I’ve got to say, right now, I’m not feeling it.
Maybe it’s the winter. I don’t especially like this season, it’s cold and damp and dark. It makes me cough a lot. I’m not even kidding, in the winter I have a cough for about 4 months. It gets tiresome pretty quick.

Maybe it’s Christmas. I haven’t got any presents organised, I just wander aimlessly around the shops surrounded by so many people, all doing the same.

Maybe it’s being single. This time of year is pretty dark, and at the moment, I don’t know, the world seems pretty dark as well. Sometimes you need someone to help with that. Sometimes you need someone’s hand to help, and to hold. That doesn’t happen so much when it’s just you.

I don’t know, I mean I know I’ve got it okay, I have a home, I have people. That’s more than some, and looking at the surface, I’m just moaning because I’m cold, and a bit lonely.
That seems small in comparison to the terrible things that happen daily in the world, it seems inconsequential and trivial. I don’t even know why I’m not feeling it in comparison to everything else.
Thing is though, what I feel is still there. The emptiness, the lack of direction, the loneliness. It is there, and it is real to me.
I know it’ll pass, and I know I’ll feel better, and I know that there will be someone, and I know that it won’t be cold forever. I know this, and tomorrow I’ll feel this and think this, and then it’ll be alright again.
This feeling is only for now, it’s just right now, that feels like a long time.

I know, from gigs to sexual health clinics. It’s quite the jump, yeah?
Never let it be said that I don’t like to keep you on your toes.

So, lets get our cards on the table. I’m going to tell you something, and you’re going to judge me.

I’ve never been tested for any STIs.

As I’m a big fan of context, allow me to explain.
Most of my life I’ve been in long term relationships, and when I’ve not been in said relationships, I don’t tend to sleep with lots of people, despite any impression I give off.
My thinking was that because of these things, the chances of me having anything would be slim to say the least.

I can hear the intakes of breath and the silent shaking of heads. I know, I know. I’m an idiot.

Anyhow, I realised the blindingly obvious fact that even if you’ve only been with a few people, you don’t know their histories, and it only takes one person, with something, to pass it on to you.
And that’s why I decided to get checked out.

Sexual Health Clinics are pretty much like every clinic I’ve ever been to. Looking around there are a few people, mostly looking fairly anxious, sitting on chairs.
I have to fill in a form, and I’m immediately on guard, because forms and trans people often do not mix well. Luckily, it’s relatively trans friendly, in that it has pronoun boxes, and a box to tick if you choose to identify as trans. It does still assume all male identifying people have penises and all female identifying people have vaginas though, which is a problem for me, and a post for another day.

I wait for a bit, looking around, listening to the radio that’s playing in the background. An advert comes on for a car insurance company called Drive Like a Girl. It’s probably the most patronising and offensive thing I’ve heard them play so far, and they’d just played Blurred Lines.

I get called by a nurse to come to a room, and it’s a man. I ticked a box saying I didn’t mind who saw me, but now I feel like I do mind. Suddenly I feel like my identity is under threat, as he’ll ask what bits I’ve got, and I feel uncomfortable about telling him, because he’s a man, and my experiences of men are nearly always negative.
I don’t know what to do, because if I say I’m not comfortable after all I’m going to feel like a jerk, and also, I’ve been waiting for half an hour now, and I can’t stand to wait any longer with that radio station playing its horrible songs and incessant adverts.

In the end I do what everyone would do, I go along with it. The commercial radio was the clincher if I’m honest.
We go to a room, and I start saying how I’m actually kind of nervous, and that I didn’t bring a friend, because I thought it would make for something good to write about if it was just me, but that now I regret that because I didn’t think it through, and how that is pretty standard for me.
He smiles and says it’s alright, everyone is a little nervous sometimes. He is reassuring and kind, and I feel like I let my preconceptions and past experiences get the better of me. Not for the first time I also think I’m an judgemental jerk.

He does ask me what bits I’ve got, but he does it in a way that’s so matter of fact, yet sensitive, that it’s okay.
He then asks me if I’d like to piss in a jar.

