THE SUBVERSIVE

Number 4

DECLARATION OF PURPOSE

“This journal exists to promote the concept that each human is a unique individual, intrinsically entitled with an equal right to pursue her own destiny as far as it does not inhibit others in that same right.  The Subversive shall serve as a ready forum for the free expression and exchange of ideas that do not violate this mandate, in the belief that tolerance grows from a familiarity with variety.”

–signed,

Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

HOW TO GET THE SUBVERSIVE

The Subversive is available FREE as a download on America Online, Compuserve, Genie, several servers on the Internet, and various BBS around the world.

For those who wish to contribute articles, stories, personal experiences, information, jokes, or whatever Email melaniexx@aol.com on Internet, or write to:

Melanie Anne Phillips

150 East Olive Avenue

Suite 203

Burbank, California 91502

Only original material will be accepted unless quoted in the context of an original work or submitted with credit to the original author along with permission to reprint the material.

NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free to all who wish to read it.  However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain.  Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free specific license for your purpose. 

—————————————————–

LETTERS  TO THE EDITOR

From: Karen Day

To:     Melanie XX

Thank-you for clearance to give the Gender groups here the Newsletters. There’s one TS and one TV group. I’ll hand over a hardcopy of the newsletters with instructions to keep them complete.

I will be attending my first TS meeting this Saturday morning. It’s a small group of about 8 I’m told. I have become pretty good friends with the leader, we have clicked on many, many thoughts. In fact, it’s the first time I really noted a difference. The TV group leader & I had problems discussing the “deeper” issues every time we met, so we keep it pretty superficial in that dept now. Sharon & I hit it off on every level the very first hour we spoke. This I suppose should tell me something … truth is I’ve always had these feelings but didn’t like to SAY it, since I never saw any real possibilities…that is slowly changing. Although I’m not going to rush out quite yet and announce myself. I’ll work on zapping the beard, losing weight and making new friends first. Then, well, we’ll see what happens. (I’ve waited 35 years, I may as well TRY to be methodical at this point)

Things are definitely improving for me Melanie. I have done things, gone places and met people I never would have dreamed of just 4 weeks ago. It’s been like the breaking of a dam. My very first outing to buy a wig turned into a wonderful experience. The woman who did the fitting is a former co-worker. She was my bosses secretary for 4 years at a radio station I worked at. She was THRILLED and we got along so well. Since we’ve been able to talk a few times. Armed with the proper attire, I finally went for a morning walk in the daylight on Labour day. It was a holiday and few people were up, but it felt so good not be hiding in the dark shadows at 3am. I can’t say I’d “pass” at noon hour, but that will come in time. Last weekend I was at a gender meeting at a hospital at 8pm, I was able to go dressed. A lot has happened in a few short weeks, my emotions have been on a big roller coaster. One day I want to start a transition as soon as possible, run over tell my family and live my life the way I want to. Then I think, no…better to cool off a bit first and prepare properly for whatever decision comes, when the time is RIGHT. My only real regret is that I didn’t have this kind of support when I was 20, when I was dressing a lot and walking alone on the streets at night. But I won’t lament my past life, rather try to enjoy my new found piece of freedom and see where it all goes one step at a time.

My most sincere thanks to you. It was the AOL group that allowed me to find the Ottawa gender groups and to learn about the possibilities from those like yourself who have found happiness and know it is real. It’s to know that the possibility IS real and to conquer the fears, there I will find peace.

Love

Karen 🙂

———————————————–

From: Debbie M1

To:     Melanie XX

Dear Melanie,

It’s been so long since I’ve last written to you and much has happened since then. I would like to say thank you for dropping a little note to me and, yes, I very much appreciate the opportunity to fill you in on what’s been happening.

You were probably aware of my not being online for a considerable length of time earlier this year. A lot of things happened back then Melanie. I was saving up money so that I could make my move, a bit of setback for my parents and I had to bail them out, a number of freelance jobs came in, a summer teaching opportunity as well as my introducing a number of new courses. It has been a long, hard year and now I’m back into the thick of the regular academic year.

I stayed away from AOL for awhile and, at one time or another, considered dropping out altogether, if it wasn’t for Anna. She kept writing to me, letting me know how much I was missed and that I would be welcome back at anytime. I really appreciated that. In July, I was finally able to move out and be on my own. After 37 years, I had finally left home! It’s a beautiful little apartment Melanie. I have a gorgeous view of Lake Ontario up on the eighth floor. It’s quiet, with all the comforts of home and much more. I enjoy it very much here.

When I first moved out, I nearly went crazy. All those years of hiding in the bathroom at home, dressing whenever I could and then taking everything off within 2 hours didn’t change overnight. For the first two weeks, I had to wear everything (including makeup) that I had at least once a day.. I nervously watched the door to my apartment thinking that it was going to fly open and people would see me… it took almost 4 days to get me out of the bathroom! But I eventually learned to relax and I enjoy the difference now. I just feel happier now. I learned that I do not have to get dressed to the nines to be feminine… a simple T-shirt can do. My wig doesn’t have to be fluffed out every 5 minutes… put it up in ponytail! Little things Melanie… that’s what I discovered I liked doing. It was me. It’s my life and it’s now a routine.

After I moved into my apartment and as I became more active on AOL, I had the good fortune of meeting another Canadian here and that made things all that much better for me. Because for all the people and friends that I have here, none of them were close to home and I longed for someone who was. I met Karen Day by sending her a simple note to say Hi and, since then, we have not missed a day in writing to each other! Karen lives within 6 hours driving time from here and that is very reassuring for me. There’s more… we’ve also found that we have a lot in common, that we share similar feelings and concerns, that we are making the same discoveries as we progress and explore that same path that you have already taken. Knowing that I have a very good friend here has really helped Melanie… We are already planning to meet someday and we are hoping to start phoning each other once in awhile next month.

Much remains to be done… I’ve taught myself so much in such a short period of time. The photo that I sent you is evidence of that… but there’s more. Lynda J1 has been helping me, and yes, I intend to follow through on her advice. I’ve just recently joined a support group near here and I hope, I just pray and hope, that I will be lucky enough to find someone who is as supportive as Karen is. I am buying clothes… casual clothes. I now know where to shop without fear, and it won’t be too much longer before I will be able to take my first steps into the world. As far as electrolysis goes and seeing a counsellor is concerned, these are goals that I hope to start in the new year. I am just simply setting my own pace and I am enjoying everything… especially life.

That’s about everything in a nutshell Melanie… I have so much more to talk about but I’ll save it for another time. There is much that I don’t know and I hope that I may be able to prevail upon you to help me. Thank you so much for all of the work and dedication that you have put into the conference and The Gender News and, more recently, The Subversive. Reading your diaries is an inspiration for myself and, I’m sure, for many others as well.

Thanks again Melanie.

Love,

    Debbie 

——————————————————-

From: Denese F

What can I say about the past two days.  I have never been on an  emotional roller coaster like this.  This is 48 hours that I would never want to relive, and yet I know that there will be more of

these roller coaster days as my transition into womanhood becomes a reality.It started on Thursday.  I had a great morning.  I felt good and  after lunch I had a nice talk with Melanie.  I was on top of the  world.  That’s where the downward trend began.

About the time I hung the telephone up, a coworker asked to see me  in her work area.  I asked what’s up.  She said, “How are you feeling?”  I replied, “Great!”.  Then it began.  She said “I heard a rumor and I know that to get the truth you should get it from the horses mouth.”  I replied, “What did you hear?”  Her reply, “That you were going to have a sexchange.”I asked where she heard this.  She said across the hall.  I thought Oh boy!  I said yes, but it is not to be general knowledge just yet.  She said it was being discussed and she had overheard it.I went and found Candy and said that I needed to talk with her.

When she got off break, she came and got me and said lets go.  We went into the conference room where she laid it out.Just after I saw her, the Branch Chief came and found her and said you are to call Natalie Clark, The Labor Relations Specialist, ASAP.This is where she found out that the District Director’s office had been bombarded with phone calls all afternoon asking if this was true.  He finally, called Natalie and said he wanted it stopped right now.I do not know who found out and started the talk which spread like wildfire.  I was told that people noticed the longer hair and my budding breasts.   They put 2 and 2 together and assumed that good old me was going to have a sex change.  They were right, but they sure assumed a whole lot.It was suggested that I stay in the branch, I really should not worry about breaks and maybe I should eat my lunch at my desk.

This is not a happy solution for me, but like she said, “Out of sight, out of mind!”  I don’t buy that, but it will do for the minute.I came home last night and I was one upset person.  I really was

ticked off.  I went to my scheduled basketball practice, mostly to help take the edge off the frustration.  I came home and after a hot shower did not sleep a whole lot.I got up this morning and I went to work.  I was not a real happy camper, but I thought, what the hell, it will make the day go faster.  I was just getting to my desk when a manager that will cause me a problem came up and said, “Well, when are you going to retire?”  I said, “Maybe tomorrow”.  Her reply was “GOOD!” and she turned and went back to her office.  My first thought was not very

lady like.I did what would normally take me 6 hours or so in about 2.  I then went to my acting supervisor, and said “I am taking 6 hours leave,  I may be back Monday, or I may not”.  He asked what was wrong, and this is a real nice person.  I replied ask Candy and I left.

I got home and I was totally irrational.  I was furious, and I kept thinking, “How dare them to judge me.”  “What the hell do they know about what I have been through.”  I was totally bent out of shape.  I then took a short nap, or tried to, and gave it some serious thought.  I decided that “THOSE BASTARDS ARE NOT GOING TO BEAT ME.”

I am now more resolved than ever to succeed and to succeed on my present job.  It was beyond me how these good church going people could judge me on a subject that they have no experience.I got up and went and got my nails done.  I then went and put two new wigs in layaway.  The hell with all of them.  DENESE LIVES AND WILL SOON COME OUT AND SHE WILL BE READY FOR A FIGHT, IF THE NEED ARISES!

I called the office this afternoon and the managers had finished their meeting with the Labor Relations Specialist and the Counselor from our Employee Assistance Plan.  The meeting has been moved to this coming Thursday afternoon.Once this is properly explained, maybe things will calm down.  I do know that I am not going to take any crap from anybody over this.I am so pleased with the way my breasts have developed so far.  I mean I won’t have to wear the prostheses, like I thought that I would and most likely fill a Ccup before full time begins in late

October or early November.  But right now, I wish that they were tiny little pebbles that were not noticeable under my clothes so that I would have more time to prepare for full time.  Not so much in the emotional sense, but in the getting everything that I wanted in clothing and accessories, etc.I guess that you can’t have your cake and eat it too.  So the hell with it, onward towards full time and I hope that the emotions settle down for a little while.

I hope to see you Sunday.

Love,Denese

——————————————–

EXPLORATIONS

by

Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

“Remembering to Forget”

I’ve gone through nearly five years since the first moment I seriously considered becoming a woman.  I’ve had hormone therapy, RLT, SRS and learned to pass so well, that close friends are amazed if I tell them of my past.  I get wolf whistles, horn honks and heads turning most everywhere I go.  So what is it that makes me still feel like a man in woman’s clothing?

No matter how successful I was, no matter how accepted I became, I still could not shake that inner feeling that something was missing, that somehow I was not the same as other women.  And I desperately wanted to be.  What more could I do?  What else could I be?

Then it hit me:  You can’t become someone only by being like they are, but must also NOT be like they AREN’T.

What does this mean?  It means that people and roles are not only defined by what the INCLUDE but also by what they EXCLUDE.  But for me, this goes against the grain!  Becoming a woman should be an ADDITION to my life, not a DELETION of any sort!

Any yet, I knew it was true.  All I had to do was look around me at some of the other TVs and TSs I knew.  How many times have you seen a gorgeous CD who slinks up to the bar and says, “Gimme a beer!”?  There may be any number of ways a woman might order a drink, but that is definitely not one of them!  The point being, this person had done all the right things to be completely passable, but had ALSO done something that was specifically not part of the role.

This is fine for passing, but what about for my mental state?  Was there something I was doing MENTALLY that I needed to stop?

Yes there was.  I was keeping the memory of Dave alive.

You see, all through transition, especially AFTER surgery, I enjoyed my new role by constantly comparing it to the old.  Every morning when I awoke, my hands would find their way to the new smoothness between my legs and I would smile, thinking back to how it USED to be and how much better it was now.  Then, throughout the day, every time a stranger accepted me, every time I attracted the interest of a man, I thought about how that never would have happened before, and the strangeness that it should happen now.  What irony!  What magic!  What a mistake!!!

I was engaging in a mental activity that no woman has ever gone through.  My whole euphoric experience was built on patterns of thought that were not appropriate to the feminine role.  I had been everything a woman MUST be, but was still being something they MUST NOT!  In a sense, I had not become a woman at all, but only a very successful transsexual.

But to give that up!  To let go of that comparison that brought so much pleasure.  What an emotional loss!  Did I really want to do that?  Who would know but me.  Who, indeed….

Suddenly I realized that all through transition I had been telling everyone I met that I used to be a guy.  I even carried an old photo of a bearded me in my purse to whip out and shock people.  I enjoyed that.  To me it was measurement of my success as to just how shocked they were.  Every time it happened, I felt so PROUD of myself – so accomplished – so SPECIAL.  And therein lies the problem.  If I based my “specialness” on having been a man, that man would always be a part of me.

I had a lot of justifications for telling, of course.  Mostly, it seemed the only truly honest thing to do.  After all, I really WAS a man before, and wouldn’t it be lying to keep it hidden?  In fact, the closer the friend, the bigger the lie it would be.

Well, from a logical standpoint, that is true.  Physically, I WAS a man.  But what about the emotional side?  Did I ever FEEL like a man, no.  Did I ever THINK like a man, no.  Did I ever THINK OF MYSELF as a man, no.  I never felt like a woman either, but only because I didn’t know what a woman was supposed to feel like.  But for sure, I never felt like a man.

And what was my purpose here?  To revel in a job well done?  To have a way to become the center of attention at any party?  Surely those are interesting powers and temptations, but was it what I really wanted for my life?  Was it the kind of person I had fought so hard to be?  No.

Then what was I to do?  Did I need to hit myself over the head and become an amnesiac, waking up in some unknown park, wandering the streets of a strange city, then begin a new life never knowing of my male past?  Maybe in the Twilight Zone, but not in Burbank.  They don’t allow that kind of thing here.

So how do you go about intentionally forgetting something anyway?  Well, it depends on what you are trying to forget.  Okay, then, what was I trying to forget?  That I ever was a man?  Not really…  I don’t think I could EVER forget THAT! What then?  What else was there?  If not facts…  Ah!  That was it!  I didn’t want to forget the I WAS a man, I wanted to forget what it FELT like to be a man!

All right… so how do you go about forgetting feelings?  Well, actually, it happens by itself.  The more you find yourself separated from situations that created those feelings, the less you will remember them UNLESS YOU CONSCIOUSLY KEEP THOSE MEMORIES ALIVE.

That was my problem, I had not let go.  I was constantly regenerating those feelings by the very act of comparing the present ones to the old ones.  Each time I did this I dredged up the old feelings and gave them new life.

The solution was simple: let it go.

Once I realized this, implementation was easy.  When I awoke each morning, I still might examine the female nature of my body, but not so that I might compare, rather so I might simply enjoy it for what it was.  On the street I would simply smile to myself in response to a wolf whistle because it made me feel good to be attractive.  At work, my conversations lingered less and less on the gender aspects of my history and more on the things I had done, the place I had gone, and the current and future activities I was engaged in.

And I made a commitment: to begin to lie.

No longer will I share my story with new friends or acquaintances.  Depending on the situation, there are some who will find out, either by circumstance or from others, but they will NOT FIND OUT FROM ME.  When I speak of my past, I will no longer temper the truth by saying, “when I was a child”, but will bold-faced state “when I was a little girl” AND MEAN IT.  Because although it may be a lie in terms of logic, it is God’s honest truth in terms of feelings.

This week I have made an appointment to change my school records to Melanie from Dave, and I am beginning the process of altering my birth certificate and obtaining a legal name change.  I have spoken with a counselor, and will be registering for the spring semester for continuing education at the community college.  On Monday, I’m calling Parks and Recreation to find out how I can volunteer to help backstage at the local amateur theatre.  And all of the new people I meet will only know me as Melanie.

Does this mean I will no longer write about transition and gender or no longer be involved in the community?  No, the KNOWLEDGE I gained is valuable and is the basis for my current and future career.  I intend to expand my efforts in these areas and explore the relationships between the genders as far as I can.  But all this will be done under the name Phillips that I was born with, whereas all my personal relationships will know me only under my step-father’s name that I have used since I was nine.

It may not be a perfect solution, but with the nature of my work and my career, a perfect solution is not possible.  Yet it is a far better solution than I HAD been employing.

Now…  now that all this is said and done, how do I FEEL?  I feel like all the woman I ever wanted to be, because although I know I used to be a man, I can’t seem to remember what it used to feel like.

Copyright 1992, Melanie Anne Phillips

———————————————–

And now for the third installment in a serialized presentation of the book:

RAISED BY WOLVES:

A TRANSSEXUAL DIARY

by

Melanie Anne Phillips

PRELUDE

The pages beneath, chronicle my 18 month journey from a life as an apparently normal husband and father to that of an apparently  normal woman.  In the hope of capturing the immediacy of this emotional trip into the unknown, I shunned the retrospective approach, opting instead for a daily Diary.

Each entry was made on the day the events actually happened, expect as noted.  And each is filled with the raw and unpolished thoughts and feelings that held me at that moment.

Of course, this leads to a somewhat meandering story, as well as contradictions in my point-of-view and personal emotional outbursts that I’m sure will make me squirm once this is published.  But anything less would be less than truthful.  And if this document is to serve any purpose as either a tool for tolerance and understanding or as an inspiration to those contemplating any major life-change, then it must be completely honest.

October 2, 1989

Today was my long awaited lab test session with Dr. Smith.  First off was the blood sample – they left me with none….  Next was the EKG, an interesting test not for the procedure but the protocol.  During previous EKGs with other doctors I was simply bare chested.  But here, they gave me a disposable paper “blouse” to preserve modesty, a commodity reserved exclusively to women.  So, Indeed, an interesting change in society’s attitude toward my person is beginning to congeal, even if only for the moment in the artificially created environment of my doctor’s office.

And yet another aspect of my visit was most complex in its simplicity.  Chris, the male nurse, had previously mentioned that some of his patients had never come “dressed” and he wondered what they looked like as women.  So, I brought a long a coupla photos for him to see – me done up with wig and all.  He said, “Very nice.” but then, “When are you going to start growing your hair?”  Now, on the surface, it was a simple question.  But the ramifications….  What he MEANT was:  1) That the course I was following would make long hair a necessity very soon, and I had better start growing it now.  I hadn’t fully emotionally realized how quickly things were going to happen once they got started, but this really drove it home.  2)  That it is not only okay for me to have long and sensuous hair, but desirable as part of my image.  The concept of dressing and appearing in a manner that would attract men is only now beginning to creep into my conscious thought.  Whether or not I am attracted to men is beside the point.  If I am to truly become a woman, THEY will be attracted to ME!

I thought about this last point all the way home.  And during the evening could often be caught checking my minimal profile out in the mirror and wondering what it would be like to be lusted after….  Oh, well….

October 4, 1989

It’s kind of a strange day.  I’ve been off the hormones since Dr. Smith told me to go “cold turkey” until he got a base-line blood panel.  That was only two weeks ago, but the depressions I’ve felt are largely due, I believe, to the lowering of the hormone levels.  Indeed, it feels like “super PMS”!

So as soon as I came back from the blood sampling two days ago, I popped a Premarin pill and took another that night.  I know of at least one TS whose doctor prescribes that exact dose, and without the injections it should be safe enough.

It only took until this afternoon to see results.  My emotional stability is back to its usually cheery self.  And my bust development which had diminished noticeably puffed right back up to new heights.  I suspect that is fat redistribution rather than any growth in real breast tissue, as it happened too quickly, but I’ll take it whatever it is!

Of course my doctor would frown at this,  but I just can’t wait until next Monday when I get my complete physical exam and hopefully my new prescription.

Strangely, just before the puffiness kicked in, early in the afternoon, I felt certain male-oriented thoughts creeping into my mind.  At one point, I wanted nothing more than to cut my long fingernails back to the quick and dive in the mud after a football.  I wonder whether I would have had that thought if the estrogen levels were still high.  For that matter, just how much is my thinking influenced or altered by the introduction of these hormones and suppression of others?  I’m not sure any definitive study has been done, but it is possible that my resolve to be female would evaporate if I went off the medication fro a say month or two?  Would I have already drifted out of the yearning cycle and come back to enjoying the male life as I have done so many times before?  Is this need that leads me into hormone use strengthened by that very use in a vicious circle that masks the true level of my intent and becomes a self-feeding, self-fulfilling prophecy?  Sure, why not?

But then, what do I do?  Do I quit entirely and let the demon brew filter from my system, finally releasing my mind to its true and natural course?  Hell, no!  But I will always wonder how I would really feel if I had gone off the juice and let equilibrium re-establish itself.  A question for the ages, as if they cared….

October 8, 1989

Title:  “Tarzan in a Teapot”: The human interest story of a small boy who, when he hears the kettle whistle, believes he has the Lord of the Jungle trapped inside.  Erma Bombeck, look out!

Well, enough frivolity, as they say.  Here’s the semi-regular, semi-daily report:

Last night was the first time anyone who has always known me as Dave has seen me as Melanie.  To be sure, I have shown pictures to many of my friends, but I know that they are able to disassociate that svelte creature from any connection with my male self quite easily.  But the actual confrontation face to face would necessitate a complete re-evaluation of how they saw and related to me.  So it was with utmost trepidation that I waited for the moment to begin my preparations for my debut with Mark and Juniko at my support group meeting.

For the entire morning, I moped about the house, unable to concentrate on anything, terrified of the vulnerability of stripping away my defenses and exposing my inner being to those I most care about.  I had made arrangements with Mary and my Dad to take the kids out to the park at about two o’clock so I could dress unmolested.  And at 1:55 I found myself alone with the clock ticking.

I had not dressed as Melanie in three weeks, and it took some time before I felt comfortable presenting myself in that fashion.  To help take the rust off, I had arranged to meet a post-op friend from my support group for dinner so I could ease into the role, which always requires several hours for the defenses to melt.

At 4:00 I arrived at Natalie’s apartment and spent just a few moments in general conversation before we left.  Natalie drove us to a small coffee shop where she and Barbara, her post-op roommate, are known and accepted.  So in addition to feeling that I passed casual inspection by the clientele, the waitress was also not a problem as she was used to this kind of thing with Natalie.

We spoke of many things, not always related to the gender issue, but that subject was indeed the most potent.  This was the first deep conversation I have had with a post-op, and we explored the most intimate aspects of the transition process.

Natalie had lost a wife and family of two children in the journey.  Happiness still alludes her, but that is tempered with a deep inner comfort that makes it bearable.  There are obviously many tears to be shed along the way, but if you truly are transsexual, the undeniable need almost pulls you along in spite of yourself, and no amount of pain is great enough to dissuade you from your course.

By the time we returned to her apartment, I had loosened up considerably.  We spent perhaps half an hour discussing music, families, and futures.  Then it was time to go.

I arrived before Mark and Juniko did, and found that it was much easier to break into conversation and present myself without second guessing that it had been on either of my two previous meetings there.  In fact, instead of artificially raising my voice to a feminine pitch, I spoke in my usual tone, but with feminine annunciation and affectation.  The voice seemed passable enough with those at the meeting, but they are much more tolerant than the public at large.  Soon I must run some kind of independent test to see if my normal speaking voice is high enough to pass.

When Mark and Juniko arrived as scheduled at 7:00 I rose to greet them.  The Moment of Truth had come.  But then it was gone again.  It actually never happened.  I was amazed that they registered no apparent shock.  They greeted me in the same openly affectionate manner they always had, and I found myself easily being Melanie in front of them.  Indeed, all of the fear and nervousness was for naught, as they were neither revolted nor I embarrassed or ashamed.

We had the opportunity to talk for several minutes before the meeting began.  Strangely, the relationship hardly changed at all.  I still cracked the same awful jokes, they still ribbed and kidded. The only real differences seemed to be in the subject areas I was now allowed to participate in.  And I was allowed to react in whatever manner I chose without fear of ridicule.

The meeting was loosely called to order for the “workshop” portion of the evening.  This is a two hour lecture/discussion/question-answer period to help people understand themselves and others, and how they fit in the general scheme of sex/gender.

As usual, there were only about five of us for the workshop, and it IS rather boring.  But I could see that both of my friends were trying sincerely not just to absorb the information, but to truly understand what their friend was going through.  They were both insightful in their questions and candid with their answers.

Toward the end of the workshop, people began to drift in for the “rap session”, a “round robin” where each person is encouraged to explain as much or as little of his or her situation to the group for guidance, support or just to open up and let it all out.  About half the group each month is repeats and the others, new faces or infrequent attendees.  Each has tale to tell, and not of them have had a smooth time of it.

An interesting side note:  During the rap session, I mentioned I was sitting under the air conditioning vent and thought I was catching cold.  Shortly thereafter, Mark got up and left.  Moments later, that was a nudge to my shoulder.  I looked up and he had returned from his car with a sweater for me to wear.  I revelled both in the thrill of being “looked after” in a manner that never would have even been thought of with me as Dave, and also in the status with my group of having my friend treat me publicly as the woman I will soon become.  I gladly accepted the sweater and draped it over my shoulders for the remainder of the discussion.  And I must admit, the comfort of that sweater was almost as warm as the glow inside me.

Several hours later, we had all had our say and broke up for the “social” portion of the evening, where we are free to intermingle and hob nob with whomever about whatever.  There, I had my second long discussion with a more progressed transsexual and found many similarities between her and myself.  I suspect a friendship may grow there.

Mark and Juniko spent time both with me and alone with others, truly finding the humanity behind the carnival and pathos.  However, I kept waiting for that moment when our relationship would irrevocably change:  that cataclysmic instant in which everything would be altered forever.  But there was to be no cathartic explosion, no thunderous bolt.  I suddenly realized that I had already been reclassified by my friends and our relationship had not suffered for it.  Yes, I sense a slight separation between Mark and myself that I had never felt before.  But is not one of diminished feeling, but one of respectful distance that occurs between most friends of opposite gender.  So our feelings of friendship are as strong or stronger than ever, but the comraderie is no longer a part of it.

However, Juniko is much closer now, both in a mental and physical sense.  We share an occasional private smile and an unspoken sense of “being on the same team”.  In fact, that very neatly defines the feeling.  It is as if I had been on a professional sports team and just got traded.  I still have the greatest affection for my former team mates, but now am developing closer ties with the new ones.  This was driven home just before I drove home for the evening.  As I parted company with them on the front walk, Mark did not offer the traditional handshake he usually had, however Juniko gave me a sisterly hug.

So I seem to be already partway through the transition as the mental state suffers considerably more during that period and the body takes care of itself.  I know it is a long and sad road ahead of me.  But with true friends like Mark and Juniko who care for the inner person that they have come to know, I am sure I can withstand whatever demons leap from the shadows on the path to my destiny.  I love them both and will cherish their friendship forever.

October 9th, 1989

134 days to live.  That’s what Dave has.  For on my natural birthday, February twentieth, nineteen hundred and ninety, I will go full-time as Melanie and Dave will cease to exist. 

I shall morning his passing.  He’s a pretty nice guy.  I think perhaps to celebrate his wake I’ll take Melanie to dinner.

Today was THE day:  the day that I finally bean hormone therapy again under a doctor’s supervision.  But this time, it is part of a program.  THE program, so this is THE day.

Dr. Smith is the one who signs the letter to Dr. Biber giving the recommendation for surgery.  And Dr. Smith is the one who will guide my physical transition into womanhood.

