just about me but also others who grew up in alcoholic homes. It’s a little graphic. It’s called: Sweet Dreams Little One
Go to sleep little one and sweet dreams.
Do the white fluffy clouds from Heaven appear?
Are there Angels and little Cherubs?
Are there lollipops, gumdrops and candy canes?
Do you see the little toy soldiers,
that are fighting the innocent and bloodless battles,
of you battered emotions?
Oh, there’s your dolly sweet,
beaten and bruised,
because she wet her pants.
Locomotives, pirate ships and fast moving cars.
These will take you places,
far, far away.
There you are little one,
On your way to a secret Island.
Those pirates, they’re big and strong.
They act like children.
You there, Black beard, go to your room!
He can’t hurt you,
any worse than you’ve already been.
It’s not Halloween night,
but the witches are nearby.
They cackle and scream,
as they drink their magic potion.
Who is this Jim Beam,
that makes this nasty brew?
The dream goes on.
The witches brew,
it turns mommy and daddy into monsters.
They are hideous and slimy things.
They scream and break things.
You jump on to your wooden horse
and try to escape.
Daddy, the monster who’s biggest,
he’s too fast and catches you.
Suddenly, like an astronaut, your launched,
across the sky.
Crash landing, it’s only a black eye.
You prayed that you were asleep.
Because, how could any of this be true?
Now don’t you tell a single soul little child,
about your dream,
because you’ll be gobbled up,
by the monsters under your bed.
Now try to sleep again little one.
Sweet dreams to you,
you precious innocent child…
When I entered therapy in my early twenties, to try and put myself back together, along with curing my Transgender issues, the therapist asked me a question that opened emotional floodgates that I was not ready for. He simply said, “how long have you felt the way you do?” After digesting that question, I burst into tears and I couldn’t stop crying. I told him that I always felt this way ever since I can remember. That was the first time I could identify that darkness that was always there. I could not remember ever feeling joy or happiness. I could not even define those emotions as pertaining to my life. I always thought that darkness was because of my Transgender issues. What it turned out to be were wounds that never healed. At the age of eleven I found alcohol and drugs that numbed me until I hit the most important bottom of my life at the age of nineteen. However, we are not there yet but we are progressing that way.
So, amid my wonderful baby boom Ozzy and Harriet family experience, certain other issues came into being for me. Yes, you’re right, my gender identity. This became a new kind of hell for me. It was also clouded by alcohol and drugs along with cultural views during my growing up at that time. You see, I am coming to believe that we are so much more than our gender identity. We are these wonderful creatures made by God that emotionally, spiritually and physically are so much more than the boxes we put ourselves in. Even more than our intellect with which we use to frame ourselves by someone else’s definition.
Speaking of innocence, I wrote this a long time ago too:
Why did you do that to me?
You took something away from me.
I’ll never have it again,
Why? Tell me why!
Was it something that you had lost too?
So, you wanted mine?
You took it, when I couldn’t hold on.
Did you know, that neither of us can have it now?
So, why did you do it?
Please tell me.
I can give you what I have left.
Because, maybe, it was taken from you.
Maybe I can call this forgiveness.