I’m very keen on this offer, as I’d been holding it in for about two hours now. He also took some blood, and did a throat swab, because well, y’know, oral?
We chat whilst this is all happening, and he tells me about how Syphilis is one of the biggest STIs affecting the area where we live. I have an overwhelming desire to tell him about how everyone thinks Henry VIII had Syphilis, but that actually there’s little evidence to prove this. I’m about to blurt it out in a oh my god I’m nervous so I’m going to say anything sort of way when he asks if I’d like a leaflet about it, and I forget all about Henry’s sti issues, and instead say it’s okay, I don’t need one, even though I’m interested in reading about it. I do this because I’m trying to be polite, and don’t want to put him out.
He gives me two Syphilis leaflets anyhow. This guy is good.

He asks me about the last couple of times I’d been with someone, and I tell him about the French woman I slept with once, and the friend I was with for a bit. For some reason I feel the need to go into detail about both these times. I have no idea why, but he seems to be happy to listen, and offer useful commentary on what I tell him.
It strikes me that I really misjudged him, and I did it entirely based on his gender. When people do that to me it really upsets me, and once again I feel like a jerk.

After all the tests are done we start to wrap things up. He tells me they’ll ring me if anything shows up, and text me if it’s all clear. I get up to go, and I want to give him a hug a say how lovely he’d been. I didn’t because boundaries but I wanted to. In the end he gave me a double hand shake, and I told him he was awesome and that I’d happily come back for more check ups if he did them. Maybe I need to work on verbal boundaries a bit more.
I leave feeling happy, and feeling that I’ve learnt something about my own preconceptions, and also about Syphilis.

A week later, as I was sitting in a cafe, being a writer, my phone buzzed. A text message from the clinic had come through with the all clear. I smile to myself, and think thought as much. Maybe I’ll hang onto those leaflets though, just in case.

So, it’s been a while since I’ve been with someone. It’s been a while since I’ve even been on a date. Thing is, I’m not sure why exactly.
I’m still using dating sites, I’m still going out and meeting people, I’m still not being a dick, and yet, nothing is happening.
I’m being proactive as well, I’m messaging people I get matches with, but nothing, not even a reply. I really don’t get it.

Something else is happening as well. The longer I go without dating, the less important it starts to be. What I mean by that is that it isn’t always on my mind, it isn’t something I immediately think about when I meet new people.
I’m not sure how I feel about that to be honest. On the one hand, it’s nice not to constantly feel the pressure to pair up with someone, but on the other hand, I quite like the feeling you get when you do get with someone. I say quite, but I really mean totally love.
I’m guessing that exposure to a feeling numbs that feeling after a period of time, and in many instances that can be a good thing. it’s just in this case, I’m not sure I want to become numb.
Numb, in my mind means giving up, accepting that this is your lot, that every negative thing you thought, might actually be true.
That’s not what I want, and I don’t want time to do that to me, even though it’s happening right now.

Being single is all well and good, there’s the endless Netflix marathons, the having whole pizzas to yourself, the glory that is not sharing a double bed, but hold on a minute and back that truck up, cause suppose you want to do stuff?
I know what you’re thinking, eating whole pizzas is doing stuff, but what if you want to stuff that’s not in your home? What if you want to go to a gig say, and all your friends are busy being in relationships?

Well friends, fret not, because there is a solution. You just go, ON YOUR OWN.
I know, it’s revolutionary, but it can be done. There are loads of things you can do on your own, that traditionally are group activities, and in this new, semi regular feature I’m only going to go and do them!
Today’s feature presentation is about going to a gig, on your own…..

I’m feeling a little nervous about this, if I’m honest. Gigs are normally filled with groups and couples, so I’m not sure how it’ll be going on my own, especially as I’m normally in a group when I do go to see bands.
Let’s have some details shall we?
I’m going to see Marika Hackman, and it’s the last night of her 2014 tour, so it’s pretty busy when I get there.
As I’m walking up to the door, a small mouse runs straight at me. It’s not even a bit intimidated by the huge size difference between us, and I take this to be a sign that too should be like that mouse. I also make a reasonably loud squealing noise, because well, a mouse ran at me and I wasn’t expecting it.
There’s a lot of people inside, but I manage to negotiate my way to a reasonably good vantage point, and then I wait for the band to come on.
This bit, if I’m honest, isn’t as awkward as I thought it would be. If I was with someone I’d chat with them, but looking around, I can see lots of people, just standing quietly, waiting like me.
Listening to the people around me talking is interesting. Someone is talking about the Belle and Sebastian gig he went to, where everyone looked the same, another is discussing what they had for tea. (Rice Krispies, which was a popular choice, if the reaction was anything to go by)

After about 10 minutes the band come on. They’re really good, and honestly, I get so lost in the music that it doesn’t matter that it’s just me. It would be nice to be able to exchange excited glances at the awesomeness of it all with someone, but it doesn’t matter enough to make a difference.
It is very warm, I’m guessing because there are like 100 people crammed into a little room with no windows, but even that doesn’t dilute the pleasure I’m getting from being here.
The band plays, people clap and whistle for more, and I think to myself that going to gigs on your own is okay.