One week ago I was given the blood panel, EKG, and chest X-ray.  Today, the complete physical and a reading of the results.

I arrived at the doctor’s office right on time at 10:15 am.  And after  brief meeting with Chris, was ushered into an examining room and told to remove all my clothes.  I was given a large paper towel with which to cover the lover half, and that silly paper shirt, that upper modesty should prevail.  I considered not wearing the paper blouse as Chris had said it was optional, but relented to my pragmatic side which insisted I might as well get used to this kind of thing.

So I waited alone for thirty minutes.

Finally, Dr. Smith came in and went over the lab results: almost perfect, down the line, except for slightly high cholesterol, which initiated a low-cholesteral diet.  AS far as bodily functions my private flirtation with “hot” B.C. pills, followed by the Hollywood doctor’s “hormone roulette” had not inflicted noticeable damage.  In Dr. Smith’s words, I was “starting clean”.

Chris was called in to take notes, and Dr. Smith gave me the most thorough physical examination of my life, discovering a slightly bent spine, congenital blockage in the left nasal cavity, and “numerous quiescent internal hemorrhoids”.  Bleech!

I was shown how to do a monthly breast self-examination, and was pleased to hear the diagnosis of Gynacomastia, with “breast buds” of 4cm on the right and 3cm on the left.  Dr. Smith seemed to feel that this indicated a sensitivity to hormone stimulation that would lead to substantial growth.  YES!!!!

I was also shown how to check for blood clots in the veins of the leg (try not to think about it), and told to buy a “breast pump” (used for lactating women) but to be employed as an enlarging device for my nipples so they would appear more genetic in size.

Finally, I was left to dress and told to report to the doctor’s office.  I sat myself down on his couch as he wrote out prescriptions fro 1.25mg Premarin daily, and one pill per day of Aldactone, a drug which reduces body hair to female levels -one side effect, gynacomastia, an added benefit.

Earlier in this diary I promised to give a nuts and bolts description of the process as it occurred, so this is the beginning.  High on the informative content, but low on emotion.  I must interject however, that on the freeway on the way home, I clutched my prescription and drove with one hand, both afraid it would get away and triumphant that I had achieved it.

All medication at the Hollywood doctor’s had been provided or administered there, adding to the feeling that what I was doing was somehow wrong or illegal.  But here in my hand was an actual mainstream prescription to be honored by druggists everywhere, coming soon to a drug store near you!

So I drove to Sav-on, our major local chain, and boldly presented the note, waiting to savor the moment when I could smirkly say, “No, it is not for my wife, its for ME.  I am a transsexual and this is part of my hormone therapy.”  The female druggist held out her hand for the prescription.  I placed it confidently in her palm.  She looked it over and told me pleasantly, “It’ll be about 15 minutes.”  She was gone before I realized nothing was going to happen.

So I moped around the store for 15 minutes, killing time, thinking, “Okay, she just didn’t see the name or the drug name or didn’t make the connection. Wait ’til I pick it up!”

I came to the counter.  I said, “Prescription for David Phillips.”  She said, “Oh, yes.  Here it is.”, plopped it in a bag, stapled it, and handed it across the counter.  DAMN!  I never get any rejection to overcome to prove how determined I am.  DAMN!

So I picked up the breast pump, took it to the front counter and shoved it at the female clerk.  Who rang it up and gave me the change.  What do you have to do to freak these people out?  I give up!

Anyway, I feel good tonight.  The dosage is much smaller than before, but much safer.  And I am in the care of people for whom the word “care” truly has meaning.  I am on the road to womanhood (sounds like a Hope/Crosby movie, doesn’t it?).  And every day takes me a little bit closer to that far off land I’ve dreamed of seeing since my childhood.

But only 134 days!!!  DAMN!!!

October 10, 1989

I have a most startling discovery to report.  It is 7:02 am, and scant minutes ago I woke up with an incredible revelation.  It is not something I “worked out”.  It is not a conclusion based on analysis of facts.  It is a conviction of such depth and meaning that I do not have it within myself to question it.

I wanna be both.

Very simple, very true.  Fact is, after the misery of the “Vegas Weekend”, after the joy of kidding around with Mary in the week following, Mark and Juniko’s acceptance at the support group meeting, the workshop discussion of being “bi-gendered”, and the thrill of having my kids grab hold, look up and smile, “I love you daddy…”, I have awakened to the realization that I truly enjoy both roles.

My infatuation with the feminine gender has been a pendulum swing born from the so-long suppression of same.  And I do not wish to mix my modes.  But just as I have discovered that I am Transsexual and Bi-sexual, I have now learned with my heart that I am Bi-gendered as well.

My mother would have had a fit!  As for myself, I wonder how I can possibly cram any more “Bi”s or “Trans”s into one person.  I certainly seem to be as unique as I always egotistically thought, although not in the same areas I had gloated over in earlier years.

So what does this mean?  How can I deal with feelings that are so far beyond the limits of social acceptance as to never have appeared on a talk show?  Life my friend Steve always says, “Deal with it!”  And so I shall.

I cannot change the way I feel, but I can devise a plan for my life to allow for the greatest fulfillment of my feelings at the least possible cost.  So, I shall remain “daddy” and “hubby” here.  And I shall fill the role both from duty and enjoyment.  I shall relish my time as Dave.  But not at the expense of Melanie.  I am continuing on the hormone program.  And I will probably opt for SRS  when the time comes.  But even THAT will not prevent me from living both roles.  For today, I know and feel with the greatest certainty I have ever known that I cannot be happy as either, I must be both.

October 11, 1989

I’ve found this great trick for getting my numerous creditors off my back.  When they call on the phone demanding payment, I tell them, “Hey things are tough right now.  I’m on hormone therapy for a sex-change and the medical expenses are killing me!”  They never call back.

But enough of this mamby pamby gender puppy love.  Let’s get down to the nitty gritty.  I called Mark and Juniko last night.  Mark had not yet arrived home, but Juniko and I had a long and meaningful conversation.  This was the first time I had spoken to her since my “debut” last Saturday, but we only spoke of that briefly.  Instead, we somehow got on the subject of the second class status of women.

I’m not sure, but I think it is only because of MY changing status with HER that she allowed herself to open up so completely and frankly, as we had a true “woman to woman” talk.

I’ve always been in love with condescending attitude of men toward women.  It goes hand in hand with not having to go to war, getting doors opened, and having your seat pulled out.  But aside from a passing thought, I have never really considered the downside.  According to Juniko, it’s substantial.

She told me tales of sexual discrimination against her in the workplace.  Nothing blatant, mind you, but just that her small mistakes were less forgivable than male co-workers’ large ones.  And that attitude was so pervasive that she actually began to question her own worth.  She tells me it is this way for all females in male controlled environments.  And since Juniko is neither a bitter person nor an ardent feminist, I surely believe her.

As a corollary:  I was in the store the other day and a young mother with her baby were ahead of me at the counter with the check-out girl.  The mother dropped something and said, “Oh, I’m such a klutz!”  The clerk said, “I know what you mean.  Usually I’m just an airhead, but today I’m a real bubble brain!”  MY GOD!!!  They were doing it to themselves!!!

Apparently the years of subtle brainwashing by the media, the church, and daily interactions with men lead to such a completely submissive loss of self-worth that there are very few left with the stamina to fight back and change it.  Add to this the chemically induced aggression of males and the tendency toward submission by females, and it’s hard to imagine the status quo changing at any time in the future.

So now the question is put:  Am I ready for this?  Can I accept a station in life where I am continually considered less competent?  Where my ideas are immediately suspect?  Where any move to better my condition is met with disapproval or outright venom?  And what effect will thirty years as a woman have on my own sense of self-worth?  I wonder if I can accept this “silent slavery” as a price for satiating other needs?

Big questions, little answers.  For now, they will have to remain rhetorical as I surely must experience this aspect of female life first hand to really determine the effect it will ultimately have on me.

October 11, 1989, Evening

Just a quick memory flash:  While sorting though the pile of mixed possessions and memories that little the top of the pool table in the den-we-call-our-bedroom, I came across the first tape recorder I ever owned.  One of the first portable models ever made: a reel to reel affair roughly the size of two paper back books, stacked, that took tiny three-inch reels and ran off four “C” cells.

The reason for the sharp little prod of the past?  At age nine, I used up all my collected allowance to purchase the machine because I wanted to learn to speak female and needed the device to see what I sounded like.  I recorded one tape in bad falsetto, then gave up, frustrated.  The machine was briefly used for more commonplace endeavors such as recording sounds from around the block, then fell into disfavor and, as far as I know, remained packed away until I unearthed it just moments ago.

Gad, what a life….

October 14, 1989

I’m sitting here at the L.A. Convention Center at a Las Vegas Gambling show, writing this in the open spaces on a racing form with a giveaway pen proclaiming that “Commerce Casino is L.A.’s Friendliest”.  That may be true, but I hope I never have the opportunity to find out.  For I am bored silly, and if not for my determination to keep Mary happy, I could not have been dragged here.  But Mary wanted to come, so here I am.

But this kind of discontentment engenders (there’s that word again!) a plethora of thoughts about what might have been.  Like, am I making this transition to escape from a stifling relationship that I feel trapped in, yet cannot leave as that is not my nature?  Pretty hefty thought to start with!  Could be, as I often wonder what life would have been if I had married a pretty blonde who shared more of my basic loves – camping, philosophy, arts and crafts, cooking, eating; in short, the development of my current needs may be solely due to a lack of fulfillment in areas at my most fundamental levels. Add to this our continuing financial distress and the slow/no growth of my career, and there is more than sufficient cause to create a “scapegoat scenario” and blame uncontrollable needs rather than my own wants.

And this is driven home by the boredom I feel to the point of anger as I sit behind Mary in this seminar room while she very nearly coos in glee at practicing “Pai Go” poker at a makeshift table.  But this feeling is both amplified and confused by the “helpful” drogue standing behind my wife, frequently placing his hand on her shoulder and patting her on the back as he guides her through the maze of unfamiliar rules.

But how can this be?  That I am simultaneously trapped and jealous, seeking both my freedom and the status quo?  I think I’m full of shit.

————————————————–

It is an hour later, and I am CERTAIN that I am full of shit.  Mary told me she knew I was uncomfortable and went out of her way to hold my hand and nuzzle.  And now we have sat through a seminar that I completely enjoyed.  And so I have not only learned about “craps” but that I am full of it.

Last night, we were intimate again, the first time in the new house and the first regular “consummation” type sex in perhaps four months.  This hiatus was largely due to the mega-dose of hormones I had received from the Hollywood doctor, which made erections both soft and unsustainable.  But due to the three week vacation between doctors and the lower dose with the new, both function and desire have returned to near “normal” levels.  I had thought that part of my life was gone forever… SURPRISE!!!

However, there is the odd confusion growing from this return of testosterone to my system.  For hormones affect both the body and the mind.  And every day I have felt more aggressive and actually enjoyed it.  Again, the question arises: If I had not remained on hormones for so long, would I have followed this course so far?  I suppose I may never know, but even on this low dose I still enjoy the physical changes enough to continue.  And so I shall, for now….

October 24, 1989

I’ve moved my computer to the office, but find that my thoughts are inspired toward diary entries in the evenings at home.  Hence, this is being laid down in long-hand: more personal perhaps, but far less frenetic as my thoughts keep tripping over my words.

I’ve entered a period of surprising calm; the calm before the storm perhaps, but still, and peacefully quiet for the moment at least.

Mary and I have had a truly “adult” heart to heart conversation without tears and in the friendliest of terms.  We reaffirmed our love for each other and our sure knowledge that our love will remain all of our lives, even if they must by circumstance, diverge.  And yet, we are agreed that I can never be content until I have explored my feelings fully and come to know, in truth, how my life must proceed.  So as friends and lovers we have agreed to separate for a time some six months in the future, when I go “full time”.  For that is truly the only way to experience life on the “other side” and thereby determine if the reality is equal to the hype.  Then, the decision is ultimately left in my hands.  Should I discover that my new life is not the utopia I have imagined, Mary will welcome me back with open arms.  But should this new role truly assuage the hurt and frustration, we shall remain separated on amicable terms.  She is a remarkable woman: To know that I could never be happy until I know the answer and to have the love and courage to risk losing me and with me her dreams, so that I might find peace.

Lately, perhaps due to this new openness, I find myself slipping more into the role of Melanie in speech, body language and dress.  As I write this, I am wearing a T-shirt exposing my shaved arms and the shape of my small but obvious breasts.  My choice of inflection and even the pitch I strike are creeping ever nearer to an acceptable female level.  I suppose that now that a split seems almost unavoidable, I have nothing to lose, or at least no reason to soften the impact of my transition.

And yet, Mary and I still laugh together and tease and cuddle and kiss and make love. We have verbalized our desire to have “one hell of a good time” as long as we remain together.  And so far, that is exactly what we are doing.

October 25, 1989

Confused as hell.  That’s what I am: confused as hell.  Every time I get my head on straight I find my body’s backward.

So here I am, just getting tearfully, then resignedly used to the idea of separating from Mary.  Here I am feeling more and more feminine and slipping pleasurably into the role of Melanie.  When out of nowhere I get a call from a production company in response to a recent mailing of resumes.

Only twenty resumes.  Twenty of my old male resumes sent because now that I am becoming Melanie, my mind is free to consider career moves instead of just gender issues.  I never expected a response, but only wanted to exercise my new-found interest in my craft.  I am free to promote my career.

But out of my freedom comes a new prison.  For this production company is interested in my work as a director – a MALE director, no doubt.  And the lure of fortune and glory gums up the works.

So here I am, halfway submissive with a solid milk chocolate coating of macho bullshit.  Old fire-dog yearnings clawing through the gossamer pink flesh of a newly reborn psyche, leaving stiff and lifeless scar tissue smoldering in its wake.  Leaving me hurt, leaving me happy, leaving me confused as hell.

October 26, 1989

“Professor, you’re full of whimsy!”, she says.  “That always happens when I eat beans…”, replies Grouch Marx in “Horsefeathers”.  And “full of whimsy” describes today pretty well.

The sky is clear two days after a purifying rain, and a crisp fall breeze gently rustles my clothes, staving off the first frost of fall, even as it functions as harbinger of same.  My thoughts drift quietly as the soft white clouds across the blank blue cold warmth of my mind.

Minor lack of sleep has combined with too many cups of coffee in creating a null state of mind where conflicts peacefully cross paths without interference.  James Taylor croons in earthy tones that mirror and amplify my gentle feelings of well-being.  Questions are emasculated into dormancy as their drive to procure answers fades into the picture-images of happier childhood days of the same season, when gender was an unknown word and only the wind and the sound and the music mattered.

I know that these frozen moments that thaw in the matrix of a balmy day are truly contradictory, yet none of their fervor has substance.  I wand to grow old with my wife, raising our children, buying our own home, sitting by the fire and the non-consuming burning of our love.  I want to lay in the arms of a gentle man by the same fire and nuzzle against his chest, secure in the knowledge that he will protect me from the winter winds.  I want to strike out on my own and find my true love: a girl of music and laughter, philosophy and empathy, and I want to protect HER from the chill.

But today, this rare and beautiful day, all these dreams, hopes, and fantasies merge together in that wordless general feeling of well-being.  Somehow these contradictory futures pass through my mind, then move on before they clash with the next.  And in their passing leave behind the glowing embers of contentment that endure, to combine with those that supplant them, until this satisfied contentment permeates my entire being, leaving no room for cacophony in the eternal fleeting moment of this day.

October 26, 1989, Afternoon

Is it wrong for girls to like Jules Verne?  I wonder what parameters can be set to delineate the differences between appropriate male and female interests.  Rosie Grier crocheted and Amelia Erheart conquered the skies.  Yet somehow I continually find myself trying to pigeon-hole my feelings, to sort them by zip code and seal them with a cast iron kiss.

I love the Civil War; I mean I really LOVE it.  So is that out the door?  Can’t be, doesn’t make sense.  But how do I fit in if I won’t fit the mold.  Maybe I’m just half-way, never to be satisfied and never to be at home.

Amazing the mood swings in two short hours.  Sonofabitch!

October 29, 1989

What a day: up, down, and sideways.  Right now: watching TV at 7:00 pm with my family; I glance down at my foot – Nike tennis shoes and tan socks protruding from my blue jeans.  Suddenly, for the first time, I feel like I am in drag wearing male clothes.  Everything looks out of place and feels strange.  I imagine pantyhose and heels, and the superimposed image is so right, so comfortable.  I realize another frozen gear has given way in my subconscious as I redefine my self-image.  And as I sit here now, the edginess continues.  So odd, since “dressing” has never been a large part of my TS experience.

Earlier today I suffered a trauma of devastating proportions, largely I suppose, due to hormonal side effects.  I lost my composure completely, suddenly overcome with a sadness so deep, so profound, that my future withered before my eyes.

In conversation alone with Mary, we had begun to speak of our impending separation in tangible terms that thrust the concept from conjecture into harsh and terrible reality.  I knew then that this next Christmas would be our last as a family.  Never again would I waken to the gleeful cries of young voices eyeing the bounty Santa had left.  Instead, I pictured myself silently watching old home videos alone in a darkened room on Christmas morning.  Then, regretfully placing a gun to my head and ending my suffering once and for all.  Blood on the TV screen, clotting in the hot static over smiling faces of times past.

Enraged by this image, I threw my coffee across the room and actually tore the house apart, looking for my grandfather’s rifle, while Mary cried in near-hysterics.  I suppose if I had found the weapon, I would have pointed it at myself.  And at that moment, I might have pulled the trigger.  For in that instant I realized that no one kills themselves to die.  They kill themselves waiting for someone to stop them.

Fortunately, the gun remains in unknown quarters, and I remain among the living.  Mary and I have both recovered, but I, as she, am drained and hurt.

What has been set in motion can no longer be stopped, and “suffering” is its secret name.

October 31, 1989

Exactly 33 years ago to the day I became transsexual.  At age three.  To be precise, on Halloween night, 1956, in Burbank, California.

My mother had been divorced for two years and we were living with my grandparents.  We had (the week before) taken a car vacation to Chicago where the family hailed from, and most of them still reside to this day.  While there, my mother borrowed a dress from a six-year-old cousin of mine for a Halloween costume for me.  While my grandfather returned cross-country with the car, my mother and I enjoyed my first plane flight, an old four-engine prop job that rattled and heaved through the night sky.  I don’t remember much of the trip itself, except something about the small of bacon when we arrived.

As I recall, the plane trip was made specifically so that I wouldn’t miss Halloween at home.  When the appointed night arrived, the dress was brought out along with an auburn wig with a long braid on each side, that my mother had worn in a “Little Theatre” production of, I believe, a melodrama.  I remember being told to raise my arms, and I can still feel the rough cloth of the gingham print dress scratching down across my face.

I told my mother I didn’t want to do it, but she would have none of it and fastened a draw-string behind my back.  I begged to be let free, but she firmly placed the wig upon my head.  I told her I didn’t want to go out like this, but she said it was the only costume we had and – no costume, no trick-or-treat.  Before we left, the final humiliation was to be a series of black and white pictures taken as a remembrance of “how cute” I looked.

I remember crying as she led me out the door.  I don’t know how many houses we went to, and only one can I recall.  But it remains fixed in my psyche with the clarity of a photograph.  I stood on the porch, my mother next to me, and rang the bell.  The door opened revealing a lady who looked down, smiled, and said, “What a cute little girl!”  I knew she didn’t have any idea I was a boy dressed as a girl, but she actually thought I WAS a girl in a cute outfit.  I was devastated, and cringe inwardly at the memory of that event to this day.

October 31, 1989 – Other Thoughts

In looking back on that awful night, I suddenly realized that I have not here included the early years of my struggle for personal identity.  Since my first appointment with Doctor Jayne Thomas, a well-respected gender psychologist, is in three days, and I intend to use this diary as background, I shall endeavor to fill in the gaps.  This will be more a chain of thought and out of any discernable order, wherever the Synapse Express pulls into the station.

Age five:  I remember walking past the open closet in what was the bedroom I shared with my mother.  (It is now my daughter’s bedroom.)  I glanced in and saw a gold metallic skirt glistening in a truant ray of sunshine, and I remember thinking, “That’s so pretty!  I wish I could wear that!”  But even then, some deep guilt informed me that I shouldn’t entertain such thoughts and I passed on.

Age three:  I used to play with the little girl from next door that summer.  I had a small sandbox in our yard and we would build castles and dig tunnels, endlessly filling our little plastic buckets with the dustless sand.  She was three as well, blonde, and cute.  She was my first friend.  I remember she had a “sunsuit”, a legless full-torso playsuit with string-tie shoulders.  I wanted to wear one too, and I have seen a long-lost picture of me in my own string-tied sunsuit.  (She also used to dump sand in my hair… I would cry.)

Perhaps two years later, a boy my age moved in next door on the other side.  All I remember of him was when I reached through the chain link fence to introduce myself, he grabbed my arm and twisted it against the rusty metal.  And later, when he had come over to play, he beat me over the head with a baseball bat.

At age seven:  My mother had just remarried and we had moved into a new apartment.  Times were great, as my new step-dad bout me a cowboy hat like his, and a scarf and boots as well.  He was only 22, just 15 years my senior, but he had just returned from an army tour of Japan, had grown up back East, and had many tales to tell.  Everything was new and wonderful.

At age eight: My mother started to take in ironing to help with the bills.  Her primary customers were neighbors from the old street.  On day (I cannot fathom what possessed me to do so) I rummaged through the laundry and found a pair of slacks from a girl near my age I had played with.  They were pink, with a criss-crossed lace-up front and, most exciting, NO ZIPPER!

I remember holding them, wondering what it would be like to wear them, what it would be like to be a girl. When my parents were out across the street to the store, I nervously tried them on, adrenaline surging through my system.

There was a strong “high” from the danger of being caught, but there was something else as well: a feeling that to this day I cannot put into words, but as nearly as I can, it was a feeling of contentment, of rightness, that mixed with the guilt not only of the deed but of the enjoyment of it.

I frequented the laundry piles many times that year, until she stopped doing that work and my needs had to be satiated elsewhere.

At some age between seven and eleven: For some months my major hobby was making paper mache breasts from toilet tissue when ostensibly using the bathroom.  I would go in, wet and wad up the tissue, making little points for the nipples, then place them under my shirt and admire my profile in the mirror until my mother hammered on the door inquiring what was taking so long.  Then I would flush the evidence down the toilet and return to the real world.

At age eleven:  I spent the summer days at my grandparent’s house, the house where I had grown up, while my parents both worked.  I would sneak into my grandmother’s room and try on her point contour-cup bra, which would give me a shape bigger than imagination.

One day, when the parents of the little girl who owned the pink lace-up pants were on vacation, I snuck into their house through the fireplace grate in the backyard.  I leafed through the father’s playboy magazines, getting my first look at naked women, but spent most of my time in their bedroom, trying on the wife’s clothes.  From underwear to tank top and skirt, I revelled in approximating the look of this attractive woman.

That night, under the claustrophobic press of guilt, I admitted my sin to my mother.  She exploded in a rage the intensity of which I had not seen in all my years with her.  I cringed as she pulled my underwear down and demanded I look at myself.  “Look at it!”, she screamed.  “You are a boy, someday you’ll be a man.  Even if you cut it off, you’d still be a man!”  Cut it off?  The thought had never occurred to me.  But after that night, it never left me.

Age eleven and a half: I had been feeling strange things between my legs for a couple of months.  I asked my step-dad, “How come my penis kind of moves around when I think of certain things?”  What kind of things?”  “Uh, things like, uh… POLITICS!”  “I see.  Well, that’s normal.  Don’t worry about it.”

That was the extent of my “birds and bees” speech.  Until I was twenty-one, one year before I got married, I thought the “normal” way of making love was “doggy-style” because I had seen dogs “do it” that way.  Front to front never occurred to me.  When I found out (I can’t remember how) I wondered for weeks, “How can front to front be any fun?  You can’t get a good grip on their breasts.  Besides, you have to look at each other and that’s too embarrassing.”  I do remember my mother saying, “Don’t worry.  When the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”  Sure, ma.

Age eleven and a half:  THE DAY I CAME OF AGE.  I had learned of the joy of manual stimulation.  But my creative mind didn’t stop there.  I decided that placing our battery powered, waterproof electric toothbrush against my penis was just the thing to increase the fun.  So every night when I took my bath, I would thrust the device under the water to muffle the noise, then rub it up against myself and enjoy the feeling.

Only in the last month did a sudden flash of insight open a memory I had completely suppressed.  I suddenly remembered that while using the device I was always fantasizing that is was a man making love to me as a woman.

The guilt of enjoying this was so great that I actually completely lost this memory until my recent opening up.  In fact, this was not a homosexual fantasy, but a transsexual one.

In any event, one night the toothbrush felt exceptionally good.  Then, suddenly, my penis went into spasms and spewed white gooey liquid that floated to the top of of the water and stuck to my legs.  I was terrified; I was sure I had killed myself.  The fear was so great I vowed never to do it again, and kept that promise until the next night.

At age nine:  My mother caught me with a sex-doll of my own creation: a pair of pants stuffed with dirty laundry to fill out the legs.  She was mad again, demanding to know whether it was male or female.  “Female!”, I lied.  “Then why did you use pants?!”  “Because I tried stockings and they wouldn’t hold straight.”, I wept.  (This much was true, but I didn’t tell her the real reason I switched was because the stocking fantasy wasn’t “doing it” for me – whatever “it” was.)

At age 15 or 16: Getting my natural father to buy me a “bald cap” for Halloween, then cutting it up and taping it between my legs to make me look female.  The surge of happiness and shock when I turned around, thinking of something else and caught a glimpse of my naked, penis-free body in the mirror.  For a brief moment, the fantasy was reality, until my eyes focused and the poor make-up job became obvious once more.

Another Halloween:  When I tried to get my natural father to buy me a braid of hair and some “spirit gum” to stick it on with, ostensibly to make hairy arms for a monster.  Actually, to get the braid so I could have long hair.

Halloween, age twelve:  Convincing the twelve year old girl across the street that she should lend me her mom’s wig, so I could go as a girl.  Then chickening out because my mother’s “Even if you cut it off…” speech was still a fresh wound in my memory.

Age sixteen:  Dressing in my mother’s pull-over dress that fit my taller frame like a mini-dress, then parading in the back yard and darting back in the house.  This for several days, then actually going out in the alley behind the hard.  Bad mistake, bad timing.  The red-neck machine shop guys in their twenties were taking lunch in the alley and saw me.  I tried to keep up my composure, but they started cat-calling and then following me.  I picked up my pace, and they, theirs.  Frantic, I turned the corner to the front of our house, then jumped the fence (quite a sight in pantyhose!) and darted into the house.  I remember my heart pounding like a hammer as I peered through eh front curtains and saw them looking all around, wondering where I had gone.  I didn’t dress again for months.

Well, the list goes on and on.  From fantasies to realities.  Risk taking, but with careful planning.  Hidden videos and secret drawings.  Clandestine stories penned then destroyed.  In the next couple of days I shall add to this weird accumulation of shadows in the attempt to cast light on my psyche.

(Copyright 1992, Melanie Anne Phillips)

(The Transsexual Diary series will continue in the next edition of The Subversive)

I urge you all to keep a diary of YOUR personal journey, whether it be through transition or not.  The attitudes and even the order of events becomes cloudy through time, and I am continually amazed to re-read things that memory would have me believe had happened differently.  If nothing else, it is a good way to see long-term patterns in yourself that you cannot see except in retrospect.  That objective view alone is worth the inconvenience of keeping a journal.

————————————————-

MAKE UP TIPS

A continuing series by Mary Kay representative,

Lynda J1

Finding Your Personal Rainbow

Choosing the right colors is a matter of personal choice and intuition.  It’s also a matter of fashion trends, personal coloring, and a little know-how.

