Why am I only happy when it rains?
A chill wind caresses my cheek as the first few droplets of rain fall. I breathe deeply, cleansing my lungs of the everyday sun-fried stinks.
Most of the time the sun bothers me tremendously. I wear glasses and I currently cannot afford prescription sunglasses, so I have to wear these giant over-glass things that make me look like a freak (and not in the good way). I’m extremely sensitive to sunlight, unless it’s cloudy. White and gray skies = a smile. I’m also not a fan of heat. I’ve had heat-induced seizures before and even though I’ve been seizure-free for almost seven years, I still get an aura when I just can’t take it. My husband lovingly tells me to “toughen up” when I just wasn’t made for this shit. I’m Nordic/Germanic/Celtic. I belong in a climate where the foliage is green (until autumn) and the skies tumultuous. I even feel like I’m going to ‘faint’ when I take a hot shower, even if it’s not even that hot to other people.
Living in Oklahoma is pretty hard for a girl like me.
But I know it’s harder still for many.
I had a conversation yesterday with someone who is now my friend. She and I discussed gender issues, something that doesn’t come up often in day-to-day conversations, especially not with my husband. Like many Oklahomans, he was convinced sexuality and gender orientation were both one-and-the-same and personal choices, until I came around. I have since instilled in him a surety that this is not the case, based on my own experiences, along with several easy-to-grasp concepts, such as the question, “when did you choose to be straight”? We don’t choose who we love or what we look like on the inside or out. We can improve on things, like our social skills and heighten our compassion for others, but we can’t gut the system without leaving most of ourselves behind. I dated a pre-transition FTM for about three years. For many reasons it was the most difficult relationship of my life. Due to his previous experiences and his underlying issues, he was very difficult to get along with. He pushed, I pulled. I was his prey. I loved him. He was a mess, but then, so was I. I wouldn’t be where I am now if not for him, and while I might complain an awful lot about my life, it’s really not so bad. He was abused verbally, physically, and sexually, from toddler-hood to adulthood, by everyone from his family to his friends. He’s not alone. Transgendered persons are even more frequently bullied than the other members of the LGBT community. They are beaten, raped, and killed, simply because some dumbass intolerant fuck can’t seem to grasp the concept of ‘live and let live’. They are misunderstood and mistreated, by almost the entire world. So when I meet someone who knows someone in the LGBT community, especially someone who is trans, I jump with joy at the thought of having common ground. I understand! I may not be trans myself, but I went through a lot with him, and witnessed everything he had to go through, too. I consider myself pansexual, because bi just doesn’t cut it. I’m not gender-blind, but I am attracted to people who may not fit into a binary system, and who may not look a certain way. This doesn’t negate my love for my hetero cis male husband, it just means I am more than the box in which I choose to be confined. It’s nice in here. It’s safe. It makes me feel guilty for “passing” so well. I get off easy, being able to play the part of a femme, while watching and empathizing hardcore with those who don’t. I’m not so femme-y, but I’m not butch, either. I’m just me. I can’t give up this part of who I am, my past, without giving up a part of my self that I can’t bear to lose.