At the end of the night, as I walk back home, I reflect on how it’s been a good experience, and think about how to summarise it best.
Would I do this alone activity again? Yes, yes I would. It wasn’t that scary, and I had a good time.
Yeah, at times it was a little awkward, squealing at a mouse, then being judged by people in the smoking area for said squealing, stands out as a particular example, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. It was fun, and now it’s got me thinking about what to do next time………

I’ve been single for over two years now. It’s weird, as that’s the longest I’ve been alone since I was 19. I say alone, but obviously I’m not alone, I have people, I have a tribe, for want of a better collective noun.
But still, sometimes, I think to myself, is this it?
Is my future just me?
And if it is, how do I deal with that? How does anyone deal with that?
Part of who we are is about needing to belong, to be wanted, both by groups of people, and individuals. The strength of this feeling is strong. It makes us talk to complete strangers, it makes us share stories, emotions, feelings, all in order to create a link with another soul.
We need this, I need this. It’s a matter of survival. It’s a matter of life.

The possibility of being without that, of knowing it’s a reality that becomes more likely the longer I stay single, is honestly really fucking scary.
People do it, I know not everyone gets the story they deserve, and they survive, they live, they deal with it. It’s just, well, I’m not one of those people. I don’t want to be one of those people.
I don’t want to deal with it, even though, ultimately, that’s exactly what I will have to do as, in actuality, I fear I am one of those people.

I want to write about Ferguson. But I’m a white middle class transwoman, living in one of the safest places in the world.
I’ve never had to worry about someone, someone who’s supposedly there to protect and serve me, instead murdering me. My life is relatively safe.
I’ve never had to think about how the colour of my skin might impact my own safety. I’ve never had to think about the colour of my skin full stop.
Never having to think about something that can have the gravest of impacts in regards to another persons life is a privilege.
And that privilege can blind us to seeing, it can blind us to caring. It makes us think that it doesn’t matter to us, that because it doesn’t affect us directly that it’ll all settle down soon, and things will go on like they’ve always gone on.

Thing is though it does affect us. Every 28 hours an African American is killed by law enforcement, or a security guard, or a “vigilante” claiming self-defence.
How can that not affect us? How can that not make us go what the actual fuck? How can that not make us angry?
I’m a white person, and I’m angry and I’m shocked. I’m scared by the rising tide of racism happening right now, both here in the Uk, and elsewhere. I can’t even begin to imagine what the anger, the shock, and the fear must be like for someone of colour.
So what can we do?, What can I do?

A friend of mine put it like this.

Learn about Ferguson. Learn about the racialised history of America. Speak the truth. Understand oppression and racism. Fear. Understand the pain. Heartache. Understand the anger. Disbelief. Speak the truth. Don’t be afraid to be unpopular. Don’t give up. Speak the truth. Black lives matter.

Below are a few of the articles I’ve been reading whilst learning about what’s happening in Ferguson…

Ferguson, goddamn: No indictment for Darren Wilson is no surprise. This is why we protest.

Some white people still think Mike Brown’s death isn’t about race.

White Cop Shoots Unarmed Black Guy for No Goddamn Reason at All

Racism is so insidious, even black people underestimate it.

‘We Still Don’t Have Justice’: An Open Letter From Ferguson Protesters and Supporters.

LQTU! Stands in Solidarity With the Brave Protesters in Ferguson and Beyond.

There’s a narrative that goes something along the lines of Trans people have always known they’re Trans.
It’s nearly always one of the first things people ask me about when we talk about Trans stuff. I’ve been asked the question “When did you know?” more times than I can count, and when I answer that question, and tell people that I didn’t really know till I was a teenager, and that I didn’t fully form exactly what my identity was till I got to my thirties, there’s often an element of surprise in people’s eyes.
Sometimes there’s an element of judgement there as well. I can see them thinking, but if she didn’t know till then, how can she be sure now? Surely all Trans people just know?

Thing is, there are Trans people who haven’t always known, but that doesn’t make their identities any less Trans than someone who’s always known.
I sometimes think that maybe, if you have to ask, then asking “How did you know” is a more important question than “When did you know?”