The first key to color selection is to take a good look at your face and hair color.  Grab a mirror right now and take a good look.  The first thing we’re going to do is to determine the relationship between your skin tone and hair color.  This is called your contrast level.

Determining Your Level of Contrast:

Do you have light hair and ivory skin?  If so, your contrast level is low.  A low contrast level is marked by a similar color intensity of skin tone and hair.  A good example would be silvery-gray or platinum blonde hair and ivory skin.  A low contrast level also occurs with darker blonde to light brown or light red hair and a beige skin tone or black hair and deep bronze skin tone.  You can see that the color intensity of hair and skin tone is similar in these examples.

A medium contrast level occurs with medium brown, red, or auburn hair and ivory, beige, or bronze skin tone.  The contrast level is just slightly more pronounced than the low contrast examples above.  There is just a little more contrast between hair and skin tone.

A high contrast level occurs with dark hair and ivory, beige, or light bronze skin tones.  For example, someone with ivory skin and dark brown hair would have a high contrast level.  So too would someone with a medium skin tone and black hair.  A good example of this would be the black hair and lighter skin of most Orientals.

Choosing Your Color Statement:

The next thing you will want to consider in color selection is the type of look you are trying to achieve: natural, career, or dramatic.  Imagine two women, one with very light blonde hair and ivory skin, the other with dark bronze skin and black hair.  Both fall into the “low contrast” level.  Now imagine both of them wearing red lipstick.  The woman with dark bronze skin and black hair achieves a natural look while the woman with light blonde hair and ivory skin achieves a look that is much more dramatic.

Low Contrast Level-

Women with a low contrast level can achieve a natural look by choosing colors that are of similar intensity to their personal coloring.  A woman with light blonde or gray hair and ivory skin can achieve this look with softer, more subtle lip, eye, and cheek color such as Azalea or Apricot cheek colors, Mauve Elegance, Toffee, or Ginger Pearl lip color and Pink Opal, Polished Pewter, Spun Silk, Whipped Cocoa and Oyster Shell eye colors.  A woman with dark bronze skin and black hair can achieve this look with colors of similar intensity to her hair and skin tone such as Crimson or Cranberry lip color, Mulberry or Cashmere cheek color, and darker shades of Tuxedo Brown, Blackest Black, Classic Navy, or Smoky Plum eyeshadows.

Now, lets take these same two women and give them a career look.  The woman with light blonde or gray hair and ivory skin should choose colors in the medium range such as Heather Rose, Exotic Purple, Periwinkle Blue, Misty Pine, or South Sea eyeshadow and a Garnet Frost, Antique Rose, Dusty Rose, or Pumpkin lip color.  Her cheek color should remain the same as for the natural look, staying with Azalea or Apricot.  The woman with dark hair and dark skin should go a little brighter with her lip and eye color using medium/dark shades.  Her cheek color can go a little lighter, but carefully!

A dramatic look can be achieved by the woman with light hair and ivory skin by going slightly darker and brighter with lip and eye colors.  Periwinkle Blue, Smoky Plum, and even Black Onyx eyeshadows can be used with care as long as they are used as an accent to a base of lighter eyeshadows.  This can be achieved by using a soft color over the entire eyelid from the base of the lashes to the eyebrow, then using the darker or more intense colors in a wedge at the outside corners of the eyelids.  The woman with darker skin tone and black hair achieves a more dramatic look by using more intense colors with the same care: a brighter shade of lipstick and a bolder, brighter selection of eye color.

Medium Contrast Level-

A medium contrast level can achieve a natural look by using colors that fall into the medium range, not too light and not too dark.  The more muted shades of Cranberry Glaze, Copper, or Toffee lipsticks, Wild Rose or Coral cheek color, and medium shades of eyeshadow work well for those with beige skin tone.  If your hair is medium brown, red, or auburn and your skin tone is beige, medium shades such as Whipped Cocoa, Heather Rose, Periwinkle Blue Misty Pine, Emerald Green, Shimmering Rust, or Polished Pewter eyeshadows will give the most natural look.  If your hair is brown and your skin tone is a medium bronze, Smoky Plum, Black Onyx, Shimmering Rust, and Classic Navy eye colors are good choices.  Lipstick shades include Cranberry Glaze, Copper, or Plum.

A career look can be achieved by going a little darker or a little brighter, but not too much.  The cheek color should remain the same.  Lip colors such as Copper, Pumpkin, Plum Blossom, and Mandarin are good choices for both Beige and bronze skin tones.  The eyeshadow colors are basically the same as the natural look with the addition of colors such as Exotic Purple, Oyster Shell and Peach Chiffon for the woman with beige skin tone.  A woman with bronze skin tone could add Emerald Green and Polished Pewter eyeshadow shades and Sunset, or Crimson lipstick.

A dramatic look for women with a medium contrast level can be achieved with colors that contrast with their hair and skin tones.  A woman with a beige skin tone can go both brighter and darker while a woman with a bronze skin tone can go brighter and lighter.

High Contrast Level-

                A high contrast level occurs with dark hair and ivory skin tone or black hair and a light bronze or beige skin tone.  Colors that contrast slightly with skin tone give a natural look.  For the ivory or beige skin tone, Antique Rose, Ginger Pearl, Sunset, or Dusty Rose lipstick are good choices.  Women with bronze skin should choose colors like Sunset, Plum, or Cranberry Glaze lipstick.  Eyeshadows such as Whipped Cocoa, Shimmering Rust, Smoky Plum, Exotic Purple, Pink Opal, Spun Silk, Polished Pewter, South Sea, and Heather Rose work best for ivory or beige skin tones while bronze skin tones look best with Smoky Plum, Tuxedo Brown, Misty Pine, Periwinkle Blue, and Classic Navy.

A career look can be achieved by a little higher intensity of contrast than the natural look.  Fuchsia, Really Red, Plum Blossom, and Sunset lip colors look best.  Smoky Plum, Exotic Purple, Polished Pewter, Tuxedo Brown, South Sea, and Pink Opal eyeshadows also work well for a career look.  Those with bronze skin tones can add Black Onyx to that list as well.  Notice that the brighter colors of lipstick give a career look to this group while those with low contrast achieve either a dramatic or a natural look with this combination.

                A dramatic look is achieved by those with a high contrast level by using darker, richer lipstick shades and darker eyeshadow shades for ivory or beige skin tones and lighter shades for bronze skin tones.

Cheek Color for All Contrast Levels-

Cheek colors in all cases should be chosen to blend with the natural blush of the cheeks.  For example, those with ivory skin tones look best with lighter, softer shades of Azalea or Apricot.  Those with beige to light bronze skin tones look best with Wild Rose or Coral cheek colors and those with bronze skin tones look best with deeper shades of Mulberry or Cashmere cheek colors.  Slightly deeper shades of cheek color can be used with each of the dramatic looks described, but be careful!  Use a very light touch and apply after you have applied lip and eye color to make sure the shade complements rather than detracts from the look you are trying to achieve.

Cheek color should look natural and should blend into your foundation.  There should be no discernible line between cheek color and foundation color.  One should meld into the other.

Key #2: Wardrobe:

Wow!  Did you get all that?  Sounds pretty complicated doesn’t it?  But like I’ve said before, it takes practice.  Also keep in mind that these are only suggestions, not hard and fast rules.  A lot of color choice depends on personal preference and intuition.  And breaking the rules is part of a woman’s prerogative!

There are two more keys to choosing the right colors.  One is wardrobe colors.  The other is eye color.

Wardrobe colors fall into three general categories: warm, cool, and neutral.  Lip, cheek, and nail colors should be chosen to harmonize with your wardrobe.  Generally speaking, you should wear warm lip, nail, and cheek colors with warm-colored clothing and cool lip, nail, and cheek colors with cool-colored clothing.  Neutrals such as black, gray, white, and dark navy look good with either warm or cool colors.  The exception to this would be a greenish gray which would look best with cool colors or off-white with yellow undertones which looks best with warm colors.

It’s not always easy to decide which colors are warm and which are cool.  Colors with yellow undertones such as orange, coral, warm reds and yellow-greens are considered warm.  Colors with blue undertones such as green, deeper reds, pinks, and purple are considered cool.  Browns are usually warm, but very deep shades such as coffee can fall into the cool category.

If some of the clothing in your wardrobe contain both warm and cool colors, go with the dominant shade.  If there is no dominant shade, choose either.  If you are wearing a cool-colored jacket and a warm blouse, you should consider the undertone of your accessories.  For example, if you are wearing gold earrings, choose warm shades.  If your earrings match the cool-colored jacket, choose cool shades.  Another choice is to go with the undertone of the clothing that you wear closest to your face.  For example you should choose cool colors like Azalea cheek color, Pink Orchid lip color, and Mauve nail color with a blue blouse or sweater.  When wearing an orange blouse, choose warm colors such as Coral cheek color, Mandarin lip color, and Sundance nail color.

It is not necessary that lip and nail color match, but they should be in the same color family, either warm or cool.  For example, you could wear Plum Pearl nail color and Pink Orchid or Mauve Elegance lipstick with cool-colored clothing.  Pumpkin or Ginger Pearl lipstick and Apricot Ice or Mandarin nail colors look great with warm-colored clothing.

A true red is considered neutral and can be worn with warm, cool, or neutral clothing.

Warm lip, cheek, and nail colors look great with warm metallics such as gold or copper.  Cool lip, cheek, and nail colors look wonderful with cool metallics such as silver or blue.

Breaking the Rules:

Now lets consider breaking these rules!!  Sometimes doing the exact opposite can have a dramatic and beautiful effect.  For example, try a coral lip, cheek, and nail combination with a medium blue outfit.  It can look wonderful if your personal coloring allows you that choice.  The only way to decide is to try it.  Another way to break the rules for those with ivory skin and dark hair is to try wearing fuchsia lip color, exotic purple and smoky plum eyeshadow, and lilac cheek color (applied with a very light touch) when wearing purple, fuchsia, or blue clothing next to the face. 

With evening wear, try wearing lighter or frosted colors and a touch of lip gloss to catch the light from candles.

Eye Color:

 Finally, let’s talk about choosing eyeshadow colors to complement your eye color.  Shades of pink and plum can make blue or green eyes sparkle.  Women with blue eyes can combine Pink Opal and Periwinkle Blue, Heather Rose and Smoky Plum, Polished Pewter and Black Onyx, Whipped Cocoa and Spun Silk, Pink Opal and Smoky Plum, or Pink Opal with South Sea.

Green eyes look especially attractive with combinations such as Exotic Purple and Oyster Shell, Smoky Plum and Polished Pewter, Whipped Cocoa or Tuxedo Brown and Peach Chiffon, Pink Opal and Smoky Plum, or Shimmering Rust and Peach Chiffon.

Combinations such as Smoky Plum and Classic Navy, Tuxedo Brown and Pineapple Freeze, Misty Pine and Spun Silk, Smoky Plum and Exotic Purple, or Shimmering Rust and Black Onyx make brown eyes even more beautiful.

Hazel eyes shine with combinations such as Pink Opal and Smoky Plum, Tuxedo Brown and Peach Chiffon, South Sea and Exotic Purple, Emerald Green and Whipped Cocoa, or Heather Rose and Tuxedo Brown.

Choices:

These are only suggested color combinations and you are certainly not limited to these choices.  I have found that when I wear eyeshadow combinations that harmonize with my clothing I get a more “complete” look.  It’s only a personal preference, but I enjoy combining Exotic Purple and Smoky Plum eyeshadow when I wear purple, Whipped Cocoa and Tuxedo Brown or Pink Opal and Heather Rose when I wear red, and cooler shades of Smoky Plum and Polished Pewter or Polished Pewter and Periwinkle when I wear blue.  I have also seen women wear a monochromatic color scheme including Azalea cheek color, Pink Orchid lipstick, and Heather Rose with Pink Opal eyeshadow for a soft, romantic look.  That look could also be varied by using a soft touch of Whipped Cocoa, Tuxedo Brown or Black Onyx as a third accent color in a wedge at the outside corner of the eyes.

Telling Secrets:

The secret to wearing any color combination well is a set of good makeup brushes.  Choose a set that is well-constructed and made with natural bristles.  Purchasing a quality set of makeup brushes is worth the investment.  They will last for years and create a professional look.

Your set should include a large, loose-powder brush, a blush brush (3/4 to 1 inch wide), a sponge-tipped applicator and eyeshadow blending brush, an eyeliner brush and a lip brush.  An eyebrow brush and a lash separating comb are optional, but very handy.  For example, unruly brows can be tamed by spraying the eyebrow brush with hair spray or rubbing the bristles with a tiny dab of styling gel or mousse, then combing the brows in place.

Use your makeup brushes to blend colors.  One option is to apply your foundation, eyeshadow, blusher and loose powder, allow a minute for them to “set”, then lightly go over you eyeshadow with a clean, loose-powder brush to blend.  Use a light back-and-forth motion across the eyelids.  Use downward strokes on the cheeks to blend blusher, then finish up your look with eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick.  Be sure to keep your makeup brushes clean by washing in mild soap or shampoo occasionally and allowing them to air-dry.

Don’t be afraid of blue eyeshadow.  Blue eyeshadow has received  some bad press in recent years and that is understandable.  The wrong intensity of ANY eyeshadow can look ghastly if overdone.  For example, a woman with beige skin tone, dark hair, and brown eyes who colors her entire eyelid with bright blue eyeshadow doesn’t look very attractive.  A woman with ivory skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes who uses tons of bright green eyeshadow doesn’t look any better.  The trick is in choosing the intensity of blue or green (if that is your choice) that goes with your personal contrast level.  Brown eyes can look wonderful with a combination such as Smoky Plum and Classic Navy if her contrast level and the look she is trying to achieve call for that particular combination.  The same is true for the blonde with blue eyes.  A combination like Pink Opal and South Sea look wonderful on her.

If you smoke or drink a lot of tea or coffee, you may find you leave most of your lip color on the cigarette filter or coffee cup and have to reapply your lipstick more often than you’d like.  To make your lip color last longer, choose a lasting color lipstick and lip liner pencil in coordinating color.  Line the lips and apply lip color.  Blot with a tissue, then dip your loose-powder brush into loose face powder.  Tap the brush against the side of the container to shake off the excess powder, then lightly tap your lips with the brush.  This tiny amount of loose powder “seals” the color so it won’t smear or come off as easily.  This also makes it almost kiss-proof!  It does give a matte finish, but that is usually the look you want to achieve for day wear.  If you prefer a glossy finish, line the lips with lip liner pencil, then fill in the lips with the same pencil before applying lipstick.

Medium color eyeshadows such as Exotic Purple, Emerald Green, and Periwinkle Blue can be made to look darker by mixing with Black Onyx.  This takes a little experimenting and practice.  For example, try applying Black Onyx in a wedge at the outside corner of the eyelid, then go over it with a medium eyeshadow color.

                The intensity of any lip color can be muted by combining it with Intensity Controller.  So if you find a shade of lipstick you like and find it’s too bright for a natural look, just tone it down with Intensity Controller.

Finally, don’t be afraid to experiment!  You’re pretty safe if you keep your lip, cheek, and nail colors in the same family, warm or cool.  Pink lipstick just doesn’t look good with apricot cheek color.  With eyeshadow colors, the doors are wide open to experiment.  I hope the suggestions I’ve made give you a good springboard for your own choices and creativity.  Most of all, relax and enjoy!

MORE Information:

(I realize this is a lot of information to absorb all at once!  If you find this overwhelming, I suggest that you print this article and either highlight the portions that apply to your personal coloring and contrast level or cross out anything that doesn’t apply to you.)

I sincerely recommend the book Inside Beauty if you want to learn more (yes!  there is more!!) about color selection, skin care, hair care, nail care, fragrances, highlighting and contouring.  It’s loaded with information including full-color photographs, step-by-step instructions, and ideas for doing your own makeovers.  It is available in major bookstores for $19.95 or you can order it from me at the special price of only $10.

If you need personal consultation, have a question or comment, or would like more information about ordering, just send e-mail to Lynda J1.  All orders are sent in plain wrapping to any address or name you specify.

                Since some of you are new to this service, you may have missed previous articles.  Reprints of previous articles that have appeared in this publication are available upon request.  Also available is a questionnaire that will help you determine your skin type and the skin care products you should be using.

Editor’s Note:  Remember, Lynda J1 is YOUR Mary Kay Representative.  Support her efforts here by placing your orders with her, a real nice way to say “Thank You!”  All orders are held in confidence, and orders will be shipped in plain wrapping.  And you’ll never find a more understanding or knowledgeable make-up consultant for your special needs.

Also, I have a copy of the book, Inside Beauty, and found it just as useful, educational, and FUN as Lynda indicated.  This book explains everything I every wanted to know about makeup (but was afraid to ask).

———————————————

Submitted by Denese F

PROBLEMS CAUSED BY RAPID BREAST DEVELOPMENT

Although I am pleased with the progress that I have made since starting on hormones on May 20, 1992, it has caused me many problems some of which I was not prepared for.Prior to starting hormones I could put on a 40A bra and need to put a foam breast form in the cup to fill it out.  I had no breasts so to speak.  This morning when I got up I put on a 42C bra  and there is only about 1/8th of an inch remaining to completely fill the cup.

My recent blood/hormone level tests were within normal limits and my doctor sees no reason to change the dosage or frequency until after the first of the year.  He then plans on me taking one injection every three weeks instead of every two weeks.For the record, I take 1 cc of Estradiol Valerate Injection and 1 cc of hydroxyprogesterone Caprote in each injection.

This rapid breast development has caused a few problems at work.  The main problem is that people are noticing that I have breasts.  Only one has approached me to ask.  The others go to my manager or their manager to ask if there is a problem.When I originally started the hormones I thought that I would have 9 months to 1 year before I even had to worry about anything really showing.  I will have plenty of time to get ready.A meeting has been scheduled to tell my coworkers what is happening on the afternoon of September 24th.  I now estimate full time beginning anywhere from late October to Mid November of this year.  This is approximately 6 months early.

Although I had purchased some feminine clothing, I had wanted to really round out my wardrobe before going full time.  I don’t have time now.  I have had to move everything up.I just put two very good wigs (same style and color) on layaway until the 1st of October.  The reason being that they were on sale 20% off.  It was a good choice, because after trying on 3 or 4 styles, that left everyone knowing that this was a male dressed as a woman to, I’m not sure that this is not a woman.  This was without makeup and with my male eyeglasses on.  Getting the right help from a professional can make all the difference in the world.I have a Mary Kay Representative coming to my house on October 3rd to spend some time with me showing me how to hide the defects, which there are many.  This was arranged by Lynda J1, our online Mary Kay Representative.  She explained the situation, so this poor lady will not be totally shocked when she arrives.

I am really trying to lose the weight and I have a smooth face for the first time ever.  I plucked those rascals out with tweezers and most are regrowing a littler finer.  I know that in the next

couple of weeks I am going to have to spend some a lot of time with the electrologist.  I am fortunate that I have always had light facial hair.Another major problem is that I do get some mood swings.  They are not as bad as they were in the beginning, but I know that there are times that I want to cry for no particular reason.  I am really beginning to appreciate what women go through from puberty to menopause.  It’s like going through puberty at 47.  It’s not real easy, but something that I am more than willing to accept to achieve my goal.The only advice that I can offer anybody is don’t do hormones on your own.  Get them through a doctor that has knowledge on the effect they will have on your system and be ready to help you if you need help.  The effects can be devastating if one is not prepared for the changes that will occur.On the plus side, there is only one thing.  It’s the biggest  and the best.  Denese is about to be born. 

HORMONE UPDATE

Contributed by: Marsha J

Before listing this excerpt let me first say the following

1. I read almost everything I could get my hands on.

2. I give more weight to those opinions that agree with my own   🙂

3. My own medical case, have never had any health problems, I’m not a drinker or drug user.  (I tasted a beer(ugh) and have had bottle of Sangria(much better) in the last year).  Overweight but active.

4. Use a doctor, read all you can.  My top recommended reading is

_Hormones_ 1992 Edition, Sheila Kirk, MD. an I.F.G.E. publication.

Excerpt from _Hormones_ 1991 Edition, Sheila Kirk, MD. an I.F.G.E. publication. 

p.1

     As I review the literature written by transgendered individuals for transgendered readers, I’m struck by the generous mixture of good information and that which is really poor … conjecture and personal opinion mixed generously with second-hand information…

     … what I tell you in the pages to follow is quite accurate and reliable, not because it comes from me, but because it comes from a large collection of recent medical literature dealing with what hormones do for and to human beings.

     p. 14-15

     estrogen, progesterone and testosterone… are in the bloodstream of both male and female at all times … They are in full form in very small amounts, but the greatest amounts are bound to serum proteins and released as the need is made known … destruction or breakdown of these hormones in the liver cells is efficient and without harm to the individual in the short and the long term.  It is the damaged liver (from infection and/or substance abuse) that has a real problem…

     p. 36

Larger studies … indicate strongly that estrogen use does not pose a major concern for developing liver disease … in one study of 303 M-F transsexual individuals,

{ words between curly brackets are Marsha’s paraphrasing of a long paragraph }

{ 22 had adverse liver changes, in 12 changes the function returned to normal even with continued use, of other 10, six had history of overuse of alcohol, eight had history of hepatitis.}

Of the 22, only two individuals had no known reason … the presumption is that the hormone regimen may have been influential … This was considerably less than 1%.  This should reassure those using hormones, with no history of liver disease or potential for it with alcohol abuse … Estrogen is metabolized in the liver, to be sure, but a healthy liver handles it well indeed.

Personal accounts, Now back to Marsha

Emotional

I’ve been on various amounts of hormones for 8 months now.  No major unexpected emotional changes.  I tear up more often and have cried a couple of times in the past couple of months, but nothing major.  The most times I really notice ups and downs is while I’m reading the logs or Subversive, so many similar feelings and experiences to mine.  I’ve always been quiet and non-aggressive so there’s no easy gauge there.  What I’d really like is a nice stress free month to better observe emotional changes but haven’t had such luck so far.  And no, the decision to start the hormones wasn’t stress induced, I’ve thought about it for 14-16 years, back before high school chemistry I would think, get a bunch of the right elements and just whip up some synthetics.

Physical

First, it probably hasn’t helped trying to lose weight at the same time as doing hormones.  Dropping fat intake means the fat has to either redistribute or have slow development.  Having never gone into the “male” thing, I’ve always had relatively soft skin.  Only ‘bad’ effects I’ve seemed to have is GI disturbances the first few days of my cycle and the few days right before adding Provera. 

I’ve somewhat avoided doing any measurements to keep from being discouraged, also I have to remember that it usually takes years even for genetic women, so I should be patient.  But, I’m not saying no changes have taken effect.  The “male fat chest” I had has become more feminine and sensitive.  And speaking of comparisons, the thing I would suggest doing, now that I missed my chance, is before and after semi-nude photos.  That way one has an objective view of the positive changes.

Different types of hormones effect and are absorbed differently for different people. While the Estinyl, Premarin and injections all seem to work for me one of the latter two seems to definitely cause more pleasant tenderness in my breasts; I’m not quite sure which (hormone type, not breast) but will know within a month.

In the last 3 weeks I’ve managed to break 8 of my fingernails. I’ve no idea if injections were that powerful and it was brittleness I’d never had before, or if it was just coincidence.

I’m not much of an off-the-cuff speaker or writer, so if you have any questions bring them up during a chat or mail.

———————————————

USEFUL AND INTERESTING INFORMATION

Subj:  Inverness One Touch

From: JaniceTV

To:     Melanie XX

Just wanted to let you know that I have been able to locate an Inverness One Touch with help from Karen Day and Heather.   With a call to an 1-800-631-0860, its easy to mail order one.  They recommend the purchase of two extra “stylets” for $5.00.   The price of the One Touch is $35.00 and $2.00 shipping and handling.  The address in case anybody else needs it is:  17-10 Willow, Fair Lawn, NJ  07410.

I appreciate all of your help, and can hardly wait to zap my way to smoothness.

Love,

Janice

————————————————

AMERICA ONLINE GENDER GROUP STATISTICS

Contributed by Marsha J, Gender Room Secretary

Attendee Stats as of October 1992

For you spatial thinkers,

Geographic distribution

AZ.   3  BC.   1  CA.  22  CO.   2

  CT.   4  FL.  12  GA.   1  IL.  12

  IN.   4  LA.   4  MA.   7  MD.   2

ME.   1  MI.   3  MN.   3  MO.   3

  MS.   2  MT.   1  NC.   2  NH.   1

  NJ.   7  NM.   2  NV.   1  NY.   5

OH.   5  OK.   2  ON.   3  OR.   2

  PA.   5  SC.   1  TX.   6  UT.   1

  VA.   3  WA.   4  WI.   2  WV.   2

WY.   1

Total 142

*

For you temporal thinkers

:

Of those I have records of, we’ve the following ages

one attendee under 20

4 between 20 and 30

12 between 30 and 40

14 between 40 and 50

CONGRATULATIONS TO ALL OUR 142 MEMBERS FOR HELPING TO CREATE A SAFE HAVEN OF SUPPORT FOR EVERYONE CONCERNED WITH GENDER ISSUES!!!

———————————————–

AFTERGLOW

“Too Old to Die Young”

(From the album, “Too Old to Die Young” by Melanie Anne Phillips)

When I was young I made me some dreams,

so the praise of my days would be sung.

I got stuck in a web of impossible schemes,

and now I’m too old to die young.

I made such great plans but they turned out a mess,

and the cheats and the thieves should be hung.

I used to wear pants and now I wear a dress,

yet I’m still much too old to die young.

     Work for the future, Ignore what you’ve lost

     Pretend that the end J’s the means.

     Keep paying the price, no matter the cost,

     And don’t see the film for the scenes.

I tried to succeed, but the seed it just sucked,

though the compost was heavy with dung.

Like the Ancients, my patience, it just got me fucked,

and now I’m too old to die young.

With all of the places I didn’t quite go,

and the things that I’ve never begun,

I’ve worked like the devil with nothing to show,

But I’m still much to old to die young.

     Now is there a moral?  Why don’t YOU tell ME?

     But I’m still going to go for the gold.

     And as long as I’m kicking, my thoughts will stay free,

     And I’ll be much too young to die old.

(Copyright 1992 Melanie Anne Phillips)

————————————————————

May you never find occasion to say, “If only…..”

————————————————————

NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free to all who wish to read it.  However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain.  Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free license for your specific purpose.

THE SUBVERSIVE

Number 4

October 1992

Third issue of the online magazine I published in the early 1990s

DECLARATION OF PURPOSE

“This journal exists to promote the concept that each human is a unique individual, intrinsically entitled with an equal right to pursue his own destiny as far as it does not inhibit others in that same right.  The Subversive shall serve as a ready forum for the free expression and exchange of ideas that do not violate this mandate, in the belief that tolerance grows from a familiarity with variety.”

–signed,

Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

For those who wish to contribute articles, stories, personal experiences, information, jokes, or whatever Email melaniexx@aol.com, or write to:

Melanie Anne Phillips

150 East Olive Avenue

Suite 203

Burbank, California 91502

Only original material will be accepted unless quoted in the context of an original work or submitted with credit to the original author along with permission to reprint the material.

NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free to all who wish to read it.  However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain.  Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free specific license for your purpose. 

WHERE TO FIND THE SUBVERSIVE:

The Subversive is available FREE as a download on America Online, Compuserve, Genie, several servers on the Internet and various BBS around the world.

Letters to the Editor

Subj:  Re: The Subversive #2

From: MariaCD

To:     Melanie XX

Thanks hon so sweet of u and the writing is very good, would luv to read u in a book… hope to do that soon..

 bye xxxx

MariaCD

————————————————-

From: Eve b

To:     Melanie XX

thanks for sharing your beautiful life with all of us. just wish i could have even your down moments to me would be great. please enjoy and keep up with your dreams.

EXPLORATIONS

by

Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

Tradeoffs: the name of the game.  Few things in life are both 100% good and independent of anything else.  So, you always have to take the bad with the good, and give up good things to try to get better things.  Remember Monty Hall and “Let’s Make a Deal”?  Do you want the box or what’s behind door number three?   Well, that’s life for you!  You’ve got a sure thing that isn’t exactly what you want.  Its not bad, mind you, just not utopian.  Then along comes this temptation for something that holds the POTENTIAL to fulfill many more of your overall criteria, but the downside risk is, you have to give up the sure thing first.  Sound like the old story of the dog, the bone and the reflection in the pond?  The grass is always greener?  There’s no place like home?  Well, society would be destabilized if no one made commitments and everyone left to follow their dream, so the fair tale always ends with the individual losing everything if he tries for the brass ring.  Yet sometimes the grass IS greener, and sometimes its a good thing that there is no place like home, ’cause one of those is enough.  And sometimes (and this is a societal nightmare) you can move from a good situation to an even BETTER situation without losing a thing!  But, sometimes you can’t.

   Do ya wanna take a risk?  I do.  You look at the safe gamblers and they wager just a bit and play out of their winnings and overall they usually come home slightly ahead on the average.  They seldom strike it big but they NEVER lose it all.  But what a mamby pamby way to go through the only life you’ve got: playing it safe and close to the vest.  No, not me.  I would rather be a spectacular failure than a small success, so I take chances.  But I still wanted to hedge my bets, so every time I added something new, I wouldn’t give up the old.

    It is exactly this attitude that almost tore me apart six weeks ago.  I went for it all and came up short (or so I thought at the time).  Every time opportunity knocked, I just added one more activity to my list of things to do, never realizing that the infrastructure has to be serviced.  Behind my back all the obligations I had made had piled up to the point I had no time for myself: Melanie was strangling in success.

    Finally the strain was too great: there wasn’t even room to turn around – every waking moment was pre-sold.  Still, I could not decide what to lose, WHO to lose.  My solution was to avoid choosing who to hurt, by running away from it all and hurting EVERYONE, so no one would feel I had deserted them specifically, and then maybe they wouldn’t reject me, but just pity me and leave me alone..  I was ready to throw in the towel and fly off to Never Never Land, cash in my chips, buy the farm, milk the damn cows!  BUT – I got lucky one more time.  Those around me told me to wait must a moment, give myself some space and see what happened.  So I took a moment to catch my breath.  And I realized that DAVE had made these obligations: MELANIE had not.  And though it sounds like a cop-out, it’s absolutely true.  I would NEVER make those kinds of obligations today in the first place.  They were all made to protect myself from rejection by giving away the store to others.  But I no longer feared rejection since I had finally accepted myself.

    Still and all, I didn’t feel right about cutting anyone off completely, as to THEM, I was still the same person who had made the commitments and THEY had honored their part.  That’s when the inspiration hit: maybe telling everyone to back off a little bit would make the space I needed and STILL not play favorites because I was spreading the backing off of obligations equally around.  So, Mary and the kids help with the housework now, I work four days a week instead of five at my primary job for the same amount of pay, I broke up with my occasional lover who was becoming an obligation and limited our relationship to letters and occasional visits.  I shifted the Gender News into a new format as a Monthly, I closed my sideline small business of seven years and moved it into my garage because the overhead was killing me and waited for the smoke to clear to see the results of what I had done.

   Is the grass greener here than where it was a month ago?  Damn straight!  It’s positively chartreuse!  Now I have the time to unwind, the time to be creative, the time to clear my mind and just experience without thinking about it.  For the first time since I first seriously considered transition, I am at peace.

   So what about the future?  How can I avoid filling up all my time with new obligations?  Simple!  Instead of starting out creating Lose/Win situations so others will accept me, I start out with Win/Win situations that are fair to everyone.  And if I can’t find a Win/Win solution, I won’t make the obligation.  And finally, if I’m forced into a corner and can’t find a Win/Win situation and can’t back out, then its gonna hafta be Win/Lose.  That way I look for a fair solution first (which keeps me from turning into a selfish Ice Bitch) but if cornered, will fight like a vixen.

   Well, I guess I’ve about talked this one to death.  But the most amazing thing to me is how we all seem to do so many things we don’t like and worst of all NOT do things we REALLY like just so people will like us, just so we can keep what we have, just so we can go through life and lie on our deathbed discontent and say in our last breath: “If only….”

And now for the second installment in a serialized presentation of the book:

RAISED BY WOLVES:

A TRANSSEXUAL DIARY

by

Melanie Anne Phillips

PRELUDE

The pages beneath, chronicle my 18 month journey from a life as an apparently normal husband and father to that of an apparently  normal woman.  In the hope of capturing the immediacy of this emotional trip into the unknown, I shunned the retrospective approach, opting instead for a daily Diary.

Each entry was made on the day the events actually happened, expect as noted.  And each is filled with the raw and unpolished thoughts and feelings that held me at that moment.

Of course, this leads to a somewhat meandering story, as well as contradictions in my point-of-view and personal emotional outbursts that I’m sure will make me squirm once this is published.  But anything less would be less than truthful.  And if this document is to serve any purpose as either a tool for tolerance and understanding or as an inspiration to those contemplating any major life-change, then it must be completely honest.

September 1, 1989

A most unusual day.  I had already scheduled to meet with Bill again today, as well as my weekly trip to the doctor.  But late last night, when I was signed on to the “Feminet” computer bulletin board, Barbara Chambers, the sysop, came on-line to tell me she would be in Burbank on business today, and would I like to get together?  Of course!

The Feminet board is the top system in the nation for communication among gender dysphoric individuals, so I was singularly thrilled to meet her face to face, instead of just on the network.  I made arrangements with Mary to handle my extended hours as Melanie, which she graciously agreed to.

I arrived at Bill’s and he had finally raised the courage to appear as Julie in front of someone else.  He looks a little like Agatha Cristie!  When I heard over the phone that he would be Julie, but didn’t have a wig, I surprised him with a blond jobby I had bought, but never worn.  He was thrilled, as he intends to come to the support group meeting as Julie, a big step for him!

Julie made lunch for me, but since I was late, we had little time for more than gossip before he went to the doctor for a vasectomy, of all things, and I went to my doctor for my hormone shot.

While I was at the doctor, I got a referral to an electrologist.  I have had such mixed thoughts about losing my beard.  As I have mentioned, it has been a shield and mask to me to bolster my insecurity as a male, and losing it would be tough to deal with.  And yet, I just cannot feel truly female until it is gone, not to mention the practical benefits in dressing!  We shall see…

As soon as I left the doctor, I went to meet Barbara at the airport.  I arrived just exactly at the time we had agreed on.  She had travelled as a male to see a specific client, which is the only time she is not in female mode anymore.  So I had the singular honor of seeing her in more or less her original persona, although the physical changes made her noticeably feminine even then.  (I wonder if the same will happen to me, and how I will deal with it?)

We came back to my house so she could change, then went to the Black Angus for dinner.  I expected to feel very nervous (and also perhaps elated with an adrenaline high) during my second ever outing as Melanie that was not by myself – and the first time I would actually be ordering things at a restaurant and truly living the role of a female.  …Nothing.  Absolutely NOTHING! The experience was very pleasant, but because of the conversation, the meal, and the company; not because of any excitement.  In fact, I felt so totally at ease as Melanie that I frequently forgot all about my outside appearance and became lost in the conversation.

Sure, there were many times I was aware of an inappropriate gesture or tone of voice on my part, and yet, I felt more…  I dunno… “comfortable”, I guess, than I have ever felt before.  And that, I suppose, is the real truth of the matter.  Being Dave is not bad, not bad at all.  But being Melanie is better, much better!

So life goes on, and so do I.  Where and how far?  I do not know. But still, I do not want to stop or return to what I was.

September 2, 1989

Today was my second support group meeting.  This time, I was a lot more prepared – and not nervous at all.  In fact, I spent the hour before I got ready making chocolate chip cookies for the pot luck!

Mary and I had gone to the store earlier, and she helped me pick out the right ingredients.  Then, she was very supportive allowing me, to dress in the other room, closing her eyes when I had to pass by to get something.  No freaking out on her part .  As I left, I asked her if she wanted to see what I looked like, as I had done a knock-out job on my make-up and outfit.  She declined, but said (surprisingly) “Maybe next time…”

Still, there was no nervousness driving to the group.  But, strangely, I couldn’t get into feeling like Melanie.  I kept feeling like Dave in drag.  The wig felt dead and lifeless, more like a mop than hair; my make-up like plaster and greasepaint.  Overall, I felt like a clown.  I began to worry that perhaps I had crossed the line and run out of steam on my path – that somehow, it had worked out of my system.

I found a spot to sit, and noticed that Bill had indeed come as Julie.  I smiled at his courage in finally going in front of a group as his alter-ego.  I was also happy that I had been honored as the first to see Julie yesterday.

During the next few minutes, I was amazed to find that my feminine gestures had become second nature.  In fact, whenever I even consciously checked what I was doing, I discovered that I was completely consistent with a feminine image.  I still felt like a truck driver, but I think (in retrospect) this is because I feel the hair is a cheat and the make-up covers the real physical me, even as it mimics or represents (or presents) the real mental me.  And besides, I’ve heard that genetic women often have days when they feel like disgusting blobs for no apparent reason.  All in all, it was an awful feeling!

I spent some time in conversation at the kitchen table with Julie and several other friends I had met last month.  My real kick was when someone near the table asked who made the cookies, and another girl answered, “I don’t know, but they’re GREAT, aren’t they?!”  It’s amazing to fall so easily into a mental attitude where the culinary arts become a status symbol and a badge of personal pride.

During the “rap” portion of the evening, Julie and I both spoke of the events that had occurred in the month elapsed since the last meeting.  The speed at which we had “progressed” as well as the openness with which we related our story were met with more than a few raised eyebrows, but with even more supportive smiles.

One woman, the wife of a TV who is supportive of his “hobby”, was very nearly incensed by our admission that we had actually kissed.  This is largely due, I suspect, to her own fears of what a similar scenario would mean to her if it had happened to her husband.  Such a situation would be intolerable to her, and lead to the dissolution of the carefully structured and balanced lifestyle she had crafted.  But, in fairness, there is much truth in her warnings that this would throw a serious monkey wrench in Bill’s (and Julies’s) relationship with his wife.  Which is why he and I had already agreed that such an incident would never recur.

Later in the evening, Julie shared her driver’s license picture with another TV so they could see what each other looked like “in real life.”  I offered mine, specifically to break Bill of thinking of me only as Melanie, and hopefully deflate the attraction he held for me.  This was a difficult decision, as I need to explore much more fully my intimate feelings toward men, and I myself am greatly attracted to him.  In fact, even as I was showing him the photo, I was aware that I may never again have the opportunity to experience a relationship with a man I can truly trust, Probably not with one I am so strongly attracted to, and certainly not in the near future when I need it the most.

It must have worked, since the next two times he referred to me in talking to the other TV, he called me “he”, a mistake he had not previously made on any occasion.  It hurt, but I knew I had done what was best for Bill and his wife, and my love for him, whether it is sisterly or more than that, is sufficient to put his needs before mine.

I arrived home, checked massages on my computer gender bulletin boards, and went to sleep.

September 6, 1989

Two nights ago, Mary made her first breakthrough in dealing with the physical changes brought on by my hormone use.  Up until this point, she had refused to even see my arms or legs uncovered, as the thought of my being smooth and hairless was pretty much revolting to her.  Therefore, it was with some shock to me that the following transpired.

I had strained my shoulder muscles moving heavy boxes over the weekend as part of our packing to go to the house on California Street.  Mary had already rubbed some ointment into it the previous night, in the dark, so she didn’t have to see anything.  I, of course, felt rather dirty and ugly that she couldn’t even bear the sight of me.  This is particularly disturbing at the time, as I am desperately trying to bolster my self-image as a fairly attractive and feminine woman.  Instead, I ended up feeling like a leper.

Well, this time I said it was rather foolish to go hide in the dark; how about if she just didn’t look past my shoulder and she did it right in the comfort of the well-lit living room.  She agreed.  As she was rubbing the salve in, sitting behind me, she had to lean a little forward to get it on the front of the shoulder.  I told her was kinda ridiculous to hide like this.  I felt like the Elephant Man.  How about if she just took a look at my chest and got it over with?  She said she had been thinking the same thing herself.  So I turned around and she looked.  Her only comment was, “That’s not any more than a fat man would have…”  I said, “Not yet…”   We left it at that, but later, she said, “I still hope you’ll change your mind.  If it doesn’t get any worse than this, though, I think I can handle it.”  I told her it was my intent to go substantially beyond what I currently had.

The next morning, for the first time since she knew I had shaved my body hair, she did not leave the bathroom when I came in to undress for the shower.  She stayed busy with her make-up and we didn’t talk about it, ut she never flinched or left.  Nothing else was said, but she obviously is coming to terms with this.

Last night, I had dinner with Mark, my long-time friend from my USC film school days.  He had been the first I had told when I began to go public two months ago.  I had kept him informed in person and by phone of the latest information, but the last I had spoken to him was on the day of my first doctor visit.  After that, he had left for a vacation to England with his wife and has just returned.

At dinner, I filled him in on all the news, changes, and discoveries I had made.  He remained the wonderful and loyal friend he has always been: empathizing with my troubles, sharing my joy, and keeping me humble by laughing at the ridiculous!  Interestingly, I offered almost off-handed to take him to my next support group meeting.  Surprisingly, he accepted, and will be the first friend to see me as Melanie, who has only known me as Dave.

I’m a little concerned, of course, as my mannerisms and voice will appear to be some kind of put-on or act, as opposed to the simple uncensored release of my inner self as it truly is.  But we spoke of this, and he seems to feel he can handle it.  I hope I can!

This morning, Mary again stayed in the bathroom while I showered.  I suppose that I wouldn’t be surprised by anything she does in the future!  Certainly, my hopes of some sort of continued relationship in the same household are considerably bolstered.  At worst, I imagine we would have separate beds, not share intimate physical moments, but live more like good friends, sharing a house.  Perhaps that might even be preferable, as it could conceivably allow me to date the male population without fear of losing my most valued relationship.

This afternoon, four events happened that changed the way I think of myself.  The first was a phone call I made accidentally to a wrong number.  I was just calling as Dave, but when they answered the phone at the business I mistakenly reached, they stumbled for a pronoun, not sure if I was male or female by the tone and inflection of my voice.  This was significant to me, as I was not trying to put on my Melanie persona consciously, but merely ask for information.

The second event was when I awoke from a nap at home this evening.  (It is still light, even as I write this, as the days remain summer-long).  I glanced at myself in the mirror and, for the first time, saw myself as more female than male.  There was nothing specific I could put my finger on – perhaps a rounder face due to the hormones, perhaps the bangs that had fallen on my forehead (although my hair is still very short overall), perhaps the way I hold my lips, or glance with my eyes; I just don’t know.  But there was definitely something considerably feminine about my image in the mirror.

The third event, was walking up to the office here.  There is a large, plate-glass window on the front of a shop, just before the office.  It is slanted so that as you walk past, your reflection can be seen.  I was not intending to check myself out as I walked past, as I wanted to get in here and start work on a film project I’m behind in.  But as I passed, my image caught my eye and, for the first time, i read myself as female, even in “male mode”!  In fact, in that brief moment – that tiny glimpse, everything from my walk to my carriage to the way I swung my arms read as female.  It was indeed quite a jolt – a pleasant jolt, mind you, but a strong one.  Imagine, looking in the mirror and seeing someone else!

The greatest, of perhaps most significant moment, however, was later when I rushed out to the post office to check my P.O. Box.  As I approached the front door, a small boy came out followed by his father.  The father looked up, saw me, and his initial reaction was to hold the door for me.  Within a split-second, he re-read me and was so confused/embarrassed that he actually let go of the door and nearly let it slam in front of me!  The significance is, that even in male clothing, even when I wasn’t trying, I was read as female!  WOW!!

September 11, 1989

Today was the first day of school after summer vacation for my kids.  Both Mary and I dropped them off, but since she had to go to work, we took separate cars.  I went in with my daughter to find the line for first grade.  The whole time I was there I was surrounded by women – mothers – of roughly my age.  It was strange to think that as the next school year begins, I could be one of them, instead of one of the few obtrusive men who were there seeing off their children.

I ran into the mother of a kid who was in Keith’s YMCA Indian Guide tribe, of which I had been “Chief” for two years, then an advisor.  We chatted for a while, but when another female friend of hers showed up, and then another, they moved off into their own little group, excluding me.  I definitely felt left out and wondered how it would feel to be part of the “girl talk”.

A little update on the last few days.  Late September 6, just after my last entry, I got a call back from the electrologist I had been recommended to.  Currently, he is Andrew, although for three and a half years, he lived as Karen.  He has, however, just re-started hormones, with the same doctor I have, which is how I got his name.

We struck it off over the phone very well.  He seems about my age, works occasionally in the video biz, knows a lot of the same people, and is/has going/gone through all that I have and more.  We arranged for my first appointment on Thursday, next.

When I came home that night, I really felt the need for some commitment from Mary, one way or the other.  I’m afraid I pushed the issue and worked myself into a tizzy.  In fact, I began to cry so hard I couldn’t talk.  I felt totally alone.  I desperately needed someone to hug and hold me and tell me it would be all right.  But Mary didn’t feel comfortable touching me, so I ended up in the back yard at midnight, sobbing away so loudly that the neighbors came out to see what was wrong.  I’ve never felt so deserted and naked in my life.  Finally, Mary came out and gave me a hug.  But it was out of duty, not love.  I could feel it in her arms.  That was worse than no hug at all, and I completely fell apart.

I finally came in and my daughter, who was in bed, asked Mary what was wrong with daddy?  Mary replied that daddy had “some problems” he was trying to work out.  “Some Problems”!  Suddenly, that struck me very funny – hilarious, in fact!  I began to laugh through the tears.  For twenty minutes I laughed.  “I might never see my kids again! – HahahahaHAHAHA!!!!”  The more depressing the thought, the funnier it was.  I could barely catch my breath.  I have heard about hysterical laughter, but until that night, I had never experienced it myself.  Let me tell you, it’s frightening.  It is totally losing control of your emotions.  Of course, I’m sure a lot of that was due to the effects of the hormones, but I was still out of control.

Finally, I brought myself down, went to bed alone, and cried myself to sleep.  When I awoke I felt dead inside, but hurt nonetheless.  I dragged myself into work and struggled through a lifeless day.  Thoughts of suicide seriously drifted across my mind for the first time ever.  In desperation, I told my partner, Tom, about what had happened.  And lo and behold, he managed to say just the right things at just the right time.  I don’t know if it was accident or brilliance, but he saw through all the smoke and told me what he saw.

He said that I was looking at the worst case scenarios.  I was trying to force the issues and suffer the grief now, so it wouldn’t hurt so much later.  He said I was causing most of the bad feelings with Mary, as all she had anymore was a miserable sniveling wreck instead of a husband.  Instantly I realized he was right.  He told me that this time of exploration should be one of joy.  I can’t do anything about the way I feel, so just take it day by day.  In time, things will work THEMSELVES out.

Mary called shortly after that, and I relayed the conversation.  She said that she had been trying to tell me that for weeks.  Nothing is definite.  She doesn’t know what she’ll ultimately do.  For that matter, neither do I!  She said, just take it slow, give us both time to adjust.  And if a day of reckoning does come, it won’t be a sudden event, but something we plan for and deal with in the most comfortable way possible.

Suddenly, my heart was lightened.  And for the first time in weeks, I was no longer afraid.  I told her I loved her, and also for the first time in weeks, she said she loved me too!

Friday, Saturday, and Sunday we spent packing our household goods for the move.  And these were some of the best days of our marriage.

P.S.  Mary just called from work, and after chatting, I hung up by saying, “I love you.”  Again, she said, “I love you, too.”  And it wasn’t put-on or considered.  It was just natural, like this entire transition is, really: just natural!

September 13, 1989

I was working late at the office last night, editing music tracks for an educational film I had edited for a friend of mine, Brian, who had directed.  Both Brian and Tony, one of my USC cronies, were with me helping to complete the project.  At about 11:00 I got a phone call from Mark, who was also working late.  I asked if he wanted to get together and he said sure, he’d be over right away.

I finished the project just as Mark showed up, and after we viewed the completed twenty two minute edit, Brian and Tony left and Mark and I went out for a drink.  Mark drove and I talked, which is the way to Hollywood, but I was so caught up in my dysentery dissertation, that I paid no attention.

Finally, we parked and I asked where we were going.  He said there was a little restaurant down the street.  We set off walking and entered the facility.  Without a word of warning, Mark paid his cover charge, then I had to shell out six bucks from mine!  Some restaurant!  Well, the throbbing disco music thundering from the door was the first indication that things were not exactly Kosher…  Turns out, Mark had just taken me to a transvestite night club!

It seems Mark had told a mutual friend, Sean, about me.  And Sean was forcefully opinionated that I was making a horrible mistake.  In fact, he said that Mark was being a poor friend in supporting me, as it was his DUTY to try to change my mind before I ruined my life.  He should be trying to save me from myself!

Well, Mark being a self-effacing Polish-Catholic lad from the mid-west and prone to impulse buying any guilt trip offered on the open market, he felt it was now his personal responsibility to show me the error of my ways.  He went so far as to refer to himself as “The Ghost of Phillips’ Future”!

He led me through the writhing mass of horny flesh: half men and half women, except the women were men!  Indeed, these men were some of the best looking women I had ever seen.  The dance floor was alive with the sensual moves of mini-skirted, tight-shirted babes who flowed to the music as if they could see it and were outlining it with their bodies.

To Mark, this was a scene from Sodom and Gomorrah together again – with just a pinch of Dante’s Inferno thrown in.  He saw the old and the ugly, the lonely and the grief-stricken: the abandoned wrecks of pathetic former human beings reduced to outlandish parodies in their grasping efforts to quench the unbearable pain with even a brief encounter of pseudo affection.  And there were several of these poor, burnt-out shells staggering through the ranks to be sure.  But no more than at any hot-music club that attracts the discontent like moths to a nuclear bomb.

But I saw people, some like myself, but most of the transvestite persuasion, encountering other human beings in the manner and mode they felt driven to employ.  I felt at home with the crowd, almost intoxicated by it, as I had never been in the company of so many of the lost souls at one time.  And there they were, smiling, talking, dancing, flirting: guys in drag actually touching and kissing other men.  Things I’d only imagined but longed to try.  Here was a place where socially scorned behavior was the order of the day.  Here, it was normal.

Well, Mark became increasingly frustrated that I was not put off by the pathos he wished to paint.  In fact, after one beer, I told him that one more beer would have me wishing I had brought a change of clothes.

Now, I’ve only been in a night club of any kind two other times in my life.  And I’ve been one to gravitate to the dance floor.  But as I shifted my thoughts into Melanie mode, I could see that the thrill of getting caught up in the music and moving in sensual waves that sparked erotic attraction in the onlookers circling the floor had a drug-like effect on my mind.  I could see myself out there, flaunting all I had, competing with every babe in the place for the attention of the male animals that cruised the periphery like sharks, waiting for their prey.  Indeed, if there was not such a threat from AIDS and VD, I would’ve been back there the next night, done-up to the teeth!

Mark could see that he was failing.  Finally, his uneasiness combined with a sense of failure, and he suggested we leave.  I felt sorry for him as he struggled to understand what I saw that he didn’t and vice versa.  But I’m convinced that no one who is not themselves afflicted with the TS bug can truly appreciate the forces that drive us.  To be sure, they can intellectualize the compulsion, but they can never empathize with the feelings of frustration and futility in leading a life in the wrong gender mold.

I hope he is not too depressed.  After all, he is one of my few closest friends.  And out of all those who have now shared my secret, he is the only one to take the time to try and make an impact; the only one who is so concerned for my well-being that they suffer on my behalf.

But someday, I hope he will realize that I AM female, I ALWAYS HAVE BEEN female.  And no one, no matter how well-intentioned, can convince me to be other than my true nature.  But, thank you, Mark….  Your effort last night was truly one of the most comforting expressions of brotherly love I have ever received.

September 14, 1989

I’d been putting off this moment since I first seriously considered following the path to SRS.  But here I was, laying down on the treatment table to have someone begin to permanently remove my beard.

What a terrifying concept: that the mask I’ve hidden behind since puberty, the major outward symbol that I was masculine would be stripped forever from my face; that should I ever change my mind, I would be naked to the world, forever struggling to prove myself for the rest of my life.

For me, the hormone therapy, even the surgery itself was psychologically minor compared to the loss of my beard.  For the results of these other steps can be reversed or hidden from the world unless I choose to reveal them.  But the daily stubble, the 5 O’clock shadow, is undisguiseable and its absence undeniable.

This simple act became for me the major mental boundary line between flirtation and commitment.  As one persona had put it on one of my bulletin boards, “Electrolysis really separates the boys from the girls.”  And so, after months of putting it off, the time had come to take a stand.

All morning I had spent with my dad, trying to keep my mind off the clock.  The appointment was at noon – HIGH noon….  And I struggled to lose myself in picayune details.  But nonetheless, the time arrived, and I had to go or forever hold my piece.  So I went.  There was really no other choice.

The drive was uneventful and the directions good.  And after knocking at the front door for several minutes, I went around back just as Andy/Kathy appeared from the back room.

Even though Andy was currently living in male mode, I could easily see the two modest bulges beneath his loose T-shirt.  There are some things that always remain.

He greeted me and ushered me into his tiny studio.  Crossing the threshold was like stepping into Berkeley in the sixties.  Incense and classical music fought for airspace in the converted garage, while a Taoist goddess presided serenely over an offering of scented candles.  A slick, high-tech computer nestled among dirty laundry and ancient herbal remedies, “This one enhances the female aura, try some?”

I, as usual, launched into an extended telling of the story of my life, while Andy made Cranberry Mist Tea.  Having completed my nervous spiel and exhausted my supply of pre-selected prying questions, I stood in silence while Andy struck a small hammer against a display of six differently tuned bells as a Taoist prayer to the goddess.  Supplication made, we drifted to the table where the event would be committed.

There are two types of electrolysis, Andy explained: Straight electrolysis with a DC current, and Thermalysis (or “Flash” with an AC current.  There was, for the undecided the “Blend” method, combining both in one needle.  NEEDLE, not probe, not pointer, but NEEDLE!  The first method was permanent but took nearly one minute per hair, although relatively painless.  The second, a 20% regrowth at only 10-20 seconds per hair, with a higher level of pain.  Then, the combined method with an 80% regrowth rate, just 5 seconds per hair, and suffering beyond human comprehension.  I opted for that method.

My reasons were cowardly:  If I could take the pain, the results would be less than permanent.  Most of my mask would return home to daddy if I turned tail and ran.  So the dials were set, the alcohol dabbed across my two-day stubble, and Andy’s face appeared distorted through the magnifying light as he hovered over me, pondering the eradication of my security blanket.

We began on the upper lip, which was the most sensitive area both physically and psychologically.  The first few tentative stabs were easily tolerable – not pleasant by any means, but well within my pain threshold.  For nearly 30 (I am proud to say) minutes – THIRTY MINUTES, one half hour, one 48th of a day, I suffered in silence and bore my pain like a man.  But then, the more sensitive areas were violated and THESE hairs had an attitude.  Each one felt like hypodermic needle piercing my lip and skewering it through.  Some were worse than others.  It got so I could anticipate the pain of the current by the pain of the probe’s initial entry.  I tried to hold on, I really did.  But this became easily the most excruciating experience I have ever endured.  And finally, I could endure no more.  I asked to try the blend method, and found it much more acceptable in pain level.  So we continued for the remaining time in that style.