So, how did I know?
There were two essential things that let me know what it meant to feel what I felt.
Language and knowledge.
Seems obvious right, if we can communicate how we feel, then we can understand what it is, and find out what we need to do.
Today it’s pretty easy to find out what it means to feel things, the Internet changed everything when it comes to freedom of knowledge, and with that change came greater visibility, and with greater visibility it became easier to find others that feel how you feel. Yeah Internet!
Thing is though, it wasn’t always like that. I grew up in the seventies and eighties, in the last century. (Sounds dramatic when it’s put like that doesn’t it?)
There was no internet then, there was virtually zero visibility for Trans people, and so I had no reference point as to how I felt. As a teenager I genuinely believed I was the only person alive who felt like this. Imagine my absolute fucking surprise when I found out I wasn’t.
That’s when I really started to form my identity as a Trans woman, once I had the knowledge and language, once I discovered I wasn’t alone.
Even then it took a long time. It’s only really now, thanks to a ton of reading, a reasonably large amount of therapy, and the support of truly amazing friends and family that I’ve really got it pinned down.
This is why asking a Trans person when they knew isn’t helpful, or in any way insightful to understanding what it means to be Trans. Knowing that I started understanding that I was Trans when I was a teenager doesn’t give any context to that fact. All that most people get from this is that it doesn’t fit with the narrative of always knowing.
Ask me how I knew though and suddenly things have context. There are reasons, emotions, and ultimately understanding.

The preconception, that all Trans people have always known, is ultimately damaging. It doesn’t help anyone, and that should be reason enough to stop doing it.
Maybe though that isn’t enough, maybe you need more reasons?

How about the fact that it also devalues the identity of those who haven’t always known, and it stigmatises an already stigmatised identity even more.
Or that it creates a hierarchy of validity, which is incredibly destructive, and hurtful to many, many Trans people.
Oh, and yeah it can also divide communities, and damage personal identities, both of which are fundamental to our existence in this world.

Yeah, that’s probably enough reasons.

I’ve never really thought of myself as a quitter, I like to think, once I go for something, I’m there for the long haul, like a dog with a log, never letting go, all focus channelled into the task at hand.
Thing is, over the last year, I’ve realised this is sort of true, but not always in a good way.

Yeah, I’m tenacious, but often it’s only in relation to hopeless situations.

That no quit attitude? Only there when it comes to putting myself down and chipping away at my own self esteem.

And being overwhelmingly focused on the task at hand? Well, yes, if the task at hand is taking on everything negative that happens to me as being a fault with me.
Yeah, I’m very good at not quitting when it comes to things I hate.

I think, if many of us were honest with ourselves, we’d probably have similar experiences.
If you break up with someone say, it’s hard not to see fault in yourself. In fact, quite often the other person in the relationship will help you with that as well, and by help I obviously mean brutal character assassination.

I know my self esteem can be a fragile thing. It’s like its made of ice, any heat will melt it pretty fast, and god help us all if you go for it with a hammer. I try and build it up as best I can, but after a while it starts to become the norm that it will melt away, and once that happens it becomes much harder to sort it out.
I think that’s because there’s comfort in repetition, even if it’s negative repetition. Doing the same thing, having the same response is safe because it’s familiar. It almost doesn’t matter that it hurts you more, that it’s ultimately incredibly self destructive, because at least you know this feeling. There is security and safety because it’s what you know.
Look at it like a rollercoaster. The first time you go on it its frankly fucking terrifying. You’re all I’m gonna be sick, what’s happening, I CAN NOT DEAL. But then you go on it again, and again, and again, and after a while you know all the twists, you remember the bit where you go upside down where you feel sick, and you get used to it. The more you do it,the easier it becomes to keep on doing it, even if it keeps on making you feel sick.
As with many analogies, if you look too hard it will fall apart, (maybe don’t analyse that last bit about feeling sick and still riding the coaster too hard) but the gist of it is true. The familiarity of thinking negatively about myself is often an easier route to take then stopping and thinking about whether its actually true or not.