I had been told that this method led more frequently to scarring and, in addition, took four times as long for an initial “clearing”.  But “Flash” is definitely not for the squeamish.  Eventually, after what seemed like days, the session ended.  I dropped thirty sweaty dollars from my pocket to the table and verified next week’s appointment.

With growing anticipation, I strode to my car to view Andy’s handiwork in the rear view mirror.  I slipped into the scorching plastic seat and tilted the mirror to reveal my face.  My lip was quivering and swollen, but I could see small, almost miniscule patches where hair would grow no more.  And suddenly a chill of joy ran down my spine with the thought that in a matter of months, I would have a face as smooth as any woman’s.  I started the car and pulled out into reality with a smile on my face, as I knew the threshold had been crossed and the commitment made.

September 16, 1989

Only one note for today, but a major one indeed.  As the day wore on, with us moving our possessions by trailer to our new abode, Mary and I began to have more and more fun with each other.  Later, when my step-dad took the kids for their weekly overnighter at his house, we got even closer.  Finally, after a particularly fond enjoyment of something or other, I mentioned I’d really like to make love to her tonight.  Well, later, just before bed, I broached the subject again, and incredibly, she was VERY interested.

Without going into private details, suffice it to say that we had a most enjoyable tryst.  This was the first time we have been intimate since I told her I was serious about SRS two months ago.  I don’t know if this is a sign that things can work out, a final stab at some kind of normality, or a goodbye, but it is definitely preferable to the leprous feeling of being outcast that I have endured for these last eight weeks.  I love Mary very much and hope my chosen course will not force our separation.

September 20, 1992

Today was my initial visit to Dr. Smith, who had come highly recommended by both Natalie and Barbara from my support group, and Alan/Kathy.  I had been yearning for this day, not knowing exactly why I was going except for safety reasons, but suspecting that somehow I was missing the boat, or not with the program.

I paced around the office all morning, trying to busy myself with work, but unable to keep my concentration on the job.  Finally, it was close enough to leaving time to take off, which I did with no further delay.

The location of a doctor’s office shouldn’t have that much influence on one’s evaluation of him.  But somehow, my weekly trips to the Doctor in Hollywood had always seemed rather “seedy”.  After all, Hollywood is home to every kind of immoral or lewd profession known to man.  Prostitutes, both male and female graze the streets like so many cows in heat, and sex shops and X-rated movie houses abound.

So every journey to that office passed through this decadent hive and left me feeling “dirty” just for having passed through it, as if the sins of the soul and corruption of the body had somehow rubbed off or polluted my being merely through the sharing of air.  And also, although I thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to express myself as Melanie, I felt as if I were in costume or “clown-like”, as I had to cover up my beard and don a wig in order to pass as something I had not yet become.  In fact, that very attitude had led me to refrain from outings as Melanie for nearly a year, mainly because I felt like a liar for “false advertising” something which I could not deliver.

In any event, Dr. Smith’s office is in the San Fernando Valley (my home stomping ground) scant miles to the north of Beverly Hills and smackdab in the center of a burgeoning industrial complex of modern high-rise buildings.  (High-rise for California, of course, meaning six or seven stories).

I opted to park in the expensive three level structure, rather than searching for a metered street space, allowing myself this small luxury as a reward for my diligence in looking after my health and courage in following through.  (I love to pamper myself when I feel I deserve praise!)

I arrived on the seventh floor and entered the suite.  My first impression was an overwhelming sense of warmth.  This was not the typical medical sterility I had become accustomed to, but a bright, cheerful environment whose function was to care for the whole person, body and soul.  (I get a lot from wallpaper and indirect lighting!)

I approached the reception window and was greeted by a smiling Dorinda, a cute blond girl who held no pretense or revulsion, not even condescension in her face.  Indeed, I suspect her face to be incapable of holding such an emotion, even should the need undeniably arise.  Still, I was operating at about 80% male mode, as I still fall back into the old ways whenever I get nervous.  Her manner was so open, however, that by the time I was called inside, I had lowered down to 70% male mode and was tenaciously trying to hold on to that!

The door opened, and Chris, the male nurse (completely hetero and proud of it!) ushered me into the examining room.  In spite of his definite anchor on the world of “normal” preferences, I soon discovered he possessed an overwhelming empathy for people in my situation.  “Gender Dysphorics are my favorite patients….”  I truly believe him.

He asked me several questions, but more importantly, offered several answers on his own that I had to pry from my other doctor.  He gave me whatever information he thought might be useful to me, set me at ease, and went out of his way to explain what things meant, and the procedure they normally followed.  He even brought me a cup of “Swiss Mocha” (which happens to be THE coffee I will die for – I carry a tin in my car for emergencies) and introduced me to another TS who came in for a check up.  This other patient, Elizabeth, and I had a wonderful conversation while I waited for the doctor.  And by the time Dr. Smith arrived I had fallen to about 50% male mode and dropping.

Dr. Smith, ah, Dr. Smith!  Short of height but tall in stature, he strode into the room with a confident friendliness that stripped my well-built defenses in a single, gentle breeze.  Looking like a genetic blending of Paul Newman and an elf, his easy manner melted whatever preconceived dignity I thought I possessed and plunged me instantly into Melanie, the center of my being.

Never before have I given up my mask so easily, nor expressed myself as Melanie so naturally.  And this, mind you, in male clothes: an event which I would have thought impossible.  Mixing my modes?  Unheard of!  Unthinkable!  Happening before your very eyes!!!

As I heard his concise and educated discussions of the therapy he offered, his humanity penetrated my soul, and Dave (if there ever really was such a beast) vanished without a trace.  This man spoke to ME, not the carcass that faced him, but the woman hiding inside, peering through the bushes nervously.

Dr. David Smith is a seer, but he is also blind.  No, his eyes work perfectly, but they are notable for what they do not see.  He is blind to the physical incarnation as if it were transparent.  And he SEES the soul as if it were a glowing gem suspended in a jelly-fish.

He spoke to ME, as if I already WAS a woman.  And he seemed not the least distracted or even aware of the body that I wore.  And yet, I was here to alter the body, and his job was to get that done.  The incongruity of his concern with the inner person, while his vocation was the outer, only served to strengthen the calm certainty that I had not only found protection for my body, but a refuge for my psyche.

There are so many nuts and bolts of medical data he covered, and I shall cover them as well as they are applied.  But the true value of today was not what I learned, but what I felt.  And I felt good – very good indeed.

September 21, 22, and 25, 1989

I’m afraid (don’t be afraid) that I have fallen behind in my diary entries.  Heaven knows, I’ve tried!  But the best laid plans of mice and… well, whatever the heck I am….

So here is the brief, bite-sized, shrunk-wrapped, condensed reconstituted honest to gosh truth, as told by proxy.

On September 21st I had my second electrolysis session. THIS time I came prepared!  I bought a bottle of KANKA topical oral anesthetic with the last three dollars to my name.  I applied some in the car before I left.  My entire lip went numb, even as the stuff stained the skin a bright, obnoxious orange (you’re only supposed to use it on the INSIDE!)

But, beauty was secondary at the moment, as the pain of my first trip remained fresh in my addled mind.  So, I applied another liberal coat just before I entered Andy’s lair.

What I was not aware of was that topical anesthetics work only on the mucus membranes and do nothing for the interior of the flesh.  What a wonderful surprise when the process hurt even more than last week (I would’ve sworn an impossibility!) as the nerves went into over-drive to compensate for the partial loss of sensation.  Well, live and learn (in agony!) I always say….

Friday the 22nd was my first day as a no-show at the Hollywood doctor.  I truly missed the opportunity to go out as Melanie, but simultaneously enjoyed the freedom of not having to work out all the logistics, rush around, and only relish my female self for a lousy hour before all that work had to be undone.

This feeling grew into the certainty that a dual life, such as Mary and I had discussed, while great on paper, would be harder than blazes to accomplish in reality, and for all practical purposes was impossible.  However, I also determined that I should move toward full-time living as a woman over a period of months, rather than in one bold stroke.  This gradual change would be better for my friends and easier for me, as my mannerisms and voice could shift slowly to my new station.

In line with these thoughts, on Monday, September 25th, I began my First Official Day of Androgyny (or F.O.D.A. for short!).  For twenty years, I have worn a belt nearly every day of my life.  But this day, I merely switched to a tucked in T-shirt.   And my beloved laid-back courderoys gave way to unisex blue jeans.  The part in my hair was lost as I brushed (not combed) it straight forward in rather appealing bangs.  Overall, this manner of dress could belong to either sex, and therefore is my authorized uniform during the transitional period.

So much for catching up: I’ve been way too efficient, and it might just be habit forming….

(Written on the 26th of September to catch up on days I hadn’t felt like writing.  The following entry is from the middle of that period, the one day I DID feel like writing.  Due to financial difficulties, Mary, the kids and I were forced to move from our wonderful three bedroom rented house in the Burbank hills to the house I grew up in, in the flatlands of Burbank.

This move came in the middle of the rift that had developed between Mary and myself over my transition.  It seemed to be the worst time that an unwanted change of location could have occurred.  Nevertheless, there was no choice in the matter, so we packed up our belongings and said goodbye to the last house we would ever share as a “normal” family.

Mary had gone to Las Vegas with a girlfriend the last weekend we had to pack: the first trip she had made without me since we had been married.  I found myself sitting alone in the empty corner of the bedroom where we had last made love, crying for half an hour.  That night, I drove to the family house and slowly increased my speed until I was driving at sixty miles per hour along the residential streets.  I weighed the advantages of simply driving into the side of building and ending it all.  It was a tempting scenario.  But as I neared my new address, I gradually slowed, having flirted with suicide, but not seduced by it.

The following weekend we packed the last few items that remained at the old house, locked the door on our happy family life, and relocated to our uncertain future.  That evening I wrote the following entry.)

September 23, 1989

As I sit at the keyboard this evening, my mind is filled with strange emotions.  It is 10:30 and it is our first night in our new home.

Perhaps the term “new” is a misnomer.  This is the house I grew up in from age one to age seven.  It is the house of my earliest memories, my formative years, and the beginnings of my need to be female.  It is my Grandfather’s house and he is dead.

He died on the 25th of June at age 83, a bitter man, alone and defeated.  And now, I live in his house.

My Mother died on January 30th of bacterial pneumonia infecting the sack around the heart.  That is what the death certificate says, but the real cause of her death was my grandfather.  All his life he had withheld even the tiniest show of love, approval, or even affection from my mother.  And she spent and ultimately lost her life trying to obtain these.

Shortly after I was married in 1976, my parents were forced to leave the rented house we had lived in for 12 years, and elected to move into my grandfather’s house to help take care of him and my grandmother.  A few years later, they brought back my grandfather’s sister, Kay, from Washington state, as her husband had died some time previously, and she was slipping mentally.

Within a couple of years it became apparent that Kay had developed Alzheimer’s disease, and her ability to take care of herself suffered greatly.  At the same time, my grandmother began to slip into paranoia and mental confusion.  My grandfather started losing the ability to discern reality from fantasy.

And so, my mother and step-father took care of these people with the patience of Christ himself, and humbly subjected themselves to my grandfather’s overbearing and aimless wrath, which grew almost daily as his illness progressed.  Ultimately, my grandmother suffered three strokes in quick succession. She was unable to respond coherently, to speak or even to be more than marginally aware of the world around her.

Due both to my mother’s and grandfather’s wishes, and against doctor’s orders, my grandmother was released to home care.  She was permanently on a feeding tube, was incontinent, and required care every 3-4 hours, twenty-four hours a day.

For two years, my parents struggled to provide humanity to a household weakened by illness and withered by the cancerous bile of my grandfather’s anger.  Eventually, Aunt Kay was placed in a home.  But my mother continued to care for her parents to the point that she did not leave the house, even to cross the street, for six months straight.  Eventually, she caught the flu, and due to her weakened condition, it developed into bacterial pneumonia.  And yet, she would not go to the hospital because she wanted to continue to care for her mother. Also, my grandfather constantly chided her for slacking off in her duties.  When she could not longer get out of bed, she finally agreed to be taken to the hospital, but by then, it was far too late.

I sat with her in the emergency room of the County hospital all night, waiting for care.  She had no insurance and would not be accepted into a standard emergency ward.  All that night, I struggled to stay awake, as I had only had two hours sleep the night before.  Several times I mentioned to her that I would have to leave soon, which I regret to this day.  But every time, her condition worsened and I stayed on.  Her blood pressure dropped to 80 over 40, and I waited for a second reading on the machine before I called for help, again to my regret.  Instead of holding her hand and touching her face as I had on and off through the night, I was sitting in a chair across the room when she slipped into unconsciousness.  Later that day, she died.

When we brought my grandfather to see her body in the hospital he looked at the remains of the daughter he drove to death, and his only comment was, “Well, you had to go and do it.  You had to die on my birthday.”  I will always remember the date of my grandfather’s birthday.

I placed my grandmother in a convalescent home for her health needs, and face the wrath of my grandfather for the first time myself.  But as he realized he needed me for transportation and food, he softened and at least tolerated me.

My step-dad continued to live in the house and take care of my grandfather.  A noble act considering he felt the man had caused his wife’s death.  My grandfather finally entered the convalescent home to be near his wife.  But when I last saw him alive, a week before his death, he did not know who the woman across the room was.  I rubbed his back with ointment as he had requested, my fingers bobbing over the bony protrusions under his parchment skin.  I told him I would see him again soon.  I left.  He died.

And so, when I returned to this house several weeks ago to plan our move, and was alone in it for the first time in my memory, I found myself pulled to my grandfather’s room, the very room I had grown up in as a child.  I stood in the center, drinking in the present, drowning in the past.

I cursed my mother for the memories of the doll house, stove, and refrigerator she had bought for me, knowing that these toys had been partially responsible for creating a female personality within my body.  I laughed at the memory of waking up from my afternoon nap to a gingerbread man, placed on a shelf by my bed as a surprise.  I could see the coloring book bear that I had painted “orchid” and remembered that the bear had been given a different colored balloon every night I had avoided sucking my thumb.  Eventually, the bear had a whole bouquet of balloons and I never sucked my thumb again.

All these things and a thousand more, the highlights and hurts, the love and the warped directions leading to transsexualism, all flooded over and through me.  And I stood in the center of the room and cried.

And now, on this first night, I feel all these things again.  And as this house must be sold in a few short months to pay for my grandmother’s continued convalescence, I am overwhelmed.  I am coming home: home to the causes of my pain and the source of my love.  But I am here to prepare the house for sale.  And in effect, I am selling off my past.

So now, as I am about to embark on a new future, a future as a woman: now, as I begin the six month transition to full-time living in my new role, I come to bury memories, to lay to rest the roots of my personality.  And I find it ironically appropriate that these should coincide.  As I begin a new future, I bury the past.

I have come full circle, to face the causes of my needs and revel in the roots of my strengths.  Soon I must move on to a new life and leave the old behind.  I will be a new person who only vaguely resembles the one who blossomed here so many years ago.

And I must leave all that behind, perhaps more completely than one should be forced to.  But for a little while longer, I have my memories, I have my past, and David is not yet dead.  For a few brief moments I am a small child running through the tall grass, amazed by everything and joyful just to be alive.  For a few brief moments, I have come home.

September 28, 1989

Today was the fulfillment of a life-long dream.  It was my coming-of-age, my initiation, my rite of passage.  Today I killed my mustache.

I had fantasized about this monumental event for years and planned it for weeks.  The concept of having an absolutely smooth face is so exciting, so sexy, so feminine, that even now, six hours after, I can barely contain myself.

In the West, we believe Man’s soul can be found, if anywhere, in the brain.  In Eastern religions it inhabits the heart.  Since puberty, my psyche resided in my upper lip, the symbol of my manhood, the likeness of my self-image.

But today, it’s home of twenty-four post-pubiescent years was wrested from it.  And like a game of “Musical Lips”, the theme song ended and Psyche found itself without a chair to sit on.

So, now, this poor homeless wretch must find new accommodations: an abode more suitable to its new stature; more appropriate to its changed self-image.  Perhaps it will lodge in my developing breasts.  True, cramped quarters at the moment, but when plans for expansion are fully realized, Psyche will hopefully enjoy a palatial estate in keeping with the manner to which it wishes to become accustomed.

The deed is done; the commitment made.  The relief, amazing; the joy, uncanny.  I have joined one club and turned in the executive washroom keys to the other.  And surprisingly – at least to me – there are not only no regrets, but an unequalled sense of completeness beyond anything I have ever experienced.  I feel content.  I feel female.  I feel good.

(Copyright 1992, Melanie Anne Phillips)

(The Transsexual Diary series will continue in the next edition of The Subversive)

FEATURE ARTICLES

MAKE UP TIPS

A continuing series by Mary Kay representative,

Lynda J1

Focus on Eyes: The Colors of Autumn

Smoky, sultry, smoldering eyes can be yours this season.  New fall eyeshadows are here and they’re bolder, richer, and dramatically outspoken.   All you need is a good eyeshadow brush or sponge-tipped applicator and the smoldering new shades that are the hallmark of this season.  Don’t be afraid to try new shades and new combinations.  With the following techniques, you can wear almost any shade, even if you have very fair coloring.

Take some time to practice these techniques, try new shades, and find the look that’s just right for you.  To see the dramatic difference of each technique, apply to only one eye and compare.  Most of all, have fun!

There are four basic techniques to make the most of your eyes:

The Centered Eye – gives the eyes vertical lift and adds depth.  This can be worn by anyone and is especially effective for those who wear glasses. 

                1. Use a lighter color as a base to color eyelid from upper lash line to eyebrows.

                2. Feel for the center of the eye in the crease of the eyelid.  With darker shadow than that used for the base, “turn” color in a small circle, making a dot in the                                   center of the crease.  Brush color lightly back and                                    forth, coloring along the crease of the eyelid.

The Cornered Eye – just as versatile as The Centered Eye.  This technique makes the eye look larger and gives the most dramatic effect.

                1. Use a lighter color as a base to color eyelid from upper lash line to eyebrows.

                2. With darker color than that used for the base, “turn” color in small circles at the inner and outer corners of the eyelids.  With clean shadow brush, blend darker color from corners toward the center along the crease of the eyelid.

The Smudged Eye – gives depth and drama and is especially effective for those with close-set eyes.

                1. Use a lighter color as a base to color eyelid from upper lash line to eyebrows.

                2. With darker color than that used for the base, “turn color in a small circle at the outer corners of the eyelid.  Smudge by moving eye shadow brush along the crease of the eyelid from the outside corner toward the center of the lid.

                The Wedge – a versatile technique for anyone.  This technique also allows the use of more dramatic colors for those with fair skin.

                1. Use a lighter color as a base to color eyelid from upper lash line to eyebrows.

                2.  With darker color than that used for the base, brush color along crease of eyelid from center to outer corner, then along base of upper lashes from outside corner to the center, just above the iris.

For even more drama, a third eyeshadow color may be added to any one of the four techniques for highlight on the brow bone (the bone that protrudes under the eyebrow).  For day time wear, try a soft pink, oyster shell, or soft yellow to highlight the brow bone.  For evening, try shimmering gold.

                Instead of eyeliner along the lower lashes try stroking a medium or dark eye shadow color just under the lower lashes from the outside corner to the center of the lower lid.  Use the very edge of your eyeshadow brush or sponge-tipped applicator and blend well.

Remember, if you wear glasses, it’s okay to go a little bolder, a little more dramatic to draw more attention to your eyes. Eyeshadow colors should blend together.  One color should flow naturally into the next.  There should never be a definite line between colors.  If eyeshadow looks too intense or if the colors do not seem blended, use a clean, loose-powder brush to blend.  Close your eyes and brush lightly back and forth across the lid.  But be careful not to blend all the color away.

For those with oily skin or skin that tends to absorb color, Mary Kay’s eyeshadows can be used wet.  Just use an eyeshadow brush to blend the eyeshadows with a little water, then apply.  This will give you all-day (or all-night) wear.  These shadows can also be used with an eyeliner brush and mixed with water to create an instant liquid eyeliner.

Eyeliner is used to define and enhance the eyes.  There are  basically two types of eyeliner: eyeliner pencil and liquid eyeliner.

                The most important thing to remember about eyeliner pencil is to have a good, sharp point to your pencil, then dull it slightly by applying light pressure with your fingertip.  This will give a softer line.

Eyeliner pencil can be used to line the upper lid and the lower lid along the lash line.  When lining the upper eyelid, hold the pencil at a slant and draw the line along the lashes with the side of the eyeliner tip, not the point.  This technique gives more control and helps keep the tip from breaking.

                When lining the lower lid, use the tip to draw a thin line just under the base of the lower lashes from the center of the lower lid under the iris to the outside corner.  Use a cotton swab or sponge-tipped applicator to smudge the line for a softer look.

Liquid eyeliner with a fine point is the easiest for beginners to use.  When using liquid eyeliner, hold the brush at a slant, nearly parallel to the eyelid and stroke on a thin line from the inner corner to the outer corner of the upper eye lid.  Liquid eyeliner can also be used along the lower lashes, but it must be smudged with a cotton swab or sponge-tipped applicator quickly – before it dries.  An easier choice is to use an eyeliner pencil in a coordinating color under the lower lashes or brush a medium to dark eyeshadow along the base of the lower lashes with the edge of a brush or sponge-tipped applicator.

Remember, every woman who wears eye make-up has learned through many hours of practice.  Don’t get discouraged.  Learn from your mistakes.  Get some good close-up pictures from magazines and try to copy a look you especially like.  I also have available a limited number of charts with close-up detail of eye color looks for fall.  If you would like a free copy, send e-mail to Lynda J1 (notice that is Lynda J”one”).

                If you have questions about make-up or skin care, I’d be happy to answer them for you.  All questions or comments will receive a personal reply.  Questions of general interest will be addressed in this column (no names will be used).

Editor’s Note:  Remember, Lynda J1 is YOUR Mary Kay Representative.  Support her efforts here by placing your orders with her, a real nice way to say “Thank You!”  All orders are held in confidence, and orders will be shipped in plain wrapping.  And you’ll never find a more understanding or knowledgeable make-up consultant for your special needs.

———————————————

Going to the wig store

Adventures of Char & Pam

By Pam36C

Golly here I am again! Yawl let me know if you get tired of hearing about this nonsense will you?

OK here Charlotte and I are. She is feeling a little blue because of personal problems. Me, I’m trying to cheer her up, lending a well chewed on ear. Mind you I don’t object she and I are kindred spirits. Plus she is one of my Alpha Omega sisters and I would be there for any one of them. Well being there for her to talk to was OK but she needed a little more than an ear to absorb her concerns and frustrations.

Well what do you gals do when your down in the dumps? YOU GO SHOPPING or GET YOUR HAIR DONE right? Guess what we did, we did both. We went shopping for wigs. Being a crossdresser, transvestite, bigendered, or what ever, we all want to look like a lady. Hair is an important piece of that puzzle we want to put together so off to Rolling Acres Mall we went.

Going up we talked some more mostly about a collage of subjects all tied together with a pretty bow, so to speak, and that is crossdressing. This always makes our jaunts around town interesting. Arriving in no time at all we were walking into the mall and towards our destination. Of course a few stores on the way lured these two boyish looking girls to their windows.

Picture this if you can, two girls, wide eyed, and noses pressed to the glass. Dreaming of all those pretty clothes hanging in their closets. Just ready to be put on that feminine self we all share and taken out to a party or dinner. Yea, your right gals,no guts no glory so we pressed on towards the wig store still dreaming though.

We headed to the wig store like I told you and walked by checking it out so to speak. The coast was clear so we walked in, a little bit nervous yea, but united we stand and all that stuff! We casually started looking around and lo and behold here was this bubbly sales girl. We’ll call her Nancy,she was very nice and reassuring. She let us know right off the bat that we were not the first guys to want to buy a wig. We (well Charlotte) talked for a few minutes about Alpha Omega. Nancy said she has heard of us. She also said she had been to a Parase meeting once for a wig presentation.

We continued looking and talking and once again observant Charlotte nudged me and said “Look out there on that bench”. Directly outside the store was a courtesy bench about fifty or sixty feet from the store front. Sitting on the bench were three guys, one or two had beards. They were watching the show in the store quite intently. My memory of them is vague at best because neither of us looked at them too long.

Well the shopping and talking continued, Charlotte even sat down at one of the two booths at the rear of the store to try on three wigs. Nancy all this time kept the conversation going, Charlotte following her lead and me jumping in there occasionally. We made our selections but they had to be ordered. The colors we wanted weren’t in stock,       OH WELL whats’ a girl to do I know WAIT!

The more I do this shopping thing the more I think my fears are exaggerated. At least until something really catastrophic happens. YOU know like going into a store say a dress shop. Asking the store sales girl if I could look around or would she help me find a certain style. Then she turns and yells at the top of her lungs “Hey this guy wants to buy a dress!” That  would be catastrophic right?

All in all I’d say this excursion went very well. Nancy was very professional, fun and knowledgeable about her merchandise. Not to mention TOLERANT of our life style. She even asked us to come back dressed. Well maybe that was just an off the wall statement not to be taken seriously but it was nice to hear. WE left, walked around a little more, fantasizing about the fashions we saw through a bunch of other windows. Well girls that’s it for now here’s to your new “doo”.

Love, Luck, Laughter    Pam36C

——————————————

SOME FASHION TIPS

From: Anna A1

(Editor’s note: Recently, Anna had the opportunity to attend a fashion show.  She wrote me a letter describing some interesting tips she had learned.  Thinking that our readers might enjoy the information as well, I asked her if I could reprint the portion of her letter that described these neat tricks.  Here are the excerpts from Anna’s Fashion Show Report: )

The real highlight of the evening was a presentation by two woman from “Caren Charles” Women’s apparel store to demonstrate how to mix and match eight articles of clothes into 32 outfits :).

This presentation was primarily oriented toward business dress.  There were 3 blouses (one white, one black, and one mustard)  2 suit tops (one red, one red and black plaid) 1 black pair of pants (very sexy thought I) and 2 skirts ( one red, one Mustard).  They displayed them on a vertical rack and simply move the blouses and skirts and pants back and forth on the hangers to create “completely different” outfits.  The mustard blouse and skirt were shown together, then the mustard blouse was shown with the black pants, then the plaid suit was added and so on and so forth.  The products had popagalio (spelling?) and Caren Charles labels and cost $619.00 all combined. But, Ta Da (here’s the pitch), that’s only $19.00 an outfit for an entire month’s worth of outfits.

They pasted out a “closet inventory” which if you want to create one is as follows:

There are 5 columns labeled HAVE, NEED, COLOR, DESCRIPTION, & WORKSWELL WITH.  The rows are labeled SUITS, BLAZERS, BLOUSES, SWEATERS, SKIRTS, PANTS, DRESSES,COATS, SHOES (remember, this is business dressing – you can replace the row labels with what suites you.

The instructions are

1. Arrange your clothes by types

2. list you wardrobe “haves and “needs” and bring this closet inventory to the store with you.

3.  If you have a favorite item, build a ward robe around it.

I know this isn’t rocket science, but hearing this presentation and allowing my self just to “be there” was a new experience for me.

———————————————

HORMONE UPDATE

By Melanie Anne Phillips

Well, I have some more data on the hormone thing.  This month I am on the .50mg daily Estinyl only until the last 10 days of the cycle, then 10mg Provera each of those days.

I have noticed in the past that nipple soreness and sensitivity as well as post-op sexual arousal have been directly related to how far in the cycle I have been.  The highest sensitivity and arousal occurred about 7 days after I went into the 3 day “off cycle”.  Within 3 days after that, it all dropped significantly.  Bust development that had shown promise each month nearly all went away by 10 days after the END of the off cycle.  Then it was a full month to build-up again.

This month I am not going off cycle at all.  I know several doctors who do not believe in “cycling” – Dr. Biber included in this group (although he prescribes only .05mg Estinyl daily as opposed to the .5mg I am taking.  The decision to try not cycling is based on several considerations.  I have always had leg cramps at that 10 day after off cycle time and then again at varying times into the cycle as the hormones built up again past some trigger point.  On either side of the trigger point, when the hormones were lower or  higher, the cramps went away.  So it seems there is some point you have to pass through going up and coming down in hormone levels.  I have heard the same from genetic women I know who are on pills after surgery.  So, it is my contention that the body does not completely stop producing hormones in genetic women, but rather slows down a bit.  This month, as I indicated, I will not go off cycle and see what happens.  I suspect I will get VERY sore breasts with great development, and not experience the cramps.

eventually, I think I might lower the dose to .25mg when I have developed enough for my liking and not use a cycle anymore.  Good news is, the shortness of breath I experience last month when taking 5mg Provera every day of the cycle instead of 10mg on the last 10 days, is obviously caused by the extended Provera use, since it went away when I went off the Provera last month and hasn’t come back.  So my advice here is: When on pills, use the Provera only 10 days a month as prescribed.  More later.

Love,

  Melanie Anne

————————————–

USEFUL AND INTERESTING INFORMATION

Alternative to Divorce as a Requirement for Surgery:

I had been told that divorce was required in order to obtain Sex Reassignment Surgery.  My spouse and I, however, did not want to get divorced.  I talked to a lawyer who said that we would have to undo all our financial ties with each other, get divorced, then retie the finances.  This would cost about $1200!  In addition, we would lose tax and insurance benefits that would put a financial strain on our relationship for the rest of our lives.

In desperation, I called up Dr. Biber’s office and explained the situation.  Marie (his secretary) told me that Biber did not require a divorce anymore.  This was news to me!  In fact, it was only a recent decision on his part.  All they required was a legal document from my spouse that she did not oppose the surgery.  What a relief!

I called our lawyer back, and he said that being the case, he could prepare a document for us for only $100!  Not only would we save $1100, but we would be able to retain our married couple status in the eyes of the law for taxes, insurance, and all other business dealings.

A friend on America Online recently wrote me saying that a friend of hers who was going to have surgery also did not want to get divorced.  She asked if I could make a copy of the document available, so here it is, just as it was accepted by Dr. Biber, sans names.

RELEASE OF ALL CLAIMS AND HOLD HARMLESS AGREEMENT

THIS IS TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT I, (Spouse’s name), UNDERSTAND THAT MY HUSBAND, (Your name), AKA (Your female name), IS ABOUT TO UNDERGO MALE-TO-FEMALE GENITAL SURGERY.  I AM FULLY AWARE OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF THE SURGERY WHICH IS TO BE PERFORMED BY STANLEY H. BIBER, M.D., AND SPECIFICALLY ACKNOWLEDGE THAT (Your name) WILL NOT PERFORM SEXUALLY AS A MALE OR HAVE A MALE SEXUAL ORGAN AS A RESULT OF THE SURGERY.

WITH THE FOREGOING IN MIND, I, (Spouse’s name), SPECIFICALLY APPROVE, CONSENT TO, AND DO NOT CONTEST IN ANY MANNER, THE MALE-TO-FEMALE SURGERY TO BE PERFORMED ON MY HUSBAND, (Your name), AKA (Your female name).  I DO, FOR MYSELF, MY HEIRS, EXECUTORS, ADMINISTRATORS AND ASSIGNS, FULLY AND FOREVER RELEASE, DISCHARGE AND HOLD HARMLESS, STANLEY H. BIBER, M.D., FROM ANY AND ALL CLAIMS, DEMANDS, ACTIONS OR CAUSES OF ACTION WHICH I NOW HAVE, OR MAY OR MIGHT HAVE IN THE FUTURE, PERTAINING TO CONSENT FOR, AND ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF THE FACT THAT, GENDER SURGERY IS TO BE PERFORMED ON (Your name), AKA (Your female name).

BY (Your Spouse’s name, signed above the typed name)

DATED:

STATE OF CALIFORNIA  >

                     >  SS

COUNTY OF LOS ANGELES>

ON THIS______DAY OF________________IN THE YEAR 199_, BEFORE ME, (Notary Public’s name), A NOTARY PUBLIC, PERSONALLY APPEARED (Spouse’s name), WHO IS KNOWN TO ME AND/OR HAS PROVED TO ME ON THE BASIS OF SATISFACTORY EVIDENCE TO BE THE PERSON WHO EXECUTED THIS RELEASE AND HOLD HARMLESS AGREEMENT.

                                  (Notary Signs here)

(NOTORIAL SEAL)                  NOTARY PUBLIC FOR THE

                                  STATE OF CALIFORNIA

If you have any legal documents or other information that might be of use to the gender community, why not share them with the community?

——————————————

AMERICA ONLINE GENDER GROUP STATISTICS

Contributed by Marsha J, Gender Room Secretary

Attendee Stats as of September 1992

State/Province location

AZ.   3  BC.   1  CA.  21  CO.   2

  CT.   4  FL.  11  GA.  1  IL.  11

  IN.   2  KY.   2  LA.   4  MA.   6

  MD.   2  ME.  1 MI.   1  MN.   3

  MO.   3  MS.   2  MT.   1  NC.   2

  NH.  1 NJ.   7  NM.   2  NV.   1

  NY.   6  OH.   4  OK.   2  ON.  3

  OR.   2  PA.   4  SC.   1  TX.   4

  UT.   1  VA.   3  WA.  4  WI.   2

  WV.   2  WY.   1

      133 Total

      133 Total Current Attendees

CONGRATULATIONS TO ALL OUR 133 MEMBERS FOR HELPING TO CREATE A SAFE HAVEN OF SUPPORT FOR EVERYONE CONCERNED WITH GENDER ISSUES!!!

—————————————-

Gender Room Meeting

Don’t forget to attend the Gender Room Meeting on the America Online BBS in the Gay/Lesbian area  in the Community Room at 9pm ET every Sunday evening.  For specific information, directions, or to order  back logs of the chats, Email Marsha J, the Gender Room secretary.

———————————————————————————–

AFTERGLOW

A short visual poem

I AM YOUNG – MY WORLD IS FULL

I AM YO NG –  Y  ORLD  S F LL

I AM YO  G    Y  ORLD    F  L

I AM     G       ORLD       L

I AM             O LD

(Copyright 1992 Melanie Anne Phillips)

NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free to all who wish to read it.  However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain.  Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free specific license for your purpose. 

THE SUBVERSIVE

Number 3

September 1992

Another issue of the online magazine I published in the early 1990s

THE SUBVERSIVE

Number 2

DECLARATION OF PURPOSE

“This journal exists to promote the concept that each human is a unique individual, intrinsically entitled with an equal right to pursue his own destiny as far as it does not inhibit others in that same right.  The Subversive shall serve as a ready forum for the free expression and exchange of ideas that do not violate this mandate, in the belief that tolerance grows from a familiarity with variety.”

                                 –signed,

                                                 Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

——————————————–

WHERE TO FIND THE SUBVERSIVE:

Available FREE as a download on America Online, Compuserve, Genie, several servers on the Internet, and various BBS around the world.

For those who wish to contribute articles, stories, personal experiences, information, jokes, or whatever Email melaniexx@aol.com on Internet, or write to:

Melanie Anne Phillips

150 East Olive Avenue

Suite 203

Burbank, California 91502

Only original material will be accepted unless quoted in the context of an original work or submitted with credit to the original author along with permission to reprint the material.

NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free to all who wish to read it.  However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain.  Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free specific license for your purpose. 

————————————————————

EXPLORATIONS

by

Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

As a professional writer, I kept a transition diary from my first day or hormone therapy to arriving back at the station from Sex Reassignment Surgery two and a half years later.  From time to time, I have printed excerpts from my diary in the Gender News.  The response has been so positive that it has become my desire to publish that journal as a book. But since it is difficult to find a publisher for such subjects, and since there is a one to two year lead time from acceptance by a publisher until the book hits the stands, I have decided to share it with those who can use it most in a serialized presentation here in The Subversive.

Each month, I will print one month from the diary.  Which means the entire series will not be completed for another two and a half years!  Still and all, at least it will be available to those who might benefit from it.

In respect for those who are represented in the text, some names have been changed to protect those who might be compromised by the frank nature of this document.  And now, without further discussion, here is the first installment of my book, ” RAISED BY WOLVES: A TRANSSEXUAL DIARY”

PRELUDE

The pages beneath, chronicle my 18 month journey from a life as an apparently normal husband and father to that of an apparently  normal woman.  In the hope of capturing the immediacy of this emotional trip into the unknown, I shunned the retrospective approach, opting instead for a daily Diary.

Each entry was made on the day the events actually happened, expect as noted.  And each is filled with the raw and unpolished thoughts and feelings that held me at that moment.

Of course, this leads to a somewhat meandering story, as well as contradictions in my point-of-view and personal emotional outbursts that I’m sure will make me squirm once this is published.  But anything less would be less than truthful.  And if this document is to serve any purpose as either a tool for tolerance and understanding or as an inspiration to those contemplating any major life-change, then it must be completely honest.

RAISED BY WOLVES:

A TRANSSEXUAL DIARY

by

Melanie Anne Phillips

FOREWORD

As I write these words, I am still a man.  But that will soon change.  The hormone therapy I began two months ago is already altering both mind and body.  Soon, the person known as Dave will cease to exist and the new person of Melanie shall be born.

So it is with a strange mixture of sadness and elation, suffering and joy, that I pen these words.  For in order for Melanie to live, Dave must die.  No, I am not a “split” personality.  But just as there are many aspects of Melanie that cannot be expressed in the role of Dave, there are many facets of Dave that can no longer be explored as Melanie.

So, my life as a man has reached an impasses.  My development as a male is to be cut off, both figuratively and literally.  And yet, I gladly lay my life down for her.  For I have come to know Melanie intimately as a beautiful person: warm compassionate, creative, insightful.  I love her.  Indeed, if I were able to meet Melanie face to face, I would surely remain Dave and devote all my days to pleasing her and basking in the blow of her joyous outlook.  But such can never be, and Dave must die for Melanie to live.

I do not know what the future holds; no one ever does.  But I do know that the course I have charted is truly the only one open to me.  Any other path leads to certain disaster, as great, gaping chunks of my personality would whither, fester, and die.

So, I close with a wish for the new woman about to be born:  May your outer beauty match the inner beauty I have come to know and love.  May hour days be long and fruitful.  May you find happiness where I have found pain, and contentment from my frustration.

And may you have no regrets.

David Michael Phillips

Burbank, California

October 3, 1989

SETTING:

As my first entry starts somewhat into my story, a brief background is essential to an understanding of the text.

As of August 1st, 1989, when this journal began, I was living entirely as Dave – father, husband, small business owner, and free-lance writer/director/editor in the film business.  I had been married for thirteen years to Mary, with a ten-year-old son, and a six-year-old daughter.  My family life was good, my career growing, my future bright, but still something was missing.

I had first felt “different” in kindergarten, where all the other little boys seemed to know instinctively how to act, but I had to struggle to learn the male role by rote: it did not come naturally.  I never considered the possibility I had the instincts of a female; I simply thought I had none at all.

By age seven, I was regularly sneaking off to dress in the girls’ clothes my mother brought in as part of her short-lived ironing business.  This was well before puberty and was not an erotic experience, but rather a feeling of completeness and contentment.

Throughout my teenage years, the need to dress as a female came and went in waves, sometimes intense, sometimes absent for years at a time.

I was nonagressive in school, both in sports and dating, and excelled at neither. My only erotic interests were not in what I could do to or with a woman, but what it would be like to be one.

I married as a virgin in 1976, and the longings to be female vanished more than they were there.  But, gradually, as I progressed through adult life, the waves became stronger and more frequent.  Only twice in my life (both times in my early teen years) had I ventured out as a female, both with such tension from fear of discovery, that I did not attempt this again until three years before this journal began.

Suddenly, the need to move in society as a woman became overwhelming, and within two months, I had made nearly a dozen outings, tentative at first, then growing more bold as I gained confidence in my ability to “pass” without being “read”.

I never confided in anyone, relative, friend, or professional, and was never “caught”.  I began to take an interest in hormones as a means of edging closer to the female self-image I had created in my mind.  I began with low dose mail-order hormone creams, then, finding them to be practically useless, began forging prescriptions over the phone for birth control pills, all to avoid admitting my situation to anyone, even a qualified physician or psychologist.

Throughout this period, I was constantly “purging” myself of this “awful” desire.  Full of guilt I would throw away all my pills, wigs, clothes, and any other accumulations, only to be driven to rebuild my accouterments scant days later.

Finally, I came to the decision that this secret side, if not dealt with openly, would lead to self-destruction and the loss of not only my self-respect, but the love of those I loved.  So, at the end of July 1989, I mustered the courage to call a gender “hotline” and get a referral to a doctor who provided hormone therapy to transsexuals.  This Diary begins with my preparations for that appointment.

————————————–

August 1, 1989

I was incredibly nervous as I prepared to venture out as Melanie for the first time in nearly a year.  I had made arrangements with my dad to watch the kids for the day, and had taken my old clothes, make-up and wig out of plastic bag storage in the garage.  Earlier in the morning, I had used my old supply of “Nair” to get rid of the hair on my legs and arms.  Once again I felt the excitement of feeling soft and sensual!

It took a long time to get everything just right, but eventually, I was satisfied that even if I looked awful, it was enough to convince the doctor that I was serious.  In truth, I needed to make the breakthrough into the mainstream of actual medical care so strongly, that I would have walked a gauntlet or red-necks in three-inch heels to latch onto a program that would lead where I wanted to go.

I checked my appearance one final time.  Hair – ratty, make-up – cakey, skirt – laughably short, high-heeled shoes – preposterous.  In summary, I was ready.  I sneaked out of the house, slunk into my car, and boldly set off to find my destiny.

Driving through the city and down the freeway was exhilarating.  I knew that I was a woman to all who saw me, and I anxiously hoped with every fiber of my being that the doctor would see fit to make that dream a reality.

The medical center itself was a modern ten-story facility, not the sleazy back-room affair I had anticipated.  I parked across the street and (after some hunting) found the front entrance.  I went looking for room 1009, but there were only two levels in this part of the building.  I had no idea where to find the office, nor the certainty that I could (with my nervousness) pull off a conversation to get directions.

Just when I was feeling most distressed, a ten-year-old boy showed up out of nowhere, took one look at me and asked if I needed some help.  I told him, in a breaking voice, the number of the office I wanted.  He said it was in the other building, and asked if I knew how to get there.  I replied in bad falsetto that I didn’t.  He said, “Do you want me to show you?”  I gagged out, “Sure…”  He said, “Come on…” and bolted down the hall.

I don’t know if he was the son of someone who worked there, or perhaps a patient himself.  But he darted down the corridors and around corners like he had designed the place.  The only question he ever asked was, “Are you going for plastic surgery?”  Thanks a lot, kid!  Anyway, after two minutes of mind-boggling twists and turns (him run-walking and me trotting gracelessly down the slippery floors in high heels) we arrived at the elevators.  “Tenth floor”, he said, smiled, and left as mysteriously as he had arrived.  “Thank you!”, I croaked as he disappeared around a bend.

Fortunately, the elevator was empty, and I was unmolested, embarrassed or ashamed on the way up.  The doors opened revealing the tenth floor: the location of my destiny.  I stepped into the hall and checked the office listings until I found the prescribed number.  Gripping the knob with a sweaty but determined hand, I gave it a turn and stepped inside.

The room was small, but well decorated (by waiting room standards).  There was one short, round lady sitting in the corner and the reception desk straight ahead.  I walked up, asked for Ann, as I had been instructed to do, and was told to sit down and wait.

No sooner had I lowered myself, as lady-like as possible into a chair, but the plumpish, weathered woman began to speak.  In broken English, she told me the story of her life; her days in San Francisco, her stint as a land-lady and run-in with the Housing Authority, the death of her husband and how she coped.  All the while, she rarely required a reply (thank God!) content to have a live body as audience that had not been initiated into her life previously.

I nodded with sympathy and understanding, peppered with an occasional “uh huh…”, and she seemed not only satisfied, but almost euphoric.  Once, the nurse caught my eye and smiled knowingly, in empathy with my ordeal.

Finally, my name was called, and I stood to the window to fill out information and answer questions.  Then, out of nowhere, the nurse asked if I wanted to buy the pills today.  I was shocked!  After years of felonies committed forging prescriptions for birth-control pills, suddenly here was another human being, a qualified, legitimate medical professional just GIVING them to me!  “Yes!”, I stammered, fumbling the required twenty-two dollars out of my purse.

Bill paid, the door opened and I was beckoned inside so meet my future.  I flushed from head to toe as I crossed that threshold into the unknown.

I was ushered down the hall to an examining room, where the nurse sat me down, handed me a bottle of 100 2.5 mg estrogen pills, “Take one a day, and don’t miss any!”, and took my blood pressure.  I just kept staring at that bottle, unable to take my eyes from it, transfixed to the reality and weight of the decision I was about to make.

The doctor came in, asked some routine questions and told me to “bend over the table.” for a prostrate exam.  I hardly noticed the pain.

Finally, Ann came back with two syringes, one for vitamins and one, the fateful one, with a mix of estrogen and progesterone in sesame oil for slow release.  She asked me to stand and raise my skirt.  I complied, my heart racing as I contemplated the path I was beginning, the reality of a lifetime of dreams.

I stared out of the tenth floor window, across the city, bustling with thousands of ant-like people, going about their daily routines, unaware of the change of life that was about to occur 100 feet above them.  I stared out toward the ocean, across the universe, across the years, as my entire life collapsed into an abstract desire whose fulfillment would begin with the sharp prick of the needle that hovered behind me.  And then, I felt the tiny pain as the steel shaft slid into the tissue of my derriere, then slowly deposit its cargo of womanhood, rushing into my system, realigning the workings of my entire anatomy, so that its new responses would ultimately transform me into a true and undeniable woman.  That brief moment lasted an eternity for me as I savored the upwelling of emotion, knowing that I had the courage to take that first step.  And, now that I had, there would be no going back.  I was on the road to womanhood, and I would not stop until I reached my destination.

I fixed my clothes, left the office, and felt incredibly feminine as I sashayed down the hall, riding the most pleasurable high I have ever experienced.  Down the elevator and back to the car.  Onto the freeway and across town.  Into the driveway and the house.  It all blurred together with the knowledge that the hormones were working already.  Carrying their undeniable commands to all parts of my body.  Telling my most basic systems, “This is a woman, do your job!”

I didn’t come down all day, and I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

(Written the morning after, August 2, 1989)

[Author’s note:  There are about three weeks missing between the first diary entry and the second.  I had no idea at the time, that I would be documenting my transition so fully, and had only written the first entry since I am a writer by trade and by love.  Writing for me has always been a natural way to work out my feelings.  Nonetheless, several important events transpired before my entries became regular, so I document them here for clarity.  The Saturday following my first Doctor’s appointment there was a support group meeting hosted by the fellow who had recommended the hormone doctor to me.  Mary did not yet know about my recent hormone use, although I had told her of my fantasy of being female a year ago, and had even confessed I had tried hormones briefly.  After that, I had grown a mustache to prove to her that I would not follow that direction any further than fantasy.  So, I elected not to tell her I was on hormones, but tell her only about the support group meeting and use that as an excuse for having shaved off my mustache.

She did not like my going out dressed as Melanie, and refused to see me dressed as a woman, instead taking the kids to a movie so I could get ready in peace.

It took me three hours to put myself together in those days, and I needed every minute.  I was more nervous than I had ever been as the time drew near.  Being summer, it was still light when I finally left at 6 pm, sure that the neighbors would find out.

The drive was scary, but exhilarating.  I had actually never met another transsexual and had no contact or knowledge of the community so I had no idea what to expect.

The meeting was at a private home in the San Fernando Valley, in the midst of a typical suburban neighborhood.  I parked my car and gingerly made my way up the walk.  I couldn’t tell where to enter from: there were several doors.  I knocked on one, but got no response.  I began to fear that I had the address or the time wrong and that some angry homeowner would leap out with a shotgun and end the adventure right there.

Finally, I moved around to the alcove and saw a note taped to the door: “Welcome, Come on in”.  Would there be five people there?  Fifty?  Would any of them also be “dressed”?  (I was wearing the same outlandish outfit I had worn to the doctor’s – it was the only one I had).  Most important, would they think I was pretty?

I was the second one to arrive.  The host, Lee Risenburg, introduced me to the first guest, a middle-aged man named Bill.  I was the only one dressed as a woman.  I felt like an absolute fool.  Lee urged me to sit anywhere.  I selected a spot on the couch across from them.  And they returned to their animated conversation.  I felt completely out of place.

Three or four other men arrived for the 6:30 pre-meeting class on Gender Identification, and none of them were dressed either.  At this point I would have left in a flash, except THAT would have embarrassed me even more.

Finally the class started, and Lee illustrated the differences between anatomical sex (male or female) sexual preference (straight, gay, or bi) and gender identity (masculine or feminine).  He explained how none of them were tied together and any combination was possible.  I finally began to understand for the first time, just what nature of beast I was.

Toward the end of the 90 minute class, other people started to filter in for the support group portion of the meeting.  And some of them were “dressed”!!!  FINALLY!!!! I was not alone!

Eventually, about 30 people had arrived: gays, bis, TVs, pre-op and post-op transsexuals.  REAL transsexuals!  I had never been so close!  Everyone was warm and friendly, even the truck drivers in the tutus (not really, but that was the impression a couple of them gave.

The one thing that impressed me the most, was that each of these people was friendly, sincere, respectful, and willing to accept everyone for whatever and whoever they were.  No ridicule, no recrimination.

The format was a round robin, and at my turn, I had my first experience impressing people with who I was.  I was nervous, to be sure, and my voice was a joke.  I kept trying to gesture in a feminine manner, but managed only to look stiff and stilted.  Still and all, the group accepted me as one of their own and I felt like I had come home.

Afterward, I ended up talking at length with the guest who was there when I  arrived, Bill  It turned out that was HIS first meeting as well.  He was TV, but had never dressed in front of anyone.  He was also a writer and asked if I might like to co-author something with him.  I agreed, and we exchanged phone numbers.

Later in the week, he called and invited me to lunch at the Rose City Diner in Pasadena, not far from the route of the Tournament of Roses Parade (whose official film I had edited for two years previously.)

I arrived with excitement, as I had never gone to an eating establishment as a woman before, nor had I as a woman had lunch with a man.

He greeted me outside with a handshake.  When we walked to the door, he opened it for me.  Hey, this was great!  He gave his name to the waitress and it was only a moment before a table opened up.

It never occurred to me that the woman is supposed to go first behind the waitress (you never think about what you don’t do) so it wasn’t until he indicated I should that I finally realized I was screwing up already!

I then realized that here was my first trip out that wasn’t just a quick romp and he had selected the busiest diner in all of Southern California at the peak of lunch hour!  And the tables were all open, so I would be in full view with nowhere to hide.

I looked over the menu, and selected the Chicken Salad, as the item least likely to attract attention.  He ordered for me, “The young lady will have…”  We talked for a while, man and woman out for lunch, and then the order arrived – with fanfare!

Here was the biggest chicken salad I had ever seen!  A tostada shell filled about a foot high with every imaginable garnish.  The waitress had to strain to carry it!  Every eye in the place turned to see who had ordered this monstrosity.  So much for anonymity!  (To this day, I have not been able to order a chicken salad in a restaurant!)

Well, I made it through the meal, and actually had a good time.  After lunch, we walked up and down the streets of Old Towne Pasadena, stopping in shops and talking about his story that we might work on together.  We said goodbye with another handshake and went our separate ways.

Meanwhile, the hormones began to take affect.  As predicted, on the 10th day after my first shot, my nipples began to swell slightly – actually more of a puffiness – and became tender.

I have never been able to keep a secret from Mary, so once again, I broke down and told her everything.  She was upset, but we did not have an argument.  In fact, we discussed the issues rather calmly, and even arrived at a tentative agreement that would allow us to stay together.  The confrontation I had dreaded never really materialized.  In fact, it was something of a let down.  I almost yearned for, no, REQUIRED a major event, just to mark or prove my resolve.  But it didn’t happen, and that left me feeling somewhat unsettled, almost as if nothing had really happened at all.

It was in this state of unfulfilled confusion that I made my next entry.

August 25, 1989

So much has happened, but nothing’s occurred.  The hurricane I call my life surrounds my quiet eye with a turmoil of events, and yet all of them collectively are a process, not a condition, and nothing tangible has congealed in the gale; perhaps it never will.

It all goes back to my childhood, and with any luck, it would’ve stayed there. But such is not my lot.  The seeds planted in my young mind by environment, were nurtured in the fertility of my genetic stew.  The twisting vines that sprang forth have so entwined my psyche as to be indistinguishable from it.

I believe myself to be female, from the inside out.  The question poised upon resolution is: have I become female from subconscious efforts on my part to achieve that condition, or have I always been of that kiln and only now am realizing it?

Hopefully, Time will tell, while it heals all wounds.

August 25, 1989

Bill called me again a couple of days after our first “date”.  I thanked him for a good time and told him how natural it had felt for me.  He told me that he had to keep reminding himself that I wasn’t actually a woman, and I put on a breathy voice and told him, “Don’t remind yourself.”  He said okay.

Our conversation drifted through many areas including my admission that for the first time in my life, I was attracted to a man.  I told him I found his quiet strength, but gentle eyes very sexy.  He admitted that ever since the support group meeting, he had been extremely attracted to me. But he was worried, as he was married and totally straight.  I told him not to worry, he was just responding to the woman he saw, not to the remaining male underneath.

He had told his wife about our meeting, but not that I was meeting him as Melanie.  She responded that it was okay, as long as he didn’t bring me home.  But as the conversation ended, he asked again if I wanted to write with him and I told him I very much wanted to.  He decided that it was best to meet at his home, so we agreed.

All week long, I thought about the upcoming meeting and found myself hoping that I would have my first experience with a guy.  If things went as I wanted to, I’d experience my first kiss.

The day before our meeting I found myself doing all kinds of female things to get ready that I had heard about but never done myself.  I bought a new skirt: a pleated, frilly thing, just so I would look more desirable and feminine.

The day of the meeting I spent twice as long as usual with my make-up, intentionally wore the pull-over top he had first seen me in, and added a second spray of perfume.  In short, I was a female planning to trap my man.

When I arrived, we began to work on the story, but as he is TV and I am TS, the conversation naturally drifted.  I re-iterated that I was confused by my new feelings toward the “opposite sex”.  He admitted that he was worried by how much he was thinking of a relationship with me, when he was a happily married man.

I allowed myself to begin to cry, knowing exactly what effect that would have on him.  And he responded as planned.  He opened his arms and said, “Come here…”  I melted into his embrace and clung to his strong arms while he held me tight and comforted me.

It’s hard to describe the feelings that went through my head at that moment.  For the first time in my life, my need to be cuddled and protected was being fulfilled.  I was not expected to be strong, to hold my emotions in check.  I could respond as I felt, weak and helpless, and let him take control.  These were the same needs I had gotten married in order to fulfill fourteen years ago, but had never found in my marriage.

Well, I pulled myself together and we returned to the story for the few remaining minutes before we both had to leave.  But at the door, as I was fiddling in my purse for my keys, I heard him say again behind me, “Come here…”  I turned and found his arms open for me.  I eased into them and felt him hold me tight.  I held him close, then, in mutual need, we loosened our grips slightly, looked into each other’s eyes for a fleeting moment, as if to confirm what we both wanted, then our lips met for mere seconds in a tentative, almost brother/sister kiss.

We again fell into each others arms, then broke away and nervously fumbled our way to the door.  We each left for our cars without another word or glance.  But all the way home I basked in the afterglow of the completeness I had finally achieved for the first time in my thirty-six years.