I’ve started doing things to change my way of thinking. I don’t want to feel shit about myself every time something bad happens, so now I stop and think about it a little.
I think about if it is really something to do with me, or if it’s actually something to do with someone else, and I’m just being a sponge for their emotions.
Sometimes it is me, but a lot of the time it isn’t.
When I get upset because someone on Tinder can’t deal with me being trans, I try not to take that as a reflection on me anymore. I try not to do that because the truth of it is that it’s not me that has the problem. It’s not for me to take on that, it doesn’t make me a bad person. There is no need to put myself down, because I have done nothing that is deserving of that.
It is of course easier to write this than do it, but remember when I said I never thought of myself as a quitter?
Well apparently that’s true with thinking good things about yourself as well…..

I sometimes have a warped view of relationships, and by sometimes I possibly mean all the time.
You see, I want a relationship, but at the same time, when I’m in a relationship, I also sort of don’t want to be in one.

I think part of the problem I have when I’m in a relationship is that I can’t appreciate the present with it. That’s confusing isn’t it?
What I mean is that I’m constantly thinking about the future, things like ….
Will we still be together in a years time?
Am I going to say something really stupid soon that’ll piss you off?
Will I still like you next week?
Will you still like me next week?
How long will it be before we run out of things to say?
How long will it be before you realise I’m just like everyone else?

Obviously, if I’m loading all of this onto every relationship I get into then that’s not going to be ideal. You might even go as far as to say that it’s kind of doomed from the start.

Living in the present sounds simple, after all, we constantly live in a moment, but I think there’s a difference between living in the moment, and appreciating the moment.
Appreciating the moment takes skill as it means you have to let go of potential futures, it means you have to learn to stop worrying about what if, and start noticing what is.
That my friends is hard. It’s not something that comes naturally to me. I want to know what will happen, I pre-empt, I predict, I control and twist the future like some sort of obsessive, flame haired soothsayer.

This isn’t good for me, because it stops me seeing what I have, and makes me seem either too full on, or such a closed book that it becomes impossible to get close to me.

I am getting better at not seeing every future, at not worrying about the what ifs. Every time I get close to someone and manage to appreciate just being there, in the moment, every time I think this, right now, is enough, I give myself a brain thought high five.
It means that I can think back now and remember that time we sat on a bench and watched the sun set over the sea, and really smile.
It means when I think about that time we stayed up all night playing each other our favourite songs, because it is the only real way to get to know someone, I think of warmth, and joy.
And best of all, it means that moments are retrospective. I can live in the moment of something that has been and gone, and appreciate it for just being that, a snapshot in a journey, a moment of peace and warmth.
If I can do that with the past, then I can do that with the present, and maybe even the future.
The wiring is all there, I just have to plug it in.

I have, and will, sleep with people on first dates. I don’t always do this, but given the right situation, it is something I do.
There is a preconception that women who do this are somehow, less valid as people, even the words used, things like promiscuous, easy, predatory, are all demeaning and negative.
This we all hear, and this we all know, a woman who sleeps with people early on is somehow less valid than a man who does the same.

As a trans woman the validity is diminished even more, as in societies eye I’m already less valid anyhow, in that I’m often seen as less of a woman, and this reflects in how I’m perceived when it comes to sex.
Now this is entirely based on my own experience, and as I’ve said before, it may not be true of everyone, but I find that as a trans person, the pre conceptions of being promiscuous, easy and predatory are often there even before I sleep with people.
Trans women in particular are sexualised, often fetishised, and nearly always othered (as in ‘not one of us’. There’s an excellent piece explaining this more here.) in films, television and popular culture. Popular culture is just that, popular. It sinks into people’s minds, it creates impressions of what to expect when we come across particular situations, and in the case of trans women, those impressions are often pretty fucked up.
I’ve spoken a bit about this before, in regards to mental health issues, but these preconceptions are there when it comes to sex as well.

From my own personal experience, these preconceptions are most obvious when it comes to internet dating, which I’m guessing is because of the detachment the internet can create. In real life it’s less likely a stranger will approach you with an offer of anal sex whilst dressed as a maid, because the consequences are more real, whatever way it goes.
The internet absolves us of meaningful consequence, it detaches us from reality, and allows us to show another side, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.

There is of course a degree of generalisation here, not everyone has these preconceptions, just as not every Trans person will object to fetishisation.
However, by applying labels such as promiscuous, or predatory, by detaching ourselves from seeing people as people, we are dehumanising an experience that is one of the most human things we can do, and that can’t be a good thing.

The Nameless Blogger

A personal blog about life, relationships, and everyday struggles

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art, food and existential crises

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Let's not talk about potential.

Strange Paul

by @ben_cameron

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