Afterward, I went to my weekly doctor appointment, more anxious than ever for another dose of the medication that was making me into the woman I wanted to be; the woman I NEEDED to be…

August 29, 1989

Mary has been much more content today, and her almost-happiness has made my depressive clouds evaporate.  It seems she has accepted my offer that I will not appear in her presences as Melanie, will not tell the kids until they find out for themselves, and will remain faithful to her as long as we stay together.  In exchange, she will remain through the hormone treatment and even SRS.  I can have an outside life as Melanie, as long as it doesn’t get back to her.

Now I realize, of course, that this is only a temporary solution.  Within the space of several moths to a year, it will be extremely difficult for me to successfully appear as a male.  And as soon as the kids crawl up on my chest, they’re going to know something is up!

Plus, there’s the terrible strain of leading a double life, while trying to develop one of those lives and whither the other.  But at least it gives us both time to find ourselves, and most important, it gives Mary the chance to accept the changes and perhaps even allow me to go “full-time” and still keep our relationship.  And after all, it works for Clark Kent, doesn’t it?

August 30, 1989

It’s so hard to know when I’ve really decided anything.  Just as soon as I think my true drives and emotions are coming into view, another life-changing revelation jumps in to screw things up!  But today, so many pieces QUIETLY fell into place that I trust this new view, as it cam in like a lamb.  A very STRONG lamb, to be sure, but not with bells and whistles.

I was at the lumber yard with an old Boy Scout friend, Chuck.  While he was having some cutting done, I wandered down the isles of stacked lumber, breathing in the fragrance of freshly cut wood.  Pleasant emotional memories began to filter through my mind like sunlight through the sawdust.

I remembered my woodshop days in Junior High; the smooth, solid feel of the finished pieces, the deep glow of the polished varnish, the satisfaction of creating an object of beauty and function from a simple block of wood.  And I remembered trips that Mary and I had taken to the lumber store throughout our marriage.  I re-enjoyed the thrill of picking out just what I needed for a project: a project that had her totally confused.  Not that she couldn’t have easily done the job herself, but that it was MY domain, the HUSBAND’S domain, and she chose not to tread there.

Suddenly, I realized that these were aspects of the male life I didn’t want to give up.  Sometimes I enjoy and want to continue to enjoy being the knowledgeable protector and handyman.  This didn’t lessen my desire to be the submissive and protected partner, but rather to add that to the other facets of my life as well.

In that moment, in a gentle revolution, my male and female persons merged and melded for the first time.  I was not longer Dave or Melanie, I was me.  ME!!!  I didn’t have to conform to either role, regardless of the sex I ultimately choose to be.  All at once, I didn’t care what others thought of my attitudes, gestures, or activities. All I needed was to be true to myself in either role, and the rest of the world could come along or get lost.

This was not an emotion of vindictiveness, but of freedom.  I cannot recall a time in my life when I was not secretly terrified to cross a street for fear of what the oncoming pedestrians would think of me.  It didn’t matter what I thought of myself, but just the image I projected to them; and I was not at all sure of that!  I was self-conscious of my walk, my arm movements, my thin wrists.  I frequently would pretend to scratch an itch on my face, just to raise my wedding ring where it could be seen: a badge for all to acknowledge that at least someone thought I was male enough to marry, so I must be okay, no matter what YOU think, NYAHH!!!

But that afternoon, I walked down the street outside my office, drifting with the clouds, feeling the light breeze on my face and listening to the rumbling sound of the traffic, like mechanical babbling of a concrete brook.  And everyone encountered was not a test to be passed, but a fellow human being of no greater or lesser value than myself.  Thirty-three years of affected gesticulation fell away, and I walked without conscious control, swinging my arms without concern in whatever manner felt natural, without censorship.

I cannot recall a time in which I had not constantly been aware of every movement, at least on a subliminal level, to prevent any possibility of disapproval by even casual acquaintances, even STRANGERS, for that matter!  But today, I simply let all that go, or perhaps it was taken from me.  Today I became myself, not anyone’s expectations of me.

This evening, at home, Mary told me she had shared our problem with a friend at work – a gay guy whom she often jokes with.  That, to me, was her most significant reaction since this all started.  Because, what this really means is that she has finally accepted that what I have been telling her is real: not just a strange imagining.  She may never come to terms with it, at at least she is truly acknowledging it.  Thank God!

August 31, 1989

Today may have been the most uneventful since this all began.  It’s strange to contemplate that someday, the changes I have set in motion may seem commonplace.  Then years later: the excitement has worn off, the struggle nearly forgotten.  The strangeness of my new body has become its normal feel, and the question, even awareness of what sex I am, what gender, never enters my conscious thought.

What then of my life?  The wind still blows, the sun still shines.  What will I have gained?  Perhaps nothing.  So what will I have lost?  Perhaps everything.  Or perhaps the other way around.  Ask me again in ten years.

Tonight, Mary told me she had confided in another friend at work.  This confirms my view that she is coming to terms with the reality of the situation.  She was given a recommendation by both of her confidants to see the same psychologist for counseling.  Amazingly, she has taken the advice and intends to meet with a professional.

I worry about her; I worry about myself too, of course, and THAT is mostly what I consider at the intellectual level, but for Mary I worry with my heart.  I do not know if I can live a life without her.  But I suspect I could not live a life without following my own needs.  If the two diverge, I am not sure what I will do.

So, now that she is facing it all and now that she is talking to someone who can help, I know that she will become strong.  There is a deep sense of loss in this, as I know that I will no longer be the one she comes to for strength, but will either find it within herself or from someone else.  Rather than being her source of conflict, I will, or perhaps have already, become the object of her fears or anguish.  I cannot wish her not to find that comfort; I love her too much, but as I write these words, my eyes fill with tears that I am not the one providing it.

Mixed with my own fear and anguish is a strange excitement, an almost giddy elation that at thrity-three years of dreams may ACTUALLY become REALITY. To really awaken in the morning and know that I am truly a woman, not in fantasy, not in costume, but in actuality, fills me with a jittery nervousness of anticipation: a school-girl rush just before her first date.

I intend to let Mary read this entry when I am through, and though I know she will be disheartened, perhaps even disgusted by these admissions, I need her to know.  I need her to know that I do not bring this upon us from lack of love or insensitivity, but from a driving force so strong that, left denied, it would have torn us both apart in years to come, or at best doomed me to a private hell of always wondering, yearning to find out and feeling my life had never been more than a series of days.

If I could change this, I would.  And the fact that I enjoy it so much makes it all the harder to defend as a need.  But the lack of joy is the need, and the need fulfilled becomes the joy.  Will I follow this through?  Can I live without the half of my life that Mary represents?  Will God smile upon me and let me have both?  Somehow I doubt He will.  There is always a price for inner peace and perhaps perpetual grief is mine.

(Copyright 1992, Melanie Anne Phillips)

(The Transsexual Diary series will continue in the next edition of The Subversive)

—————————————————

MAKE UP TIPS

A continuing series by Mary Kay representative,

Lynda J1

“BLUSHER”

Blusher is often more difficult to apply than eye makeup.  You may be wondering which type of blusher is right for you,  what color you should choose, and how to apply it correctly.

First let’s talk about types of blusher.  There are basically 5 types of blusher:  liquid rouge, cream rouge, cream blusher, powder blusher, and blushing gel.  Liquid rouge is a very thin, water based cheek color.  It is difficult to blend and without LOTS of practice, very difficult to keep from looking like you have a high fever!

                Cream rouge usually comes in one neutral color.  It can be used alone or as a base for powder blusher.  Alone, this formula is recommended for dry and normal skin.  When used as a base for powder blush, it gives “all day” color that needs very few touch ups.  This combination is perfect for those with skin that seems to absorb color.  Either way, cream rouge in one neutral color is a versatile product that blends well with any skin tone so there’s no chance of choosing the wrong shade.  It provides long-lasting color with minimum touch-ups.

Cream blusher (Mary Kay’s Creamy Cheek Color) blends easily with a few finger strokes.  It gives natural looking color to dry, normal, and combination skin types.  This too can be used alone or under powder cheek color for long-lasting wear.  This formula blends especially well with cream or liquid foundations.

                Powder cheek color gives a natural color and a matte (no shine) finish.  It can be used alone or with cream rouge or Creamy Cheek Color.  Powder cheek color is compatible with all skin types and is especially recommended for oily skin.  One word of caution for those of you with dry skin:  be sure the powder blusher you choose has conditioning ingredients for dry skin.  Some powder blushers can irritate dry skin.

Blushing gel gives a natural looking color, but it will often remove foundation and if you try to blend too much, it will come off, taking the foundation with it.  It works well on bare skin when just a hint of color is desired.

Choosing the right color is a little more complicated.  The most important thing to remember is that the color should look natural.  You want to have a healthy blush, not the look of a straining weight-lifter!  Of course if you want a day off work, you could apply with a heavy hand for a “high fever” look.  🙂

The best way to find a shade that is right for you is by determining your level of contrast.  For example, if you have fair skin and blonde or gray hair, your level of contrast is low.  If your skin is fair and your hair is dark, your level of contrast is high.  If you would like more information about determining your personal level of contrast and specific recommendations of colors that are right for you, please don’t hesitate to send e-mail to Lynda J1 stating your hair, eye, and complexion colors.  I would be very happy to help by making recommendations for colors that are just right for you, personally. 

The next thing you will want to determine is your wardrobe colors.  If you wear mostly cool colors like blue, cool greens, purple, and the darker shades of red, you’ll want to pick a blusher shade with cool undertones such as light pinks, rose shades, or those with a hint of lavender or dark red.

If you wear mostly yellows, oranges, and bright reds, you’ll want to select a blusher with warm undertones such as coral or peach shades.

I Want to Make You Blush!

 Cream rouge gives a natural looking blush and is easy to blend.  T-or lose Your level of contrast determines which specific shade in a color family will give you the best results.

Besides level of contrast and coordinating cheek color to wardrobe color, it is important to apply the blusher correctly.  The secret to correct application is first to locate the cheek bones.  These are the bones just under the eyes.  Use your fingertips to feel the cheekbones from just under the temple under the eyes to the center of your nose.  This will give you a general idea of where to place your blusher.

For liquid rouge, blush rouge, creamy cheek color, or blush gel the general rule is to place three tiny dots of color along the cheekbone:

1. Just below the temple.

2. At the outer edge of the eye.

3. At the outer edge of the iris.

Then, gently blend with fingertips using outward strokes toward the hairline at the temple.  Finish with loose powder to set the blusher.

For powder blusher, set foundation with loose powder first, then begin applying blusher just below the temple (where you want the most color) and blend along the cheekbone toward the nose.  Your blusher brush should be 3/4 to 1 inch wide depending on the size of your face.  Smaller faces need the smaller brush.

For those with an average or wide face shape, blend powder blusher along the cheekbone, no closer than two fingers-width from the nose.  For those with a narrow face, no closer that three fingers-width.

When blending powder blusher, use a straight brush stroke for a wide face, an underhand stroke (like a smile) for the average face shape, and an overhand stroke (like a frown) for the narrow face.

A few final notes on blusher.  New lip and eye colors for fall are rich and sultry.  When you use strong color on eyes or lips, keep the cheek color subtle so colors don’t compete for attention.  Coordinate your cheek and lip colors by keeping them in the same color family, warm or cool.  If you look a little washed-out when wearing black, don’t automatically reach for more blusher.  Try a rosier shade of foundation first.  That will give an all-over, natural-looking skin tone that looks great with darker colors.

Next time:  Eye Color.  If you have specific questions about eye shadows and/or eye liner, write to me.  If you have suggestions for future articles, I’d love to hear about it.  I’m here to serve you!  If you have questions or comments, send e-mail to Lynda J1.  All questions will receive a personal reply.  Those of general interest will be addressed in this column (No names will be used.)

Editor’s Note:  Remember, Lynda J1 is YOUR Mary Kay Representative.  Support her efforts here by placing your orders with her, a real nice way to say “Thank You!”  All orders are held in confidence, and orders will be shipped in plain wrapping.  And you’ll never find a more understanding or knowledgeable make-up consultant for your special needs.

—————————————————

“Crossdresser in JC Penny’s”

By Pam36C

Lingerie Anyone?

On a recent lingerie buying trip at J C Penny with a girlfriend Charlotte we were standing at the cash register, trying to carry on a casual conversation with the store

representative. Charlotte noticed something and she nudged me then nodded in the direction of an elderly couple. They looked as if they were in their sixties plus or minus a few

years, and we could tell they were intently shopping for a bra. In the next few minutes we noticed that it was he who was accepting or rejecting her choices. He was looking for a

certain style and/or size bra.    Upon further scrutiny and a few giggles (silent of course) we noticed a very clean shaven face on this man. For a few seconds we both watched him locked in an almost obsessive trance. We were watching the couple but primarily

him. Suddenly they separated, she, still looking at the various styles, he, looking and touching certain styles and a certain size 36’s.    He very nonchalantly walked around this one display of

beautiful bras. Looking at some high up, above eye level, he pulled one of the bras slightly away from the others. Then he inspected the inside, No! This wasn’t the right one.

After some other inspections he came to a rack a little closer to us. He was still by himself, touching and looking for just the right bra. It seemed longer but I know it

probably only took a few minutes. We were unaware of everything around us, as I said earlier we were sort of in a trance. This man knew just what he was looking for. He was

undistracted in his determination and to the point of almost robot like in his search.    Charlotte finished her transaction and we turned to leave. Quietly we briefly discussed if we should have

approached this man and given him an Alpha Omega card (if we would have had one). Alas discretion regained control of us and we went our way, back to an accepting dress shop. More on that one later I hope.    Incidentally Charlotte and I are, and I hate to admit this, boys. (HEY LIGHTEN UP I’M JUST KIDDING! ! !). We were dressed in male clothes, of course, and also very nonchalant when we were shopping for Charlotte’s nighty.    Writing about this incident I happened to think about Charlotte and me inspecting nighties. It made me wonder if perhaps another crossdresser across the store in the dress
department might have been observing us. Touching, looking, commenting on each nighties attributes or drawbacks. Then I wondered if THAT crossdresser had been observed by still another pervious crossdresser.    Isn’t that a weird idea, like a progressive observation club. It could be that all over the world this club operates anonymously. Without dues, membership rolls or a constitution. So the next time you are shopping for that special someone quickly glance over your shoulder. Maybe just maybe you’ll catch one of us watching you. If you’re lucky you may observe someone else and that automatically enrolls you in the club too!    Yea I know it’s strange idea but I feel we have to accept ourselves and have fun with it. I guess we’ll never know for sure if this club really exists unless this article brings in a flood of observation sightings. Remember girls I’m a BLONDE and that allows me to be dingy he he he ! See you in the lingerie department sometime.

Love, Luck, Laughter    Pam 36C

—————————————————-

HORMONES

By Melanie Anne

The subject of hormones is a hot one.  These chemicals are essential to feminization and transformation, and yet they are very poorly understood.  Medical experts around the country stand firmly behind the information they supply.  The problem is, they all disagree!  So what’s a girl to do?  How can learn the REAL story on hormones?  Well, as a small step in that direction, I am opening the discussion here today.  I would like to hear REAL LIFE comments from those who are on or have taken hormones about the effects and side effects they experienced.  Pills vs. Injections, emotional effects, physical complications, desired physical effects.  In short, let’s gather our OWN data base of information from real people who are actually USING hormones.

The most important thing to remember is that

HORMONES ARE DANGEROUS!!!!!

They are not candy, they are not recreational drugs, they are not womanhood in a bottle.  So, in the traditional warning: “Don’t try this at home!”  You could kill yourself.

I know a doctor here in LA who will give you whatever you want.  Just tell him the dose and he’ll inject it or sell you the pills.  Now THAT’s REALLY dangerous!!!  Unless you know what you are doing, you might just end up on a slab or a mental vegetable.

You see, one of the gravest dangers of hormones is blood clotting (or Thrombosis).  When clots form, they might be so small as to be undetectable.  Yet if that clot is dislodged and thrown into the blood stream, it can lodge in the heart, lungs, or brain, and cause everything from heart attack to stroke.

And then there is the liver.  Anyone taking hormones by pills needs to have regular checkups to test for impaired liver function.  Injections bypass the liver, going directly into the bloodstream, but pills are processed by the liver and the wrong dose can permanently damage it.  The liver does not regenerate.  Once it is damaged, it STAYS damaged for the rest of your life.

So, a physicians care is ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL for ANYONE on ANY KIND of hormones.  Now, many of us ignore that, trying to get on the ‘mones without anyone knowing, or afraid that a doctor would not prescribe them.  And even those of us on professional care often change dosages to our own idea of what they should be because we are dissatisfied with our own progress.

That last point is pertinent to me.  My doctor saw me through all my hormone therapy and all the way through surgery.  He had always told me that after surgery, you need to drop your dose.  But, right after surgery, he retired and moved out of the area with no forwarding address.  He turned over his records to another doctor, but the new doctors were just general practitioners, not Transsexual experts.  So, I switched to my S.O.’s HMO plan.  The doctor there was very accommodating.  He looked at my dosages and said, “I don’t have much experience with hormones, but these levels look about right.”  So he just rubber-stamped my pre-surgery levels, not even knowing they were supposed to come down.

Now, Doctor Biber gives you an “ad lib” or “for life” prescription for HIS recommended dosages: .05mg Estinyl daily, 10mg Provera one week per month.  He does not believe in “cycling” like with birth control pills, for example, where the standard prescription is three weeks on and one week off everything for a 28 day “cycle”.

Now the dosages I was taking from my HMO were .25mg Estinyl (5 times as high as Biber recommends) PLUS 5.0mg Premarin on a 25 day on, 3 day off cycle.  Then 10mg Provera on the last 10 days of the cycle.  Quite a difference!!!  But, this was all prescribed by my doctor.  So, who is right?  What is right?

Well, that brings me back to the purpose of this article: to find out!  To start the effort off, here is a portion of a letter I wrote an online friend earlier in the month about my attempt to find the proper hormone type and dosage.

“Well, I have been dissatisfied with my bust development.  I knew it felt like there was more of an effect when I first started on injections three years ago, but I don’t want to go back on them because I had some severe mental effects.  That’s why I switched to pills after two months.  Before the injections, I used B.C. pills.  I used the 1/50 kind, which I understand to be 1mg of Provera and either .05mg or .5mg Estinyl.  Now, after about 60 days of that, I developed trouble breathing and a general lethargy and tiredness and weakness.  I stopped and the effects went away.  I was not sure if they were caused by the pills or not.  On the dosages I had from my doctor, which ended up at .25mg Estinyl and 5.0mg Premarin daily on a 25 day on 3 day off cycle with 10mg Provera on the last ten days, I had no ill effects.  But I also never got that breast tenderness I had experienced with the injections and only ended up an A cup.  I had heard that Estinyl was 10 times as powerful as Premarin, meaning the 5.0 Premarin amounted to .5mg Estinyl.  But the two drugs also have slightly different effects.  The Premarin sneaks past the glands and is not noted as an increased Estrogen level, but the Estinyl is noted and before surgery, the body increases Testosterone to counteract the Estinyl.  But the Estinyl is what increases the breasts best, so it is a catch 22.  But AFTER surgery, you don’t need the sneaky Premarin, and you can use all Estinyl with no backlash, thereby getting the good effects.  Also, after surgery, you are supposed to lower your dose.  Well, my doctor moved out of the area after 16 years here, just after surgery.  So I went to the HMO and they just rubber stamped my old prescriptions.  So I wanted to lower the overall dose, but get more effects.  So, I stopped the Premarin, (the equivalent of .5mg Estinyl, and added .25 to the Estinyl to bring it up to .5 total.  That way, it cut down the effective dose by 33% but added more of the good stuff.  I also switched to a daily dose of 5mg Provera, amounting to the same overall amount taken over the full month.  Well, I got a BIG boost in development (especially around the nipples from the Provera).  But the weakness and breathing problems came back.  So, I am in my 3 day off cycle now.  I stopped the Provera and Estinyl.  I will go back on the regular cycle except I will use the .5mg Estinyl daily and only use the Provera on the last 10 days as before at 10mg daily.  I cannot be sure if it is the higher estrogen level or the Provera that causes the problem, nor which one is the cause of the extra development, but this last test should clear that up.  I’ll let you know what happens.

Love,

  Melanie”

Okay, so there’s an opening salvo in the war against Hormone Ignorance.  If YOU have any REAL experience or knowledge of hormones, PLEASE take the time to make that information available to the community in this column, so we can be all that we want to be at the smallest possible risk to our health.

———————————————–

AFTERGLOW

The words to a song I wrote just before transition:

THE COMPANY SONG

By Melanie Anne Phillips

Every morning I cling to my bed,
While lost opportunities dance in my head.
No time for problems or pleasures or life,
I gotta win bread for the kids and the wife,
SO I’M SINGING THE COMPANY SONG.

Race through the door so the card gets its punch,
Open my locker and throw in my lunch.
Hundreds of papers and thousands of parts,
When they blow the whistle the whole damn thing starts,
AND I’M SINGING THE COMPANY SONG

Every two hours a ten minute break,
But don’t fall behind on the things that you make.
Meet all your deadlines, your quotas and goals,
And maybe you’ll get a small raise, but who knows,
WHEN YOUR SINGING THE COMPANY SONG.

When I was younger, I used to wonder
What would I be when I grew?
I never considered the way its turn out,
I would’ve stayed young if I knew.

Privateer politics, cloaked in good will,
Backstabbing rumors that wound more than kill,
Lack of respect and the pain that it brings,
These are a few of my favorite things,
WHEN I’M SINGING THE COMPANY SONG.

Don’t make suggestions and don’t act too smart,
Or thirty-year fools will take you apart.
Humor the fools and buy them their beers,
And you’ll be a fool in thirty odd years,
WHEN YOU’RE SINGING THE COMPANY SONG.

Now that I’m older, sometimes I wonder
How it turned out this way?
But somehow the answer becomes more obscure,
Or just matters less every day.

Now, I’ve got security, you understand,
In a ten percent vested retirement plan.
And if I should die, well there’s no need to grieve,
They won’t let me go ’cause I’m out of sick leave,
AND I’M SINGING THE COMPANY SONG,

I’m singing the company song.

— From the “Tarnished Karma” album – Melanie Anne Phillips

                                                (Copyright 1992 Melanie Anne Phillips)

NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free to all who wish to read it.  However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain.  Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free specific license for your purpose.

The Subversive

Number 2

1992 Melanie Anne Phillips

The Subversive

Number 1

   Today marks the beginning of a dream I have had since I was twelve: the first issue of a newspaper devoted to the free and open exchange of ideas.  At that early and innocent age I had read the autobiography of Benjamin Franklin and was deeply influenced by the wide-ranging iconoclastic topics he had addressed in his publications as a young adult.  In my own life, the boredom of an intellectually oppressive school system and the mundane pablum doled out by the mass media left me feeling as if the Age of Enlightenment had withered up and died.

   I yearned for a forum, a platform where the energetic, inspired thinkers of MY time might gather to debate whatever artistic, political, scientific, or social subjects that peaked their skewed perceptions.  I sought a meeting place where works of insight and merit might be published and shared with others.  But, alas, there seemed to be no such body available to a small child with an odd way of looking at the world.

   So I adapted myself to what opportunities I DID find, went to film school and became a writer, director, and theorist in the film industry.  I married, had children, and established a successful business.  Then, about five years ago, I sat back, surveyed what I had accomplished, and realized that my life had become as boring and mundane as those institutions I hated as a child.  I had become one of “them”.

`   I took stock of my life, soon realizing that these external achievements had done nothing to satisfy that curious twelve year old child.  What was more, there was some hidden inequity, deep within that found no solace in these material things.  Old fantasies re-surfaced and played across my mind’s stage.  I could not make them yield, nor could I shut them out.  I became obsessed, compelled against my will to search them out and know myself in honesty and depth.

   On January 9th, 1992, I had Sex Reassignment Surgery, fulfilling the destiny I found there, and bringing equity to my sense of self for the first time ever.  I assumed the future would be one of internal peace and contentment, free at last from the secret torment of a lifetime.  But the woman I had found inside was still not satisfied.

   Through my transition, I had managed somehow to hold everything together.  I kept my friends, maintained my family, enhanced my career.  I made new friends both in personal dealings and in the extended world of the computer modem.  I became involved in a project at a major software company that seeks to describe the very essence of how and why self-aware conscious thought even exists.  And, just over a year ago, I began and organized a gender group on America Online that has grown in twelve months to 117 members.

   More accomplishments you say?  Yes, objectively it would seem so.   But what of that twelve year old child?  What of the dreams of a traffic in inspired thoughts?

   A week ago Friday, that child threw a tantrum.  I called up my “wife” of nearly seventeen years and told her I might not be coming home that night, nor any night after.  I walked into the office of the company vice-president – my friend and writing partner of 15 years, and told him that was most likely my last day, and the project could crumble for all I cared.  I called up my lover and told her not to expect to see me again.  And I came home to pack my bags and move to Arizona to be a waitress.

   You see, just as I had become obligated in a male role for so many decades, AFTER transition, I had become obligated in relationships and duties that did nothing to satisfy that childhood need.  I went from caring about EVERYONE so MUCH that I could not say “No” to them, to someone who did not care what happened to ANYONE, least of all me.  I needed some space, some time, a chance to recapture the wonder I had felt at simply being alive.  If I had been left alone, you would not be reading this now.  But those who love me would not let me go.  Not without a fight.

   My writing partner sat me down in his office for half an hour and urged me to take some time off – yes, but not to burn my bridges by proclaiming I would never come back.  My “wife” took the afternoon off from work and insisted I sit next to her while she held me.  I felt suddenly tired.

Encircled by her arms, my eyelids slowly closed.  I slept.

   When I awoke some minutes later, the truth of what these two special people had told me became apparent.  I realized that I had over obligated MYSELF and left no room to simply “be”.  I needed Melanie Time, time to sit and watch the clouds,  time to listen to the breeze, time to put my thoughts into words and song – time to make that twelve year old’s dream come true.

   I got up and called my writing partner on the phone and told him I need to switch to a four day week at the same rate of pay, so that I might have a day to devote to that child.  He agreed without hesitation.  I told Mary I needed more help around the house, and wanted the whole family to assist me in housework an hour a night until we were back on track.  She agreed immediately.  I called my lover and explained that I cared very deeply, but could only spend one day each weekend with her.  She accepted the need.  And I made a commitment to spend less time with the gender group on America Online.

   For the last year, I have put in an average of 20 hours a week, hosting the Sunday meetings, answering mail from both the strong-willed and the fragile souls in need, as well as producing a new edition of The Gender News every couple of weeks.  This I have done out of love for those, who like myself, are seeking an understanding of who and what they are.

   But there comes a point when the draw is greater than the capacity, when the needs are greater than the resources.  Like an electric circuit, the demands can grow beyond the potential.  That Friday was a brown-out, a near-failure of the system to accommodate the pull.  The next step would have been a black-out.

   It is hard for me to admit that there may be more needs than I can meet, more suffering than I can salve, more questions that I can take the time to answer, even when I know the answer.  I HATE inequity in all its forms, and have sought always to bring things into balance wherever I could.  But the inequity I had not expected, not perceived, was the inequity of overtaxing my own compassion.  I STILL care for all in need, very deeply, but now realize I cannot help them if I fail as a system myself.  So, I have reorganized my commitments: four day working week, more help around the house, less time with my lover, less time with the Gender Room, and, I am changing the Gender News into the Subversive.

   The Gender News will still be a section in the Subversive, with just as much, if not more, material in every issue.  There being two primary differences:   Rather than a bi-weekly, the Subversive will appear every month or so, whenever time permits.  And rather than addressing ONLY gender issues at the expense of all others, the Subversive will be open to all manners of conjecture and experimentation providing a framework and outlet for all my other interests as well.  The Gender News, will still be its own section in the Subversive, and since it will be published only once a month, it will have even more articles per issue than before.

   I do not see this as retrograde motion, but as another step forward in the evolution and growth of the Equity Movement: the philosophy I founded that does not seek the same things for everyone, but equal opportunity to seek what is most meaningful to each individual.  Men and women ARE different, the old and the young ARE different, blacks, whites and all races ARE different in many, many ways.  But we are all the same in the depth of our feeling, the strength and validity of our needs, and the right to try and fill them.  By providing a forum for self-expression and creative exploration, the Subversive exists to aid that Equity Movement toward the freedom to be oneself.

   In a famous movie, Charles Foster Kane issues a “Declaration” in the first edition of his new newspaper that pledges to print the truth and champion the common man.  Let this serve as the Declaration of the first edition of the Subversive:

“This journal exist to promote the concept that each human is a unique individual, intrinsically entitled with an equal right to pursue his own destiny as far as it does not inhibit others in that same right.  The Subversive shall serve as a ready forum for the free expression and exchange of ideas that do not violate this mandate, in the belief that tolerance grows from a familiarity with variety.”

–signed,

Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor

(Copyright 1992 Melanie Anne Phillips)

————————————————————-

WHERE TO FIND THE SUBVERSIVE:

The Subversive is FREE as a download on America Online, Compuserve, Genie, several servers on the Internet, and various BBS around the world.

For those who wish to contribute articles, stories, personal experiences, information, jokes, or whatever Email melaniexx@aol.com on Internet, or write to:

Melanie Anne Phillips

150 East Olive Avenue

Suite 203

Burbank, California 91502

NOTICE:  Only original material will be accepted unless quoted in the context of an original work or submitted with credit to the original author along with permission to reprint the material.

———————————————————-

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

From: Jami1

To:     Melanie XX

I’m not much of a poet, Lynda beats me by a country mile. But, here’s one for the Gender News if you like it. It was a last ditch effort, 10 minutes before my last appointment, to impress my psychologist who suggested I explore my masculinity. This pretty much says it like it is for me. I’m not a TS anymore, TG maybe. Too much at stake. I was willing to do that, and the idea was very appealing, but I’ve gotten to a place, where I am, that has suddenly made me realize that it is no longer necessary. I’m all here in one piece/place. I love it. I have you and others to thank. What you’ve given me is invaluable and extremely precious, wonderful and fulfilling. The sages and mystics have it. A wise old (American) Indian once commented that he wondered how long it would take me and others to realize we already have it.

My doctor told me a story which I must relate, then the poem:

    A Tibetan monk’s task in the monastery on his road to enlightenment was to go down the hill, fill his bucket with water, haul it back up the hill, past the monastery to water the garden at the top of the hill, which he did many times a day.  After ten years he attained enlightenment.  What do you think he did the next day?  He watered the garden.

 FRIENDLY GENDER

 —————

On advice bordering obscenity

I explored my masculinity,

not finding what I thought

was right in front of me,

but rather, beside me.

Now it all comes clear,

there’s nothing more to fear,

what seemed so far away

was really very near.

Jami

Thanks, Jami!  A great note and a great submission for the News!  I’m glad to hear you are happy where you are.  You know, the fact is, you better be happy where you are because you’ll never be any place else!  Take care, and

Love,

   Melanie

—————————————————–

FEATURE ARTICLES

DREAM A LITTLE DREAM

By Pam 36C

BACKGROUND; I was born in February 1947. In the spring of 1950 my family (Mom, Dad, Sister and Me) moved to California because I was asthmatic. It didn’t help my chronic attacks so in 1952 we moved back to Ohio, and our old neighborhood. The new house we moved into was about ten blocks away from our old house. My sister was and still is very pretty but back then we played quite allot together. My sister is 353 days younger than me.

My first memory of crossdressing is in this house. As children go we got bored with our toys and make believe scenarios. We played grocery store, house, cowboy/cowgirl, etc. Well I can remember my sister asking “What can we play now?” On this one occasion I responded “Lets play dress up you be the boy I’ll be the girl” Of course she went along we were completely oblivious to the gender stigma attached to clothes. As I remember this only happened four or five times until she didn’t want any part of this make believe game. Try as I might she rejected the game each time. My next exposure to crossdressing would be by myself quite a few years later.

At about this time I started having a nightmare. I call it this now because then it was a very traumatic experience when it occurred. I would wake up each time very scared, distressed and confused. Here I must say the dream was the same every time I dreamt it. I had three or four a year over a period of probably five or six years.

As the dream started it was like the description of an out of body experience you hear about. My mind would be watching a scene unfolding. Though I would not be conscious of that mind being in a body. It was sort of like only my consciousness or intellect observing this 3D Technicolor panorama unfolding. It seemed as though I were a very great distance above a lightly wooded area. Not being concerned with the forest in particular my attention would immediately be drawn to a log cabin resting gently on a very green patch of perfectly kept lawn. The lawn subtly rolled away from the cabin in all directions, peaceful was the only way to describe it.

Looking at the cabin I am then drawn into it almost automatically and only by sight or so to speak telescopically. After the first few times dreaming the dream I tried to resist this but I couldn’t.. As I zoom in on the cabin it becomes transparent and I am suddenly gazing at the scene inside. The walls of course are logs. The light inside is soft and warm but I don’t know where it is coming from. Then I notice a very attractive very young very blonde little girl. She is sitting in front of the only window that I am aware of. Sitting, rocking just gazing out that window content and happy looking. The rocker is a child’s rocker, you know small, but real old looking.

She is very pretty in her pink dress with lace at the collar, cuffs and hem. Her hair is as soft as corn silk and about that color too. In her hair is a pink ribbon holding back her hair so only part of her ears are showing. Soft gentle curls cascade out of the ribbon and seem to flow from it. The curls sway easily a tiny bit as she rocks back and forth. With all this that I see I can’t remember ever seeing her face though.

I am aware of her emotions also almost as if I am connected to her feelings. She is content, happy and pleased by the sights outside the window. Rocking in the little chair and gazing out

the window makes her very happy. Then an overwhelming feeling sweeps over my whole consciousness. I have an unmistakable knowledge that I am that little girl in the chair, I knew it, I

could feel it, all my being knew I was her and she was me. At best I was completely confused by this sense of a connection with her. I didn’t understand any of this but I knew what I knew. That person in the rocking chair was me! Why, how, or what for I didn’t have the slightest idea. I could feel the contentment the peace inside this little girl. I knew she was happy where she was and what she was. All this peace, contentment and connection I could feel.

Then I became aware of a rumbling, distant sound. You know the kind of sound that when you hear it, even for the very first time, you know it isn’t a good sound something bad is coming.

Well, that’s what this brought to me, pure fear. As the sound came closer the little girl’s joy turned to terror. Still watching out the window as the sound and apprehension increased her rocking decreased. Then she stopped rocking and just leaned towards the window, watching and waiting. She knew what was approaching and she knew what would happen. I could feel her fear mounting.

Then just as in the beginning of this scene my consciousness zoomed backwards out into space. Automatically, as if someone just pushed the button on a rocket and I flew back out to my original, detached, safe position. Once there the otherwise pastoral scene was transformed into a terrible scene of destruction. The quite calm cabin was about to be crushed by an avalanche of large rocks and earth.

As I watched from my lofty and safe observation point I could still feel the little girls’ emotions. The peace, warmth, and happiness now were replaced with terror and panic. It filled me to my very core and I would cry out and weep uncontrollably. Then the emotional transmitter ceased and it’s now terrible transmission silent. The little girl was dead and so was that part of me that she was. At this point I would wake up usually drenched with sweat and filled with that lingering terror that something in me had really died, but I was still alive. Many times after I quit having that dream I wondered why she died what this nightmare meant. Then one day it hit me I killed

her, each time I denied she was in me. She was the girl in me sitting patiently, awaiting her time to leave that cabin. Waiting to breathe Gods fresh air, see the beautiful world He made and show off that pretty pink dress she wore. Time after time the avalanche of guilt would crush her and the beauty inside her.Leaving me empty, alone, and crying because I killed her again and again.

Then the dream stopped sort of by itself. As I remember it may have stopped around the first time I put on one of my sisters’ dresses when we moved into another house in 1959. Time clouds many of the dates but the sights and emotions that
happened over and over I’ll never forget.

Well, we are proud now who we are.

We are alive and living our lives together now.

We are at peace now that I have accepted her.

We both are happy now that she is out of that cabin and I am out of that guilt.

We may still not be able to venture beyond that soft green velvet lawn and out into that forest of unknowns, yet.

We have put up a welcome sign in the yard finally. The most important though is I will never lose her ever again. The rest of our lives will be at peace, happy and together.

Love, Luck, Laughter

Pam 36C

————————————————–

From: CarynKR2

To:     Melanie XX

 Dear Melanie,

As you know, I run a bbs. You mentioned that I could post The Gender News on my bbs and it has become a popular feature. But no one has wanted to submit anything until now. So that is the motivation for this letter.

From: Lori Mcvay

To: Caryn Roberts

Subject: Gender News

Hi Caryn, it’s me again.

I would like you to post a message for the Gender News.

How have people in the Federal workplace handled their transition.  Since the feds are covered by different rulings, has anyone had success transitioning in the federal government.  I recently saw a interview with Dr. Biber and one of the girls was from a federal base (Army, Air Force, I forgot which one) so it must be possible.

By the way, I really look forward to reading the news.  I especially like the quotes from her old diary before transition. I edited one of her messages because it described my thoughts better than I could say it and let my wife read it to prove to her that there is not all happiness in going through this gender identity plus I showed it to my therapist who said that it expressed my feelings very well but I let him know that it was from the Gender News (I can’t write that good).

Anyway, Caryn, rephrase the above anyway you want to but I’m hoping that a USA wide reading might get me some answers.

Love ya, Lori

—————————————————–

Once again, I would like to thank you for putting The Gender News together. I know it is a big job.

Huggz,

Caryn

———————————————————————————

Contributed by: Heather121

Monday July 13th 1992 the Jersey Shore System BBS, a pioneer gender BBS, celebrated it’s 10th birthday. If you’re familiar with JSS, be assured the rumors of it’s demise are greatly exaggerated.

   As explained by sysop Paula Keiser, JSS almost didn’t make it to it’s decade anniversary, but the perseverance of the sysop and the resources of friends have resuscitated JSS.  Here’s the story in the sysop’s own words:

    “I’m sure you’ve noticed that JSS has been thoroughly missing since April. A catastrophic hardware failure caused first the demise of JSS’s main drive, and then, later, the  computer’s main drive. Finally, the main input/output system of the computer failed and took part of the motherboard.

        Getting it fixed continues to be a project worthy of the Keystone Kops!  I am now using a borrowed computer with  limited storage space, STILL waiting for the return of my own computer.  Consequently, in the interest of just getting the system up, I have installed a minimal system with message base only. 

        In the crash, both the message base as of April as well as the backups, have been lost, so we’re beginning the message base from scratch.  Also, the user log and its backup were lost, but fortunately I found a backup from November, 1990 lying around, so all is not lost.  Just ALMOST all!  If the system recognized you, welcome back!  If not, you will have to re-register.

        I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.  Believe me, I didn’t do it on purpose!  Please help me and all the other callers, new and old, to restore JSS to it’s prominence as the oldest BBS

in southern New Jersey!

Paula (SYSOP)”

JSS is actually 2 BBSs in one. A first time caller and all casual callers will be greeted by the general-interest BBS. The gender section is “invisible” to general users. JSS can be reached at 609-693-8849. If you’re a new user (or have become a user since 11/90), you can log onto JSS, and obtain access to the gender section by logging on as first name APRIL last name MAY password FRIENDS. All 3 words MUST be entered in capitals. JSS is case-sensitive. You will then be walked through a brief questionnaire, and access will usually be granted within a day or two. JSS does not carry the gender echoes available on other BBSs, but has varied and active message bases and files unique to itself.

   For the record, JSS was only the third gender-oriented BBS in the U.S. and the only one of the three which has survived to this day.  The first was GenderNet in Oakland, California… the model on which JSS is based.  The other was “Passing Fancy”, which was a “pay” system in Virginia. It’s a testament to the tenacity of the Sysop that JSS – one of the pioneers in on-line self-help for the gender community – is still an active, vital resource today.

  JSS has been there for us for 10 years. If you haven’t discovered this marvelous BBS, call today. And be sure to wish the sysop a happy anniversary!

——————————————————————————-

Contributed by: Anna A1 In response to her questionnaire posted to members of the Online Gender Group, regarding which would be preferable: to change the body to match the mind, or the mind to match the body?

As to the first question: Well, I am a struggling CD/TV. ( I dress only at home when I am safe, due to my build I only dress as a woman from the waist down)  I had stop dressing for years and only recently began again, however due to my build and features I do not look much like a woman.  I am heterosexual and enjoy making love to woman so I don’t know where I fit in many times. 

Altering my body to fit the mind would do nothing to further my situation than altering my mind to fit the body.  I am in a ‘limbo’ situation until I decide whether I should be a fulltime TV or not.  Also of late I have stopped dressing totally to see what my path is, but one thing I am sure of is that I have no desire to be a TS or see myself as ever becoming one.  That is my personal feelings/opinion as I am sure that I am heterosexual meaning I prefer sex with women.  To adjust my body would make me a TS who prefers women hence a lesbian.  While this would seemingly settle my situation, it doesn’t.  I do not want to be a woman, but feel a need and comfort when dressed as on, particularly when I’m writing.

Anon

—————————————————

Oh, this one’s easy.  By all means, change the mind…CHANGE THE MIND!!! 

The pain of our condition is three-fold: First is the pain of unknown origin…the pain we’ve lived with all our lives.  Something is wrong with us, but we don’t know what it is.  Then comes the second source of pain — we unearth a name for who or what we are, and realize there must be steps taken to overcome the pain.  For some of us, that includes changing our outward appearance to match that of our psyches.  Therein lies the third source — the reactions of others, especially for those of us who have married and begun families.  For some of us, we find we must reject that which we have built, those whom we love, in order to achieve happiness.  This third source of pain could be avoided entirely if it were possible to alter the mind to fit the body.  At least that way, we could continue in our original roles to those who love us. 

We define transsexualism as non-congruence between the mind and the body.  All we desire is to have the mind and the body of the same sex and gender.  To alter the body, we must affect everyone around us.  We force them to perceive us in a new way.  This is difficult for many to accept, and becomes the reason many of us lose friendships, loved ones, jobs, etc.  To change the mind would allow us to view ourselves as mentally and physically congruent without putting all of our outside world relationships at risk.

Our goal is mental and physical congruence.  If altering the mind was as easy (yes I know — a relative term) as altering the body to achieve congruence, wouldn’t it be better to choose the path of alteration that affected the fewest number of people?

Elaine P1

If there was a choice of adjusting the mind to fit the body or adjusting the body to fit the mind, would you choose one or the other and why?

I would choose to adjust the body to fit the mind.   I would much rather be female than male. I am TV.  If life circumstances were different I would most definitely venture toward the TS end of the gender spectrum.  But as things are today, I am and have the responsibilities of a husband and father which I take very seriously.

I would rather be female but I don’t have to be.  And at this time being female runs contrary to my responsibilities of a husband and father.  So settling to be TV rather than TS.  No one is forcing me to choose this path, In following it of my free will.  There are too many people whom I love dearly will be burden if I choose otherwise.

I don’t feel that I was born in the wrong body.  I just would rather be female. (no therapist would give me letters of recommendations for surgery with that answer.)

I’m sure that I would have been a great wife and mother. 

I hope my answer makes sense.

Leslie10

————————————–

I believe adjusting the body to fit the mind is the most appropriate since the mind is who and what we are. The physical attributes should match how we view ourselves.

Ellisa

————————————————–

I would rather adjust the body to the mind. The mind is far more powerful then the mind and therefore cannot be adjusted. One cant deny there true feelings for long

Julie85042

————————————————–

I am a pre-op-TS (MtF). I’ve been on Premarin since last Christmas along with electrolysis, etc.  I go full time next New Years day.  In response to your GenderNews question, I would never want to change my mind to fit a male body. 

I wouldn’t be me anymore.  I thought about this before I went on my TS path.  I was to see a therapist to “cure” my transgender feelings.  As my appointment got closer, I began to think of what I would be loosing if indeed I could develop a male mind somehow (It wouldn’t have worked anyway!).  I love my femininity, my soft, emotional nature.  My love of pastels, flowers, and pretty things.  I love my women friends, AS FRIENDS.  I’m glad I made the right decision.

Love, KristineTS

———————————————–

Hmmm, adjusting the mind to fit the body or adjusting the body to fit the mind… 

I think that adjusting the mind to fit the body is much easier.  In my case accepting is the key.  I have spent 27 years trying to convince myself that I was not a Cross dresser.  Then I discovered the book written by Virginia Prince and found out that I was not alone nor was I much different than many other males. 

Adjusting the mind to accept what I am as much as Who I am.  Knowing that I will never have the body of a female and I must accept this also is part of the acceptance.  

HUGS,  Sarah 3182]

——————————————–

For me, I would prefer that my body be adjusted to fit my mind. I prefer the female way of thinking and doing things. Since I don’t like male ways now, why would I want to force them on myself. All this macho stuff men have to put out is stupid and certainly not to my liking.

Any ways. I know this has been a short response, but that’s all I really have to say on the matter.

Love,

Wendy TG

————————————————–

I’d rather change the body to match the mind.  That way you stay the same person and the body would match the person.  Changing the mind to fit the body, you would no longer be the same person.

Melanie337

————————————————–

Speaking as a 12+ year post-op transsexual — if I could have changed my mind or my body (and I stress “could have”) — I would have changed my “mind.”   The pain, the anxiety — all of the turmoil to family and friends would have been avoided — and I would be at peace with myself.

However, one can’t change one’s mind.  It’s impossible, medically or psychologically.  The body is a different matter. I did change my body — and from a 12-year perspective:  YES! I WOULD DO IT ALL OVER AGAIN.  No if’s, no doubts, no but’s!  I am at peace with myself.

Jeanne

(Note:  Jeanne responded to a posting on compuserves Genderline)

        That’s an easy question.  Adjust the body.  I don’t want anyone messing with my mind, I do enough of that myself.  I know it’s hard to be a woman, hell, it’s hard to be a human being, but unequivocally, without a doubt, yes.  I never wanted to be a man, rarely thought of myself as one, and have gone through the craziness we all have, long dark nights of the soul wanting to give this up but unable to.

I am Cheryl (or Joyce or Karen or Jackie or Joanne or Susan), for good or ill, I can’t conceive of being someone else.  I am a girl, dammit (banging head against the wall) and will consider no other possibility.

I refuse to recognize that I might have a penis, uggh! the thought turns my stomach.  I’ve gone this far as Cheryl, I’m not going to deny it now.

        I’m going to paint my toenails and not even think of the question.

                                        Hugs,

                                        Cheryl 

(Note:  Cheryl responded to a posting on compuserves Genderline and has mentioned that she will be joining in on AOL soon)

——————————————————–

I would prefer to have the body match the mind.  My mind has the desire to dress and act feminine but my body does not look the part.   I wish that I could get my body to more resemble the female body for a better fit of clothes and for looks.

As I said before.  Thanks for taking the time to do this Anna. 

It is OK to use my name in the gender news if you would like.

LeAnne CD

————————————————-

Adjust the body to suit the mind.    It just makes more sense since we know more about the body.

Susan TS.

———————————————–

I would adjust the body to fit the mind….I’m not sure why I feel the way that I do , but I know that I have felt the need to crossdress sense I was about five…These urges have presented a constant challenge to me , and often I’ve prayed to have them go away…I do believe there is a reason why we have these urges and I know in my heart of hearts that they are both a blessing and  a possible curse…I cursed and did not except these desires for a long time…now, finally I am beginning to give in  to my desires and that is a blessing…I say bring on the magic pill that will help me be all that I can be.

Gemini8606

——————————————-

I would choose neither choice. As a Het TV I don’t feel there is a problem with my body or my mind.(Well the body could use some work physically!!) If I couldchange someone else’s mind about TVism I think that might help.

                                                  Leesha

——————————————-

I   would choose adjusting the body to the mind.  Although I  believe I am not a transsexual, I would  find it would be much easier to be a  female  than a male because of the strict  rules that the dominating male  society puts  upon people.

I am a TG, primarily Androgynous, but I do crossdress with some women’s clothes. As  a woman, I would be more free to express my individuality.  A born  female who is  androgynous, is more likely to be accepted than a born male would be.

I  was born a man with a female personality, which makes it difficult to live in  a masculine dominated  society.  If I could change to be a woman, then I  would. I would feel more comfortable  around people and myself. I could look into the mirror and feel  serenity. 

Love,

Storm Face

—————————————————-

It depends

Mind to body…my  fem mind to a fem body yes..but there is not all that much fem (that I know of) in me. When I’m dressed it comes out and especially when I’m with my wife I feel “soft” but I don’t know how far it goes In the other direction Body to mind since it is a male body I’ve never completely experienced the 100% male thing (due to the TV inclination). Perhaps I’d like too…but then since I have this cross thing (I’m defiantly hetero) I treasure those soft moments

A hard question to answer

JoNelle

——————————————————————————-

                  Hormones: When Reality Takes A Break

                           by: Wendi Pierce *

    Recently I saw a cartoon in Tapestry that took a little while to sink in. The cartoon was a take-off on the drug addiction awareness ads running in many national publications. The original ad went something like this, “This is Crack, this is your brain on crack”. This cartoon substituted “Premarin” for “Crack” and showed the brain image as flowers, rainbows, etc.. At first I thought it amusing and a novel parody but the more I thought about it, the more serious it became.

    The mind and what it perceives govern our lives. We as members of the “gender community” have decided to explore our minds and likewise our inner desires. In many cases, we are now able to express that inner self publicly. We have allowed our “inner self” to come out into the light of day, to be expressed openly and we are, “on a grow”, as a good friend of mine puts it.

    However, we need to be clear headed and rational in our exploration of this inner self. We need to be able to evaluate ourself clearly and choose the right path at each and every fork in the road, less we wake up some day realizing that where we are now is not the place that we started out heading toward. Worse yet we may have no way to go back.

    Everyone knows the physical effects which hormones produce. However, a powerful influence which may not be apparent to some is the effect of hormones on our mind. Most people do not realize that these chemicals have a dramatic effect on our mind as well as our bodies. If you want proof, just ask any “natural” woman how her mood, attitudes, and ability to function varies at times due to her natural cycle. In the case of a person on large doses of hormones being used to cause a gender change combined with the natural hormones present of the person’s original gender and one may end up with a mental state the equivalent of a bottle of nitroglycerin ready to blow at the slightest jarring.

    For those who choose to experiment with hormones in a non-controlled environment, the situation is extremely dangerous. Supervision is the key here. Not just physical supervision which is usually provided by a family doctor or an endocrinologist but psychological supervision by a professional trained in “gender therapy”. A professional who is keenly aware of the mind altering properties of these drugs and a professional trained to observe subtle attitude shifts. One needs this kind of care to prevent the worst from happening. It would be horrible to wake up one day and realize that during a long sleep we now have mutilated our body, have lost the support of our family, are broke, without a job and on the verge of suicide.

    Don’t get me wrong, I’m not negative on hormones. I feel that they can perform nothing short of a miracle to modify one’s physical and mental being thereby correcting what I feel is a major birth effect, but the key is to use these chemicals in a controlled environment.

    A good friend of mine related to me how he (she) was on a rocket ship for about six months. At the beginning of the period she began a program of hormone treatment wanting to become more feminine to “see how it felt”. After about four months on a fairly high dosage program (5-7mg/day), she was seriously contemplating a trip to Colorado for reassignment surgery. Within a month after she stopped treatment, she was still positive about being able to express her internal “second self” but surgery was no longer an immediate goal. She may someday have surgery but has decided that for now, the immediate gains would not be worth the price which must be paid, i.e. the loss of her family and career.

    For others hormones and the effect on their minds had meant the opposite. The effect seems to have been to allow these people to more clearly see how comfortable they are in their new chosen gender. After hormone treatment their path became clear and the internal conflict which had been a life-long strife was resolved.

    Hormone therapy can both resolve and create problems and should be administered with this in mind. In most cases, I would advise that the person discontinue use for a period after the initial effects have begun to take hold. This break will allow for the “hormone high” to subside and give the person a time to reevaluate where they want to go. A period of a month or so won’t hurt any long term progress that is desired and it will give the person’s mind a chance to return to their pre-hormone thought patterns. Therapy during this period is very important, and an in depth consultation should precede the continuance of hormone therapy. Questions such as “what am I gaining and what am I giving up should be asked. If the answers are not conclusive, then continuance of hormone therapy should be postponed until some point of resolution of there questions is possible. If hormone therapy is reinstituted at this time, it may conceal the true inner self and the  replies may only be those reflecting the person’s “hormone high”.

    Successful “gender therapy” is the desired result and proper application of the methods and therapy (including hormone therapy) are the tools. These tools should be used under the close supervision of a trained gender therapist. If the methodology described here is followed, I feel that the person has a better chance of attaining a true peace and contentment with the true inner self.

* (C) Copyright 1990 by Wendi D. Pierce. All rights reserved. Permission to reprint this article in publications of the gender community is hereby granted provided that this article is published in it’s entirety including this notice and credit is given to the author.

USEFUL AND INTERESTING INFORMATION

From: JeriTV

To:     Melanie XX

Here is an interesting one for the News.  “Cross Dressers Anonymous.  Just like AA.  A group of 8 TV’s in the Austin Texas area have gotten together to form this group.  Their goal is to stop Cross Dressing by supporting each other, much the way AA works.  It seems these 8 people have determined that compulsive cross dressing can be disruptive to their normal daily lives.  They have tried all kinds of different ways to stop.  But have come to the conclusion before forming this group that it was near impossible.  So far the group has been together for 6 months and so far so good.  Anyone seeking information about this group can contact CD ANON on CIS, ID# 72037,3306 or write R.P. Foster 5114 Balcones Woods Dr Suite 231 Austin, Texas (no zip code given).  CD ANON the organizer of this group has gone through two divorces because of his cross dressing and doesn’t want to risk a third.  I know this could be an explosive subject when discussed in front of other TV’s.  It was in the CB Channel on CIS late Sunday night.  But I thought that it provides an interesting bit of information to the readers of Gender News from a different slant.

Gender BBS Numbers:

Contributed by:  Michell S

Rainbow Gender Association BBS

(408) 248-4162, PC Pursuit to CASJO

300-2400bps, Auto-detecting bits & parity

Features:

* On-line RGA Newsletter

* List of upcoming events

* List of other local support groups

* Hundreds of members to talk with

* Over 10,000 messages

* Files for downloading

* Story section

The most popular local gender BBS on the West Coast.

—————————————————-

Subversive Poetry

To start off the Subversive with something odd and arty, here are a few short poems and prose poems I wrote on the plane on the way to Florida last week:

Untitled #1

Rows on rows,
like stacked sardines,
their easy chairs propel
them ‘cross the heavens

Untitled #2

Running down the aisle,
the small boy
stops
to smile at a cloud

Untitled #3

The movie ends,
the watchers rise,
walking backward
in the skies.

Untitled #4

The pig on my plate,
in the form of ham,
in the skies over Texas,
unknowingly,
slides down my gullet,
an aerial fate,
as I ponder
that pigs CAN fly.

Untitled #5

Waves of air report against
the fragile silver shore,
Waves of grass remain embedded,
moving while they stay,
Riding high above the land,
yet standing on the floor,
Tricking time and bringing near,
the closing of the day

Afterglow

I hope you have enjoyed this first expanded edition.  Join the fun, express yourself, get something off your chest.  There is no better place than this to share what you are thinking, feeling or experiencing.  Life is an adventure if we choose to take it that way.  We only sink in the quicksand if we stand in one place too long.

Melanie Anne Phillips,  Editor

(Copyright 1992 Melanie Anne Phillips)

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

•